“Lily... Did you faint? Or were you knocked out?”
Lily blinked back the tears, as if she felt the shudder before the memory came. “I think it was the wine. There was something in the wine.”
“Take your time.”
“H-He was shouting at me.”
“Paddy?”
“No, someone else.”
“Can you describe him?”
“Dark. Everything went blurry, the kind of blurry when you know you’re in danger. I tried to calm him down, but he hit me. Then I knew it was real. I pleaded with him, but he was cussing, telling me to shut up. I don’t know what I must have said to make him so angry. I-I kept thinking, I don’t know where I am. I need help. The more I pleaded, the angrier he got. And then he dragged one finger across his throat, said he was going to kill me.”
Temeke felt like he was standing at the end of a very long tunnel which seemed to ease in and out with each breath. “You could see this in the dark.”
“Yes, the moon was light enough. I could taste blood. I thought my right eye was shattered.”
“When they brought you in, your eyes were a little swollen, and your hair was matted with leaves. But there wasn’t much blood. Just a few bruises and scrapes.”
“I went numb. I didn’t know what to do. Then he hit me again, wouldn’t stop. I told myself to let go, to just roll with it. So I played dead.”
“For how long? How long were you on the ground?”
She went quiet then, eyes appearing to trail the underside of his left arm. She was lost in a detached haze.
“Lily,” he said, a little firmer this time. “How long were you on the ground?”
Her eyes snapped back to his face and she gripped that plastic tea cup and gave it another chance. “When I woke up,” she said, trying to swallow, trying perhaps to get a grip on what it was she actually saw. “I could see stars, the moon. I thought I was lying in a grave. Buried alive.”
“You wouldn’t have been buried if you could see stars.”
It would have been darker than hell itself if she’d been covered in soil and there would be no room to move. He noticed something flicker across her face and he struggled with a wrenching feeling of uncertainty. “And then what happened?”
“I was blindfolded, taken along a track. Something stung my arm. I heard the sliding door of a van, woke up in the dark... a basement. It was really cold.”
“Do you have any enemies, an ex-boyfriend, someone who might want to harm you?”
“No.”
“Can you describe the basement?”
She said she couldn’t really, it was too dark to see anything except stone walls and candles.
“Was there anyone else with you?”
“No. I was alone.”
“Why would someone want to kidnap you, Lily?”
“Because of the curses.”
“What curses?”
She took a deep breath, brow furrowing as she began to explain it. “Alice found them in a book.”
“An Esoterica,” he said, growing increasingly more tired of the book.
“Yes... but we thought it was all a game, just make-believe.”
“Until Alice died.” He leaned back in his chair, found his eyes sliding down to her lips, but only for a second. “You’ve read it, haven’t you, Lily? A sisterhood of six.”
He summoned up the page from memory and the paragraph he knew by heart. “For it is said, the first woman to disobey shall be buried alive, the second shall have her limbs severed, the third shall be cast into a fire, the fourth shall be drowned, the fifth shall be poisoned and the sixth shall be starved of air. Do you remember how Alice died?”
Lily turned her head to the window again, mind drifting to somewhere he couldn’t go. And then they widened as she turned to look at him, the type of look a person gave when they were suddenly surer than they had ever been about anything.
“She cut herself.”
THIRTY
Temeke sat at his desk at five o’clock in the afternoon, sipping a cup of stewed coffee and wondering where all the sunlight had gone. A white cloud rolled in from the northwest scored with wavy indentations like ripples on an ocean bed, and he began to superimpose each crime scene in his head, sensing something more.
He called Officer Watts, asked her to drive out and take a look at the scene where Lily last saw Paddy, to determine boundaries and to stay under that tree until the Field Examiners arrived.
He couldn’t get the voices in the cornfield out of his head, uncertain whether they had anything to do with the latest rash of crimes. Since the killings had escalated to fever pitch, he couldn’t delay the composite sketches any longer.
Malin was on the phone, leaving another message for Paddy Brody. Here was a case that started out as one missing female and had escalated into a full-scale murder investigation. There was something in the ICRIIS entries that bothered him, something he didn’t see coming, a sliver of detail that had eluded him when he’d received those thick binders.
From the photographs of Alice Delgado, it was clear the water in the tub was streaked with blood, that a young, healthy woman had slashed herself with a knife. But what the report failed to mention was a tiny slit in the bottom of that double hung window where he could vaguely make out a stand of cottonwoods and a gray wintry sky. The report mentioned that the reporting officer had had to turn the light on when he entered the bathroom because Alice had been bathing in the dark. Around nine o’clock at night, it said.
The temperatures had been in the low thirties then, a little on the cold side to leave a window open and there was a light sprinkling of snow on the trees. Temeke knew he wouldn’t have seen the parapet, the sloping roof and the fire escape from inside the bathroom, but he had seen it from the parking lot.
Fingerprints? Plenty. All female. All accounted for. But could someone have been with Alice when she died? Someone who could have used that open window as a means of escape?
Not if the window was broken as Miss Baca had mentioned. The window used to stick a little. It’s secure now.
He felt a surge of exhilaration as he studied those files, venturing into an undiscovered place, to track, to snare, to find the truth. But in all his time at the Behavioral Institute, nothing had prepared him for a trip down loony street.
“When’s Paddy Brody coming in?” he asked Malin as she put the phone down.
“In one hour. Sarge left a message after lunch to remind him.”
“When you followed him on Saturday night, was he calm? Worked up?”
Malin seemed to study his face for a few seconds before responding. “Calm. Adel was worked up.”
“Bad withdrawals?”
“Something like that. Los Poblanos is a competitive environment, sir, and the teenagers are all from high income families. Plenty of money to buy Adderall.”
“Only none of these girls have ADHD.”
“It only takes one person to convince a doctor,” she said in a tone which could have been mistaken for impatience. “I called Dr. Vasillion. He said Alice’s pathology report mentioned she wasn’t taking any regular medication at the time, but it showed traces of methylphenidate and an enlarged heart. He said alcohol can cause methylphenidate to be released into the bloodstream too fast. It can also cause seizures, psychosis and hallucinations. We’ll need a blood sample from Paddy Brody.”
“Any news on Zarah Thai?”
“She’s stable today. They’re still not letting anyone see her.”
Temeke’s mind began to fire in all directions, to Lily, to Zarah and sliding back to Paddy Brody. If anyone convinced a doctor they had ADHD, got a prescription for simulates and then handed them around a college campus, jail time was a severe consequence. If they were addicted and couldn’t get a prescription refill, suicide was a close second.
“Valerie Delgado said Alice had no suicidal symptoms,” he said, “no boyfriend problems, no medical issues. If Alice was dabbling in study drugs, she was getting t
hem from someone else.”
“Paddy Brody had a contact on the south side of town. Said he owed someone money. Dealers don’t like being ripped.” Malin went quiet all of a sudden as if she was counting down the seconds. “He also told Adel he was going to find Lily. And now she’s been found.”
Temeke’s mind turned over the angles, wondered if they were being played in a way he would never understand. He started to see a pattern, and a single thought kept eating at him. That an arcane book had been guiding the actions of this serial killer.
“How’s Lily doing?” Malin asked.
“Bloody scared. Who wouldn’t be after being drugged, taken on a joy ride to who-knows-where and then dumped in the street two weeks later? Couldn’t remember anything in between. Forensics combed the parapets and the roadway on Alameda Bridge. Found nothing. Not even a piece of wool from her bloody sweater.”
“I’ll listen to the tape” she said, chin cupped in both hands, eyes searching the screen.
That was the thing about Malin. In the five brief months she’d been at Northwest Area Command, he had seen a mettle in that tender spirit and an unhurried method he rather craved. The freckles along the bridge of her nose stood out when she was angry, only today they were soft, almost undistinguishable against that buttery skin.
“I’ll be seeing her again,” Temeke said, suppressing a sigh. “She was staring me up and down like I was a six hundred pounder with quadruple chins and a massive gut.”
Malin gave him a look somewhere between curiosity and regret, he couldn’t work out which. His impression was that she was desperately trying to look cheerful and failing.
“So, you’ll tell Mr. Brody about the blood sample?” she asked.
“No. You will. And get those bloody sketches out to the public. Oh, and did you get that search warrant?”
He saw her nod and took the envelope she handed him. Took a small screwdriver from his desk drawer and slipped it in his jacket pocket. “I’d like to see exactly what Mr. Brody does for a living.”
“He’s a student. You can’t possibly imagine the state of his house.”
Temeke could. It was probably creepy and a darn site colder than his. “It’s a bizarre trail, Marl. And it’s getting more bizarre by the minute. Paddy Brody can make every bloody excuse he wants about the dictates of a demonic book. He was willing to be part of it.”
“You know the stats, sir. All drug users have psych issues. Paddy’s no different, no matter how he holds himself. He was in an art gallery when Kenzie Voorhees was killed and he was in class when Asha Samadi disappeared. Both these locations are only three miles away from where the victims lived.”
“Are you questioning the witnesses statements?”
“I agree it’s a stretch,” she said, eyes following a dust mote hanging in a thin shaft of light. “But what if he took a break and no one saw him leave?”
THIRTY-ONE
Paddy was a no show and that made Temeke nervous. He snapped the file shut and herded Malin outside to the parking lot. It was seven o’clock in the evening and if it wasn’t for the traffic, they would have got to Paddy’s house faster.
“Matt called,” she said at last. “It was rat poison. There were traces of it in Zarah’s vomit.”
“I expect you’re going to tell me there wasn’t a bleeding stitch of whoever did this. Not even a toenail clipping.”
Malin shook her head and blew out a loud sigh. “Nope.”
Temeke looked at his wrist watch and pointed at the curb. “Pull up here. By the lamppost.”
“By the way, sir, before you nip around the back with that screwdriver, I won’t mention you broke into Mr. Brody’s house or that you didn’t wait to use the search warrant. Don’t want to ruin your good name now, do we?”
Temeke gave her the benefit of a wide grin. “All it takes is a bit of nerve in khaki, Marl. But I appreciate your kind consideration.”
He left her shivering inside his drafty jeep, told her to keep a lookout. Hammered away at the front door, listened to the wind in the trees and waited for a moment. No shuffling footsteps from within, no harsh voice demanding who he was. Temeke was confident he could eliminate any possibility that Paddy might still be in the house.
Low in a black sky, a full moon bathed the street in an eerie gray and he stood silently for a moment, analyzing the shadows and sounds. Pulling on a pair of latex gloves and tucking a flashlight under one arm, he sprinted around the back to a small yard dotted with waist-high weeds. The back door was furnished with a spring bolt, would have been nice and easy with a shopper’s card, only it was locked.
There were three windows at the back of the house, all slide-up sashes. He shone the flashlight at three latch locks and found one unfastened. No need to prize the window up with a screwdriver and jimmy it around.
The house he entered was barely furnished. A couch, a coffee table and two bar stools pushed under the lip of a small kitchen counter. There was the distinct aroma of clean linen, an air freshener scent he recognized from the car wash.
A black binder lay on the couch, labeled AFAM 190b African American Art from 1941 - present. Alongside it was a pad of Post-it notes, but nowhere could Temeke see a notepad or any writing materials. Not that he was going to leave young Paddy a note, college lined pads were a staple he remembered from his own school days.
No cars in the garage, bare shelves except for two suitcases and three spare tires leaning against the wall. The laundry room, which connected the garage to the kitchen, was neat and tidy and as he walked back into the living room, he sensed the oppressive silence always present in an empty house.
In the kitchen there were two items in the sink, a white coffee mug with a slogan marked in a tightly kerned thriller font. We’ve all got pieces of crazy in us. Some larger pieces than others. And a cast iron bowl featuring a five-toed dragon, an imperial Chinese design. In the cupboard nearest the sink were two cans of Pyin Green Tea and Kyaukme Black Tea, a selection of noodles and a slab of dark chocolate. The fridge was well stocked and fresh by the smell of it.
Temeke assumed the bedrooms were beyond the living room and walked toward a closed door, hand hovering over his weapon as he pushed down on the handle. The bed was made, top sheet turned down over a blanket and a tee shirt folded neatly on the pillow. Fresh air wafted in from a small crack in the bathroom window, fresh as baby breath. It seemed the very picture of a Myanmar serviceman.
The map over the bed was of Burma’s longest river, the Irrawaddy, and to the east, the shorter Salween river emptying into the Gulf of Martaban between the ancient cities of Pegu and Thaton.
A small niche in the wall housed a meditating Buddha made of cast iron and surrounded by flowers and incense. Temeke felt like he’d stumbled across a reserved and hallowed place and should have taken his shoes off at the door.
The second bedroom was in stark contrast to the first, stale and dark. Temeke tilted his head and scanned the floor under the mattress, took a good look at the space between that and the frame. A gray plaid comforter had been pulled up over the pillow, a half-ass effort, he thought, of making the bed. There were no pictures, no personal items to speak of, except a can of shaving cream and a packet of disposable razors in the bathroom cabinet.
In the closet, clothes hung from wire coat hangers and there were two pairs of shoes on the floor, size ten, scuffed and well worn. In the chest of drawers he found underwear, tee shirts and belts and there was a pile of wrinkled clothes in the corner by the door as if Paddy had been too lazy to hang them up. Temeke had no idea what he was looking for.
The more he thought about Alice Delgado’s death, the more it presented a problem. What if Paddy was a middle level drug dealer as Malin claimed? What if he sold Smarts to Alice, who in turn sold them to someone else? Once Alice received the money she would then have to pay it back to Paddy. But what if that someone else didn’t give Alice her money? Coupled with the fifteen hundred Paddy was owed might explain why Alice wound up dead. This ty
pe of drug dealing hierarchy would have worked for Temeke if it wasn’t for the fact that the students were filthy rich.
He let his eyes graze over the place, no landline, no telephone jack in any room, but by the front door on a small hall table was a notepad. He reached for it just as the cell phone vibrated in his pocket.
“Roommate’s just pulled up,” Malin said. “You’d better get out of there.”
Temeke stood still, held his breath for a moment and listened to the traffic outside. He scuttled to a front window and peered out into the street. There was a man in the driver’s seat of a car holding a phone to his ear. He was clearly in no hurry, but if Temeke wasn’t quick enough the daft old sod would find him behind a curtain and wonder how he’d got in.
The rumble of the garage door, the squeal of brakes, the deep throated growl of an engine, then silence. The sound signaled that Temeke’s allotted time had run out.
The first thing he noticed was the address scribbled on the top sheet of the notepad. 9718 Guadalupe Trail. The second was that the address was two houses down from his and on the other side of the street. The old ruin.
The third was his heart rate. No longer a gentle patter but a hectic drumming as if something was about to burst out of his chest.
The fourth was a buzzing in his ears as his body propelled itself forward, floorboards creaking underfoot. All he could hear was the rasp of his breathing as he opened the front door, saw clouds pressing against the rooftops like a crowd of lead-gray faces.
He braced himself against a cold draft, shot out into the street just as Maun Tung sauntered into the living room.
THIRTY-TWO
Malin and Temeke pulled into Guadalupe Trail at nine thirty at night and parked behind a chain of units, light bars glowing. Malin spotted the white Honda Accord abandoned on a narrow track between a tall hedge and the west side of a derelict house. A driver would have been hard pushed to have seen it from the road.
Past Rites Page 17
