San Francisco Night

by Stephen Leather

  “It’s the same bay you look at from your window,” said Nightingale. “I like your apartment.’

  “Yeah, so do I.” She turned off the Mustang’s engine. “This time, let’s stick to that plan we had where you don’t say anything,” she said. “I don’t want to go explaining why you have an English accent.”

  Nightingale threw her a mock salute. “Aye, aye, sir.”

  “I’m serious, Jack. Lucille Carr has a lot of fans and if she gets wind that this isn’t official, she could make life very difficult for me.”

  “I hear you, Amy. I’m just being flippant. I’ll be on my best behavior.”

  “Just remember I’ve got a gun on my hip.”

  They climbed out of the car and a black man in a suit with a transceiver in his hand walked over. He was big and broad shouldered and when he smiled he showed a gold tooth at the front of his mouth. Chen pulled out her shield again. “We’re here to see Miss Carr,” she said.

  “She’s in the solarium,” said the man. “I’m to take you through.” He turned and headed towards the main entrance. Nightingale was just about to ask him what a solarium was when Chen flashed him a warning look.

  There was a flight of pristine white steps leading to a double-height front door that in turn led to a huge hallway the size a ballroom, around which were dotted life-size marble statues of naked men in various poses all of which involved showing how well-muscled they were. There was a fountain with dolphins and mermaids in the middle of the hall and beyond it a huge marble staircase.

  “Wow,” said Chen.

  The man with the transceiver took them down a long corridor. To their right was a huge room overlooking the bay, with a grand piano, massive sofas and huge modern art canvases where the artist appeared to have just thrown his paint from a bucket.

  From the end of the corridor came the sound of running water. The man stepped aside to allow them inside. “The police, Miss Carr,” he said, and then went to stand in the corridor.

  The solarium was about the size of Chen’s apartment and filled with enough vegetation to give it the feel of secondary jungle. Three of the walls were glass, the top half shielded from the morning sun by bamboo blinds. The other wall was made of rough granite and water trickled down it, helping to cool the air but also making a relaxing gurgling sound that added to the jungle feel.

  Lucille Carr was sprawled across a white sofa, and gave the impression of having arranged herself for a photo shoot. On the white marble table in front of her was a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket and a pitcher of orange juice, and she was holding a crystal champagne flute filled with what the British called a Buck’s Fizz and the Americans referred to as a Mimosa. Her long red hair was loose around her shoulders, casual but the sort of casualness that took hours to achieve. Her make up was flawless and clearly professionally-applied, and her fingernails were the same subdued red as her lipstick. Nightingale found himself staring at her green eyes that were almost feline, and the longer he stared the harder he found it to look away.

  “Officers,” she said, raising her glass. “To what do I owe the pleasure of a visit from SFPD’s finest?”

  “It’s about your car, Miss Carr,” said Chen. She smiled as she realized how that sounded. “No pun intended.”

  “They send out detectives on a Sunday to chase up parking tickets? What’s the world coming too?” She smiled at Nightingale and his heart lurched. He had a sudden urge to kneel down in front of her and beg her to marry him. He smiled back and felt his lips slide awkwardly across his teeth. He realized he was still staring into her eyes and her smile widened

  “It isn’t about parking tickets,” said Chen. “I work for Missing Persons.”

  “Do you, now?” said the actress. She turned her attention to Chen and waved a languid hand in the air. “How does that involve me?”

  “Can you tell me what car you usually drive? When you are out alone?”

  “A Lexus,” said Carr.

  Chen took out her notebook and made a show of flicking through it. “And what color would it be?” she asked.

  Carr frowned. “White. Why?”

  “We’re looking into the disappearance of a young boy and shortly before he disappeared neighbors report seeing a woman in a white Lexus in the area. It had a broken tail light so we are just checking the tail lights of every white Lexus.”

  “Where was the child?”

  “We’re keeping that information to ourselves at the moment, until we have checked all the vehicles.”

  “Well I can assure you my car doesn’t have a broken light.”

  “That’s fine, Miss Carr. We just need to check for ourselves. The we can get out of your hair.”

  “Do you have a card, Inspector?”

  “Of course,” said Chen. She took out a small wallet and handed over a business card. Carr studied it for several seconds, then nodded thoughtfully and waved it at Nightingale. “He doesn’t say much, does he?”

  “He’s the strong silent type,” said Chen.

  “The best sort of man,’ said Carr. She called for the security guard and told him to take them to the garage. There was no “please” or “thank you”, just a curt command.

  “Yes Miss Carr,” he said. He waved at the door. “If you would come with me, officers, I’ll show you the way.”

  The actress sipped her orange juice and champagne as Chen and Nightingale followed the man down the corridor.

  “What was that about, Jack?” whispered Chen.

  “What?”

  “You were staring at her like a love-sick teenager. Practically drooling.”

  “I couldn’t help it.”

  “She’s your type is she? The glossy man-eater.”

  “Amy, I don’t know what it was. I couldn’t take my eyes off her, even though I wanted to.”

  “She has an aura, that’s for sure.”

  He gestured at the man in front of them. “Let’s talk about it later,” he said.

  They went outside and around to the garage. The door opened to reveal a curving driveway that led to a subterranean parking area large enough for half a dozen vehicles. There was a powder blue Rolls Royce, a silver Mercedes sports car and a white Lexus.

  “Do you have the keys?” asked Chen.

  “Keys are inside,” said the man. “Do you have a warrant?”

  “No,” said Chen.

  “Then you shouldn’t be looking inside the vehicles. You can look through the windows, obviously.”

  “Or you could open the doors for me so that I can look inside.”

  The man shook his head. “Not without Miss Carr’s permission, and I didn’t hear you get that.”

  “Are you a lawyer?” asked Chen.

  “No, ma’am, I’m not. I’m in charge of Miss Carr’s security. And I wouldn’t be doing my job if I allowed you to search her vehicles without a warrant or without her permission.”

  Chen looked as if she was about to snap at the man, but then she relaxed. “Were you on the job?” she asked.

  The man nodded. “LAPD, five years,” he said.

  Chen nodded. “I guess guarding a movie star is less stressful than patrolling the streets of LA.”

  “This has its moments,” said the man, dryly.

  “You’re right, of course. Without a warrant or express permission of the owner I can’t go looking inside the vehicles. It’s not a problem, all we need to do at this stage is to confirm if there has been damage to the tail light.’ She moved to her left and the man’s eyes followed her, giving Nightingale the opportunity to slip a tracking unit under the offside wheel arch of the Lexus. Chen walked around to the rear of the car and bent down. “Looks fine to me,” she said. She straightened up, and just to confirm, this is the vehicle that Miss Carr usually drives when she’s alone.”

  “She sometimes takes the Mercedes out. But yes, the Lexus is her first choice.”

  Chen looked over at Nightingale and narrowed her eyes, ever so slightly. He got the unspoken mess
age. She wanted a tracker on the Mercedes, too, just to be on the safe side.

  Nightingale walked nonchalantly around the Lexus and over to the Mercedes. Chen moved as well, putting herself between Nightingale and the security guard. Nightingale put his hand in his raincoat pocket, switched on the second tracker unit and deftly slipped it under the rear offside wheel arch.

  “Does anyone else ever drive the Lexus?” asked Chen.

  “No. Just Miss Carr.”

  “Okay,” said Chen. “The tail light is fine, and there was never any real question that Miss Carr would be involved with an abduction. We had to check.”

  “Sure,” said the man, his face impassive.

  Chen looked over at Nightingale. “All good?”

  Nightingale nodded.

  Chen smiled at the security guard. “We’ll leave you to it,” she said.

  “I’ll show you out.”

  He escorted them out of the garage and over to the Mustang without saying a word, then watched them drive out. Chen saw him in the rear view mirror, staring at them until the gates had closed.

  CHAPTER 57

  Chen had picked up a large pepperoni pizza on the way home and she tossed it onto the coffee table and headed to the kitchen area while Nightingale took off his raincoat. She returned with two bottles of beer and gave one to him. “So what did you think?”

  “About what?”

  “About the movie star.”

  Nightingale shrugged. “She’s got a presence, all right. Star quality.” He sat down on one of the sofas.

  “It’s strange, she’s not traditionally beautiful. Her face isn’t completely symmetrical, did you notice? One eye is a slightly different shape.”

  “I didn’t see that.”

  “Clearly. You were too busy salivating over her.” She dropped down onto the sofa next to him.

  “I was not.”

  Chen shrugged. “Suit yourself. But your tongue was practically hanging out.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “You’re right about her presence. She does have that whole movie star thing down pat, doesn’t she? As if she’s the center of the known universe. And the camera loves her.” She sipped her beer. “You seriously think that her success is down to devil-worship?”

  “That’s how it works,” said Nightingale. “Those that follow the Left Path get certain benefits. Charisma is one of them. What most people call luck can also be the result of demonic interference.”

  Chen’s eyes narrowed. “You really believe Lucille Carr has done a deal with the devil?”

  “With a devil, possibly. But she hasn’t sold her soul. That would bar her from becoming an Apostle.”

  “How the hell do you know all this?”

  Nightingale shrugged. “A misspent youth,” he said. “Can we use that to do Google searches and stuff?” he asked, nodding at the big-screen TV. “I want to see if Dukas was right about there being a connection between Satanism and the 1906 earthquake.”

  “Sure,” she said. “Let me get the keyboard.” She retrieved it from the desk and this time flopped down on the sofa opposite Nightingale, who had already helped himself to a slice of pizza. “What do you need?”

  “Try San Francisco, 1906 and earthquake.”

  She did and shook her head. “A million and a half hits,” she said.

  “Try using Satanism instead of earthquake.”

  She followed his instructions. “More than 16 million hits,” she said. “That’s because there are a lots of references to Satanism on the internet. Let’s see what happens if I put a plus sign before each word.”

  “How does that help?”

  “That means all the terms have to be in any hit, not just one.” She hit the enter button. “There you go, no hits at all, There is nothing that contains San Francisco, 1906 and Satanism.”

  “So Dukas is wrong? Or lying to me?”

  “You sound surprised. You used to be a cop, you know that people rarely tell the truth.”

  “He seemed to be sure.”

  “Not everything got into the papers back then,” said Chen. “And if it didn’t get published, it wouldn’t be on the internet now.”

  Nightingale picked up the iPad and tapped the tracker app. He looked at the screen. “They’re both back at home,” he said.

  She came over and sat down next to him. He held the screen so that they could both see it. “Lucille hasn’t left her house,” said Chen.

  “Speckman was down at Fisherman’s Wharf for a while. And what’s this place?”

  “TV studio,” said Chen. “KPIX, Channel 5. It’s part of CBS. Probably an interview.”

  Chen picked up her beer. “I’ve got work tomorrow.”

  “Not a problem, I can take care of myself. Do you want me to look for a hotel?”

  “I’m in two minds about that,” she said. “I’m not thrilled about having you on my sofa, but at least this way I can keep an eye on you.”

  “It’s not for much longer, it’ll all be over by Wednesday, one way or another.”

  Chen bit down on her lower lip.

  “We’ll find them,” said Nightingale.

  “God, I hope so.”

  CHAPTER 58

  The eleven Apostles were there, and so was Simon. The new Simon would be the twelfth and last. The room had been thoroughly cleansed. Thaddeus and John had done the cleaning and it had taken them three hours. When they had finished the temple had smelled of bleach, but they had sprinkled fresh herbs on the ground and incense had been burning in brass bowls for more than an hour. Tall black candles spluttered as they cast flickering shadows against the temple walls.

  The Apostles filed into the temple and formed a circle around the altar. They had all bathed before donning their black robes. They were carrying musical instruments. Bells, tambourines, whistles, even a lute. Noise was important. The Devil and his minions abhorred silence. Abaddon was holding a large bell in her left hand. The bell was more than a hundred years old, its oak handle blackened from years of use. She raised the bell and rang it hard. The Apostles joined in and soon the temple was echoing to a cacophony of random sounds. It went on for a full five minutes and then they stopped as one.

  “It is time!” shouted Abaddon.

  John and Thaddeus left the temple. They returned a few minutes later with Martha Hyde, stripped, bound and gagged and ready to be sacrificed. It had been easy to take Martha Hyde. She lived by herself in a rambling old house in an older part of town. Philip had been watching her for some time and had discovered that she’d been born in the house, and had lived there all her life, in later years sharing it with her sister, who had died the year before. She rarely left the house, except to shop and to toddle to the neighborhood church for Mass every Sunday. Promising, but The Apostles needed to be sure, so Simon had performed the Spell of Singularity to make sure she had never been with a man. He had sacrificed a virgin chick, smeared the blood on the woman’s photo and then set it on fire with a black candle while chanting a Greek sentence. The photo had burnt with white smoke, not black. Martha Hyde was a virgin.

  Taking her had been simplicity itself, Simon had bumped against her in the street and spilled her shopping. As he apologized profusely and helped her pick it up, he had pushed the hypodermic into her and she had collapsed against him almost at once. By then John had parked the car next to him and the two men helped her inside. The limousine’s blacked-out rear windows meant nobody could see her, and the whole operation took less than a minute. John had driven her to his mansion home, where she still slept. There would be no need to wake her until just before the sacrifice. She had probably been missed at the previous day’s mass but that was of no importance.

  Her eyes were wide and fearful as they carried her into the temple and strapped to the altar. Once the straps were in place, her arms and legs were untied, and she was left to writhe impotently against the strong leather that held her.

  Bartholomew walked in an anticlockwise direction, sprinkling herbs
on the candles. The flames hissed like angry snakes.

  The apostles filed in, black candles were lit and herbs sprinkled into the burners. Abaddon rang the bell, then invoked the four crowned princes of Hell and rang the bell again. Then she spoke one word. “Simon.”

  Simon stepped forward, picked up the equipment from the small table near the altar and walked slowly toward the sacrifice. He had thought of a chain saw at first, but rejected it as too noisy and impersonal. He had settled on a bone saw, which he’d bought from a medical supplies company, along with the leather tourniquets. He slipped the first one over Martha Hyde’s left arm, just above the elbow and tightened it viciously. The old woman strained against the straps and screamed silently into the gag, but Simon was merciless.

  He placed the saw just below her elbow, pressed down and began to cut.

  The saw was of excellent quality, and the amputation was surprisingly quick. The severed arm fell to the floor, the tourniquet did its work of limiting the blood loss. Simon didn’t want the sacrifice to bleed out before he was ready. The old woman appeared to have fainted with the pain, at least she gave no reaction when Matthew placed a tourniquet just above her right elbow. The feet came next, but the tourniquets were less effective there, and blood loss was now a serious problem. Simon put down the saw and picked up the short copper knife and brass bowl. In one savage movement, he severed the old woman’s throat and filled the bowl with her blood. The rest of the dismemberment could take place later.

  Abaddon spoke again.

  “Simon, you are now fully initiated amongst us. Disrobe, and present yourself to us...”

  When the presentation was over, Abaddon addressed them again.

  “My followers, the first part of our ritual is now complete, after so many months. You have all sacrificed a virgin and drunk their blood. Our circle is complete, the power is complete within it, and you can now celebrate its completion. In the main dining room, as usual, you’ll find the banquet set out, and all you need to celebrate our final initiation. Enjoy yourselves and each other. I won’t be able to join you on this occasion, as I need to remain untouched until after the final ceremony, to preserve my power. The next time we meet, in just forty-eight hours, will see the culmination of everything we have worked for. The final sacrifices of the white cock and the black hen will be enacted and then Bimoleth will join with us, bringing undreamed power, and bringing you your reward for such faithful service. Finally the work of my great-grandmother will be completed, and Bimoleth will be set free to claim his vengeance. When we next meet, it will be for the final time.”