Vengeance of the Demon: Demon Novels, Book Seven (Kara Gillian 7)

by Diana Rowland

  Chapter 33

  My sweatshirt tactic had been perfect for the holding cell, but it bit me in the ass in the unairconditioned van that was used for transport to the bond hearing. Along with the half dozen other prisoners going to the courthouse, my wrists had been cuffed in front of me—and, of course, I didn’t think to consider the heat until after the handcuffs made removal of the sweatshirt impossible. Even at seven-thirty in the morning, the temps were high enough to leave me a wilted, stinky, sticky mess by the time we made it to the blessedly cool courtroom.

  “You look great,” Tolya lied after he pulled me aside for a quick conference. “I doubt you’ll need to say anything other than ‘Yes, your honor’ or ‘No, your honor.’ Keep doing exactly as you have been, and you’ll be fine.”

  “What have I been doing?” I asked.

  “Everything I say,” he replied with a wink then strode off to take his seat.

  With a sigh, I settled myself on the wooden bench with the others and tried to calm the riot of butterflies in my stomach. No sign of O’Connor, but the unexpected sight of Eilahn sitting on a bench on the far side of the courtroom buoyed my flagging spirits. She met my eyes and gave me a slow nod. I am ever here for you.

  Reassured, I returned the nod and even managed a weak smile.

  More people filtered in. Judge Laurent’s law clerk, a court reporter, a public defender, and various civilian-types who were probably family and friends of the other defendants. The judge had yet to emerge from his chambers, and I clung to the thin reassurance that at least I wasn’t a stranger to him. I’d been in his court a number of times to testify, and he’d signed a few warrants for me over the past couple of years. He’d been on the bench as long as I could remember, and had earned a reputation as an irascible, no-nonsense type who didn’t like having his time wasted.

  A ginger-haired man wearing a brown suit and a confident expression entered, moved to the table on the left and set down a stack of files. He was the assistant district attorney, but he’d been hired less than a month before I was first summoned to the demon realm, and I had to rack my brain for a few seconds to come up with his name. Finley. Colin Finley. He’d worked in New Orleans before coming to St. Long Parish, and cops liked him because he was a hardass. Wonderful.

  Finley passed his gaze over the room, settling it briefly on me before he frowned and pulled a file from his stack. He skimmed the information, pointedly glanced at me again, then moved to Tolya. Though he spoke in a voice too low for me to hear, I had no trouble reading the body language. Finley, smug and assured, made a suggestion or an offer, to which Tolya shook his head in a clear negative. Finley smiled and gave a “your loss” shrug and returned to his table.

  Another horde of butterflies invaded my stomach. What was that all about?

  The arrival of the judge cut off my spin cycle of worry. I rose with the others when the bailiff announced, “All rise. The honorable Judge Laurent presiding.” I sat when we were given leave to do so, though I kept glancing at Tolya in the hopes of a reassuring look or thumbs up or Morse code or anything. But he maintained his attention straight ahead, damn near as impassive as a demonic lord.

  Judge Laurent shuffled through the papers before him, raked a glance around the courtroom, then peered over his glasses at the assistant DA. “Mr. Finley, do you happen to know why Detective O’Connor has not yet graced us with his presence?”

  Finley sighed and spread his hands. “Your honor, Detective O’Connor couldn’t be located to be served with the subpoena.”

  Crap. If the detective hadn’t been served, he couldn’t get in trouble for not showing up. So much for Tolya’s clever tactic.

  However, I had drastically underestimated Judge Laurent. The temperature in the courtroom seemed to drop several degrees as he leveled a frown at Finley. “Couldn’t be located?”

  “That’s correct, your honor.”

  The judge pursed his lips. “Mr. Finley, I don’t believe I’ve ever had the pleasure of working with you in a courtroom before. Is that correct?”

  “That’s correct, your honor,” Finley said. “I’m usually in Judge Zeller’s court.”

  “Well, Mr. Finley, I’ve been on the bench twenty years.” Laurent pulled his glasses off and used them to point at the assistant DA. “It might surprise you, but I do know how the system works. I bet you someone in the sheriff’s department can get in touch with Detective O’Connor twenty-four seven.”

  Finley didn’t look as smug anymore. “Your honor,” he began, but the judge gave him no chance to continue.

  “Bailiff,” Laurent said and waited for the deputy to straighten. “Go down to the Sheriff’s administrative offices on the first floor. You tell the Sheriff that he or his designee has been summoned by instanter subpoena to explain to the court why this detective is not present.”

  Holy shit. Describing Laurent as irascible was putting it mildly. The bailiff scurried out. Finley stared at the judge in disbelief then sank to sit, clearly trying to get his bearings in this new development. The “couldn’t be served” angle would have worked with most other judges, but apparently it was a hot button for Judge Laurent. Damn, I might end up owing Pellini a big favor.

  Laurent sat back in his chair and slipped his glasses on, then proceeded to ignore everyone in the courtroom while he flipped through the papers on his desk. Nobody dared talk or move around since he hadn’t called a recess, and a bizarre silence reigned while we waited for the arrival of the Sheriff or his designee.

  I shot a quick look at Tolya. He held an expression of mild interest, but I couldn’t shake the sense he was watching the performance of a play he’d written. Great, my lawyer was clever and manipulative, but I knew this whole scenario was a gamble that could easily backfire. The judge was pissed now, which might carry over into his rulings on my fate.

  The butterflies crowded in. More of this stress and I’d be coughing up legs and wings.

  Less than ten minutes later the doors opened, and a round-faced man about my height with a bad haircut and a weak chin scrambled in ahead of the bailiff. Not the sheriff, but his second in command—Chief Deputy Ron Pigeon.

  Judge Laurent straightened and beckoned the baffled man forward. “Chief Deputy Pigeon, the District Attorney’s office informs me that Detective O’Connor could not be located to be served with the subpoena for a hearing in my courtroom this morning.”

  “Er.” Pigeon threw a confused look to Finley—who could only give him a pained one in response. “I’m sorry, your honor,” he said, “but, well, I’m sure the detective—”

  Laurent cut him off. “This woman is sitting in jail on serious charges,” he said, thrusting his hand in my direction. Pigeon cast a bewildered glance toward the bench full of prisoners, but it was obvious he had no idea what was going on, or whether the judge was gesturing to me or Angry Chick. “We’re not playing games here,” Laurent continued, warming to his topic. “A subpoena isn’t an invitation to a party. This is an order of the court—not a request—an order!”

  “Yes, your honor.” Pigeon bobbed his head in a nod.

  “I intend to hold a hearing, and I expect Detective O’Connor to testify,” Laurent said, color high in his cheeks. He was righteously pissed and enjoying it.

  Pigeon shifted his feet. “I understand, your honor, but—”

  “Chief Deputy Pigeon,” Laurent interrupted, “I know all the detectives have department-issued cell phones that they’re expected to answer. Ms. Gillian may not be in jail by the end of this, but someone else might be.” With that threat hanging in the air, the judge swung his ire to Finley. “As for you, I was once an ADA. I know you have O’Connor’s cell phone number. Do you want me to investigate the call records and determine whether you’ve talked to him since I issued that subpoena?”

  Finley paled. “No, your honor!”

  Shit. Yeah, it was fun to watch Finley get reamed, but his reaction told me O’Connor knew about the subpoena—which meant he had time to prepare to ge
t on the stand. What if the detective showed up, gave compelling testimony, and the judge set an unaffordable bond? Or no bond?

  Perspiration rolled down my sides. If I ever got out of this mess, I was burning this sweatshirt.

  “I’m going to recess for fifteen minutes,” Laurent announced. “I’d better hear the patter of Detective O’Conner’s feet before that time is up.” He stood and stormed off the bench, barely giving the bailiff any time to call out the “All rise.”

  The instant the chamber door closed behind Judge Laurent, Pigeon dove toward Finley. The two engaged in a hushed and intense conversation, and after about half a minute they broke apart and got onto their phones. Calling their bosses? Or tracking down O’Connor? They ended their respective phone conversations and conferred again—with a few dark looks cast Tolya’s way and mine. Finley moved to the judge’s law clerk and spoke quietly to her before she disappeared into Laurent’s chambers. A few minutes later she returned, gave Finley a nod and beckoned to Tolya, and both attorneys headed to the chambers.

  More time passed, while the other prisoners looked askance at me. Finally Tolya and Finley exited the chambers and resumed their places. Once again I tried and failed to get any signal of reassurance from Tolya. Laurent resumed his seat and cleared his throat.

  “After consultation with the district attorney and the counsel for the defendant it has been agreed that a proper bond pursuant to the Louisiana code of criminal procedure is 25,000 dollars.”

  I clenched my hands together to control their shaking as relief swam through me. Tolya turned to me with a look of pure triumph. Twenty-five grand was a hefty chunk of cash, but if I used a bondsman I’d only lose about three thousand. Still hurt, but nowhere near as devastating. Judge Laurent rested his sharp gaze on me. “Ms. Gillian?”

  I hurried to stand. In my peripheral vision I saw Tolya rise as well. “Yes, your honor?” I said.

  “You are not to leave this jurisdiction without permission of the court nor are you to speak to any witnesses. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, your honor. I do.” The knot of dread began to tease apart. This wasn’t over, but I’d regained some ground.

  And, more importantly, I could go home and take a damn shower.

  • • •

  It took over three hours to process out and fork over several grand to the bail bondsman. That effectively wiped out my savings, but I’d worry about the future of my finances another day.

  “Keep your head down and stay out of trouble,” Tolya ordered after he gave me his card with his contact information. “And don’t talk to any more detectives. Except Pellini. I’ll find out when the next court date is and will be in touch with you before then.”

  I thanked him effusively and would have hugged him, but I figured that with my current level of stench it would be a mean thing to do.

  Eilahn, Idris, and Pellini were waiting in the jail foyer when I finally stepped out of the lockdown area. Carl as well, to my surprise. He gave me a faint smile. “Taking you up on the offer to join your team,” he said.

  “Thanks,” I said fervently. “We sure can use the help.”

  Tension eased from Eilahn’s posture as she passed an assessing gaze over me, and it hit me how difficult this had been for her. I had little doubt she’d been close by, monitoring and ready. If I’d run into serious trouble, she’d have used all available resources to teleport into the jail and get me out—obviously a last resort for any number of reasons. Her, I hugged. She wouldn’t give a crap about my funk. She held me close for several seconds then released with me with a satisfied nod.

  “Let us leave this place,” she said, and I didn’t argue. How the hell could people be repeat offenders? One night in jail was enough to make me want to stay home and take up knitting.

  The heat enveloped me as we stepped out, and I finally stripped off the sweatshirt. Even with only the tank top on, I was ready for AC again by the time we reached Pellini’s truck. Pellini climbed in and cranked the engine, while Idris took the front passenger seat, and I got into the back of the cab with Carl. Eilahn, of course, zoomed off on her motorcycle.

  “Bryce and Jill had a busy night,” Pellini said as he pulled a manila envelope off the dash and passed it to me. “They went through all the surveillance footage from outside the Katashi base and established a pattern of when people come and go.”

  “Sweeeeet,” I said and wasted no time checking out the contents. Damn, those two had worked their butts off. Several pages of various camera stills showing cars leaving, clear enough to discern who was in each car with only mild squinting. Another page with exact times cars left and returned during the period we’d been monitoring. “Looks like there are three teams—each with a summoner and a security person.”

  “Right,” Idris said. “Gina Hallsworth and Leo Carter, Tsuneo and Jerry Steiner, Tessa and Angus McDunn.”

  I scanned through the various departure times. Though at first they seemed random, the data hinted at a bigger pattern. “Idris, do you have the map and valve cycle information with you?”

  “Of course,” he said in a supercilious tone that I chose to ignore. He dug the papers out of his messenger bag and passed them back to me. I murmured a thanks and spread everything out on the seat between Carl and me. My pulse quickened in excitement as I compared the Katashi info and the valve cycles.

  “They work in a rotation,” I said, smile widening. “They go to each valve in time for the burps, which means we have a good chance of predicting who’s going where and when.” My pulse thumped harder as I peered at the schedule for the upcoming emissions. “I need a pencil. A pen. A goddamn crayon.” Carl pushed a pen into my hand, and I jotted down correlations. “There are two valves coming up in the next few hours. Tessa’s house and the one at Leelan Park. Only a few miles apart.” I tightened my grip on the pen. “Tessa’s team will almost certainly be coming from the Gator Farm, and it makes sense that she’d take care of the valve at her own house. That gives us a window of opportunity to reach her house first and—” I took a deep breath. This was the tricky part— “symmetrize that valve and be out of there before she shows up.”

  Pellini shot me a baffled look in the rear view mirror. “Did I miss something? Who’s going to symmetrize it? I don’t have the skills, and Idris doesn’t know what to look for.” He gave Idris a wince and a shrug. “Sorry, dude.”

  I expected Idris to snarl, but he merely extended a hand toward the charts and my notes. “Mind if I take a look?”

  “Nah, go for it.” I handed the lot over to him. Made sense for him to double-check my work.

  He skimmed through the schedules, hands tight on the papers. At long last he relaxed and exhaled. “You have a plan for how to symmetrize the valve?” he asked me, expression unreadable.

  Grimacing, I shifted in my seat. “I don’t know if it could be called a plan, but I thought that Pellini could tell you what to do and you’d, um, do it.” Crap. It sounded a lot more pathetic when I said it out loud.

  But Idris surprised me with a thoughtful nod. “We have nothing to lose by trying.”

  Wow, had he gone and had a spa day while I was in jail? “Great!” I said. “Let’s go take care of that valve!” I’d wonder later why he was so agreeable. Right now I wanted to get to Tessa’s house before Idris remembered he was Mr. Grouchy.

  Chapter 34

  Pellini did the same drive-by-the-house-twice thing as Bryce, then turned onto a side street to park. I approved of his caution. Katashi’s people had been watching my place long enough to know Jill’s schedule, which meant they knew Pellini’s truck.

  He let out a low whistle as we walked up to the house. “Man, this place used to glow like Vegas,” he said.

  It was weird to think that he’d been able to see the arcane during all the crap of the past year and a half, but I also completely understood why he’d kept it so thoroughly to himself. “I know what you mean,” I said. “Seretis ripped out the wards and protections like a cleaning l
ady through cobwebs—and all without alerting the spiders.”

  I hurried everyone inside on the off chance a nosy neighbor decided to come chat. There were no aversions to keep them away now. Despite my nerves, I grinned at the sudden image of all the neighbors approaching the house like a horde of zombies.

  “Carl, will you be our lookout?” I asked after I closed the door.

  “Absolutely,” he said and positioned himself in the sitting room where he had a view of the street.

  Eilahn bounded up the stairs to get a vantage from one of the attic windows or, more likely, the roof. For a fleeting moment I worried that a neighbor or bad guy might spot her, but quickly dismissed it. Eilahn knew how to stay out of sight.

  Pellini and I followed Idris to the library. Idris moved straight to the valve and dropped to his knees, but Pellini took two steps in and stopped in shock.

  “All of those boxes of books were in this one room?” he asked, incredulous. He made a slow turn, taking in the empty bookshelves and the scant dimensions of the library.

  “Every one of them,” I said. “I should’ve taken a picture, because even I can barely comprehend it.”

  Pellini shook his head in disbelief then leveled a frown toward where Idris knelt on the hardwood floor. “Hang tight,” he said and stepped out of the library. Mystified, I waited, and a few seconds later he returned with one of my aunt’s sofa cushions. He dropped it a few feet in front of Idris then lowered himself to kneel on it. “I’m a big guy in my mid-forties. I ain’t stupid.”

  Idris flicked a glance to the cushion. I expected a disparaging look but instead it was more I wish I’d thought of that. Smothering a laugh, I dashed to the sitting room and grabbed another cushion, which Idris accepted with grace.

  With the comfort of knees old and young accomplished, I took up a vantage in the kitchen doorway that gave me a clear view of the back and front doors as well as into the library.

  “What first?” Idris asked Pellini.

  Pellini leaned forward to examine the valve. “It doesn’t look or feel right,” he said then winced. “But I don’t know how to do what needs to be done.”