Malin checked the kitchen drawers for handwritten notes, phone numbers, anything that might pin Adel to the same pizza delivery company that Zarah used. Nothing.
She resisted the urge to go outside, to breathe in a lungful of fresh air. The patio doors would only make a noise and wake up the one person she didn’t want to meet in a dark corridor.
Returning to the living room, she crouched in front of a bookshelf, dragged a finger across the spines of fifteen cookery books, two vampire novels, a Webster’s Collegiate Dictionary and a book on the Cumbres & Toltec Scenic Railroad.
She sat down on the couch and checked her phone. Wingman was sending a message.
Wingman: I’m back, my dear. Want to talk?
Malin felt relieved, as if she had finally found her rhythm. I’m babysitting. Trying to keep a clear mind.
Wingman: On the Delgado case? I saw it on the news. Terrible business. Remember the Rocky and Bullwinkle show? Might be before your time. It was a radio program with pictures. Thought I’d watch it. Have a good laugh.
It was no good assuming Wingman was just making small talk. None of his words were wasted and most were code for something to do with the case, which, of course, he would have fully acquainted himself with. She quickly googled the show, trying to keep the grin from her face.
Malin: You mean that flying squirrel?
Wingman: Now that was cheating, Malin. You just googled it.
She actually trembled for a few moments, until she realized he wasn’t watching her from some satellite in outer space. Nor was he in the cruiser outside the house laughing his head off.
Three little dots. He was typing again.
Wingman: First, I want you to imagine you’re at the crime scene. We won’t say the gas explosion because you weren’t among the first responders, neither were you invited because no one saw a connection. Let’s pick this week’s front page news. Mr. Brody. The techs, the blood spatter analyst and the videographer are looking at evidence inside that small room. They look up, see you and move back so you can approach. What’s the first thing you see? A crowd of white coveralls? Or a body?
Malin: I wasn’t allowed in. But I saw enough from the door. Young man, early twenties, fully clothed, lying on his stomach, neck slashed, one hand grasping the wound. There was blood spatter on three walls and a gloved handprint on the door frame.
Wingman: On the face of it, yes. But what does that tell you?
Malin took the obvious shot. Head and hands intact. The killer didn’t care to hide the victim’s identity. He slipped in the blood on the way out, tried to steady himself against the doorframe. I’d like to hear your opinion.
Wingman: I’d like to hear yours.
Malin knew he was waiting, knew he was making her work for this one. Someone he knew. Someone who surprised him. One disappearance, two deaths, one which appeared like an accident, the other like a suicide. Both within a few weeks of one another and within an eight mile radius. It looks like the killer has no intention of cooling off. Connection, Los Poblanos Academy. Certainly not random.
Wingman: Good. Now you’re thinking like a profiler. Just one last thing before I let you go. I think you know who did it. You just don’t know how.
A slew of useless tips turned up nothing and Malin was stumped. No sooner did she think she was on the right track than her mind became muddied by a killer who continued to creep under the radar. The first words that popped into her head were member of staff, but it didn’t seem right somehow.
She flicked a quick look toward Adel’s bedroom and watched a shadow on the wall. Her mind replayed the items in that room; the dream catcher twitching slightly in a draft of air. There were no open windows, just the soughing of the air vents above the door.
“Adel?” Malin called out, leaning forward slightly so she could see the bed. “Are you awake?”
Silence. Adel wasn’t awake. She was out cold.
Malin looked down at her phone and saw Wingman had signed off. Probably wanted her to dwell on what he’d just said, wanted her to decipher the code. She was beginning to see a pattern in these virtual appointments. He’d disappear for a time, a week maybe, a month, and then he’d be back again when she least expected it.
Rocky and Bullwinkle, a squirrel and a stupid moose. A partnership. She felt strange, but strange didn’t equal what she theorized in those short few minutes.
The techs, the blood spatter analyst and the videographer were bagging evidence inside that small room.
There were only a few people allowed on the scene that night. She dialed Temeke’s number. “Where are you right now?”
“Out and about.”
She felt a heightened stillness in the air, brain ticking and churning. Was that a dog barking on the phone and in unison to the one outside? Temeke didn’t have a dog. “You here?”
“Couldn’t sleep, love. Keep wondering how Adel Martinez managed to elude surveillance the other night. Everything all right with you?”
“Yeah. Everything’s good here.” Malin stood and crossed the room to the window. She couldn’t see him outside. Must have been mistaken. “I’ve got a number I need traced.”
“Consider it done.”
She took the slip of paper out of her pocket, relayed the number and then asked for the names of the technicians at the Brody scene.
“Matt Black, Carol Turner, Neil Sanchez, Pauline Bailey... I forgot the name of her intern,” he said. “The usual crew. Why?”
Matt Black. Malin tried on the name for size, even whispered it a few times. Matt may have liked her enough to ask her out. But he didn’t hate Temeke enough to denigrate him or have the power to get him removed. The only other person was Hackett and quite frankly he was a tired old man with respect for Temeke because his solve stats were higher than any of the other detectives in homicide. “I think someone’s stalking me on the internet.”
There, she’d finally spat it out. He’d be mad, of course. Especially if she told him Wingman had an interest in the case and madder still if she admitted how long she’d known him.
“As long as he doesn’t have a deadly weapon,” Temeke said, “because that’s when people start talking. Who do you know with a deadly weapon? Oh, yeah, half of bloody law enforcement.”
“Don’t be cute.” Malin huffed out a large breath.
“I hope you’re not busy tomorrow night because we’re meeting with the chef of Los Poblanos,” he said. “Good food always loosens up the tongue. He had a thing with Adel. Said Alice was a knockout and all. The type a man can only dream about.”
THIRTY-NINE
“So what have we got?” Luis asked, staring from one to the other, obviously waiting for the best punchline the Duke City Police Department had to offer.
“Adel Martinez took a call, sir,” Malin said. “I could hear a man’s voice asking if she had the book and to bring it to the Corrales Spring Fair. I checked her cell phone while she was sleeping, asked Temeke to trace a number. It was registered to a Gabriel Mann, false ID, old address.”
“This book.” Temeke set the leather bound book on the top of Luis’ desk and scooted it over. “Seems it’s hot property. Demonology. Your favorite genre.”
Luis gave Temeke a narrow-eyed look. “You’ll be seeing Ms. Martinez again?”
“As soon as yawner here gets some kip.”
“There is something else.” Malin attempted a smile, but the edges of her mouth barely forced a crease. Her head kept bobbing on that lean stalk of a neck and her eyes had begun to water. “I left a message for Mr. Mann pretending I was Adel Martinez. Told him I had found the book and confirmed my meeting with him at the Fair this weekend.”
“There’s no proof, Luis, not until we catch him in the act,” Temeke said.
Luis lost his smile, seemed to be honing in on that last comment. “Seems like you were caught in the act. Hackett received another complaint about you sitting astride a wall in Ms. Hughes’ back yard last night. Officer Jarvis gave a positive ID.”
/>
Temeke could feel Malin’s intense focus. “Ms. Martinez mentioned climbing over the wall a few times. I was checking to see how easy it was.”
“Damn it, bro. Don’t you have anything else?”
Temeke knew there was no way out and neither one of them had any substantial evidence. With Malin looking ominously on the verge of collapse, a theory was the best he could offer.
“So far the killings are all in Albuquerque, Luis. Geographical radius about eight miles. Victims are adult white females between the ages of nineteen and twenty-three, different ethnic groups, same socioeconomic status, and they all knew each other. Two vics dead, one missing and one in hospital under twenty-four hour surveillance. All within a month.”
“I agree, a compressed timeframe. What’s the connection?”
“All these victims went to Los Poblanos Academy,” Malin chimed in.
“According to the principal,” Temeke said, “they made up a tight-knit group. Six girls including Adel Martinez.”
Luis nodded slightly. “So, you’re working on the proposition that all three victims, plus two potential victims, were perpetrated by the same person?”
“It’s possible. And it looks personal,” Temeke said. “We’ll be meeting with Mr. Moose Ham, chef at Los Poblanos Academy. Small time drug dealer, been in and out a few times. Good looking guy.”
“I’m not following?”
“In the industry, Luis, looks and background are considered a clue.”
“Based on statistics and probable behavior would you say Mr. Ham fits the profile?”
“No, sir. He’s a witness.”
“Then what type of person do you see?”
Temeke had a light bulb moment in the nick of time. “I’m seeing a man who might have been sexually abused, terrorized, or even bullied. Went on a bender, probably killed the Samadi girl before trying to make the Voorhees incident look like an accident. Shame about the Belmonte drowning, but we were bloody lucky to get to Zarah Thai before it was too late.”
“You know what I see? I see a high profile case that isn’t any further along that it was a month ago and I see homicide scrutinizing the lead detective because they don’t think he’s up for it. They say your last name spells trouble, dead loss, embarrassment to the police department. I’d like to see things change.”
“Maybe this will add a little inspiration.” Temeke pointed at the book. “You might want to read it because whoever killed these women had a vested interest in the occult.”
Luis raised the edge of his upper lip and gave an eye roll. “Any staging of the bodies? Religious symbols?”
“None. All murders took place inside their homes, except for Rosa Belmonte. I doubt she was lured. Had singing practice every Friday night at the Waterfalls Studios on 528. Parked by the river to eat waffle fries and honey mustard sauce from the Burger Giant. We know because she paid with a debit card. So someone was watching her.”
Luis opened the book and flipped through a few pages. “Amphetamines heighten the libido.”
“Also known to cause hallucinations, insomnia and headache,” Malin said.
Temeke couldn’t speculate as to how many students were taking them and he felt himself roiling with unwanted pity for the ones who had become addicted.
“I’ve questioned how they had managed to call in a repeat prescription, sir, because according to Miss Baca, no one had ADHD.”
“So these students must have been getting them from a pill mill?” Luis said, rattling of a few rogue pharmacies in the valley.
“There’s something ancient and disturbing about that book,” Temeke said, eyeing it from behind a smile. “It’s not like ‒ other books.”
“It’s just a book,” Luis said, then conceded, “Pretty weird book. Martinez into all of this?”
“She was conversant with it,” Malin said. “Gave me the chills.”
A stir of ideas seemed to break apart in Temeke’s mind like a flurry of moths and he kept wondering why he couldn’t match Adel’s voice to the woman he’d heard in the field.
“Charlie Miller at Minerd's,” Malin said. “The scrap place... he mentioned a man with dark hair. Someone Zarah Thai could positively identify.”
Luis looked maddeningly uninspired. “Who’s on surveillance at the Martinez place this week?”
“Officers Jarvis, Hinkley and Toledo. I’m on tonight,” Malin begrudgingly volunteered.
Luis’ face dipped closer to the page he was reading, lines etched deep into the skin at his forehead. “Do you really think Martinez lured Paddy Brody into that crack house and slit him up like a pig?”
Temeke sniffed and sat up straight. “No, sir. I don’t.”
FORTY
It was nestled in the north valley. The restaurant with bright bundles of red chile hanging from the porch and large French doors, once a private home in the midst of a clutch of cottonwoods.
Malin hadn’t set foot in it since her mother died. She briefly glanced up between the leaves at clouds presently drifting in a clear blue sky, sun streaming down onto one of the restaurant’s five garden patios. She would have enjoyed having dinner with Temeke if it hadn’t been for Moose Ham, a man whose hands you wanted to sweep for gunshot residue.
“You might not think I like to read,” Moose said, “but I do. I go to that library on 2nd Street, sit by the window.”
“What are you reading?”
“A book on holocaust survivors. Left a bookmark in it last Wednesday.”
“Didn’t feel like checking it out?
“Library card’s out of date.” Moose sneezed and focused intently at a nearby pot of gamma grass. “It was last Saturday around two o’clock in the afternoon. I saw this girl walking between the shelves and there was a cop behind her. She was looking for something in the science fiction section. I knew her from the school. Used to meet me outside the kitchens while I was having a smoke. We’d drink a glass of wine... stuff, you know.”
“Get drunk?”
“Sometimes?”
“Intimate?”
“Always.”
“What was her name?” Temeke asked.
“Adel Martinez. I had two salted caramel cake pops in my pocket. Thought she’d like one. Then I got this strange feeling.” Moose patted his belly and gave an apologetic smile. “She was with that big ass cop because of the murders, right?”
Temeke said nothing, but when he did speak his voice was calm, belying the pressures he faced every day. “Have you heard from her since she left?”
“Nah, she had the hots for someone else.” Moose sucked down the last of his iced tea and nodded at the waiter for a refill. “So, I was disappointed, but you can’t blame her. Thought I was some meth fairy.”
This got a raised eyebrow from Temeke. It was Malin’s cue to take over the rest of the interview.
“Who was the other guy?” she asked.
“Paddy Brody. I’m sorry he’s gone. One of the few who came into the kitchen at the end of the day and thanked me for my service. Made me feel special.”
“How did you feel when you heard he’d been murdered?”
“Gutted. But something didn’t sit right. Adel started hanging out with him after Alice died. Paddy told me it was like being a bull in a cowshed. Course, I said something stupid like ‘must be nice’ but he didn’t seem to think so. All he cared about was Alice’s little sister ’cause she didn’t take it too well.”
“Lily?” Malin looked at Moose head-on, saw him nod slightly.
“Alice was wild... fun, you know. Left a big hole. I think Paddy got closer to Lily after that. A protection thing, not a physical thing. I never saw them touch. You see stuff when you’re working in the kitchens. The back door looks onto the parking lot and that’s where they all hung out. But Adel was jealous.”
Malin gave Temeke a brief glance before looking across at Moose. “Ever give Adel cigarettes?”
Moose gave a tight nod. “Weed. I gave her a few tokes now and then.”
“Do amphetamines, that kind of thing?”
“No way, dude. Cleaner than I’ve ever been.”
Which would be true, Malin thought, since he had a full-time job with regular drug screening. As for the weed... nobody seemed to count that these days. “Did Adel have a temper? Get violent?”
“Pastor Razz and I used to walk in the grounds when it got dark. We’d sit on a bench in the Lion’s Mouth. He’d pray, I’d listen. Anyway, I heard voices in the parking lot one evening, shouting and carrying on. Adel and Kenzie. Something about how their stash had gone missing. How it was time someone had a real taste of hell.”
“Who was the someone?”
“I didn’t get a name.” Moose leaned in a little and wrapped both hands around his iced tea. He copped a brief glance at Temeke and took a sip. “Those insane-ass witches were in the attic with a few bottles of hooch. Paddy was scared. Told me Adel suspected he was sleeping around, threatened to raise a demon. It all went south after that. If you ask me, that’s motive enough?”
Temeke shrugged. “Not necessarily.”
“C’mon, man, surely you don’t think the killings in the news are random?”
“You think they were specifically targeted?”
Moose nodded, wiped one moist eye with the heel of his hand. “I found a book on Baca’s desk. There was a piece of paper in the back, so I took it.”
Moose placed the torn out page on the table. Likely an epilogue of sorts with a six pointed star in the header and the letters A-M-K-G-E-R at each corner.
During a waning moon, he must then take six women to wife, six firstborn girls of wealth and position. Each will be called after the six corners of the sacred place, north, south, east, west, and all that is in its roof and floor ‒ symbols by which they may be summoned.
Arezo – longed for, Mahtab ‒ light of the moon, Kohinoor ‒ mountain of light, Gulshan ‒ garden of roses, Estheri ‒ like a star and Roshan ‒ the bright one.
For he, himself, is the Sun.
Past Rites Page 21
