Carnal Sin sds-2

by Allison Brennan

  He stared at her. “We’re a lot more close-minded than people think. If-shit, what is it?” He pulled his ringing BlackBerry from his pocket. “What?” he answered. His face changed. “Are you one hundred percent positive? … Meet me at her condo and don’t go in until I get there.” He hung up. “Bring me Moira O’Donnell and we’ll talk.”

  “What was that about?”

  “Fingerprints all over George Erickson’s bedroom belong to one of the waitresses at Velocity.” He grinned humorlessly. “Murder or not, she walked out and didn’t report a death. I’ll find out if it’s connected to Craig Monroe. One thing I’m good at, Sheriff McPherson, is getting answers.” He stood. “Eight a.m. Tomorrow. If O’Donnell and Cooper aren’t there, I’ll have them arrested.”

  Skye watched him walk out and then she called Moira. Rod was on his way to pick her up so they could head back to Santa Louisa. When Nelson had called her about Moira and Rafe, she’d taken a cab to Westwood and met the detective at Starbucks while Rod continued his research at the morgue.

  “What’s up, Sheriff?” Moira answered.

  “I just had my ass chewed out by Grant Nelson. Why did you leave when you were being questioned? You’re really screwing with my authority.”

  “We had to-there’re witches at Velocity, and they were working a spell. Did you see Nelson? Is he okay?”

  “Tired, irritated, and hungry, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary.”

  “Good. I didn’t know what they were doing exactly, but it seemed to be aimed at him. I figured they were working to have him arrest me.”

  “Can spells do that?”

  “If the magician’s any good. It’s something like mind control, but not.”

  Skye shook her head. Talking with Moira could be exhausting. “I promised him you and Rafe will be at the police station to finish your conversation tomorrow at eight a.m.”

  “I’ll try-”

  “You’ll be there or he’ll put a warrant out on you. And leave your gun in the car-you’re going to get me in trouble, and yourself deported.”

  “I’m sorry, I understand, but-”

  “I don’t think you do. You run around like the law doesn’t apply to you. I’m trying to help, but you make it extremely difficult!”

  “Skye, what’s wrong?”

  Skye took a deep breath. “I have to go back to Santa Louisa. The D.A. let Elizabeth Ellis out of jail.”

  “What? He can’t do that!” Moira said. “I should have done it my way.”

  “That’s not the answer, and you know it. Besides, Ellis is not the one we need to worry about. Let’s get these seven bastards back where they belong and worry about the human problems later. Hank and Jared are keeping a close eye on Lily. They took her to my house, and I’ll be there with her tonight. But right now you have to promise me, swear on a Bible if you have to, that you’ll be at the police station to meet Nelson at eight a.m. tomorrow morning and tell him what he wants to know.”

  “He wouldn’t believe the truth.”

  “Maybe, maybe not.”

  “Skye-”

  “Dammit, Moira, this is serious.”

  “All right.”

  “Promise?”

  “I said yes.”

  “Did you check out the houses?”

  “Yes-Galion’s is locked up tight, gated, the works. I didn’t sense anything, but we didn’t go inside. I don’t think there’s anything strange there. Stephanie Frazier, ditto. The roommate was there, Rafe sweet-talked his way inside; I sensed nothing. From her house or her roommate.”

  “I thought it was a shot.”

  “We also met with a friend who has some information about Wendy Donovan and her cult, and we’re going to follow up on that.”

  “Nelson just got a call about evidence in the Erickson case.”

  “What kind of evidence?”

  “Prints all over his bedroom.”

  “Whose?”

  “I don’t know, one of the waitresses at Velocity. He’s not exactly my best friend right now. He’s keeping me in the dark until you come in. But he also has another witness named Nina Hardwick, who claims that Erickson’s wife was a witch. He didn’t believe it, but I think I convinced him that maybe it’s the same cult we’re both investigating. He’s considering it.” Skye rubbed the back of her neck and looked out the window. Young men and women dressed in anything from jeans and designer shirts to skimpy dresses and pressed slacks passed her on their way down the street to one of the many clubs, including Velocity.

  “Where’s the detective now?” Moira asked.

  “On his way to the suspect’s apartment.”

  “Alone?”

  “He’s meeting his partner. What’s wrong, Moira?”

  “You have to stop him. I know who killed Craig Monroe. It was Nadine Anson, one of the club’s waitresses, and she was possessed. If that’s the same woman who was with Erickson last night, that puts Detective Nelson in danger.”

  “Explain.”

  “I don’t have time! I have her address.”

  “Hold it, Moira! How do you know who killed Craig Monroe?”

  “I saw it. I can’t explain how, but you have to trust me, Skye.”

  This situation was getting out of control. Skye wished she didn’t have to leave right now. But honestly, how could she stop it? She had to focus on what she did best: being a cop. She could protect Lily. She couldn’t battle demons.

  Skye said, “Moira, put a lid on it with Nelson. He’s a good cop, but this case is getting to him.”

  “I’ll be good.”

  “Check in with me. Often.”

  “Roger that, Sheriff,” Moira said lightly and hung up.

  Skye pocketed her phone and waited for Rod Fielding. She hoped she’d made the right decision to go back to Santa Louisa.

  She had a sick feeling she was leaving Moira and Rafe to the lions.

  FOURTEEN

  With the streetlight above illuminating him, Jeff Johnston sat on his motorcycle across from Nadine Anson’s pricey condo only a mile from Velocity. Grant pulled up behind Johnston. Before Grant had even turned off the engine, his partner had hopped off his bike and handed him the report.

  “Thanks,” Grant mumbled through his headache. The sun had set well over an hour ago. Grant despised winter; the weather in L.A. was good, but he hated early darkness.

  He read the summary, then looked at the computer printout that matched the prints-good enough for court. The prints at Erickson’s also matched a partial from the dumpster next to where Craig Monroe’s body was found-not admissible in court because they only had a small fraction of a print.

  If Nadine Anson had been involved in the orgy with Erickson’s wife as the photo that Nina Hardwick gave him suggested, she could argue that her prints were in the bedroom because she and Pam Erickson were lovers.

  It was enough to bring Mrs. Erickson and Ms. Anson in for questioning, but hardly enough to get the D.A. to even glance at the case.

  Grant sighed heavily. “We don’t have any evidence that George Erickson was murdered. The coroner is ruling cardiac arrest pending full drug panel.”

  “We can nail Anson for not reporting Erickson’s death. If she could have saved him and didn’t, we can get her for manslaughter. If he was dead, we could get her for not reporting the death.”

  “She’d plead out, get probation and time served, and the D.A. would jump at it because it wasn’t premeditated. We’d be lucky to get a nickel, and she’d make too good a witness. Can’t you see the defense dragging in all the sex pictures? Complete circus. She turns on the waterworks, apologizes, gets acquitted. The media would eat it up. The D.A. would never go all the way on this unless Nadine Anson or Pam Erickson planned to kill him. We need to keep looking at the wife. Maybe Nina Hardwick was right and Mrs. Erickson was jealous, spiked his vitamins, slowly poisoned him with arsenic, anything. Or blackmailed Nadine to do it. Paid her. We can get her financials Monday morning, see what comes out.”

>   “You’re stretching, Nelson.”

  Johnston was right, but Grant was at his wits’ end and his pounding head made it worse. “I don’t know what to make of this case. Cults, witches, orgies.” He opened his door. “Let’s go up and talk to Anson. You’re sure she isn’t working today?”

  “Got the Velocity schedule from Julie; she’s off.”

  Grant looked at his phone. “Great, Sheriff McPherson just sent me a message.” He read, “‘Moira O’Donnell is on her way to meet you at the suspect’s apartment. I’m on my way back to Santa Louisa, call if you need anything.’”

  He glanced at Johnston. “I never told her where I was going.”

  “How’d she know?”

  “Maybe that friend of hers is more involved in cults than the sheriff said. Maybe she knows exactly what’s going on. I should take her into custody as a material witness.”

  “So-what, we’re gonna wait for her?”

  “Hell no, I’m not running this investigation on the whims of a small-town cop. I still can’t buy that this is some broom-toting female cult killing men. Why? There has to be a reason. I can almost buy into Nina’s statement that the swinger lifestyle only went one way. I’ve met crazier women than Pam Erickson in my life. Georgie-boy strays, wife kills him. But why would Nadine Anson help her? And leave her prints all over the place?”

  “And what about the marks on the bodies? That’s damn creepy. That also ties into Craig Monroe and Galion.”

  Jeff had a point. “We’ve got a lot of work to do.”

  “We’re working this weekend, huh?”

  “If we don’t, that damn sheriff and her cute little sidekick will be mucking up my investigation. And who do I call to get her off my back? The district attorney in Santa Louisa? A small county like that is going to be tight; he’s not going to call her off.”

  Grant crossed the quiet side street, Johnston at his side. “Let’s play it nice with Anson, make her comfortable. See how much we can get out of her before we push.”

  They identified themselves to the condo manager and were let into the lobby. After knocking on her door, it was clear that Nadine wasn’t home. Her neighbor across the hall was leaving as they stood waiting.

  “Nadine isn’t here,” he said.

  Grant flashed his badge. “Do you know when she usually comes in?”

  “She has Thursdays and Fridays off, but I haven’t seen her in a week.”

  Grant asked, “Does she have a boyfriend or family in the area?”

  “She’s from the Midwest; I don’t know much about her family. But her boyfriend is a stockbroker who lives in Los Feliz.”

  “Do you have his name and contact information?”

  The guy seemed put out, but shrugged. He unlocked his door. “Is it important?”

  “Yes. She’s a material witness in an ongoing investigation,” Jeff said.

  “Just a minute.”

  He went inside and less than a minute later emerged with a name and phone number scrawled on a sticky note.

  Marcus Galion, 818-555-4579.

  “Galion?”

  “Yeah. Kent Galion’s little brother. You heard that Kent died last week? Maybe Nadine went to stay with Marcus for a while, to cheer him up. Hell, Nadine could cheer me up any night she wanted.”

  Grant and Jeff took the stairs down to the courtyard. “Where to now?” Jeff asked, glancing at his watch.

  “Go home, but put in a call to Marcus Galion and ask him about Nadine Anson. I’ll go to Velocity and talk to Julie about her. There’s something here, I feel it.”

  “That’s it.” Moira directed Rafe toward the condo where Nadine Anson lived. “Close to Velocity.”

  Rafe parked across the street. “Are you sure you want to do this? That detective is never going to listen to what we have to say.”

  “Skye was a genius with the cult story; we’ll run with that. And demons are kind of like supernatural drugs. Sort of.”

  Rafe grinned while shaking his head at her. “Just watch the sarcasm, like Skye said. Nelson is a hothead and frustrated. Oh shit-”

  Moira followed Rafe’s eyes to where Grant Nelson and his partner were leaving the condo.

  “We’re too late,” she said. “She’s probably not home. We should follow them.”

  “You want me to follow a cop?”

  “I’m good at tailing people. Want me to drive?”

  “No.” He watched Nelson get into an unmarked sedan and drive away. He made an illegal U-turn down the street. Johnston jumped on a bike and did the same. “That makes us following two of them. Impossible if they split up.”

  “My money’s on Nelson. He’s not going home. My guess? He’s going to try and track Nadine down at the club, or maybe a friend or boyfriend’s house.”

  Rafe waited until the cops turned left, then made a sharp U-turn in the truck and sped up to follow.

  They were on Wilshire Boulevard minutes later. Moira glanced down the street toward Velocity. “They didn’t turn.”

  “I’m not following him to the police station,” Rafe said.

  “Agreed. If he goes there, we turn around and go to Wendy Donovan’s house.”

  “How about food? I haven’t eaten, and I doubt you have-since you never eat unless I tell you to. We could get a pizza.”

  “Whatever did I do before I saved your ass two weeks ago?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “I didn’t starve, that’s for sure.” She pulled an energy bar from her pocket, opened it, and split it with Rafe.

  “I hate these things.”

  “They’ve kept me alive for years,” she teased. “In fact-” She whipped her head around, recognizing the brunette in the red dress walking leisurely down Wilshire Boulevard. “Stop! That’s Nadine! Rafe, stop!”

  Rafe braked, causing cars behind to honk.

  “She’s beginning to drive me crazy,” Rafe muttered to himself as Moira leapt from the car.

  Moira ran through traffic, eliciting more honking horns, but she barely noticed. Nadine Anson was easy to spot-tall, stately, gorgeous-but it was her darkly glowing aura that had caught Moira’s attention from more than a hundred feet away.

  Moira didn’t dwell on the fact that her instincts-her extra senses-had been growing since the Seven Deadly Sins had been released. She couldn’t think about how or why, only that she knew that brunette in the red dress across the street was Nadine Anson even though she’d seen only one photograph of the woman.

  One photograph and two visions.

  It was the height of the dinner hour, and pedestrians walked in singles, pairs, and groups down the street. Moira irritated more than a few of them as she brushed past. She didn’t quite see Nadine anymore through the people, but she saw the glow and kept focused on that.

  A thunderclap-though there wasn’t a cloud in the sky-jolted Moira. She kept moving forward, but no longer saw the glow. People around her were silent, looking at the sky.

  “It’d better not rain-I just had my hair done!” a woman next to her said.

  “I can’t believe this. They said no rain all weekend!”

  But raindrops didn’t fall. The night sky was clear, though with all the lights Moira could make out only one or two stars in the sky.

  Heart racing, Moira feared the demon that possessed Nadine was looking for more victims. She couldn’t imagine what it would do with all these people in the middle of a city street. Demons didn’t make grand statements; they preferred the small, quiet murders of the soul. Did they fear that if they acted too boldly they’d truly suffer the wrath of God? For a brief moment, Moira wished they would create some catastrophe so that the Big Guy would come down and banish them all forever; then guilt washed over her at the innocent lives that would be lost by such action.

  In all of history, demons themselves rarely, if ever, acted among the masses. They didn’t show themselves, or cause disasters. Whether by choice or design, Moira didn’t know. Maybe there were guardian angels preventing the major
catastrophes. Demons still used humans to do their dirty work, picking up souls one by one.

  But thunder without clouds? A demon-it had to be the succubus possessing Nadine-had done something. Moira couldn’t even see Nadine with all the people.

  A nearby scream had Moira picking up the pace, sprinting toward a commotion on the corner of Wilshire and Westwood, an incredibly busy intersection. The lights were annoying enough, but the horns and people were making Moira claustrophobic.

  And there was Nadine, standing on the corner, screaming.

  “What happened to her?” Moira heard one woman asking her boyfriend as they passed Nadine in distaste.

  “Help me!” Nadine screamed.

  Nadine Anson screamed for help, pulling her hair so hard that clumps of golden brown came out in her hands. She definitely wasn’t glowing with the demonic aura, and Moira had no idea where the demon had gone. She whirled around, looking at everyone, looking above them, trying to spot the demon’s shadow, but there was none.

  The demon had disappeared.

  Moira realized she’d never before seen a glowing aura, that her senses had always been focused on her own physical reaction to things she couldn’t see. She’d experienced a heightened awareness of all her other senses, but not sight-until now. She pushed the new talent aside-not just because the idea scared her, but because right now Nadine’s life was in jeopardy as the woman stood too close to the curb. The honking cars didn’t faze the distraught witch, nor did she seem to notice that she’d drawn a crowd.

  “Where’s the camera?” a teenager next to Moira asked, eagerly looking around.

  This girl thought Nadine was acting? Moira stepped in front of her, to a chorus of, “Hey! I can’t see!” from the girl and her friends.

  “Nadine,” Moira said. “Look at me!”

  “Help! Oh, God, oh, God, I’m sorry!”