Kat rested her elbow on the table with the bill casually pointed toward the waitress, who had moved an arm’s length away to Bruce’s side of the table. Kat suddenly held Bruce by the chin with her other hand as if he were a little boy who needed to learn a lesson.
“Come over here, honey,” Kat said to the waitress.
The waitress hesitated.
“I’m not going to hurt you. I promise.”
The waitress shuffled back around to Kat’s side. Without looking, Kat tucked the bill into the waistband of the waitress’s shorts. Bruce heard a tiny voice, more of a squeak actually, say “Thank you.”
Kat’s fingers held on to the waitress’s waistband. Kat turned slowly away from Bruce and locked onto the waitress’s eyes. She released her grip on the girl’s waistband and slid her hand up and down the waitress’s side. The waitress froze in place. Kat smiled at her.
“You can go now.”
The waitress shuddered, as if waking up from a trance, or a nightmare.
“Yeah...OK...Thanks.”
Bruce watched her turn away and walk hastily toward the bar, pulling the bill out of her waistband, and tucking it into a front pocket. Kat’s attention returned to Bruce. Her hand still held his chin. She gave the side of his face a pat, almost hard enough to be a slap. Bruce shook his head and his eyes came back into focus.
“That place you took me to? In the woods. Let’s go back there again,” Kat asked.
“Yeah...OK...When?”
“Soon, Bruce,” Kat told him. “Real soon.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Jim closed his cell phone, then closed his eyes. Rarely did an investigation of a serious crime involve a straight-line process leading directly to an arrest. Even though he knew this to be the truth, this knowledge did little to reduce his frustration.
It turned out that something had wiped the I-75 video so clean that the State lab felt it would be a waste of time and money to send the server to another agency. Jim opened his eyes. He must be missing something. Some little detail that would jump-start the investigation. He was looking for an expensive sports car driven by a woman. Did she have some personal connection to Briggs, or was it a random event?
His intuition leaned away from a random event. His experience told him that women simply did not race on the freeway. Sure, women speeders were well-represented among Florida’s drivers, but racers? A freeway Danica Patrick? Not likely.
He checked his watch and then put the Charger into drive. Even with the windows rolled up and the air conditioning on, Jim heard the deep growl of the Charger’s engine as he accelerated off the median and merged into the northbound fast lane. Moderate traffic flowed in both directions.
He kept his eyes on the road ahead while his mind worked on the investigation. The pressure to close the case, to rule it an accident, came fast. Much faster than he had expected. What am I missing?
South Florida had hundreds, maybe even thousands, of expensive sports cars. Virtually every make and model. Like a Porsche, but different. Probably not a Camaro. They were fast, but most people would not confuse a Camaro with a Porsche. Maybe a Dodge Stealth? No, not that much different than a Camaro. The Japanese 3000GT was fast, but it was also in the Stealth/Camaro category. What the hell is like a Porsche, but different?
He ran a mental slideshow of American sports cars through his mind. The answer came in a flash of revelation. Dodge Viper. Fast like a Porsche, real fast, but definitely different. Outside the strip mall in Ft. Myers! Holy crap.
It was one of those moments that could make an atheist consider the possibility of Divine Revelation. He only had a glimpse, but now that he thought about it, he knew it was a Viper, a red Viper. Red, or red and black? Not sure.
A woman and a man stood next to it. Something familiar about the man. Double crap. The little Klingon. Kevin Williams.
Jim hit his lightbar switch. The vehicles ahead moved to the right. At the next turnaround, Jim pushed hard on the brake pedal and whipped the Charger around. Completing the U-turn, the Charger flew south, back toward Ft. Myers.
Jim pulled up at the Regional Traffic Management Center a minute before five. He killed the lightbar as he drove alongside the slatted fencing that prevented casual observers from seeing into the employee parking area. He reached the open gate. Employees exited the building and strolled toward their vehicles. The side door of the building opened and closed in a staccato rhythm.
At the far end of the parked vehicles, a custom, lifted, Ford Excursion backed slowly from its stall. An Urban Assault Vehicle. All it lacked was a gun turret. A piece-of-crap, full-size van sat two spaces down from where the monster SUV had parked.
Jim only got a glimpse of the van in front of the strip mall, but he now thought it probably belonged to the little Klingon. His suspicions were confirmed when Kevin Williams exited the building and walked down the row of vehicles toward the van. Jim waited for the Excursion to clear the gate and then slowly drove the Charger into the employee parking lot. Employees stopped, watched Jim drive past, and then continued with their business. Williams was unlocking the van when Jim pulled up behind him.
Jim killed the Charger’s engine, opened the driver’s door, and stepped out. He placed his Smokey Bear hat on his head and closed the door. He walked toward Williams, stopping short of the little Klingon.
“I have a few questions for you, Mr. Williams.”
Williams pulled the key out of the driver’s side door lock and stared hard at Jim. William’s black, little eyes seemed empty of every emotion except hate.
“I’m on my own time. Come back in the morning,” he said.
Williams shoved the key back into the driver’s door lock.
Jim stepped closer, reached out, and grabbed Williams’ wrist, stopping him from turning the key in the lock. Williams struggled for a moment, trying to unlock the door. He surprised Jim. Williams was a lot stronger than he looked, but Jim managed to pull the little monster’s hand away.
“We’ll talk now, Mr. Williams.”
Jim let go of his hand. Williams rubbed his wrist, turning the key back and forth in the air, but he kept the key away from the lock.
“I’m investigating a vehicular homicide, Mr. Williams.”
Jim looked at Williams’ eyes from behind a pair of Oakley Ducati X-Squared sunglasses — one of Jim’s few indulgences. The Oakley’s made him feel good, and that usually translated to a good attitude with the public. Williams being the immediate exception.
The empty blackness of the little man’s pupils looked unnatural. Jim towered over Williams, bigger and, presumably, stronger, and yet, he had no desire to remove his sunglasses and make his usual, alpha male eye contact with the freak. Something about Williams unsettled him. Call it instinct. Call it cop-sense. When he looked at Williams, the words “deviant” and “dangerous” flashed into his mind. Jim kept his concern out of his voice.
“We can take care of this now, or I can take you in for obstruction of justice. As a State employee, you might find that a little awkward to explain to your boss. Your choice, Mr. Williams.”
The hatred in Williams’ eyes was almost palpable. Jim could have sworn the temperature around them climbed ten more degrees. He realized that he had a death grip on the top of the holster holding his pistol. He forced himself to relax. Williams had the look of an evil, malevolent elf.
“What do you need to know?” Williams asked. His keys still trying to unlock the air.
“A couple of days ago, I was responding to a call and I saw your van parked in front of a strip mall, not far from the interstate.”
Williams shrugged.
“So?”
Despite his laissez-faire answer, concern suddenly shared space with the hate in his eyes.
“You were with a woman. A Dodge Viper sat parked next to your van. A red Dodge Viper.”
“I wasn’t with anyone. Some woman asked me for directions,” Williams replied.
Jim removed his sunglasses and narr
owed his eyes, partly because of the sun, mostly because of his dislike for Williams.
“It’s a first-degree misdemeanor to lie to a law enforcement officer conducting an investigation, Mr. Williams. That would look just about as bad on your résumé as an arrest for obstruction. You sure she was just asking for directions?”
“Yeah, I’m sure. She said she was visiting from Atlanta. I told her how to get back to the freeway.”
Jim considered Williams’ answer. Little bastard’s lying through his teeth.
He put his sunglasses back on. “If I have any more questions, I’ll be back to see you.”
Jim did not wait for an answer. He turned away and returned to his car.
***
Fury welled up inside Kevin Williams. Demore got back into the patrol car, backed around, and drove out of the parking area. It was obvious Trooper Golden Boy didn’t believe him about Kat Connors. Inside Kevin’s head, a voice spoke. Not just one of the voices — the voice. The voice Kevin always found himself obeying.
Kill him. Soon.
There were two other voices that spoke to him, that egged him on or yelled at him if he did not do everything right, like a couple of necromantic cheerleaders. But this voice actually told him what to do and how to do it. Kevin had not heard the voice in a while. Not since he took that last tourist girl out in the boat.
Around Ft. Myers, faded posters still stuck to traffic light boxes and other public surfaces offering a reward for any information about her disappearance. Ten-thousand dollars. Kevin had even considered “accidently” discovering the girl’s skull while fishing near Demere Key — the special place where Kevin had first heard the voice.
Demere Key had been a holy place for the fierce and violent natives, the Calusa, who had inhabited the area when the Spanish arrived. Kevin had read about them in Florida History class. He had admired their brutality. Some historians believed they were the ones responsible for the eventual death of Ponce de León. Although he had died in Cuba, his wound had come in a battle with the Calusa.
Kevin was glad the voice was back. The voice did not visit him often, but when it did, his life got interesting.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The phone rang as Martha finished restocking the candle display. She made her way to the counter and answered it.
“Candle and Wind Spiritual Supplies and Gifts, this is Martha,” she said, smiling into the phone. She believed that customers could feel her smile when she answered the phone, even if they could not see her face.
“Martha, it’s Kevin. Kevin Williams. I think you’re going to have a visitor. From the Highway Patrol. I think they are looking for Kat.”
Martha kept her smile, even after Kevin identified himself. She had practiced the habit for so long she probably could not frown into the phone if she wanted to, though Kevin did test her limits. He was a strange little fellow who had come in once for some advice on voodoo. She had sold him a book about Marie Laveau, the infamous New Orleans voodoo priestess. Though Laveau had been dead for decades, she still had a significant following. Since that time, Kevin had bought several other books on voodoo, magick, and, occasionally, he ordered some special supplies that Martha did not usually carry. This was the third time Kevin had called since Kat Connors had come into the store. His interest in gaining supernatural power now seemed dwarfed by his interest in Kat.
“I can’t imagine why the Highway Patrol would want to talk to me, Kevin, or even how you would know they wanted to speak to me.”
“It’s about Kat. Something about the car she was driving. An accident on I-75 that the Highway Patrol is investigating. I told the trooper she was visiting from Atlanta, that she just asked for directions.”
Martha cut him off.
“Did he believe you?”
“I don’t think so. I think he’s coming to see you next.”
Martha bit her lip. Kat had had a powerful aura. Probably some connection to one of the ancient ones. Martha had felt it when Kat came into the shop, though Kat herself may not fully realize the power she emanated. Martha’s spirit guide, the incorporeal being that shared her body, had realized it also, and Kevin had practically groveled at her feet.
“Well, I’ll tell him the truth. New customer who paid cash for some candles and left. That’s all I know.”
Her answer did not satisfy Kevin.
“What if he asks to see your security video?”
Martha looked up at the camera, tucked away in a corner behind the counter. Kevin had installed it recently after several local strip malls had experienced robberies and break-ins.
“You’re good with computers,” she said.
Kevin like to brag about his computer prowess.
“I could work for NASA or even the CIA if I wanted to. They’re always trying to recruit me.”
Martha shook her head. He always added that last part.
“Well, you connected the camera to the computer, so I’m sure there is something you can do,” Martha assured him.
“What if he wants to take the computer?” Kevin asked.
Martha hesitated. “I don’t know, Kevin. You’re the expert. Besides, he can’t touch my computer without a warrant.”
“Ok, tell him you only save the video files for a week because the video takes up so much room on your crappy little hard drive. After he leaves, call me. I’ll come right over and do some electronic magic.” Kevin snickered.
His laugh annoyed the hell out of Martha.
“I told you she would need our help,” he bragged.
Before Martha could hang up, the door to the shop opened. Even from back behind the counter, Martha could feel the warm air rush in from the outside. Martha looked toward the door and saw a tall Highway Patrol Trooper enter the shop.
“He’s here. I’ll call when he leaves.”
Before Kevin replied, Martha hung up the phone.
“Welcome to Candle and Wind.”
She smiled her most genuine smile.
***
Jim Demore let the door close behind him. As he approached the counter, he glanced around the small store. A curious shop jammed full of things that he never gave much thought to. Things that had to do with spirits, and the occult, and religion. Considering his general disdain for metaphysical crapola, and despite the friendly smile on the face of the woman who greeted him, Jim somehow did not feel very welcome or very comfortable in this place.
He looked around, but did not see any customers. Except for the woman, the store appeared empty. Regardless of how it looked, Jim had that “something or someone is watching me” feeling.
A small video camera stared out past the counter. It reassured him. If it worked, it would have captured both Williams and the woman he was with, if she had entered the shop.
Somehow, the feeling of someone watching seemed to come from something more than just the security camera. It was as if eyeballs had locked onto him and he had become an acquired target. Even felony traffic stops, as risky as they frequently were, did not raise the hackles on his neck the way walking into this quiet, weird, little store did. Only combat patrols, when everyone knew that contact with the enemy was imminent, had set off alarm bells close to what he felt now.
“May I help you find something?”
Martha continued to smile as Jim approached the counter and parked his campaign hat there.
“No thank you, ma’am. I really don’t see anything here that I would have much use for.”
Jim pushed down the alarm signals that pulsed into his brain. After seeing the inside of the store, it did not surprise him that Kevin Williams was a customer, or at least a visitor. The little freak probably bought books on vivisecting and sacrificing small animals here.
“I would like to ask you a couple of questions, though. I’m looking for information on a customer you may have had.”
“We have a lot of customers. A lot of people find spiritual things interesting.”
“Yes, ma’am. I suppose they do.” J
im pointed at the camera. “Does your security system work?”
“Most of the time.”
“The time frame I’m interested in would have been about a week ago. Are you the manager here?”
“The owner. Martha St. Onge.”
Martha held out her hand. Jim met her eyes as he reached out and shook it. Her grip was stronger than he expected.
“Trooper Demore.” Jim kept his voice courteously neutral.
“Nice to meet you, officer.”
“I’m an accident investigator for the Ft. Myers district.” Jim pointed to the camera. “You record to a hard drive?”
The longer Jim looked at Martha, the more he realized that there was something wrong with her eyes. They seemed to change colors, shifting from shade to shade. Not so much like flipping the channels on a television set, but more of a subtle, mildly hallucinogenic effect. The store’s lighting came from standard fluorescent fixtures set into the drop ceiling. Completely normal. Yet, as he looked at Martha, the lighting itself oscillated along with the colors in Martha’s eyes. The store’s illumination seemed to take on a kind of metaphysical self-existence. Metaphysical self-existence. Where did that crap come from?
The eerie, occult atmosphere that hung over the store made Jim not want to be there any longer than absolutely necessary.
Martha’s voice cut through Jim’s reverie.
“That’s the way it’s set up. When it works. My hard drive crashed a couple of weeks ago. It does that every now and then. Especially during thunderstorms.”
Jim thought about the problem with the video servers at the traffic operations center. South Florida electrical storms could be hell on computers.
“Would you mind if one of our technicians made a copy of your video files? I’m investigating a serious accident, possibly a vehicular homicide. A person of interest may have entered your store.”
The Demon Pool Page 12
