No Place Like Hell (13 page)

He crept along the street lined bumper-to-bumper with vehicles. Hot little sports jobs alternated with luxury cars as big as buses, all an ostentatious show of their owners' wealth.

A broad walkway led to iron gates that blocked entry to the building. Beside the gates, a silver panel of call buttons glinted under harsh security lights. At the building's underground parking garage, a guard dozed in a lighted kiosk, and a barricade barred the entrance. A sign proclaimed parking for residents only.

Goats! He should have come earlier and scoped the place out, found someone in the building to shag or a party to crash. No one noticed an unconscious guest at a party, at least not the kind he went to. He slid by, eyes darting left and right in search of a parking space. Renquist's brightness blinded his senses to the other surrounding souls.

At the corner, he turned left and narrowly missed the patrol car coming toward him. The guardian angel's presence in the passenger seat flickered like a lamp in a storm. The ward stomped on the brakes and stared.

Kasker continued ahead, sweat erupting on his brow and his stomach growing hard. He watched his rearview mirror. The patrol car U-turned. He turned left and floored it. Before he turned again, the cop cruiser's headlights appeared in his mirror.

Curses and cantrips!
The wimpy guardian angel dared to stalk him. Him, the most dangerous hunter in Heaven or Hell. He dropped to the speed limit. A bead of sweat trickled down his ribs. So little time.

The dweeb might not recognize him now, but there'd be no mistaking what he was when he abandoned the flesh. If the angel found him here, found he'd been wearing flesh, there'd be Heaven to pay. Another bead of sweat joined the first.

Kasker hooked a right, keeping just under the speed limit until he was out of sight. He roared down a boulevard until the headlights reappeared. They'd lost two blocks, but the woman rushed forward.

Worse, they were getting farther and farther from Renquist's building. Soul lust set Kasker's brain on fire. He had to get back, had to satisfy the gnawing hunger.

Another left, another race down the asphalt. Another flash of headlights in his mirror. Time galloped by. His hands tightened on the wheel and his breath came in short, shallow gulps.

He spun right, raced to the end of the block, turned left, and darted into an alley. He killed his lights and navigated by the glow of the moon. A trashcan ricocheted off his fender, and he winced.

The pale flame of the angel rolled by on the street a scant seventy-five feet away, unaware of him sneaking back the way he'd come. It hesitated at the intersection but continued straight ahead.

The searing heat in his skin raced through his veins. Kasker threw back his head and howled. He'd outsmarted them. He drew a deep breath and exhaled, his focus returning to his victim.

Kasker left his lights off until he neared his destination, all the while scanning for the guardian angel. The angel might be a dweeb, but the ward… She had cast-iron determination, and it had been her at the wheel.

Seconds ticked down, and he hadn't found a place to stash his flesh. His fingers drummed on the wheel, and he wiggled in the seat. The urge to devour crowded out rational thought.

No time to be picky. He sped to the back of the building and pulled into a loading dock plastered with signs forbidding parking.

21

"I'm telling you, it was Sleeth." I yanked the steering wheel, and we zoomed around another corner.

Dave grabbed the dash. "So what if it was? We're looking for a wino rifling cars, not that hippie punk."

"He ditched us. Why do that if he isn't up to something nefarious?"

"It's second nature. Everyone ditches a cop if they can. Especially if the cop is following them for no reason."

"No reason? He nearly side-swiped us. That's driving in an unsafe manner. It's my job to pull him over."

Dave's reply was a heavy sigh.

Tension stiffened my shoulders and neck, and sweat slicked my hands where they gripped the wheel. I needed to redeem myself for the visit to Miss Brown's house. Busting Sleeth for drunk driving wasn't the spectacular collar I had in mind, but if he spent the night in the drunk tank, at least he wouldn't be out slicing and dicing anymore innocent victims.

"Just one more minute," I pleaded.

I peered into the blackness between the streetlights, hoping for a glimpse of a maroon Mustang. This time of night, cars came in just two colors: light or dark.

"You've already wasted five. By the time we catch the wino, he'll have vandalized another dozen vehicles, and the duty sergeant will chew our butts. Maybe you're willing to do all that extra paperwork, but I'm not."

I shot Dave an unhappy look. It bounced off. He knew all my tricks. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. I grumbled under my breath and headed back to Pleasant View Drive.

Scuttlebutt at the station was that the investigation of Decker's murder had hit a wall. Sleeth was the only viable suspect, but evidence remained in short supply. Try as I might, I couldn't get Tad's questions out of my head. They might be the key to nailing the hippie.

"What do you think Sleeth's doing in this neighborhood?"

Dave rolled his eyes. "I thought you were focused on Newell?"

"Sheesh! Can't a girl speculate?"

"Maybe for tonight we can speculate about where to find our wino?"

"For instance," I said, undeterred, "why murder Decker in the bookstore? Was Calderon sending a message? Mess with me and this is what will happen to you?"

Dave pointed out his window. "Let's check that Caddy. Looks like the door's ajar."

Dave had sharp eyes. Our vandal didn't risk slamming doors once he'd been through the contents of a vehicle; he eased them closed but not latched.

He'd turned over the Cadillac. The glove compartment hung open. Maps were strewn on the floor. Who knew what might be missing?

I made a note of the license plate and location.

Dave grabbed the driver's seat, and we rolled along keeping an eye out for the perp.

"And how did Decker get to the bookstore?" I said. "Has Mack looked for his car? Checked for his last known whereabouts?"

"Have a little faith in the lieutenant," Dave said. "This isn't his first murder investigation. And it's not our case."

I gritted my teeth. I'd vowed to focus on Tad, but with so little to go on and Tad's dogged determination that no one was chasing him, I'd started to doubt whether investigating the mystery of his accident would erase the damage I'd done by going to Susan Brown's house or arguing with Chief Greene. I had serious ground to take back. Catching the Slasher shone like a beacon of salvation, a temptation I found hard to resist.

Reports from the past two nights indicated our car vandal liked to walk six or eight blocks checking for unlocked vehicles and taking anything of value. Then he'd move up a street and do it again.

Dave paused at the next intersection. "What'cha think? Left or right?"

We'd made it to the corner where we'd first seen Sleeth. I twisted my neck back to see all the way to the top of the high-rise on my right. Lots of rich folks living there. Was he muling drugs for Calderon?

"Take a right."

Dave complied, and I stared up at the building. It was a continental kind of place with a smooth stone face and little balconies fenced by iron railings. Rich people must not get up early like the working stiffs. A third of the windows had lights on despite it being twenty past eleven.

We turned right at the next cross street. An alley, dark and uninviting, ran behind the building. Something glinted halfway down. My breath stuck in my throat. My hand gripped the armrest.

"Back up, back up!" I said.

Dave slammed on the brakes, threw the shifter into reverse, and eased back.

"You see him?" He spoke in quiet excitement.

"It's Sleeth's car." My voice came out in a hiss.

Dave thwacked a hand on his forehead. "Give it a rest, Nicky."

I grabbed my flashlight and scrambled out before Dave had the car in gear again. My heart rat-a-tatted on my ribs. My shoes sounded loud on the pavement. I switched to tiptoes. The alley got longer and darker.

Sleeth sat behind the wheel. Was he waiting for someone? He didn't stir at my approach. It was an unnatural stillness.

I edged along to the driver's door and switched my light on in Sleeth's face. He didn't jump like I expected.

His head lolled back. His tanned skin washed white in the light. His cheeks, his chest, his hands in his lap, all flaccid. His eyelids drooped low, but not closed. Eyes stared, vacant. I'd never seen anyone more obviously dead, not even Tad.

I choked and dropped my flashlight. In the corner of my eye, something shadowy glided past. Something black-on-black, the size of a pony. Something hot—searing hot.

"Shit!" It came out a squeak.

The skin on my scalp rippled, and the little hairs on my neck waved like centipede legs. My hand flew to my gun.

The flashlight rolled in a circle at my feet, flinging grotesque shapes against the building wall. I gulped, sucked in cool night air, and picked it up. A quick flash around assured me that I was alone.

My heart slowed. I glanced toward the cruiser, where Dave waited, looking over the roof at me. I hadn't expected to find Sleeth dead and wondered if it was the result of a drug overdose. I'd radio for an ambulance, but first protocol demanded I check for a pulse.

I pointed my light at the car. Sleeth's cold blue eyes blinked and squinted. An arm rose to shield them from the glare.

A scream gurgled and died in my throat, and my hand squeezed the flashlight. I fell back a step.

Sleeth rolled down the window. A beatific smile lit his face. Rapturous eyes met mine.

"Officer Demasi." His soft tenor buzzed with ecstasy.

I took three deep breaths before attempting a reply. "Mr. Sleeth."

Whatever drug he was on, he was having a great trip. I leaned down to better see in his window, hoping he'd messed up and left his stash in plain sight.

"Are you all right? You appeared to be… in some distress when I arrived."

His smile pushed his cheeks up until crinkles formed around his eyes. It must have been a trick of the light. I thought for a moment a red glow reflected off his pupils.

"Everything is copasetic, Nicky."

"
Officer
Demasi
, to you, Mr. Sleeth. What are you doing here?"

"Communing with the afterlife,
Officer
Demasi
."

"Have you been drinking, Mr. Sleeth?"

"Not yet. Good idea, though. You want to hang with me later, knock back a couple of brews? Maybe get it on?" His tongue wet his lips.

I want to slap your face.
I reined in my anger and thought about running him through a sobriety test.

"You're parked illegally, Mr. Sleeth. I have to write you a ticket."

Dave's whistle sliced the air, and Sleeth jerked. In the beat of a hummingbird's wings, the excitement vanished, replaced by tension in his neck and shoulders. He glanced toward the patrol car.

Brittle frost glazed his expression, and I resisted the urge to step back when his frozen stare focused on me.

"City property stops at the edge of the alley. I'm on private property."

I flashed my light around. He was right, damn it. The building manager could have him towed, but we had no jurisdiction.

Dave waved an arm. "Nicky, let's go."

Sleeth's shoulders relaxed. "You'd better go, Nicky. Wouldn't want to get in trouble for harassing an innocent citizen, would you?"

His sleepy voice vibrated in my soul. I wanted to drag him out the window and work him over with my baton until he confessed to Decker's murder. The sensation left me unnerved.

"Drive carefully, Mr. Sleeth." I clamped my teeth, stepped back, and waved the hippie off.

Sleeth started the Mustang. He slid away into the darkness like a wolf disappeared into the shadows.

22

The Fifth Dimension's
Stone Soul Picnic
blared from the Mustang's radio, and Kasker joined in—except for the part about the Lord and the lightning. No point tempting Fate. He laughed at the irony of singing it while he was stoned on damned soul.

Seve should be pleased that Renquist's collection had gone without a hitch. Well, almost without a hitch. He wouldn't tell the demon about the guardian angel and his ward.

Of course the demon would ask about the diary and the quest to find Holmes. He wasn't Kasker's master, but Kasker decided it was best to hedge.

He turned between the stone monuments that marked a driveway and on through the open wrought-iron gates toward the doors to Seve's sprawling hacienda. Palm trees lining the route swayed in the cool on-shore breeze. The sliver of a crescent moon hung in a star-creased sky.

A burbling fountain occupied the center of the mansion's courtyard, and the reflection of discretely placed lights danced on the splashing water. The house walls were pale yellow stucco, and the roof was covered in red tile. Cool green vegetation lurked in the corners of the yard and crept up the lengthy front façade.