Devil Dead

by Linda Ladd

  “Okay, darling, let’s go home now. I’ll put on that chicken you killed for me this morning and then I’ll mash up some creamed potatoes. I’ll even give you a scoop of ice cream for dessert since you’re being so good today. The Moon Goddess will be very pleased with you.”

  “Yes, Mommy,” Diana said, but she kept looking back at the little house as she followed Luna down the narrow trail, wondering what was going to happen to the man. The full moon was coming up very soon; maybe he would join them in their next ceremony. Maybe he was going to join the coven and be a Wiccan, too. Or, maybe he was Luna’s next Sacrificial Lamb that Luna was going to stuff. Yes, that’s right, that’s what Luna had said. He was the Sacrificial Lamb. Diana followed her mommy back to the house, but she felt very sorry for the man named Frankie. She felt very sick to her stomach, too, and very afraid of what Luna might do to her and Spirit.

  Chapter Seven

  Will Novak walked about twenty yards down the sidewalk and found a bench in front of the dusty front window of the Used Books, Ya’ll bookstore. He sat down and pretended to check his phone messages. Truth was, he was watching the side staircase that led up to Clarence Carver’s apartment and thinking about his morning spent working with Claire Morgan. She had not been what he had expected. Not at all. She had already proven herself smart enough, more than savvy, in fact, and she did have some of the toughness he had figured her for. But she wasn’t as gritty and hard nosed as he’d thought she’d be. Most successful female police officers with whom he’d worked had developed a hard as nails persona, but not Claire Morgan. Not yet anyway.

  And he had certainly expected her to be that way, after having read all the newspaper articles that he could dig up on her prior cases, most of which were shocking in their brutality, even with his extensive experience in handling hardened criminals. His old buddy, Jack Holliday, had sung her praises and told him enough times how Claire had finally helped him lay to rest some very personal demons he’d carried around for most of his life. Jack had said that he owed Claire big time and would do just about anything for her. Novak could understand that now, even after such a short acquaintance.

  Claire was not gonna be hard to work with, either. On the other hand, it was going to be a whole different ball game for her this time around. Actually, he was curious to see if she really could make the change from legitimate law enforcement officer to private dick. The work itself wouldn’t be a problem, but Claire seemed to be a woman who liked to go by the book, no matter what. He didn’t do it that way, no P.I. did it that way, and she probably wouldn’t like that aspect of the business. But time would tell. So far, so good. He could work with her, might even enjoy it. He had already decided that much. It would be different for him, too, all right. That was for damn sure. He had always worked alone since going private.

  Beside him, a young woman with lustrous black hair that she wore pulled back in a long, swinging ponytail pushed out through the bookstore’s door. She had on a purple backpack and was holding the hands of two little toddlers, a little boy who appeared to be around two years old and a little girl who looked just like him. The kids were laughing really hard about something, both of them very tickled, and chortling out a chorus of happy little giggles. Their laughter caused their mother to laugh, too. Novak felt his heart clench up, just close in on itself, as if it were caught in a vise that kept getting tighter and tighter. He shut his eyes and turned away from the happy trio and tried to make his mind go numb.

  But the memories welled up anyway, despite his efforts to suppress them, and burst behind his eyes like fireworks over a dark field of stars. He forced all of it back down as best he could and balled his fists and tried not to think about it, as he had finally learned to do. But it wasn’t easy, not with the little kids and their mother still right there, laughing and having fun and acting silly together.

  Clamping his jaw, he stared down the street at Carver’s house and forced himself not to look again at the happy little family as they walked down the sidewalk in the opposite direction. Instead, he wished he had a stiff drink to dull the pain, or more than one, or more than he could count in fact. That was the only thing that could help him forget the worst day of his life. He couldn’t let himself think about them right now. He couldn’t think about them ever, not without losing control again. He felt the familiar and sick worms of nausea crawl around on the floor of his stomach, engendering a wave of despair to rise swiftly up inside him.

  After that came the anger, unbridled, black, flaming rage. He swallowed it all down, pushing his pain back out of his mind like a lion tamer fending off a big cat. He took a deep breath. And then, he inhaled several more. Then he forced the blackest of memories dead and funneled all his conscious thought to concentrate on the missing girl. Staring at the house of the guy who just might know the whereabouts of Andrea Quinn, he attempted to put together in his mind the facts as they now knew them. Which was pretty damn little.

  The avenue in front of him wasn’t as busy now, not as much as it had been when Claire had taken off with the ditzy college kid. Now it appeared just a shady and quiet street, lined with ancient live oaks draped with the gray moss so prevalent in Louisiana and the smell of the thick honeysuckle clinging to the iron-spiked fence of the house next to the bookstore. The aroma of grilling beef floated to him from a college hangout he knew about that was located just down the block. Lunch customers were straggling back to work to sit inside their stifling cubicles, probably wishing they could quit and enjoy more time with their friends and family. College kids were returning to class, walking and cycling across campus sidewalks to classroom buildings, flirting with each other and being young and stupid and unaware that their college years would be the best time of their lives. Before real life happened to them, with all its pain and heartbreak and darkest regret.

  A couple of parking places eventually opened up right in front of him, and fewer pedestrians strolled along the cracked sidewalk. The happy mother and her little children were out of sight now, thank God, and Novak was glad he didn’t have to look at them anymore. Claire had been gone for a while. She should be back anytime now. Campus traffic must have tripped her up. Kids coming in for noon and one-o’clock classes. Three minutes later, he saw the white Range Rover turn at the traffic light down the block and head his way. Claire pulled into a parking place right in front of him, got out, slammed the door, and headed toward his bench.

  “Seen him yet?” she said, stopping right in front of him. She was looking down the street at Clarence Carver’s house. She was definitely an impatient woman, strong willed, no nonsense, but attractive in a tough yet sexy kind of way. She looked a lot like one of those Victoria’s Secret models, maybe, when they tried to walk incognito through busy airports by wearing no makeup and hiding their allure under loose Tshirts and ball caps and baggy sweatpants. He was beginning to understand Nicholas Black’s near obsession with her. Novak knew how it felt to feel that way about a woman, when one woman meant everything to a man was his entire world. And he knew the dangers in that kind of deep love, too.

  “Nope, not yet,” he told her. “How’s the arm by now?”

  “It hurts like hell, but I took some more aspirin. I’ve had worse.”

  “So I’ve heard.”

  “Don’t believe everything you hear, Novak. People tend to exaggerate about me. How about us goin’ over there and knockin’ on his door? I’ve never been one to sit around and wait for something to happen.”

  He gazed up at her. She was blocking the noonday sun, putting him in shadow. “Maybe ought to wait a spell. Case this place out, see what happens. We need to know who’s coming in and who’s going out before he knows we’re onto him. There’s an empty parking space just under his staircase. Maybe he’s got a car. If he does, we could tail him. He might lead us straight to the girl.”

  “So you think he’s involved with Andrea’s disappearance?”

  “I’ve got a hunch that he knows where she is, if she isn’t with him wh
en he shows up. You got a camera with you?”

  She gave him a look. “Well, of course.”

  Then she smiled down at him. She had a nice smile, he’d give her that, and pretty much nice everything else. Her blond hair was now pulled back in a ponytail and the wind was blowing it all around. She didn’t seem to care how she looked. She wouldn’t be a lady who stood around primping in a mirror, no way. Her big blue eyes were watchful and assessing and intelligent and didn’t miss much. Tall, athletic build, and she was smart enough. Yep, Claire Morgan was a good-looking woman, no doubt about it. Even better, she didn’t act like it. Something he admired in a pretty girl. Or maybe she did know it and pretended she didn’t. But she had enough impatience for both of them, and patience was something she was gonna have to learn in her new line of work.

  She said, “I have done surveillance before, Novak. I am not green when it comes to procedure; trust me on that.”

  He nodded. “Yeah, I guess. So far, so good, anyway.”

  “And right back at you, Novak.”

  Claire sat down beside him. “But I do have to say, I’m not waiting a whole lot longer before I go over there and check the place out. Sounds to me like he’s the kind of guy who sleeps in, if the crack doesn’t keep him awake twenty-four-seven. Maybe they’re both up there, together, sacked out and havin’ some kind of lovely drug-induced pipe dream.”

  “Could be. You’re the boss. It’s your call.”

  Claire glanced down the street. “I say we head over there right now because I think that’s him coming up the sidewalk.”

  Novak followed her gaze. It appeared to be Clarence Carver all right. Nev’s scruffy description had been right on. He was on foot and walking swiftly toward his house with both hands thrust down in his jacket pockets. When he turned into the driveway and headed for the staircase leading up to his apartment, they both stood up and started walking across the street. When they got closer, Carver was halfway up the steps.

  Novak yelled at him. “Hey, man, you Clarence Carver?”

  The guy jerked around quickly, saw them heading across the grassy front lawn toward him, and immediately leaped down the last five steps and took off around the back of the house like a rocket.

  “I’ll go after him! You cut him off!” Claire cried, and didn’t wait for Novak to react. She sprinted the rest of the way up the driveway, arms pumping, her weapon already out and in her hand. Yep, the girl would do fine. Novak ran across the front of a big veranda with hanging ferns and cracked white stucco front steps and then down the far side of the house, where a row of huge magnolia trees made a dark, cool tunnel. When he got to the back corner, he glimpsed Carver, dashing down the alley and climbing up onto a trash can. He jumped the fence with Claire hot on his heels.

  Novak watched Claire leap up on the same trash can and vault lithely over the fence after him, a little shocked at how easily she had done it. But she was tall enough and her heart was pumping out a fair share of adrenaline, no doubt, all of which probably overrode the fact that she had been stabbed with a sharp pair of scissors and only hours ago. The woman was turning into quite a show.

  Changing directions, he skirted the fence, figuring that Carver would do the same. He guessed right, and by the time he gained the alley at the far end of the block, Carver came barreling out right in front of him, still racing at top speed. Novak grabbed him by the back of his jacket, spun him around, and slammed his face up against the fence. Breath knocked out of him, the kid just gasped for air while Novak patted him down and found no weapons. “Why you runnin’, kid? We just wanna talk to you. Hold still and behave yourself.”

  Claire was there in seconds, panting hard, her Glock still out. She sheathed it quickly when she found that Novak had Carver under control. Novak jerked the guy around to face them and let her do the talking, curious to see what she’d do next.

  “Clarence Carver? That your name?”

  “Who wants to know? You guys cops?”

  “We’re lookin’ for a girl. A friend of yours.”

  “You can’t do this kinda stuff to me if you’re not cops.”

  “Well, we just did. Remember?”

  Novak got out the folder with his P.I. license. He flipped it open and held it up in front of the junkie’s bleary, bloodshot eyes. “We aren’t cops, and we aren’t gonna call them. We just wanna talk to you. Stop jerking around and I’ll let you go.”

  “Well, I’m late. I gotta be somewhere.”

  Claire said, “This won’t take long, punk, so shut up and listen.”

  Novak felt the urge to smile. He didn’t. He let her do the talking. Hell, she was doing just fine.

  “We’re looking for a friend of yours.”

  “What friend? I got lots of friends.”

  “Yeah, I’ll bet, and they’re probably all customers, too, huh? Ever heard of a girl named Andrea Quinn?”

  That got his attention. He looked at Claire and then at Novak. He blinked his eyes like he couldn’t quite see them. “Andi? What’s Andi got to do with you guys hasslin’ me? She okay? I can’t find her anywhere.”

  Not good, Novak thought. Not good at all. “She your girlfriend?”

  “Yeah, sort of, I guess.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Claire said. “Sort of, I guess. Don’t you know if she’s your girlfriend or not?”

  “Well, I want her to be, sure, I do. She’s way cool. But she’s got lots of other guys likin’ her, too.”

  “What other guys?”

  He shrugged and pouted and looked as stupid as he probably was. “How’m I supposed to know? She don’ friggin’ tell me about the other guys she likes. That’d make me all jealous and it’d be way not cool.”

  Novak said, “You get her hooked on crack? That why you can’t find her?”

  “No, no, why you sayin’ somethin’ like that? What’d you want outta me?”

  “Because that’s what we heard,” Claire said. “From her other friends.”

  “Well, it ain’t true. Andi don’t do no drugs. She’s on me all the time to quit. Says it’ll friggin’ ruin my life.”

  “It’s pretty clear you’re a junkie. You sellin’, too?”

  “I don’t sell nothin’. I smoke weed’s all. Who doesn’t?”

  Claire stood back and stared at Carver, fists on her hips. Impatience might as well have been written across her forehead. “How about letting us have a look-see at your apartment? You got a problem with that? Just to make sure she’s not holed up in there, strung out and in need of medical attention.”

  “You got a warrant?”

  Claire frowned. “Didn’t you hear what I said? We’re not police officers. We’re looking for Andrea Quinn. That’s all we want. We want to know where she is and if she’s okay.”

  Novak watched Claire Morgan get right up in Carver’s face. He wondered if that last bit came out hard for her, the part about not being a cop. He understood. It was a weird thing when a police officer switched to private work. He’d felt it, too, still felt it sometimes. Having a badge was a nice perk. Made everything go easier. Yep, everything was gonna seem ass-backward to Claire Morgan for a time. She’d get used to it eventually. Probably quicker than he had. She seemed like the kind of cop who could adapt quickly to situations and make the best of it. Her lack of patience and quick anger was her problem. She was not the laid-back type, not even close. That probably got her in trouble, too.

  Claire said, “C’mon, let’s go back to your place. See if she’s there. Hey, I insist.”

  “She ain’t there.”

  “Yeah? So prove it. All this draggin’ your feet makes me think you’re hidin’ something.”

  “You guys ain’t got no right to push me around and make me take you inside my house. You ain’t the cops. You ain’t got no warrant and no right.”

  “So call the cops if you don’t like it,” Novak said, already tired of him and all the unnecessary conversation they were going through.

  Carver just frowned and g
rumbled some profanities under his breath. Novak pulled him off the wall and pushed him back the way they’d come, and Carver stumbled along, not very happy.

  “Hey, c’mon, man, not cool. Quit pushin’ me around.”

  But he wasn’t gonna call the NOPD on them, not in a million years, not when he was probably still high as a kite and most likely carrying a stash and drug paraphernalia hidden in his jacket pockets. He didn’t appear to be particularly dangerous, either, just a messed-up junkie, and he was not carrying. By the time they reached the steps to his apartment, he was resigned and climbed quietly up to the landing, where he unlocked a shiny new steel padlock on the door handle. Inside, it smelled so strongly of concentrated weed that Novak left the door open to swirl in some fresh air.

  Claire glanced around at the pigsty décor. “You do know that smoking marijuana is still against the law, right, Carver? That you can actually get in trouble?”

  “What’d you care, lady? You ain’t no cop. You said so yourself. Hey, you’re not lyin’ to me, are you? You undercover or somethin’? You wearin’ a wire? You tryin’ to fool me into incriminatin’ myself?”

  Claire ignored all that. “Tell us what you know about Andrea Quinn.”

  “She don’t like to be called Andrea.”

  “Well, pardon me.”

  Novak left the kid in Claire’s capable, if impatient, hands and started poking around the apartment, which looked like it belonged to a strung-out junkie all right. It was a one-room apartment. The room was huge and painted tan, but the place had no furniture, just a couple of old mattresses on the floor. One of them was covered with fairly clean dark blue sheets and matching pillowcases. The other showed its blue ticking mattress cover. There was a small metal reading lamp on the floor beside the bed with two paperback books without covers stacked on top of each other. Dirty clothes were piled up all over the place, but there was no missing girl hiding in the closet, just more dirty clothes piled up on the floor. No clothes on hangers. The kitchenette was part of the living room and the bathroom was tiny and empty and not particularly clean. It was shabby and depressing, a real dump and an awful place to have to live. But Carver was probably used to squalor.