Graves Pact (Landon Graves Book 1)

by Matthew Stinson

  Phil shook his head. “No evidence of it. The breakers were blown like a power surge though. Too much of a coincidence for me to buy it. Our perp might have some engineering expertise as well.”

  “Maybe.”

  That bit would skew the official profile, but I couldn’t tell Phil that the killer had used magic to fry some circuits.

  I saw that the report stated a witness saw one guy fleeing the scene, though only a rough description was given in the statement. If someone interfered with the Gate ritual, maybe the witness saw him, her, or it. “How sure are we that it’s a single perp? If the power was out… Lugging a drugged victim up around sounds like a major chore.”

  “Our witness was pretty sure, but I suppose we have to consider the alternatives. You think it’s some kind of cult?”

  “Could be,” I said without much confidence. “If so, not too many would’ve been at the scene though. That dorm room was rather small.”

  “You could fit two dozen people in that bedroom,” Phil fired back, testing my theory.

  I shook my head. “No way. No one would stand in the circle or within a foot of it. It’s an occult thing. Only the victim and our perp were within the drawing.”

  “Alright,” he said, deferring to me graciously. “Could have been a small number of individuals or a single fit person hauling the victim around. Then they split and only one guy did the ritual. He gets spotted on the way out.”

  I nodded absently. So many things weren’t adding up. If the perp was a wizard skilled enough to hex the building’s grid, why had he needed a drug cocktail to keep his victim sedated? From my own abilities, I knew that messing with minds was hard. What about putting people to sleep? Was that so hard that a wizard would prefer to just dose someone with drugs?

  I just didn’t know enough. My stubborn denial of the supernatural aspects of my life stopped me from exploring magic and it was really cutting my legs out from under me. I kicked myself for the stupidity of it.

  One of the crime scene photos slid out of the folder as I got up to refill my coffee. As I sat back down, it caught my eye. I thought of something Harkin said.

  How did the fire start?

  In the photo, a piece of blackened glass stuck out among the charcoal remains in the center of the circle. That’s about two yards from the window. Could it have fallen in that far?

  Arson was one of many fields in which I wasn’t versed, but I’d have thought the fire would blow the glass out of the room. If that was the case, how had that glass gotten to the center of the room?

  “I think we should find out how this fire got started.”

  Phil jumped at the chance to leave the office. “The fire marshal is finishing the inspection today. I’ll let him know we’re on our way.”

  I looked down at my freshly filled coffee cup and sighed.

  When we arrived at the scene, a Security Police airman lifted the yellow tape that blocked the door and let us pass. The fire marshal hadn’t arrived. Once inside the former dorm, I made my way to the bunk room while my partner made a call.

  I was starting to get why Phil preferred the actual scene to photos and reports. You could get a feel for a place just by standing in it. I wondered if there was any supernatural mumbo-jumbo to support that claim. I mean, I knew that going in a church made me feel like I had acid in my veins, but normal places...

  “The marshal is due in a few minutes,” Phil said as he rejoined me. “They’re ready to close the scene and let the insurance and construction companies back in.”

  A man with graying hair and a white shirt bedecked in firemen’s regalia arrived in five or so minutes and ran through his report. He was curt and professional which made the tedious process easier. Nobody was interested in wasting time or having their time wasted.

  All three of us stood in the center of what used to be a summoning circle. I knew I shouldn’t have felt uncomfortable, but the thought of an Exiled stepping through into the mortal realm unsettled me. The fire marshal continued his discourse, pointing at the room’s only window. “This is the apparent source of ignition.”

  “You mean it started from here?” I stared out the empty and charred window trying to imagine what could have caused the fire to take the path it did.

  “Yes, you can see that the damage is worst here,” the marshal explained. “Forensics will be able to determine the accelerant in a few weeks. There was a sustained flame here.” He pointed to the area around the window.

  “What makes you say that?”

  “None of these materials would catch with a flash.”

  A sustained fire… I suddenly doubted the forensics team would be able to find an accelerant. I was gazing at the aftermath of a magical firefight. Someone had come and crashed my perp’s party, probably a wizard with more skill or a bad-ass angel. It might have accounted for the different skill levels I’d seen in the facts. A shy wizard might have hexed the building’s electrical too.

  I didn’t know how to propose this new theory without sounding crazy. Magic made a lot of things possible. It could have been an angel with a flamethrower flying around outside for all I knew. Thinking of angels… and their Chosen…

  Maybe Detective Mendoza can shed some light on the situation.

  After a few calls earlier in the morning and some digging, I had turned up some information about Detective Evelyn Mendoza. I’d make use of it later. For the time being, I returned my attention to Phil and the fire marshal.

  I listened patiently as the marshal finished his report. Phil asked some pointed questions that would never have occurred to me. All the while, I debated whether to introduce the idea of a third party that might have been trying to kill our perp.

  If matters had been mundane in nature, I would certainly decry vigilantism, but as things were… The fewer normal people that got involved, the better. If I could wrap this up quietly, with no more bodies and a plausible explanation for the records, I wouldn’t lose any sleep.

  I stared at the oily shadow still clinging to the wall. Whatever the creature had been, it likely died at the hands—or magic rather—of the being responsible for starting the fire. This investigation is putting me between two opposing forces.

  Even if I sided with the one trying to stop the opening of the Gate, there was no guarantee I’d get a free pass. If I crossed the wrong line, I could end up as some supernatural being’s liability. I doubted I’d get much sympathy when I said I was just doing my job.

  “Anything to add?” Phil asked, breaking me from my daze.

  “No,” I said. “Let’s see what the police turned up with the victim’s ID.”

  Phil thanked the marshal and we saw ourselves out. As the marshal turned down the stairs ahead of us, Phil said, “I’m not sure who’s going to be our liaison with DPD, but they’re expecting us at precinct three.”

  I struggled to keep the grin from my face. One of my earlier calls had been to the District Three Police Department. I knew exactly who our point of contact would be. I doubted she’d be happy to see me, but she’d made it clear she wanted in on the case. I was going to enjoy watching her squirm as I gave her instructions. It’d be a nice turn of the tables considering how she’d had a gun pointed to my head.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Phil drove again, since my Buick was parked safely in the FBI lot. I chatted idly, asking after his family. His youngest had just started kindergarten and his oldest was a freshman. His half-assed bitching about them told me how much he loved his kids and how fiercely proud of the brats he was. Hearing about it was hard, though I kept a smile. Kids weren’t in my future anymore.

  When we arrived, the gray haired desk sergeant called for our liaison in a brusque tone. A few minutes later, Detective Mendoza stalked out to the front. She wore jeans, a deep purple shirt under a fitted suit coat, and a severe expression which I was starting to think of as permanently ingrained.

  “Hi,” I said with a wide smile. I stretched out my hand cordially as if meeting her for the
first time. “I’m Special Agent Landon Graves and this is my partner, Special Agent Phil Calhan. We’re handling the murder investigation related to the Lowry dorm fire.”

  I saw the suppressed disgust in her face as she hesitated. Finally, she shook my hand firmly. “Detective Mendoza.”

  “Have you had a chance to review the case file?” Phil asked getting straight to business. She nodded. “Good. There have been a few new developments.”

  She glanced at me and I winked. Her lips curled into a slight frown. “Then let’s get each other up to speed, because I’ve got the latest on our end.”

  Mendoza led us to a small office where Phil recounted our progress in the investigation, most of which she’d heard from me on Saturday night. She listened patiently and avoided looking at me, which was difficult in the tight confines of her office. As my partner spoke, I scanned the room discreetly, spotting two picture frames. One showed a happy older couple that must have been her parents. The other showed a pair of kids too old to be hers.

  She’s the tough aunt, I figured, eyes falling on an old and chipped clay cup she used to hold pens and pencils. It had to be a kid’s craft project. And maybe the favorite too.

  I forced her to acknowledge me when I said, “Our working theory is that our perp is a delusional man who believes he is opening a doorway to Earth for demons to come through.” I chose my words carefully, unsure when I’d be able to speak with the detective alone again. “Whatever possessed the man to do this, he is to be considered extremely dangerous.”

  Phil added, “We don’t know what he used to start the fire in the dormitory yet or if it was even intentional arson. If he’s savvy with chemistry like we think he is, who knows what else he’s cooked up.”

  Mendoza took it all in stride and sternly said, “We’ll be careful in any places we search. Now, let’s focus on what we know. The victim was one ‘Evan Kent’ according to the dental records secured by the coroner. The gang unit had a short dossier on him. He was a small time hustler that typically worked out of Adair Park and the surrounding neighborhoods.”

  My eyebrows shot up. That was close to where James Thompson lived. “You have a last known address? And a map?”

  She grudgingly found one and unfolded it over her cluttered desk. I nearly gaped as she pointed out the location. It couldn’t have been more than three blocks from Thompson’s apartment. And I got attacked in that same area. The would-be demon summoner hadn’t ventured far from his haunt to get his thug and mortal sacrifice. But he went miles out of his way to the apartment for the ritual… Why?

  It was solid enough to look into further, but explaining the connection to Phil without mentioning James Thompson was impossible. I had to ditch Phil to chase down this lead. My mind puzzled over how to do that without raising any suspicions.

  Mendoza gave me a pointed look. “Does that neighborhood hold any significance?”

  I kept my face neutral. “No, I just hear that’s a rough area. A real hellhole.”

  Phil jumped in. “And it’s several miles from our crime scene. Figuring out how our perp got Kent onto that Air Force base could shake a few more things loose.”

  “I’ll get some uniforms to canvas the area,” the detective said, eyes lingering on me.

  “Will you be joining them?” I asked, giving her a telling look.

  Mendoza seemed to pick up on my hint. “I may. I have other cases working right now.”

  “We all have other cases,” Phil said. “Let’s chase down these leads while they’re fresh. There is a killer on the loose and the DOD is watching.”

  He was basically saying that since the FBI was involved, our needs were more important than whatever else she had going on. I could see her jaw tense, but she swallowed whatever retort she had coming. “Of course.”

  I sensed an opportunity. “Hey, Phil. I’d like to follow up on a few things with the police. Why don’t you crosscheck the statements from the construction crew and see if anything pops with this new information. Maybe I can tag along when they go canvassing the area. I’ll catch up with you later.”

  He looked at me questioningly. “I’d prefer to—”

  I leaned in sharply and whispered, “Look, it’s been a while since I’ve been on the street. Some legwork would be good for me.”

  My partner nodded and patted me on the back approvingly. “Do you need me to send someone with your car?”

  I smiled. “No, I’m sure Detective Mendoza can help me with transportation.”

  Phil thanked Mendoza and headed out to do the paper-pushing grunt work that so often led to arrests. Though that might have been the norm, the rules didn’t apply when the supernatural happened. This case wasn’t going to be solved in a traditional way.

  I waited for a few moments after the door closed behind Phil before turning to Detective Mendoza. She crossed her arms and stared angrily. Luckily, there was nothing holy about the irritation or the small room would have felt like a casket heading for cremation.

  “Evelyn,” I said, giving what I considered a winning smile. “I think we got off on the wrong foot the other night. How about we start over—”

  “Stuff it,” she said, showing no surprise that I knew her name. “I know you took that guy’s ID. What did you find out about him? You lit up like the Fourth of July when I gave you that address. He lived in the same area?”

  “Yeah,” I said, amazed that they hadn’t tracked down his residence. No car maybe? “The name of the departed is James Thompson. Our perp hit him with some kind of loyalty spell. Once he started shaking off the compulsion to kill me…”

  “He got fried,” she finished with a slight grimace. “So, do you think the perp is some kind of ritualist or a full-fledged wizard?”

  Detective Mendoza knew a thing or two about the occult, it seemed. I’d have to keep that in mind. I kept my face neutral to prevent her from seeing how impressed I was.

  “Worse,” I said. “He’s possessed by one of the Exiled.”

  She leveled her eyes at me. “You sound awfully sure about that.”

  “I was attacked,” I said quietly. “Outside Thompson’s apartment complex. The demon’s in full control. The host wasn’t even fighting at all.”

  “He’s willing then,” she whispered regretfully. “Or he might as well be. Anything else?”

  I grinned. “As a matter of fact… if you’ll start up your computer, I have some phone numbers that can narrow down where the demon jockey’s been.”

  The Chosen sat in her chair and turned on the monitor to her computer. “What’s the number?”

  I gave the first six. “Don’t know the last.”

  She shrugged and started typing. I leaned over to see the little flags that popped up on the simple, virtual map displayed on the screen. Stopping to glare over her shoulder, Mendoza silently told me to respect her personal space. I gave an apologetic look and stepped back.

  She shivered and returned to the task. I frowned to myself. As a warlock, my very proximity made her skin crawl. It was enough to give a guy a complex. I saved the self-pity for later when it wouldn’t hurt the case.

  “Two are disconnected, but this one…” Tapping a finger on the screen, she said, “What are the odds that Evan Kent, James Thompson, and this payphone are all in a three block radius?”

  “Uh, by the way you framed that question, I’d say the odds are pretty good.”

  She rolled her eyes. “It looks like that is a good place to start looking.”

  “Do you want to risk bringing uniforms?”

  After chewing on her lip for a moment, she replied, “Seems like a bad idea.” She shut off her monitor and stood suddenly. “We’ll go in alone. Less paperwork that way.”

  “We?” I said. “Did I miss something? I thought you didn’t trust me.”

  “I don’t,” she clarified, sliding past me.

  “But, you just—”

  “You’re not the only one who did some digging. Your file makes some interesting reading
, especially when I fill in a few of the gaps with what I know after meeting you.”

  Oh no. I don’t need this. I looked around for some kind of exit, but she blocked off the door by shifting half a step. I wasn’t about to force my way past her. She wouldn’t shoot me inside her own precinct, would she? Would she even have to shoot?

  “You didn’t join the FBI until after your wife recovered from cancer. Chronic lymphocytic leukemia… what’s the recovery rate on that?”

  She even pronounced it correctly. I gave up any hope of escape. “Is there a point somewhere in all this?”

  Mendoza crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. “I’m saying I get why you did it. For her. Your wife.”

  “Ex-wife.”

  She snorted in amusement. “It was a stupid move. Very stupid. But I guess your heart was in the right place. Sort of.”

  “And where does that leave my soul?”

  The detective shrugged. “You made your bed. Anyway, I’m saying that I have an idea of the man you were.”

  Were… The past tense stung. I tried to keep my nose clean in regard to the whole pact thing. I tried to do good things when I could. Like hunting down a demon-possessed summoner bent on opening a Gate to the Outworld. That left “good” pretty far behind...

  “So, you know me well enough to go chasing after a demon-possessed maniac with me?”

  “Something like that,” she said, my attempts at humor failing one after the other. “Can you ditch your partner for more than a few hours?”

  “Yeah, I’ll just tell him I’m trying to work my charms on you.”

  She glared hard and I felt the righteous fervor gather up like some wolf with its hackles rising. “You really have no idea how close I am to putting a bullet in your head. If not for this summoner, I may have already done it. Don’t think your sob story is going to help you.”

  “You’re a cop. You can’t just kill me.”

  She stepped closer to me and jabbed a finger into my chest. “I’ve been chosen for a divine purpose. And, yes I am a cop. I know exactly how to ‘disappear’ a body.”