I told Vollman to sit in the visitor's chair next to my desk, and then Karl rolled his own chair over, placing it so that our visitor couldn't look at both of us at once. It's an old cop trick designed to keep suspects off balance.
The old man didn't seem fazed by the seating arrangements. When I introduced Karl, Vollman looked at him for a long moment, as if planning to draw him from memory later. Or maybe have him for lunch. Then he turned his attention back to me.
"I have been away from the city for several days," he said, "and only learned of Mr Kulick's tragic death upon my return last night."
"Return from where?" Karl asked.
"Oh, a number o places," Vollman said. "I travel a great deal, you see. To visit friends, relatives, old acquaintances. Sometimes they ask me for advice, or a favor, or to settle some small dispute."
"So this isn't your job, then – travelling around," Karl said.
"Not at all. I am long since retired. But I like to occupy my time usefully, when I can."
"Where did you retire from, Mr Vollman?" I thought I'd join the conversation.
Vollman made a small gesture. "I have done a great many things to support myself, over the years. Mostly, I have been self-employed."
"Self-employed doing what?" Karl asked him. He was starting to get impatient with the old man's bullshit, and I didn't blame him.
"Consulting, mostly. Some investments. Occasionally, import-export." Vollman's smile was as thin as the rest of him. He knew he was ducking our questions, and he knew we knew it, too. He also knew we couldn't do shit about it. For the moment, anyway.
I decided to cut through the crap and see if there was anything underneath it. "What do you know about George Kulick's murder, Mr Vollman?"
"I do not know who killed him, if that is what you are asking. But I believe I know something almost as important."
Vollman paused, probably for effect. "I am fairly certain I know why he was killed."
There was a silence that lasted several seconds before I broke it. "If you're waiting for someone to feed you the next line, I'll do the honors: why was Kulick killed?"
Vollman gave me another one of those little smiles. "I do have rather a tendency toward the dramatic, don't I? Please accept my apologies." He made the smile disappear. "I believe Mr Kulick was murdered because he was the possessor, in effect the guardian, of a certain object. An object of great value."
Karl leaned forward, frowning. "The killer left something like forty grand behind. Even if what he came for was worth more than that, why not take the cash, too?" It was a question the two of us had been scratching our heads over ever since we saw what was in Kulick's safe. Who walks away from forty thousand bucks?
Vollman gave Karl the kind of look that village idiots must get really tired of. "The answer, I would think, is obvious, Detective. Kulick's killer had no interest in money." He shook his head a couple of times. "There is more than one measure of value, my young friend."
"The object, as you call it, must've had something to do with magic, then, since Kulick was a wizard," I said to Vollman.
"Yes, that is quite true."
"So, what's it to you?"
The wrinkles around Vollman's eyes compressed a little. "I do not understand your meaning, Sergeant."
"I mean, since when is the business of wizards of any interest to a vampire?"
Vollman sat slowly back in his chair and looked at me.
I've got good peripheral vision, and from the corner of my eye I could see Karl's hand move slowly toward the top drawer of his desk, and the crucifix he kept there. He needn't have bothered. Any vamp who wanted to cause trouble wouldn't pick a police station, especially the Supe Squad, to do it.
Probably.
Still, I was suddenly aware of the weight of the Beretta on my right hip, with its standard load of eight silver bullets that had been blessed by the Bishop of Scranton. Part of me wished the old vamp would give me an excuse to use it.
"The handshake, yes?" Vollman said to me, after a moment. "It was the handshake that revealed y... true nature... to you. I wondered at your reason, since you do not, forgive me, Detective Sergeant, strike me as the friendly type."
Friendly? I wanted to say. Hey, I'm one of the friendliest guys around – except to the bloodsucking undead.
"How I know doesn't matter, Mr Vollman," I told him. "I asked you a question: why do you care about George Kulick and what happened to him?"
Another long look. I was about to tell Vollman that I was getting tired of his theatrics when he said, "The reason I am interested in the fate of that particular wizard..." He turned his left hand over, palm up, to reveal an old, faded, but unmistakable tattoo of a pentagram. "...is because I am a wizard myself."
Karl and I looked at each other for several seconds before we returned our attention to Vollman.
"I've never met anyone with your particular… combination of attributes before," I said.
"Nor have I, and I have lived far longer than either of you gentlemen. However, there is nothing, in theory, to prevent someone from living in both worlds, should he choose to. Mind you, in my case the choice was not made freely."
"How do you mean?" Karl asked.
Vollman shrugged his thin shoulders. "It is a long story, but, in brief, I was already an accomplished wizard when I was attacked and… transformed... by a vampire. That was in the year 1512."
I noticed that Karl was frowning. "I don't get it," he said. "Somebody who can work magic should have been able to handle a vampire without too much trouble."
"Magic is not something that can be invoked at a moment's notice," Vollman told him. "Had I been given the time to prepare a defensive spell, I would surely have prevailed. But I had no inkling that a vampire was in the vicinity, and so was caught unawares."
"Which also explains how Kulick was subdued by whoever tortured him," I said. "He didn't have a spell, or whatever, ready to use against his attacker."
"Very likely," Vollman said, nodding. "Unlike a gun or a knife, magic cannot usually be brought to bear at a moment's notice. Although, given time for preparation, it can be a very potent weapon, indeed."
"You said Kulick was taking care of some valuable object," I said. "I assume that's what was ripped off from his safe by whoever killed him. Care to tell us what it was?"
Vollman looked at his hands for a long moment. "I suppose I must, since it is of vital importance that it be recovered. George Kulick was entrusted with a copy of the Opus Mago-Cabbilisticum et Theosophicum, written by Georg von Welling around 1735 – although parts of it are older. Far older."
"Don't think I know that one," I said. "But I've got a feeling that it isn't this month's selection from the Book of the Month Club."
"The work is not well known, even among the cognoscenti," Vollman said. "The Opus Mago, as it is usually called, is quite rare. Only four copies are believed still in existence. It is – and I beg your indulgence of the cliché – a book of forbidden knowledge."
"I get it," Karl said. "Like the Necronomicon."
Vollman looked at him. "The Necronomicon is a myth, a product of the fevered brain of that writer Lovecraft," he said scornfully.
Karl shrugged. "Some people say different."
"And some people," Vollman said, "once said the Earth is flat. Indeed, I knew several such individuals personally." He made a shooing away gesture with one hand. "But whether this Necronomicon exists is irrelevant. The Opusago, I assure you, is all too real."
"What's in it that makes the book forbidden?" I asked him.
"Spells, of course, along with descriptions of rituals, conjurations, directions for the making of certain implements and ingredients. Also, illustrations of certain... symbols."
"So far, that sounds like a description of something that every practitioner has on his bookshelf," I said. "Or hers."
Vollman nodded slowly. "In a general sense, perhaps. But the particular rituals and spells contained in the Opus Mago are used for the invocation
and control of only the darkest powers. It is said that portions of the book were dictated by Satan himself, but that is probably a myth." He stopped, and stared at his hands for a moment. "Yes, a myth, almost certainly. In any case, this material is something no workaday wizard or witch would have access to. Nor is it anything they would wish to acquire."
"You talking about calling up demons?" Karl asked. "Hell, we ran into one of them a couple, two, three months ago. No big deal."
I wouldn't call almost having my head chewed off "no big deal", but I knew what Karl meant. Any number of wizards already had the knowledge necessary to conjure demons. Fortunately, most of them were smart enough not to do it.
"No, the power of the Opus Mago goes far beyond that," Vollman said. "It is a great and terrible book. I have not looked within it myself, mind you. But I was present when it was given to Kulick for safekeeping."
"Why?" I asked him.
Vollman frowned. "Why? What do you mean?"
"The way you put that suggests that you didn't give the book to Kulick, but you observed the transfer take place. Why were you there, if you weren't the guy handing over the book?"
Vollman gave one of those little gestures that you associate with Mafia dons in the movies. It combined modesty and arrogance in exactly the right proportions. "There is, in this area, a loose confederation of those who are what you call 'supernaturals.' I have the honor to be its leader."
Karl and I looked at each other for a second, then turned toward Vollman.
"So it's you," Karl said.
Vollman gave us raised eyebrows.
"We'd heard that someone took over after Martin Thackery got staked," I told him. "But none of the supes we know would give us a name. You're the new boyar, the Man."
"As good a term as any, I suppose," Vollman said, nodding.
"Well then, Mr Man," Karl said, "why don't you tell us who you think killed George Kulick, before my partner and me are too old to do anything about it?" Sometimes I really like that kid.
But I didn't much like what Vollman told us next. "I have absolutely no idea," he said.
So much for our hopes of clearing this case quickly. There was silence while Karl and I digested the bad news, then I said to Vollman, "But you must have some idea about the kind of person who did it."
"I might," Vollman said. "But then I expect you have already reached some conclusions of your own."
My chair creaked as I leaned forward. "Whoever did Kulick that way has got a strong stomach and good nerves," I said. "He didn't lose control, like they sometimes do. He just kept doing stuff to Kulick until the poor bastard broke and told him where the safe was. Gave up the combination, too. He must've, since the safe wasn't punched, peeled, or blown."
"Kulick was tough, you gotta give him that," Karl said. "He took a hell of a lot of punishment before he finally gave it up."
"He had sworn an oath," Vollman said stiffly. "He was chosen to safeguard the book because he was the kind of man who takes such oaths seriously."
"Don't be too hard on him," I said. "He suffered for that oath, in ways you can't even imagine."
Vollman gave me a bleak look. "Do not underestimate what my imagination is capable of, Sergeant." He gave a long sigh. "But you are right. Kulick's memory will be honored for what he did – or tried to do."
"Still, the average criminal, no matter how motivated, hasn't got the gumption to carry out that kind of systematic torture," I said. "This is somebody with a real vicious streak. And then there's the business with the money."
"The money that was left in the safe, you mean," Vollman said.
"Right. Even if all he wanted was the book, the killer could have taken the money, anyway. If he had, we'd be assuming a simple robbery as the motive, and the Major Crimes guys would be investigating it. Which means the perp is either dumb, or arrogant beyond belief – doesn't give a shit what we know, or think."
"The individual who committed these acts is certainly not stupid, Sergeant," Vollman said. "But unbridled arrogance is not only possible – it is virtually certain in this instance. Making use of the spells contained in the Opus Mago would be similar to what a friend of mine once said about studying the work of the philosopher Hegel: one must be highly intelligent in order to do such, and profoundly stupid to wish to."
• • • •
Karl started to say something, but he was interrupted by a commotion from the reception area. I stood up, went to the door of the squad room, and looked out.
Four people, three men and a woman, were standing at the P.A.'s desk, all of them screaming at Louise the Tease. From what I could gather, one of their tribe had been busted earlier in the evening, and they'd all come down to demand his release, on the grounds that he was king of the gypsies. It's the same crap they usually pull when one of their own gets picked up. Everybody's the king of the gypsies, unless it's a woman who's been arrested. She gets to be queen.
Louise the Tease is known not to take no shit from nobody, but she was outnumbered, and nobody can kick up a fuss like a Gypsy. I was about to head over there and give her a hand when I realized that Vollman was standing just over my right shoulder. "Permit me," he said quietly.
I moved aside, and he stood in the doorway, where I'd been. I expected him to go into Reception and approach the P.A.'s desk, but he stood where he was.
"Chavaia!"
The gypsies must have understood the word, because they all turned toward Vollman, looking both startled and annoyed. Then they saw who it was, and the annoyance vanished like a coin in a conjuring trick. Both their voices and expressions became very still.
"Dinili, te maren, denash! Te khalion tai te shingerdjon che gada par brajo ents chai plamendi!"
Vollman didn't yell, but it didn't look like they had any trouble hearing him. "Te lolirav phuv mure ratesa. Arctu viriumca ba treno al qua pashasha. Mucav!"
Without another word, the four gypsies turned and left the room. They didn't quite run.
Vollman nodded once, then turned and returned to his seat. I followed.
Karl stared at the old man. "What the hell did you say to them?"
Vollman produced the thin smile again. "I merely suggested they stop bothering the young lady and take their concerns elsewhere. Without delay."br/>
"I notice they didn't give you an argument," I said.
Vollman shrugged. "For some of these people, I am, as you say, The Man."
"So, what kind of person would want this book, the Opus Mago, bad enough to torture and kill for it?" I asked Vollman. "We're talking about a wizard or witch for starters, right?"
"Almost certainly," he said. "No one else would have any hope of being able to make use of it."
"You said something about 'arrogant' before," I added.
"Indeed, yes," Vollman said. "As I told you, the Opus Mago contains spells and rituals for invoking the darkest of dark powers. It is considered a book of forbidden knowledge, and closely guarded, for that reason."
"So where's the arrogance come in?" Karl asked.
"In the belief that anyone, regardless of training or experience, can hope to control such powers once they have been summoned," Vollman said.
"You're saying nobody could do it," Karl said.
Vollman shook his head slowly. "I will not say that, not with certainty. But I think it highly unlikely that such control, even if it were achieved, could be maintained for long."
"Maybe we ought to stop pussyfooting around this with terms like 'dark powers' and all that," I said. "You're not talking about just conjuring up some demon, are you?"
"No," Vollman said. "As your partner reminded us earlier, that has become almost a mundane practice in these times."
"What then?" I was afraid that I already knew the answer.
And I was right, I did. "Something very, very bad," Vollman said. "There are a variety of spells, invocations, and rituals contained within the Opus Mago. Each, it is believed, permits access to a spiritual entity of immense power and great ma
levolence. One, supposedly, contains the means for calling up Quetzalcoatl, the Aztec snake god, which has grown immensely powerful from the all blood sacrifices made to it over centuries."
"But all that human sacrifice stuff ended hundreds of years ago, once the Spaniards took over," I said.
Vollman looked at me and shrugged. "If you choose to believe so."
"What else?" Karl asked. "There's got to be more than that."
"Indeed there is, Detective," Vollman told him. "For example, there are those who say the book describes a ritual for awakening one or more of the Great Old Ones, those creatures that supposedly existed before man, and which still await the day when they may supplant him."
Hard Spell Page 7
