Unfortunately, now I had to deal with my rank. After my previous captain, Robert Turnham, had been promoted to chief of police, a lieutenant from the patrol division had been tapped to become the captain over investigations—all of this happening in the time that I was “dead” and the first couple of weeks after that, before I returned to duty.
Captain Barry Weiss resembled a bulldog in darn near every possible way except for the fur. He was short and stocky and slightly bowlegged, with broad shoulders and a lower jaw that jutted out just enough to make the resemblance complete. I had met him a few times on scenes but so far had very little real face time with him.
I knocked on the frame of his open door. He looked up from his computer, peering at me over his glasses, then gave me a tight smile and waved me in.
“Hi, Kara, good to see you. I didn’t think you’d be back so soon. You feeling all right?”
I nodded and sat in the chair in front of his desk. “Mostly bruises. I got lucky. Have state police found anything?”
He shook his head. “They collected some glass fragments at the scene, but it’s a metal-grate bridge, so most of it probably went into the river. But I’ll be sure to let you know if anything comes back. They’re still trying to get the car out.” He frowned. “Divers say it’s a real mess.”
I didn’t say anything. They wouldn’t believe any explanation I could give for the state of the car, so I figured it was safer not to offer any. And I didn’t hold out a lot of hope for answers from the glass fragments. I already knew it was a blue Chevy pickup that had hit me, but in this area of rednecks and good old boys, that narrowed it down to, oh, say fifty thousand suspects, give or take ten thousand.
“Look, Kara,” he said, leaning back in his chair and grimacing, “I hate to rag on you since you’ve just been through all that, but I got a call from Mandeville PD.”
I winced. “Captain, I know I was out of line there. I’m sorry about that.”
“Yeah, you were completely off base,” he said with a scowl. “There’s already a shitload of pressure to get this case closed, and now our only suspect in the Davis Sharp case is dead, by suicide, with a confession, right? So what’s the damn issue? Let’s get this case closed and get everyone off our backs.”
“I’ll tell you what the damn issue is, sir,” I said, matching his scowl and forgetting to censor my words into a properly respectful tone. But I’d been through enough shit lately that I was pretty much beyond caring about tact and diplomacy. “Yes, Elena Sharp is dead, but she was never a strong suspect, and due to inconsistencies at the scene in Mandeville, I have serious doubts about whether or not she killed herself. To close the case now by naming her the killer is not only grossly unfair to both her and Davis Sharp, it will also allow whoever did kill them to go free.”
He narrowed his eyes and made a hmmfing sound. “Well … I can respect that. Do what you feel is right.” Then he fixed me with a glare. “But if you ever act up like that on a scene again—especially with a cooperating agency—I’ll suspend you so fast your goddamn little head will spin. Y’got me?”
I gave him the properly acquiescent nod he was expecting. “Yes, sir. It won’t happen again.” I knew I was damn lucky that he wasn’t suspending me anyway.
He blew out his breath, once again reminding me of a bulldog. “One more thing. You’ve been recommended for an FBI task force dealing with white-collar crimes and other special circumstances.” I thought for an instant he was going to roll his eyes, but he managed to restrain himself and limited it instead to merely a sour expression. “Chief Turnham has already approved it. You’d be working with Special Agents Ryan Kristoff and Zachary Garner.” He settled his glare onto me. “Don’t think this will relieve you from having to take your share of cases in this jurisdiction, though.”
“No, sir, of course not,” I answered, caught more than a little off guard by the abrupt announcement of the recommendation. “Thank you for allowing me this opportunity.”
He snorted. “Thank the chief, not me. I think it’s bullshit.” He shook his head, and I had to hide a smile at his stark honesty. “That’s all.” He waved a hand at me in dismissal, and I gladly took the opportunity to leave.
After departing my captain’s office, I continued on out of the station. Technically, I was on medical leave for another day, which gave me a perfect opportunity to finally take care of the warding on Tessa’s house and that damn portal. I headed to my aunt’s house—stopping first at the Kwik-E Mart to buy Oreos and chocolate ice cream. The last twenty-four hours had been hell, and I needed all the chocolate and fat I could get my hands on right now.
I mentally reviewed the conversation with my captain as I drove. I definitely deserved the dressing-down I’d received over my behavior at Elena’s condo, and even I could admit that the only reason that I hadn’t been rewarded with unpaid days off was because of the accident. In that respect, I should probably be grateful to my attacker.
Of course, that was the only respect. I’d had to push my credit card dangerously close to its limit in order to replace my gun and holster as well as my phone, though I was holding out a ridiculous hope that the department insurance would cover some of it. Wouldn’t that be a nice change of pace.
I climbed the steps of Tessa’s house and did a quick othersight scan of the front-door area but didn’t feel anything amiss this time. The aversions were still in place and apparently unaltered. I sighed and pushed in after unlocking the door, then headed to the kitchen and shoved the ice cream into the empty freezer. The piece of paper that had the names and lines and circles was still on the kitchen counter—our attempt to find some sort of connection between the murders. I folded the paper and stuffed it into my bag. After losing my notebook in the river, I knew I would need to start re-creating as much as I could remember.
I did a quick check of the library and the rest of the house, not sensing anything out of the ordinary, then locked the front door and headed upstairs to my aunt’s summoning chamber. She had her chamber in her attic since there was no way in the world for her to have a basement where she lived. Basements in Louisiana were pretty damn rare, since the water table was so high. The only reason I was able to have one was because my house was situated on a hill. It was yet one more reason why I knew I would never sell that house.
Fortunately, the staircase to the attic was a real one and not a rickety pull-down ladder, since Tessa occasionally brought the demons she summoned down to her library. In theory, the attic could have been used as an additional bedroom, albeit a small one. I tugged the door open, making a face as a wave of warm air flowed over me. I flicked the air vent to the full open position, then stood in front of the vent for a few minutes as cooler air poured in.
Finally, when the temperature was bearable, I moved to the center of the room, pulling a piece of chalk out of my pocket. I sketched out a storage diagram, then sat back on my heels and channeled as much potency as I could scrape up into it—which wasn’t much. But my idea was to continue to do this throughout the day—little bumps of potency that hopefully wouldn’t wipe me out too much.
My plan for the rest of the day was to alternate between channeling potency, eating Oreos, and watching corny movies. Tessa had a huge number of DVDs, so after I came down from the attic, I settled myself in front of the TV and began to browse her collection. However, I quickly discovered that her taste in movies was similar to her taste in just about everything else—quirky, eccentric, eclectic. The Killing Time. Metropolis. El Topo. The Heroic Trio. The Night of the Hunter. Jesus Christ Vampire Hunter. Dr. Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog. What the hell was that? I thumbed through, hand abruptly pausing on Barbarians at the Gate. I still hadn’t looked at the video from the gate surveillance at Brian Roth’s subdivision.
I retrieved the DVD from my bag and popped it into Tessa’s player, then settled back with the Oreos and the remote. The screen was split into four sections—views from the main cameras at the entrance and the exit and then views from two lower cameras, designed to record the license plates of cars that came and went. The multiple cameras made viewing the video challenging, but after a few minutes I learned to ignore the license-plate views and focus on only the two main cameras. Good thing I had plenty of sugar in my system.
At the one-dozen-Oreos point, I saw a blue Prius exit the gates. I ran it back and checked the view that showed the license plate. Yep, that was Carol’s; 6:30 p.m. Half an hour later on the video, I saw Brian’s Ford F-150 enter. Well, that eliminated the outside possibility that Carol had killed Brian and then gone off to meet whomever she’d met, and it also helped clinch my theory that Brian hadn’t been the one who killed her at the motel.
While my eyes glazed and my stomach protested the sheer number of Oreos that had been stuffed into it, I dutifully fast-forwarded through the next several hours of video, watching to see if the Prius returned or Brian’s pickup left.
A flash of red caught my attention and I sat up, jamming my thumb down on the pause button. I slowly ran the video back, exhaling in astonishment as a familiar red Mercedes convertible came into view. “What the hell?”
I quickly checked the license plate view, then sighed. False alarm. Not Elena Sharp’s after all.
But I kept the video paused on the view of the license plate. Frowning, I picked up my cell phone and dialed the Beaulac PD dispatcher.
“Detective Gillian here. Can you run a tag for me, please?”
After about a minute, I thanked the dispatcher and hung up. Matching red Mercedes convertibles. It wasn’t Elena’s car. It was her husband’s.
I checked the time on the video: 11:30 p.m. I replayed the section several times, then ran it forward to find the point where the car exited the subdivision: 11:50 p.m.
I sat back, image of the red Mercedes frozen on Tessa’s TV. I felt equally frozen. I’d wanted a connection between Brian Roth and Davis Sharp. Now I had it—but I still had to make sense out of it. Maybe Becky the Cardio Barbie was wrong, maybe it was Brian that Elena had been sleeping with, and not his father. If so, maybe Davis found out that Brian and Elena were sleeping together, and went and killed Brian in revenge. That’s fairly plausible. But that didn’t explain Carol’s death.
I shook my head. I was getting ahead of myself. Just because Davis had been in that subdivision didn’t mean he’d killed Brian. It didn’t even mean he’d gone to Brian’s house. Stick with what you can determine for now, I chided myself.
I hit the step button on the remote, taking the video forward one frame at a time. It was possible that it wasn’t Davis driving the car.
No, a few frames later, the distinguished councilman was clearly visible in the driver’s seat. But there’s someone with him, I realized. Perhaps his wife? If he was confronting her lover, would he make her come along? Unfortunately, the angle of the camera made it impossible to see anything other than a dark shape in the passenger seat. I muttered several nasty words as I stepped the video back and forth, searching all views for any glimpse of the passenger. I knew it was a person because I could see movement, but that was the most information I could glean. I scowled. In the movies, the detective would simply take the video to the crime lab, and a high-tech computer would magically remove the glare and pixelation and windshield so that I could ID the passenger.
“Fucking real-world technology,” I muttered.
Chapter 30
Despite my awareness of the limitations of video enhancement, I still intended to pass the DVD off to the crime lab to see if anything at all could be done with it. But in the meantime I had a summoning to prepare for, so I returned to my original plan of channeling potency, eating junk food, and watching movies. By evening I had a sugar high, the attic was pleasantly cool, and more important, my lovely little storage diagram had a day’s potency and was holding it perfectly. Moreover, I didn’t feel overly tired or drained. Probably like the difference between sprinting a mile and walking it with lots of rest stops. I could definitely get used to this.
I’d summoned in my aunt’s chamber before but never on my own. It felt strange to make my preparations and sketch the diagram in here—almost as if I were trying on her underwear. But I shoved my unease aside; I didn’t need distractions. I completed my usual preparations, readied my implements, then stood at the edge of the diagram. Taking a deep breath, I pulled potency from the storage diagram, relieved as the power flowed into my control with velvet ease—a thousand times easier than pulling it normally, even on a full moon. I quickly formed the protections and readied the bindings, giddily aware that I’d just increased my power as a summoner dramatically.
But right now I had to finish this summoning. I pulled the arcane power into place, forming the portal between the two worlds. I shaped it to the demon I desired, then finally spoke the name of the demon.
“Zhergalet.”
Heartbeats later, a small squat creature that resembled a six-legged furry lizard crouched before me. Its body was only about three feet long, but it had a sinuous tail that was at least twice that length—though it was difficult to tell, since it never stayed still, winding and coiling constantly. It wore a bright green belt around its middle with small pouches hanging from it. Its pelt was a sleek dark blue that shimmered with a purplish iridescence, and its eyes were a brilliant gold, slitted just like a reptile’s. I personally thought that the faas was absolutely gorgeous.
It snapped its head up and locked those gold eyes on me. “You summon in poor moon now not full you summon night need moon always full right?”