“She’ll become a prisoner; we can’t do that to her.”
“It will be the only way to protect her, as you well know. When the word gets out—and it will, sooner or later—rogue hunters will want her, as well as the covens. They will double their efforts.”
He knew it, and he hated it. He’d do anything to protect Moira.
“God bless you, my son,” the cardinal said.
Rico hung up. He didn’t feel like celebrating, and for the first time in his life he did not feel blessed.
THIRTEEN
Skye sat straight in her chair at Starbucks listening to Detective Nelson rant about her interference in his crime scene. Staring across the table at him, she decided to let him get everything out. He was obviously exhausted and running on fumes.
After he told her about finding Rafe and Moira in the alley, and how they walked out after he’d ordered them to stay put, he said, “They’re damn lucky I didn’t haul their asses to jail. I didn’t say anything, but your consultant was carrying concealed, and I doubt she has a concealed carry permit for that little .38 I saw.”
Skye restrained a wince. She’d warned Moira about carrying the gun, but Moira was stubborn. And she certainly had every right to feel threatened. Skye, as sheriff, had offered her a CCW permit, but Moira refused to go through Live Scan fingerprinting. “I’m not putting my prints in your system,” she’d said.
“You could be deported if you’re caught without a permit. Or put in jail.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
“I think—”
He interrupted. “I’ve been working nonstop since seven a.m., when I was called to a possible homicide which may not be a homicide,” Nelson snapped. “Ten hours with a sandwich on the run and not enough caffeine to keep a rat awake. I’m supposed to have the weekend off, but I already know that I’ll be working for the next forty-eight hours on my own time because I have a high-ranking county attorney sitting on my ass claiming that George Erickson’s fucking wife is a witch and cast a spell over him. I have a college kid who’s dead but had no drugs and little alcohol in his system, and a small-town sheriff riding my ass with two sidekicks who don’t obey orders!” He pinched the bridge of his nose and said, “What were they doing at Velocity? I don’t buy their pathetic excuse of wanting to see where Monroe died.”
“Grant,” Skye said quietly, “did you say witch?”
“Witch? Oh yeah, witch. I’ve known Nina Hardwick for more than a decade, since she was bright and shiny out of law school working for the Board of Supervisors. It sounds fucking insane, and if it was anyone other than Nina I would have sent them on their way. But Nina’s not some flighty, birdbrained witness. She’s one of the most respected attorneys in the county.”
“This may be the cult I was telling you about.”
He stared at her blankly as he gulped coffee, but Skye knew what he was thinking, because she had thought the same thing when Anthony Zaccardi had first tried to convince her that demons existed. She hadn’t really believed him until she saw her best friend possessed. Until she was thrown across the room by a bolt of energy that couldn’t be seen.
She continued, being patient with Nelson because she understood how he felt. “Moira O’Donnell, my consultant, would be a good person to look into this, Detective. You’re right, she should have stayed and answered your questions. And I’ll make sure she talks to you. Moira is an expert on this cult, and she’d be able to tell pretty quick if Erickson’s wife is involved.”
Nelson shook his head. “I’m not working with a civilian. I’m not working with you. I want you to leave and take your consultant and her boyfriend with you.”
It took Skye a second to realize Nelson was referring to Rafe Cooper. “I really—”
He cut her off. “I want you to leave, but unfortunately, I’m screwed either way. So, you bring Moira O’Donnell down to the precinct at oh-eight-hundred tomorrow morning, and we’ll go from there. I want to know what happened in that alley. She said a couple of teenage boys pushed her against the wall so hard it knocked her unconscious for a good three minutes. I find the whole story hard to believe. Impossible to believe. So if she tells me the truth about that, maybe I’ll listen to her about this cult whose members think they’re witches.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe I just said that.”
“I don’t think you should be working this alone—”
“I have years of experience over you, Sheriff, in Los Angeles, not some hick county where the worst crime is Miss Mabel stealing Miss Edith’s prize tomatoes.”
“Hold it right there, Nelson. I’m damn tired of your mightier-than-thou big-city-cop attitude. You need my help, and I’m not here to trample on your case or take any glory; I could care less about taking credit for this collar. The only person I care about finding is Nicole Donovan, because she’s a material witness in an ongoing investigation. You can have the rest of them. But if you want any chance of finding answers, you have to open your mind. I thought that’s what L.A. was all about—open-mindedness.”
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.
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