Band of Demons (The Sanheim Chronicles Book 2)

by Rob Blackwell

  He was trying to get back inside, Quinn knew.

  If it was connected to his fraud at the bank, who had known about it?

  The examiners certainly knew, but they didn’t have a motive to kill the guy. They must see bank fraud on a regular basis.

  It could be someone inside the bank, someone who stood to lose money if the institution failed.

  The only problem was the manner of murder. Quinn could believe someone would be angry enough to kill the banker, but according to the police report, he had been decapitated.

  An angry employee or private investor might have confronted Robertson at his home or in the bank and shot him. But slice off his head? That was a particularly brutal and unusual way to kill someone. The only person who had done that lately was… Quinn himself.

  Something isn’t right here.

  A dark and disturbing idea occurred to Quinn. For such an old institution, the bank’s headquarters were relatively new. The branch in town, the sole other branch of Leesburg National Bank, was clustered among every other building along Route 7. But the headquarters, built in 2002, were a little outside of town, sitting on top of a small hill. The path that led to the parking lot was short, but went through a grassy stretch.

  Quinn walked off the path and onto the lawn. It didn’t take long for him to find what he was looking for: hoof prints. Someone had been riding a horse nearby, likely the killer.

  The police will see this too, Quinn thought. They’re going to think…

  The conclusion would be unmistakable. Last year, the spot where Lord Halloween was murdered was littered with hoof prints in the dirt. The story written by Kate and Quinn earlier this year had even made mention of a mysterious horseman. The police were looking for a killer who rode a horse.

  And thanks to Quinn and Kate, it wasn’t just the police. Their story had been a hit. It had worked to calm people down about the death of Lord Halloween, but—perhaps inevitably—it had generated its own wave of fevered speculation. All people knew about the Prince of Sanheim was that he rode through Loudoun County on a black horse, and had a penchant for decapitation.

  This would be tagged on them. Never mind that in their sole letter, the Prince of Sanheim had…

  Quinn stood frozen to the ground, still staring at the hoof prints. The letter had said the innocent had no need to fear. But the guilty?

  It had made it pretty damn clear they were up for grabs. And what could be guiltier than a man who stole from his own people?

  He had refused to admit the thought into his brain until now, but he could no longer see it any other way.

  The killer, whoever he or she was, was pretending to be the Prince of Sanheim.

  Chapter 9

  Quinn practically burst through the back door of the Loudoun Chronicle. He took the steps two at a time. When he stepped into the newsroom, he saw Kate look up.

  Meet me in the conference room, he thought.

  Instead she shook her head and he looked over to see Tim coming right toward him.

  “I need that story as fast as you can write it,” he said. “This is going to get a lot of attention.”

  Quinn grimaced but nodded.

  “What is it?” Tim asked.

  Tell him, Kate said.

  But…

  You think the police won’t figure this out, she thought. We can’t look like we have something to hide. Just spit it out.

  “Can we talk in your office?” he asked Tim.

  Tim looked bothered by something, but nodded. Once they were inside, Quinn shut the door behind him.

  “It’s not an angry employee, is it?” Tim asked.

  Quinn shook his head.

  “I don’t think so, no,” he said. “Highly unusual crime scene. I can think of only two possibilities.”

  “Which are?”

  “The first is that an employee killed Robertson and wanted to make it look like the Prince of Sanheim,” Quinn said. “The second is that it was the Prince of Sanheim.”

  “What?” Tim asked. He seemed stunned. “Why in the world do you think he’s involved?”

  “The banker was decapitated, for one,” Quinn said. “I asked around a little—his head was taken off with a sword, apparently.”

  “Just like Lord Halloween,” Tim said.

  Quinn nodded.

  “Doesn’t necessarily prove anything, though,” Tim said.

  “Oh yeah? We have a lot of murders by sword in Loudoun County?”

  Tim frowned.

  “I see your point,” he replied.

  “That’s not the only thing,” Quinn said. “There are hoof prints in the grass and trees near the crime scene. So whoever killed him…”

  “Was riding a horse,” Tim replied.

  “Right,” Quinn said. “And then there’s the letter…”

  “’The innocent have no reason to fear us and we will give them none,’” Tim quoted from memory. “But Robertson wasn’t exactly innocent.”

  “No, he wasn’t,” Quinn said.

  “You’re sure? Did you see something else?”

  “Nothing definitive. A bunch of feds were waiting around, though. My guess is they’ll close that bank tonight, if they can wait that long. Too much prep-work was done for this to be a total surprise. They were readying the guillotine.”

  “No pun intended,” Tim said.

  Quinn stood there and chewed his lip. He was uncertain what to say next. Once again, he felt Kate silently urging him on.

  “Something’s bothering me,” Quinn said.

  “Other than two murders in two days?”

  “Exactly,” Quinn said. “If it was the Prince of Sanheim, whoever he is, he is making his presence obvious. The hoof prints aren’t subtle and decapitation is hardly common.”

  “Well, the letter wasn’t exactly subtle either,” Tim said.

  “No,” Quinn responded. “But it didn’t threaten just any wrongdoer, either. It was a specific threat against murderers, not thieves.”

  “He could be branching out,” Tim said.

  “Why now? And what’s the connection to Madame Zora?”

  “Maybe he thought she was a swindler too,” Tim said. “He thought she was a fraud.”

  Quinn threw up his hands. He paced around the office. It was small, cramped and—with the door shut—airless as well. A single bead of sweat ran down his face.

  “Okay, but that’s still a long way from murderer,” Quinn said. “This doesn’t fit.”

  “So it’s an angry employee pretending to be the Prince of Sanheim?” Tim asked.

  “Yeah, but who else at the bank knew? And why go to the trouble of pretending to be the Prince of Sanheim? Not to mention…”

  “What?”

  Quinn looked thoughtful for a moment. He had a flashback to the year prior, riding toward the man who had been his colleague for years, slicing through his head with a sword. With a start, he brought himself back to the present.

  “Decapitation is tougher than it looks,” Quinn said. “You’d have to know how to use an axe or a sword.”

  “You have some personal experience with this?” Tim asked.

  Quinn remembered who he was talking to and looked at Tim, who just responded by smiling enigmatically.

  “Noooo,” Quinn said. “But my guess is a lot of others don’t either.”

  “They’ve killed before,” Tim said.

  Quinn pointed at Tim. “Exactly,” he said.

  “So, to sum up, we have an experienced killer who may or may not work for the bank, killing Robertson as a message and pretending to be the Prince of Sanheim,” Tim said.

  “That’s my best guess,” Quinn said. “I just can’t figure out why they would go to the trouble of pretending to be the Prince of Sanheim. Sure, the police get thrown off the scent, but it’s not like they know the first thing about who the Prince is anyway. There’s no point to it.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” Tim said. “Think about it. What would Lord Halloween have done if so
meone had pulled a copycat killing—murdered someone pretending to be Lord Halloween?”

  Quinn actually laughed at that.

  “Well, I imagine he would have hunted the person down and killed him,” Quinn said. “Probably brutally.”

  “Right, but you’re missing the point,” Tim replied. “And we’re wasting time. I want you to write the story and don’t hold back. Get someone on the police force to make the connection to the Prince of Sanheim and add the details in your story. Do it quickly, before The Washington Post and everyone else figures it all out.”

  “You want me to say it was the Prince?”

  “I want you to raise the possibility, but leave it vague,” Tim said. “The potential for a copycat killer wouldn’t be unprecedented.”

  “What about Zora? Should I connect the two?”

  “Two deaths in two days is a high murder rate, even for us,” Tim said. “Any other similarities?”

  “No,” Quinn replied. “Zora was killed with a knife. There’s no evidence of a sword or a horse. Not saying they aren’t connected but…”

  “It’s not immediately apparent.”

  “No,” he said. “You want to fill me in on what you’re thinking? I’m still missing something.”

  The answering thought came from Kate at the same time Tim opened his mouth to speak.

  “Whoever did this is pretending to be the Prince of Sanheim,” Tim said, appearing to choose his words carefully, “so he can flush the real one out into the open.”

  It’s bait to catch us, Kate thought.

  *****

  Kieran strolled into the room, deftly moving around several women to get to the front. He had to admit the new place was fantastically well-arranged. It was a large area and it had so much natural light pouring in that you could be excused for thinking you were outside. The stone floor added to the sensation, as did the small trees planted in discreet pots that lined the pathway to the front. The ceiling almost reached to the sky, which was clearly the intended effect. A huge skylight let you see the clouds moving slowly overhead.

  What was all the more impressive was that this had taken only a couple months to renovate. That alone should have been impossible, given the material and craftsmanship necessary. But when she was motivated to do something, she made it happen.

  He stopped at the front of the room and looked at her sitting in her chair. She was giving directions to some lackey and Kieran couldn’t be bothered to figure out about what. She was still striking, of course. That would never change. And she was good at keeping up with styles. At the moment, she was just in slim jeans and a red blouse. It was nothing fancy, except for the necklace that hung deep in her cleavage, but some women looked even better when it appeared like they weren’t trying. It didn’t hurt that her body, with her beautiful curves and long legs, could do most of the work. Her features looked perfectly sculpted. She had long, wavy brown hair, high cheekbones, and sky-blue eyes. Elyssa was, in a word, gorgeous.

  Kieran’s admiration appeared to draw her attention. She turned away from the woman she was speaking to and looked at Kieran appreciatively.

  “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you look at me like that,” she said, and her voice came out low and sexy. “I have a free afternoon. It might be nice to… indulge ourselves.”

  Kieran let a smile touch his lips.

  “What about one of your moidin? Couldn’t they scratch that itch?” Kieran asked, and he tipped his head in the direction of the fifteen or so people in the room.

  They were mostly women, all attractive, but there were a few men too. He wasn’t honestly sure which Elyssa preferred anymore.

  She stood up and walked slowly over to him. She lifted her hand to his face.

  “You will always be something special,” she said, and her hand dropped down to his chest. “The others will just do what I say.”

  For a moment, Kieran was tempted. Why not? He had nothing left to lose, did he? Why not enjoy the time he had left?

  But memory can be a real bitch. Even as he let himself look into her bright, blue eyes, he remembered the last time he had “indulged” himself with Elyssa—and what it had cost him. The smile fell from his lips and his eyes took on the same appearance as the stone on the floor.

  Elyssa didn’t seem to notice, so Kieran leaned in close as if he planned to kiss her and whispered in her ear, “Sorry. I don’t sleep with vipers.”

  Elyssa pushed him back and a sneer appeared on her lips. Kieran was suddenly aware that every person in the room was now looking at him with murderous intent.

  “I should have them rip you apart,” she said.

  So I can still hurt you, Kieran thought. That’s interesting.

  “Go ahead,” he responded. “Let’s end this little game.”

  “I might,” she said. “But he wouldn’t like it. For some reason I can’t fathom, he finds you useful.”

  “Oh, so you take orders from him now,” Kieran said and smiled. “That’s new.”

  He had to admit he was enjoying this. It had been a long time since anything he said had an impact on Elyssa. She must be getting a thinner skin or…

  She’s nervous. Scared, even. Fascinating.

  “Don’t push me,” she said.

  Kieran could still feel the hateful looks from those around him. It would take just a single mental command from Elyssa for him to die, despite the fact that several of the people here were supposedly his friends. It wasn’t their fault. Only he remained totally immune to her sway. Sometimes he wished that wasn’t true. Life would be so much easier without free will.

  It was obvious Kieran should back down. The only problem was he just didn’t want to.

  “Or you’ll what?” he said. “Kill me? ‘If you strike me down, I’ll become more powerful than you can possibly imagine.’”

  Elyssa’s look of sheer confusion was almost worth it alone.

  “Seriously?” he said. “You don’t know what I’m quoting from?”

  “A movie…” she said. “It’s…”

  “Oh, stop raiding their minds, will you?” Kieran said. “It’s ‘Star Wars,’ okay? God, you should get out more.”

  “I don’t have time to go to the movies,” she replied. “And I don’t have time to engage in trivialities with you. I don’t understand your fondness for these distractions.”

  “What the hell am I supposed to do with my time? Have tea with your groupies? The movie’s over 30 years old, Elyssa. It’s not like I was making a rap reference, for God’s sake. You could try enjoying the world a little, you know.”

  “I’d forgotten what a child you are,” she responded.

  “Am not,” Kieran said, and stuck out his tongue.

  “Just. Shut. Up,” she said. “Or I really will kill you.”

  Kieran leaned in so close his face was nearly touching hers.

  “I’ve heard that song before, sweetheart,” he hissed. “Maybe you should sing a different tune.”

  Elyssa’s eyes widened and she seemed to make a decision. The crowd around Kieran started to surge forward but he never took his eyes off her. If she was going to kill him, she should see what he really thought of her in his eyes. Death would almost be a relief from the dangerous game he was playing.

  Just as the moidin reached him, a voice rang out.

  “Stop,” it said, and everyone instantly complied. A look of confusion seemed to cross their faces, as if none could remember what they were doing and why. A few had enough sense to look scared.

  Everyone looked toward the front of the room. The man who stood there was tall, more than six feet, and though his frame was lean, he was muscular. His short black hair matched the closely cropped beard on his face. Both seemed to accentuate his eyes, which bore right through Kieran.

  “Sawyer,” Elyssa said, and it came out as a breathy whisper. “How nice of you to join us.”

  “Oh,” Kieran said, “it’s you. Elyssa was just about to kill me.”

  “He was…” sh
e started.

  “Do you really think I don’t know?” Sawyer responded. “Or that I would care in any case? Let’s dispense with this nonsense, shall we? Leave us.”

  The last comment was directed to the moidin, who obediently filed out of the room. It wasn’t a mental command, but Kieran knew it didn’t need to be. These people would jump off a bridge if Sawyer so much as told them to.

  Sawyer walked down the steps toward the two of them.

  “You two could find other ways to release your tension, you know that?” he said with a trace of amusement.

  “Well, to be fair, she did start with that offer,” Kieran responded. “But dying seemed preferable.”

  He felt, rather than saw, Elyssa bristle, but ignored it.

  “Okay,” Sawyer said and all humor dropped from his voice. “Why don’t you just give us an update and go bother someone else? Or, better yet, find the two we came here to find.”

  “That’s what I’m doing,” Kieran said.

  He watched as Sawyer came to stand next to Elyssa. She immediately reached her arm around him. Kieran thought Sawyer flinched a little at her touch.

  How long before you forgive her, old man?

  Sawyer didn’t look old, of course. He could easily pass for being in his early forties. Only Elyssa and Kieran knew he was three times older than that.

  “Did your little plan work?” Sawyer asked.

  Kieran nodded.

  “It’s on the Internet,” he replied. “Whoever the Prince of Sanheim is—assuming they’re still here—they should see it within a few hours, if they haven’t already.”

  “Can I see it?” Sawyer asked.

  Kieran reached into his back pocket and pulled out two crumpled pieces of paper.

  He watched silently as Sawyer read the article. Elyssa and Sawyer exchanged dark looks.

  “There’s a mention that this could be a copycat,” Sawyer said, and his tone was disapproving.

  Kieran shrugged.

  “What did you expect?” he said. “Not everyone is as stupid as you seem to think they are, Sawyer.”

  “If the public doesn’t believe, the plan won’t work,” Elyssa said.