Five seconds passed, then ten. Redmond was about to simply pull over and wait it out when Brynna spoke. “I feel … odd,” she said.
Redmond sat up straighter. “Odd? Are you sick? You might have an infection from the bullet—”
She held up a hand. “No, not odd like that.” She paused, and Redmond could see her trying to work it out mentally. “Regretful, I guess. Guilty.” She looked at her hands. “You told me that people have died because I didn’t reveal the whereabouts of the nephilim killer.”
“Brynna, I didn’t mean—”
“But you did,” she interrupted. “And you were right. I remember you telling me that there were two women, and their ages.” She still wasn’t looking him in the eye. “They were both young. One wasn’t much older than Mireva.” Brynna turned her head and stared out the window. “They were hardly here at all, and the killer snuffed them out like their lives were no more important than candle flames.”
Redmond tried to think of something to say but couldn’t. Everything she’d said was true.
“It’s sad to think about,” Brynna continued. “Sad, and … heavy somehow. I’ve never felt guilt before. I’ve never had to.” She scowled. “It’s very difficult, and yet there are so many people in the world who don’t seem to be affected by it.”
“Sociopaths.”
“What?”
“Sociopaths,” Redmond said again. “People who feel no guilt exhibit what psychiatrists call sociopathic behavior. No matter what they do or who they hurt, they feel no guilt or regret about it. They don’t care. Often they actually enjoy hurting others, and most don’t see any problem with sacrificing other people to get what they want.” He paused. “Maybe that’s what we’re dealing with here.”
“I don’t think so,” Brynna said in a low voice. “This man is a nephilim, and nephilim are irrevocably tied to humankind. He’s been misled and my guess is that this is a great struggle for him. His ties to his destiny are strong, and unless he’s lost himself completely, instinct tells him it’s wrong and he’ll question what he’s doing more and more as time passes.”
“Then why do this to begin with?” Redmond asked.
“He’s weak and he’s making the wrong choices. It’s the human part of him.” Brynna’s eyes were troubled when she looked at him. “You see, it’s all about choices. It always has been. And it’s making the wrong choices that gets us all in trouble.”
Redmond thought about this as he neared the corner of Wrightwood and Mildred. Brynna had talked about choices before, and making the right ones was really what it all came down to. Still, he didn’t think it was as black-and-white as it seemed on the surface. There were way too many things that affected decisions, especially the big ones, and if he understood what she claimed was happening here, deception was a key factor. So was circumstance. And what about those who were forced to choose something they might not have otherwise? Yeah, it was a lot more complicated. But then, wasn’t everything? Choices were a part of life, and very few people had truly simple lives.
“This is Mildred,” he said. “How far down?”
“Not far,” she said. “Might as well park.”
Redmond nodded and slid the car into a spot on the west side of the street. They got out and Redmond followed Brynna as she crossed to the east sidewalk. She was walking fast, with more determination than he thought he’d ever seen her show. Somehow he wasn’t comforted by the change. “Wait up,” he called when she turned into the walkway of an older apartment building. “I should go in first.”
She tilted her head. “Why?”
“Because I’m the police,” he explained patiently. “And you’re not.”
“Fine,” Brynna said and moved aside to follow him. “The door in the back. But it’s probably locked, and I don’t know which apartment he lives in.”
Redmond stopped at the entrance, considering. “But you know for sure he lives here?”
Brynna nodded. “I’m certain of it. I followed his scent.” When he started to protest, she cut him off. “Before you say that’s crazy, remember that’s how I found Cho Kim.”
What could he say to that? He tried the knob out of habit, and of course it wouldn’t turn. He pointed to the right side of the door, where there was a line of doorbells with a worn label over each. “But you can’t tell from here?”
“Do you push your own doorbell?”
Good point. He stared at the names again, but that certainly wasn’t going to help. With nothing beyond Brynna’s … guidance, he certainly hadn’t been able to ask a judge for a search warrant—until now, he hadn’t even had an address. No, he’d have to come up with some other way to figure out which of these people was his man. Then he had an idea. “Let’s assume the killer is a nephilim like you say. Wouldn’t his name be on that list, even if he isn’t one of the victims?”
Brynna lifted one eyebrow. “Maybe. Actually, more than maybe. Probably.”
Redmond pulled out his phone and had Onani on the line in less than a minute. “I’ve got some names here,” he told the tech. “Run them against that hit list pulled off the jewelry store computer.” When Onani was ready, Redmond read him the mailbox labels, spelling the less common ones. “Sallee, Osier—what? O-S-I-E-R. No, I have no idea how to pronounce it. Nothing yet? Then try these: Van Patten, Massie, Skinner, Klesowitch, Gallardo, Fassl—F-A-S-S-L.” A grim smile swept across his mouth. “Got it. Here’s the last three, just in case: deMonterice, Hodge, Sweedlow.” He listened, then nodded. “Thanks.” To Brynna he said, “We have a match. Klesowitch.”
“Great.” She put her hand on the doorknob. “Let’s go get him. I can open this—”
“I see you!”
The shrill voice cut through the air and both Redmond and Brynna looked up. “Fabulous,” she muttered. “Here we go again.”
Above their heads, an old woman was leaning out of her apartment window. “And I remember you, young lady. I warned you before, this is a Neighborhood Watch area. I should’ve called the police on you the first time, but you can bet your bottom I’m going to right now!”
Brynna looked perplexed at the woman’s words, but Redmond yanked out his badge and held it up before the woman could back away from the sill. “I am the police, ma’am. May I ask you a few questions?”
The old woman’s face twisted in indecision. “What’re you doing with her?”
“She’s helping me locate someone,” Redmond answered.
“She didn’t even know his last name when she was here before!”
“Nothing wrong with her memory,” Brynna said in a voice low enough so that only Redmond could hear.
Redmond suppressed a smile. “But we do now, and maybe you can help us.”
The elderly woman peered down at him. “What is it?”
Redmond made a show of glancing around. “I’d rather not shout it out, if you get my meaning.”
“All right,” the woman said after a moment. Her gaze cut to the left and right, and Redmond could imagine her cooking up some great conspiracy. If only she had any real idea. “I’ll ring you in. Third floor front.”
There were no apartment numbers on the bells, but once the buzzer rang and they were inside, he could see who lived in which apartment. Klesowitch was on the second floor, in the rear; they would pass it on their way up, and if he heard movement inside … well, there would be a little delay in talking to the building busybody.
But everything was silent on the second-floor landing, and Brynna confirmed it. “There’s no one in his apartment,” she whispered. “If there were, I’d be able to hear.” Redmond set his jaw and reluctantly kept going, but what he really wanted to do was kick down the damned door.
“In here,” the old woman said impatiently from the landing above them. “Don’t take all day. Having the door open is letting out my air-conditioning.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Redmond said agreeably. He bit back a retort about how hanging out the open window would have the same effect. Next to him Bry
nna actually laughed under her breath as they were going through the doorway, although he had no idea why. The apartment was fairly spacious, with flowered oval throw rugs on clean wood floors, and overstuffed antique furniture. A small air conditioner hummed in the window to the far left, and semi-sheer curtains muted the light. Dozens of framed photographs, most in black and white, were hung on walls that could have used repainting five years ago. Fresh flowers—daisies, lilies, and the like—rested in a vintage crystal vase on one of the end tables.
“Let me see your badge again,” the woman demanded before he could introduce himself. “It might be fake. And don’t think I’ll be fooled if it is.”
Redmond held it out but kept his grip on it when she tried to pull it from his fingers. With his other hand he offered his business card. “I’m Detective Redmond and this is Ms. Malak. Sorry, but I can’t let you take the badge. You’re welcome to call in the badge number if you like. We’ll wait. And your name is … ?”
She scowled at him, looking from his badge to the business card, then back to his face. Finally she gestured for them to sit. As they settled onto the couch, she announced in a voice that was too loud, “My name is Clara Sweedlow. I’ve been in this apartment for thirty-five years and I know everyone in this building.”
I’ll bet you do, Redmond thought, but outwardly he gave her as pleasant a smile as he could manage. Inside, his mind was spinning with impatience, but he knew from experience that you just couldn’t push people like this old woman. They’d tell you just about everything you wanted to know, but it would be at their own pace. “Do you know Michael Klesowitch?”
“Of course I do.” Clara Sweedlow lowered her ample frame onto a rocker upholstered in worn floral fabric, then folded her hands in her lap like a prim schoolteacher. “He’s a very nice young man, lives on the second floor in the rear. Very polite. Very religious,” she added with a small, satisfied nod. Her watery gaze focused on Brynna and her eyes narrowed. “A bit young for you, I’d think. Although he’s very good-looking, so I can see why you’d be interested.”
“I’m not—” Brynna began, but she stopped when Redmond cleared his throat pointedly.
“I don’t think Mr. Klesowitch is at home right now,” Redmond said. “Do you know where we can find him?”
“Why do you want to talk to him?” The old woman drew herself up. “He’s a very nice boy, you know. He’s never done anything wrong.”
“We’re actually looking for an acquaintance of his,” Redmond said without missing a beat. “The guy is kind of a bad apple, and we’re afraid he might get Michael in trouble.” Not technically the truth, but not really a lie, either. If Redmond could get his hands on that Lahash character, he had more than a few questions for him, no matter what Brynna said. And according to Brynna, Lahash was the man behind the curtain regarding Michael Klesowitch’s evil.
“Really? Oh, dear.” Clara Sweedlow sat forward. “You know, I worked for the city for most of my life, and I’ve sure seen what a bad influence can do. What do you think Michael’s gotten himself into?”
“I’m sorry, but I’m just not at liberty to say right now.” Beside him, Brynna was fidgeting. He needed to get her out of here before something they’d both regret came out of her mouth. “Does Michael have a job?”
“Oh, yes. He works at one of those mailing stores. You know, the kind that have mailboxes and send packages.”
“Which one?”
The old woman looked distressed. “Why, I don’t know specifically. It’s downtown, I think.”
“Mail Boxes Etc.? UPS?”
“That’s it—UPS. He mentions it by name every now and then. He likes his job, you know. He’s a good worker.”
“I’m sure he is,” Redmond agreed, although he doubted she had any facts at all on which to base that statement. He stood and Brynna did the same, clearly relieved. “Thank you for your help.”
Clara Sweedlow levered herself up and followed them to the door. “Should I tell Michael to call you? I could give him your business card.”
Redmond sucked in his breath. “If you don’t mind, it would be better if you didn’t.” She nodded, but Redmond didn’t think there was a chance in hell she wouldn’t open her mouth the first instant she saw Klesowitch. They’d just have to make sure they got to him first.
Once the old woman had closed her door, Redmond hurried down the stairs, motioning at Brynna when she would’ve stopped at Klesowitch’s apartment. “Why not wait for him here?” she asked. “Once he gets off work—”
“He might go straight for Mireva again,” Redmond cut in. “I’ve got an officer over there, but that won’t help much if he’s out of sight and manages to get a shot at her. Come on. I’ll know which UPS store he works at by the time we hit Lincoln Avenue, and I’ll have a stakeout on this building before we get there.”
FROM HIS VANTAGE POINT on the roof, Lahash watched Astarte and the policeman walk down the street, then climb into a car and pull away. He’d been waiting for his “nephilim tool”—his pet name for Klesowitch—to get home. It was Thursday, and Klesowitch was so ridiculously predictable. Because he opened the store on Thursdays, his shift would end at four-thirty; from work he would go to the supermarket and do his weekly shopping because he didn’t like the weekend crowds. So trivial. So human.
Lahash straightened the cuffs of his sleeves and repositioned a cuff link that had turned sideways. Now, of course, the policeman would post a sentry or a guard at the apartment to try to catch Klesowitch. Everything would have to change, and Lahash would have to find a way to intercept the nephilim before he came home and got himself arrested. Clearly, Klesowitch wasn’t going to be good for much longer. It really irked Lahash to see all the effort he’d put into his nephilim tool go to waste, then to have to start all over again. Still, his little brainstorm of using nephilim as puppets was pretty good, and it just begged for another try. As of now, there was nothing he could do to change the past, so he might as well get on with manipulating the present. He wasn’t quite finished with Klesowitch. Not yet.
First, though, he was going to pay a little visit to the old woman, the one who lived on the third floor and thought she had a viewpoint into the lives of every tenant in the building. She’d been such a snoop for all these years.
Now she was going to find out more than she’d ever wanted to know.
“HE WENT HOME ALREADY.” The name tag on her shoulder said May Jenkins—Day Manager, but since she’d seen Redmond’s badge, the brown-haired young woman talking to him seemed as nervous as a teenager caught shoplifting. Brynna hung off to the side, not minding that Redmond was taking the lead in the hunt for Michael Klesowitch, as they now knew he was called. Finding him was human business; stopping him was another story. It could be human business. Or it could be hers. “Is there a problem?”
“We think Michael might be able to help us,” Redmond said easily. “He might’ve seen something and not realized it, and it’s really important that we find out as soon as possible.”
“What?” May Jenkins looked from Redmond to Brynna. “What did he see?”
“Well, I can’t really go into that,” Redmond explained. “I wouldn’t want to say anything that might do what we call ‘lead the witness.’ He really needs to verify this on his own.” Redmond glanced around the store thoughtfully. “You know, Ms. Jenkins … Is it okay if I call you May?” He waited for her to nod, then continued. “There is a way that you could help us at least know if we’re on the right track.”
The young woman’s eyes widened and her expression brightened with self-importance. “Really?”
“Definitely. If I gave you a list of dates, do you think you could tell me if Michael was at work on those days?” Before she could answer, Redmond pulled a piece of paper from a notepad on the counter and began scribbling on it.
“Gosh, I don’t know.” She glanced at the only other worker in the place, a guy with spiked hair who was fighting to unjam a copy machine across the room. “I’
m not really sure I’m supposed to give out that kind of information. Aren’t you supposed to have a warrant or something?”
“Oh, this isn’t sensitive information, May,” Redmond assured her. “Not like medical or personal stuff, or even financial. See, if he was here on these dates, then he’s probably not going to be able to help us out and there’s no sense in even talking to him. It would save us a lot of time.”
Brynna stayed silent as she watched the play of emotions across May’s face. The girl seemed as though she wanted to refuse, but Redmond had created a sort of bond between them by using her first name; now she didn’t know how to say no. Good thing she wasn’t a nephilim.
“I—I guess so.” She glanced again at her coworker, but he was swearing at the copy machine under his breath and hadn’t even noticed Redmond and Brynna. “Just don’t tell anyone I showed you.” She slipped into the back office, then came back with a looseleaf notebook that said EMPLOYEE ATTENDANCE on the spine. Redmond reached for it, but May pulled it back. “I’ll look it up,” she said. Her voice was a little firmer.
“Great,” Redmond said warmly. “Thanks so much.” He offered her the note and she picked up a pen and flipped through the pages, scrawling something next to each date. Her handwriting was small and childishly round.
“There,” she said, and slid the paper back to Redmond. “I guess he might be able to help you after all. He wasn’t here most of those dates.”
“Most of them?”
“He left early or came in late sometimes,” she pointed out. “I wrote it all down. He’s been having some kind of medical issue, but I can’t say what.” She raised her chin and Brynna saw a hint of rebellion in the stance. “Even if I knew, I wouldn’t tell you because that’s, like, private.”
“Absolutely,” Redmond agreed. He folded the note and put it in his jacket pocket. “You’ve been a huge help. Thanks again.”
Brynna followed him out to the car and climbed inside, knowing the girl was watching them the whole time. “Well?”
Highborn Page 19
