Night Hunter

by Cathy McDavid

  Where was Nick? He'd gone to check out the recycling bins behind the church while she made another pass through the alley before it got too dark to see anything. They were supposed to have met up five minutes ago but he, as usual, was late. Neither had he checked in by cell phone.

  "Sorry to bother you." Gillian started to walk away from the old woman. Nick had cautioned her to invite as little attention as possible.

  "I saw you here before. Yesterday. Are you looking for el monstruo?"

  "I beg your pardon?"

  "El monstruo." The monster.

  "Have you seen it?" Gillian blurted, then could have bitten her tongue for her burst of impulsiveness. Way to maintain a low profile!

  "Si." The woman nodded emphatically. "Anoche." Last night.

  "What time?"

  "Ooh." She crinkled her face. "Maybe one or two. Very late."

  "What happened?" The hell with Nick's warning, Gillian thought and stepped closer. She smiled kindly, hoping to encourage the woman. Her plan worked.

  "I heard a noise, like someone had dropped something very big. I do not sleep good these days. My bones hurt all the time. How do you say ... ?"

  "Arthritis?"

  "Si."

  "About the crea ... the monster. You heard a noise?"

  The woman nodded again. "I came out onto the porch and saw the monster. It flew from that tree over there"-she raised her hand and pointed to one of the trees by the church-"to the roof."

  "What did it do on the roof?"

  She knitted her brow. "It walked around, trying to get inside the church. After a while it flew away."

  "Back to the tree?"

  "I do not know."

  "Did anyone else see it besides you?"

  "No." The woman appeared crestfallen that she couldn't be of more help to Gillian.

  "Are you sure it was the monster you saw?" Gillian wanted to believe the woman, but she was old and it had been dark that time of night.

  "Oh, si. I am very sure. It looked just like the other one."

  "What other one?" Had the woman spotted the female creature? "Was it smaller?" Gillian gestured with her hands.

  "Big. And with ... How do you say en ingles?" The woman flapped her arms to mimic flight.

  "Wings?"

  "Si, wings."

  Could there be two alpha males? "When did you see that one? And where?"

  "Hate veinticinco anos." Twenty-five years ago. She'd seen Radium! "Here? At this church?" "Across the street and down the block. At the market."

  "Really?"

  Gillian couldn't wait to tell Nick. Radium's nocturnal wanderings probably had no bearing on Cadamus's or the fact a female creature chose the church as a hiding place. Still, the occurrences couldn't be dismissed as pure coincidence.

  "That was where the family was killed," the old woman said. "At the market."

  "Family?"

  "There were four. A husband and wife and two children. Only three died," she said in a dramatic whisper. "The boy, he lived."

  Nick, Gillian thought with an ache in her chest. This was the neighborhood where his family had been murdered. Why hadn't he told her?

  "The police said it was an accident." The old woman continued with her story. "But I knew better. It was el monstruo."

  If only she weren't running late, Gillian would have liked to interview the old woman some more. "Thank you for your time. You've been a big help."

  "I hope you catch him."

  "I hope so, too." Catching Cadamus would be preferable to him engaging in battle with Nick and possibly killing him. She didn't think Nick would see it that way, however. "You'd better go back inside. And don't come out again tonight."

  "Adios, senorita." The woman gave a small wave of her hand and disappeared behind the fence.

  Gillian's cell phone rang just as she reached the edge of the church parking lot. She flipped it open and put it to her ear after verifying the caller ID.

  "Where are you?"

  "Miss me?"

  "Quit being cute."

  "Look to your right."

  She spied him at the northeast corner of the church near the entrance to the tree-lined walkway that lead around to the front of ,the church.

  Without saying good-bye, she hung up and trotted across the parking lot toward him. Night had fallen while she'd been talking to the old woman. If their luck held, Cadamus would return in a few hours, closer to midnight, when it was darker outside.

  "Are you doing okay?" Nick asked, meeting her halfway.

  "I'm fine."

  "You sure? You look a little flustered." He took her by the arm and lead her back the way he'd come.

  "Why didn't you tell me this was where your family was killed?"

  "Because it's not."

  "Okay. The market down the street, then."

  "Charlie needs to keep his mouth shut."

  "He didn't tell me."

  "Who did?"

  They stopped beneath one of the trees. On the nearby street, traffic zoomed by, yet on their side of the fence, tranquility prevailed. Iglisia de San Pedro was a charming oasis in the midst of a noisy, dirty city.

  "I just had the most interesting conversation with an old woman who lives in one of the houses behind the church." Gillian hitched her thumb in the general direction. "She claims to have seen el monstruo last night, flying from a tree to the roof of the church."

  "That's good."

  "Good? I thought the fewer people who know about the creatures the better."

  "Cadamus is feeling the pressure. Taking more chances. Time is running out, and he hasn't found a mate yet. He'll make a mistake soon, and if all goes well, we'll be there to take advantage of it."

  "Well, get this. Cadamus isn't the first alpha male the old woman has seen. She told me about spotting Radium twenty-five years ago." Gillian took Nick's hand and observed his expression for any evidence of distress. "If being here bothers you, we don't have to stay."

  "It doesn't bother me, and we do have to stay."

  "Nick . . . " She gazed at him with concern.

  "Gillian, no PhD-in-psychology bullcrap tonight. Please. I don't need to vent. I don't need to cry. I don't need to let it all hang out or get in touch with my inner grief."

  "It's all right if you do. We're near the place where your family was killed."

  "I live near where my family was killed. I pass by the market twice a week at least. Trust me. I have no old baggage for you to analyze."

  "I'm just saying if you feel like talking, I'm here for you."

  "For Christ's sake." He groaned. "Knock it off already. If any of us has unresolved issues, it's you."

  "Me?"

  "You live in the same building where your mother was killed."

  "I bought a condo there because the location puts me close to my research." Realizing she'd raised her voice, she made an attempt to lower it.

  "You bought a condo there because connecting every day with your mother's death enables you to stay focused and committed to your goal."

  "Which is my research."

  "Which is getting your father out of prison."

  "Is this more of your armchair psychology? Or should I say behind-the-camera psychology?" She was vaguely aware she didn't sound anything like the professional she considered herself to be. But so what?

  "Can we continue this conversation later?" Nick said through gritted teeth.

  A group of men and women were strolling across the parking lot toward them. More came from across the street. Gillian guessed they were arriving to pick up their children from the classes and escort them home.

  "Sure," she grumbled.

  He took her by the shoulders and though it was dark outside, she could discern his features clearly. Maybe because she'd committed every detail of his face to memory.

  "We're here to do a job. An important job. Even if I was upset, which I'm not, I'd put my feelings aside."

  He was right, of course.

  "And if that weren't enou
gh," he bent and grazed her cheek with his lips, "I have you. You're all the psychology I need to get me through any rough time."

  She smiled, moved despite herself. "You're playing me."

  He smiled back. "A little."

  "It's working."

  "I see that." He let go of her shoulders, took her arm, and together they started up the lushly landscaped walkway to the front of the church. "Let's go."

  "Where?"

  "I think the time has come to expand our search."

  "Oh." While they'd inspected the exterior of Iglisia de San Pedro, its premises, and the nearby houses, they'd yet to go inside because of the wedding the previous night. She was curious about what he had in mind and might have asked if they weren't suddenly surrounded by people.

  Climbing the uneven stone steps, Gillian and Nick passed through two sets of ornately carved wooden doors into the foyer. The church was reputed to be friendly and welcoming, but most of the glances cast their way were leery if not downright suspicious. Understandable. They stuck out like sore thumbs in the predominately Hispanic community.

  "So much for not drawing attention," Gillian muttered under her breath.

  The parents veered off to the left, heading toward another part of the church. Classrooms, Gillian surmised, or perhaps a rec room. She could hear the distant din of children's voices and feel the floor beneath her feet vibrating from stampeding feet.

  "This way," Nick said.

  "This way" turned out to be the sanctuary. It was like walking into another world.

  The church was old, the traditional decor beautifully ornate, the artwork priceless, and the elaborate stained-glass windows a study in religious history. The church also smelled. Not bad, but noticeable.

  Gillian recognized the odor, and the hair on the back of her neck stood on end.

  She must have involuntarily hesitated, for Nick had to practically drag her along with him. They walked down the center aisle between rows of polished pine pews. The stench decreased the closer they got to the altar.

  A man dressed in black religious garb stood near the altar, his back to them.

  "Are you sure about this?" she asked in a hushed whisper.

  "Absolutely." Nick let go of her hand. "Whatever I do or say, just go along. Got it?"

  41 Okay. "

  She recalled that he'd pretended to be a representative of the management company when they were investigating the supposed rat problem at the HansonBuilding. He probably had a similar ruse in mind.

  "Father Juan?" Nick said when they approached the man.

  The priest turned and examined Nick for several seconds. Somewhere in his early fifties, his eyes were lively and intelligent and alight with kindness. "Do I know you, my son?" His English was practically flawless.

  "It's been a long time, Father. Twenty-five years." Nick extended his hand. "I'm Nick Lawler."

  Father Juan's confusion lasted only a few seconds longer, after which he broke into a huge grin. "Nicholaus. How good it is to see you." He clasped Nick's hand and used it to pull him into an exuberant embrace. "What brings you here after all these years?"

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  "I'm here on business," Nick said after extracting himself from Father Juan's bear hug.

  "Religious business?"

  "Not exactly." Nick gestured to Gillian. "This is my associate, Jill Sands."

  She tried not to start at the fake name Nick used to introduce her. "Hello, Father. It's a pleasure to meet you."

  He shook her hand with boundless enthusiasm. "Whatever stories Nick has told you about me are completely untrue. I swear."

  "Actually," Gillian smiled thinly at Nick, "he hasn't said much about you at all."

  "No?" Father Juan asked, his disappointment evident.

  Gillian rushed to make amends. "But what little he did tell me was a gross exaggeration. Now that we've met I can see you're really very nice."

  Father Juan's belly laugh filled the sanctuary. He gripped Nick's arm and studied him with renewed interest. "I would never have recognized you."

  "Twenty-five years is a long time. I wasn't sure you'd still be here."

  "The members haven't run me off yet," Father Juan said with humor. He appraised Nick and nodded approvingly. "I'd say the passing years have been good ones. You've grown into a fine-looking man, Nick. I see purpose and strength in your eyes, feel it in your handshake. Your parents would be proud." He turned to Gillian. "Did Nick tell you he and his family used to attend church here?"

  "No. He didn't." It seemed there was a lot he'd forgotten to mention.

  "We lost touch after the tragedy that took his parents and sister." Father Juan crossed himself, then smiled. "But now you've come back." His bushy eyebrows shot up. "And on business."

  "Yes."

  Though Nick professed to carrying no leftover emotional baggage, Gillian could have sworn there was a slight catch in his voice.

  "What kind of business?"

  "We're here about the odor and the complaint you filed." Nick reached into his pants pocket, pulled out his wallet, and extracted a business card that he handed to Father Juan. "Jill and I are field investigators for the City of Phoenix Department of Health Hazards."

  "'Health Hazards?"

  "You have a lot of members in your church. A lot of children. Whatever is causing this smell could, and I stress the word could, be a health risk to them. It's our job to find out what we can, hopefully without having to shut down the church or quarantine its members."

  Gillian watched in amazement as Nick delivered his bogus story without even blinking an eye. He was so convincing, Gillian almost believed him. Father Juan did, judging by his expression.

  "I had no idea the problem was so serious. We thought maybe a dog or cat got stuck in the airconditioning vents and died."

  Little did he know how close he was to the truth. Only it was lots of dogs and cats. Meals for the female creature.

  "We're hoping that's all it is." Nick smiled reassuringly.

  "You don't think it's a ... a . . . " Father Juan looked stricken. "A person?"

  "No. Absolutely not." Nick let just the right amount of doubt creep into his voice.

  "How can we assist you?" Father Juan was hooked. So hooked it didn't occur to him to ask what the heck field investigators from the City of Phoenix were doing there at eight-fifteen at night and not eight-fifteen in the morning.

  "Jill and I will need complete access to the church, inside and out. And while I know you want to help, we have to work alone. Because of the health risk. Until we learn what's causing the smell, we can't allow anyone near. You understand?" Nick finished on a grave note.

  "Yes. Of course." Father Juan glanced at Gillian, and she gave him a sympathetic, we're-sorry-tocause-so-much-trouble smile.

  "Where's the odor the strongest?" Nick asked.

  "It's hard to tell exactly. The kitchen area, I'd say. That's where we first noticed it. I'll show you the way." He gestured for them to follow him down the aisle, filling them in on various details as they walked, including the church's recent drop in attendance.

  At the entrance to the sanctuary, they were met by a young woman, her pretty face etched with worry.

  "Padre Juan. Por favor. Puedo yo dirigirse a usted?"

  "Si, Amaia. Que pasa?"

  She spoke in rapid Spanish. Gillian's two years of high school foreign language classes couldn't begin to keep up. But she did understand body language, and Amaia was clearly beside herself with worry.

  Father Juan spoke to her, his tone reassuring, then turned to Nick and Gillian.

  "I'm sorry. I have to go."

  "Is there a problem?" Nick stepped forward.

  "Amaia's daughter didn't meet her after class, and she's concerned." Father Juan shrugged. "Stevie is usually a very responsible girl. I told Amaia I would help her look."

  "You go on," Nick offered. "I remember the way to the kitchen."

  Father Juan smiled affectionately. "I hope that's not all you
remember about Iglisia de San Pedro."

  "It's not."

  "Come back again, Nick, when you're not working."

  "I will."

  Father Juan went with Amaia, who appeared enormously relieved at having him accompany her. Gillian could see why. The priest had a positive effect on people. He'd certainly had an effect on Nick. Though curious about Nick's childhood, she let the subject pass. Another time, when they weren't so pressed, she'd query him.

  "What next?" she asked. "I'm sort of new at this health hazzard field investigation stuff."

  "Follow me. I'm about to give you a crash course."

  They went left, down the same corridor the parents had taken earlier to fetch their children. The hall was considerably quieter now, vacant except for a few stragglers using the restrooms.

  "Exactly how many fake business cards do you carry in your wallet?"

  "A lot."

  "Charlie's handiwork?"

  "He's a wiz with desktop publishing programs." "Is Lawler your real name?"

  Nick nodded. "I didn't take Charlie's last name until about a year after my parents died."

  The kitchen was large, the fixtures and appliances in it, antiques. Long counters with yellowed Formica tops, probably installed sometime in the sixties, were riddled with cracks and gouges. Exposed pipes ran floor to ceiling on the wall behind a double sink the size of a bathtub, the paint covering them peeled away in most places. Cupboard doors hung at odd angles, the church members' prayers the only thing preventing them from falling off.

  The kitchen also smelled. Terrible. Wherever the female creature was hiding had to be nearby.

  "Search all the cabinets and cupboards," Nick told her. "I'm going to check out the pantry and storage rooms."

  Gillian opened and closed cabinet and cupboard doors, of which there were many, finding nothing more dangerous than a large assortment of mismatched cookware, glassware, and silverware. Still, she tensed with each cupboard or drawer she opened. In all likelihood, the female creature wasn't lurking behind the twenty-gallon soup kettle or inside the oven, but Gillian couldn't stop her hands from shaking.