No Place Like Hell (21 page)

He scrambled up.

"Police! Halt!" the ward said, her voice high-pitched and tinged with hysteria.

Kasker ignored her and turned to run. Goats! In the fall, he'd lost track of the fleeing souls. No matter. He had their direction. With the dearth of souls in this part of town, he'd find them again if he got close enough.

His first step was his last. A foot connected with the back of his already bruised knee. He went down hard. His breath flew away in a whoosh. His head cracked against the floor. The already dark warehouse grew momentarily darker.

A hundred-pound wildcat landed on his back. She twisted his arm into a painful position and secured a handcuff. Then she added the other. Her weight released him, and he thrashed.

Surging frustration weakened his tenuous grip on his flesh. A few bites would rend her soul beyond recognition and free him to continue the chase. He fought the urge to erupt in his true form.

She rolled him to an uncomfortable position on his back, the lump of his hands forcing his spine from the floor. He drew a ragged breath and clamped his jaws.

She straddled his torso and pointed her gun in his face. "You killed my partner, you bastard."

"You bitch!" he roared. "The trap was meant for me, not the angel. You're letting the one who set it get away!"

37

I wanted to pull the trigger. I wanted to splatter Sleeth's brains over the warehouse floor. Dave's voice stayed my hand.
You're a better person than that.

Sleeth's eyes glinted red. It must have been a trick of the light. His body was as hot under me as asphalt in the noonday sun. In the streetlight shining through the back door, his face displayed a ferocity that would have set me on my heels had I not also been enraged.

In that moment of fury, I knew he'd spoken the truth. He, not Dave, had been the intended victim. Like a kaleidoscope twisting, the pattern of the murders changed.

My hand went numb on the gun. My legs trembled against Sleeth's flanks. I'd gotten it wrong, just as Dave had warned. By sticking with my unproven assumptions, by going along with the consensus at the station, I'd killed my partner.

I slumped off Sleeth. My bones had turned to rubber. I didn't have the strength to rise.

Sleeth squirmed away from me and levered to his knees. His rage had abated, replaced with fear. He listened and scanned the air above us.

My eyes fell on the body beside us. I blinked at it but couldn't take it in. Had Sleeth killed him? I no longer cared.

Dave was dead.

"Am I under arrest?" Sleeth asked. He clamored to his feet, an awkward move with his hands behind his back.

My heart ached. I'd killed my best friend. What would I tell Cindy? I could never be forgiven.

"I'll wait outside," Sleeth said. He took a tentative step away from me toward the front of the building, his eyes flitting around the darkness like he expected the boogeyman to jump out.

"Try that and I'll put a bullet in your kneecap," I said. He might not be a murderer. He was certainly an asshole.

The next hour was a blur. I called for backup. Half the Solaris PD arrived within minutes. Another unit carted Sleeth away. More units kept the media circus at bay.

The ME arrived with the meat wagon to take Dave and the dead man. Mack stormed around shouting at everyone. Lenny Greene looked on, hands on hips, face gray.

I sat in the front of my patrol car and watched it like a movie at a drive-in theater. It didn't seem real. Any moment, Dave would come to me and grouch about all the paperwork this incident would cause.

Eventually, Greene and Mack conferred with one another and came to my car. I climbed out, preferring to face them standing up.

"What happened?" Mack asked.

"My partner and I—" my voice cracked. I cleared my throat. "My partner and I were searching for two known criminals who appeared to be pursuing Tad Newell, the mayor's son, at the time of his accident."

Mack crossed his arms over his chest. "We know who Newell is, Officer Demasi. Get to the part about Sleeth."

My mouth had gone dry. I licked my lips, but it didn't help.

"When we found the men, they were talking to Sleeth."

"Did you overhear their conversation?" Greene asked.

"No."

"Did you question them?" Greene said.

"No."

"You just rushed off after Sleeth. Am I right, Officer Demasi?" Greene said. "You followed him here and entered the warehouse without permission from the owner, a valid warrant, or probable cause."

I nodded, too ashamed to speak.

"Why'd you go in?" Mack asked.

"This is one of the intersections on the map. I thought Sleeth was in there with his next victim."

"That damned map again," Greene muttered. He tossed an angry look at the lieutenant. Mack clamped his jaws shut.

"Then what happened?" Greene said.

"We were approaching the stairs leading up to the office. We could see a light on up there. Then—"

What had happened next? It seemed like something out of a nightmare. Lightning storms didn't erupt inside buildings. The glowing symbols had to be a trick.

Sleeth said it was a trap. How did it work? Why had it killed Dave but I'd felt nothing?

"There were electrical arcs. Dave—" I swallowed. "Dave clutched his chest and fell."

Greene exchanged a look with Mack. "The ME didn't say anything about burns."

"Maybe the voltage was too low to cause burns but was enough to stop his heart," Mack said. "That would explain why he didn't find any marks. The autopsy should tell us. Where was Sleeth?"

"We didn't see him when we went in. He was standing by the door when Dave went down."

"I'll get an electrician," Mack said. "We'll figure out how Sleeth set the trap."

Mack turned to go.

"I don't think he's responsible," I said. "I think someone set the trap for him, and we stumbled into it. Who was the dead man at the back of the building?"

Greene looked like he might explode, but Mack answered anyway. "Alan Mong. Vice thinks he keeps books for Calderon."

"You think Sleeth killed him? If he works for Calderon, why would Sleeth kill one of his own?"

"Sleeth is Calderon's lieutenant. Calderon gives him the target. Sleeth plans the operation, sees to the execution, but doesn't get his hands dirty. Our Vice stakeout has Sleeth at Calderon's restaurant when Mong died, based on the ME's preliminary time of Mong's death."

"But if the trap was meant for Sleeth—"

"We aren't buying that bullshit." Greene hiked his pants up. "Sleeth crossed a line when he killed one of ours. We'll get him."

Mack didn't say anything aloud, but a whisper of doubt ran across his face. He walked away and yelled at a uniform to call an electrician. Greene rubbed a hand over his balding pate.

"I ordered you to stay away from Sleeth, and you disobeyed that order." Greene's face screwed up like a prune. "Give me your gun and badge."

In a daze, I handed them over.

"The union rep will notify you of your disciplinary hearing date. Until then, you're suspended without pay. Officer Tisdahl will drive you back to the station. Now get out of my sight."

Maggie appeared at my elbow and guided me to the passenger side of the patrol car. She took the wheel and headed for the station.

"Honey, I'm so sorry about Dave. I know how close you two were."

My throat closed on a reply, and tears threatened to spill from my eyes.

"I couldn't help overhearing," she said. "What's this about the mayor's son?"

I wiped my nose with the back of my hand. "Two small-time crooks were at the scene of Tad Newell's accident. He asked me check them out."

Maggie's head turned my way. "You're still seeing him? Is that smart?"

I didn't want to talk about Tad. He'd warned me not to focus on Sleeth, and I'd ignored him just as I'd ignored Dave. I kept my mouth shut.

###

I stared out my kitchen window at my neglected backyard, a mug of coffee going cold on the counter. The first blush of dawn painted the sky. Seeing the sunrise was one of the things I'd missed most about working the night shift.

Every few minutes, another round of tears carved stripes down my cheeks. I hated weepy women, but I couldn't seem to control the waterworks.

The last time I'd cried hard had been ten years ago, when I heard about my father, gunned down in a liquor store robbery. He and his partner had been the first to respond. The store owner said the suspects weren't armed. He got it wrong.

My phone rang. There wasn't anyone I wanted to talk to, but I couldn't listen to a ringing phone without picking it up.

"Nicky, how are you?" Tad's voice asked.

Something inside me whimpered, but I stopped it before it slipped out my mouth.

"I'm okay," I said.

"I heard about your partner. You have my deepest sympathies."

I covered the mouthpiece and sniffed. "Thanks. He was a good cop. A great cop. A better partner than I deserved."

"I'm glad you weren't harmed." He drew in a breath, his voice thick with anger. "Too many people have died because of Sleeth. It would be better for everyone if one of your fellow cops pulls the trigger on him."

This didn't sound like the man I'd had lunch with. "Weren't you the one who thought we had it wrong? That we ought to cast a wider net? If Sleeth's innocent, putting a bullet in his brain won't stop the Slasher."

Tad went silent. Then he said, "Danger follows him like a shadow. Promise me you'll stay away from him."

I gripped the handset so hard my fingers ached. "I can't talk about this."

"Sure, sure, I understand," Tad said, suddenly conciliatory. "I'm sorry I pressed you."

I hung up without saying goodbye and stared out my window again. The sun inched above the horizon, casting an orange glow across my yard.

Sleeth didn't kill Dave. I did. I'd been out to prove that I was as good as any man. I'd rushed into the warehouse to prevent another death, but in the back of mind, I knew I'd also rushed in with the hope of snagging Sleeth in the act. Bagging the Slasher would have erased all the black marks on my record, solved all my gnarly moral problems.

Instead, I'd sacrificed my partner and been suspended. Since I was the darling of the feminist movement, possibly the review board would stop at a reprimand and demote me back to a desk. But I'd still have a job.

If I went near the Slasher case, there'd be no hope of saving my career. No hope of opening the way for other deserving women. No avoiding a feast of crow if I proved Sleeth was innocent.

None of that mattered. I had to do the right thing, the hard thing. No more impressing Lenny Greene, no more worrying about what anyone thought. I'd follow the evidence and catch the murdering bastard who killed my partner.

38

Kasker stepped out the front door of the police station and tensed. Morning sun slanted on the concrete and cast long shadows in doorways and alleys. His senses told him no souls lurked unseen in the dark, but they'd also said no one was in the warehouse.

That the angels hadn't swooped down to destroy him yet seemed a miracle—or an enormous oversight. Between Heaven and Holmes, it felt like the entire universe hunted him.

The thought of what he'd witnessed at the warehouse made him shiver. The trap had crushed the angel, not just pushing it from the flesh, but squeezing it into nonexistence. It wasn't a fate Kasker wished to experience first-hand, although the power differential between the angel and himself was the equivalent of the difference between a gnat and a fighter jet.

Had Holmes been at the bookstore, too? Cloaked by more of the magic he'd learned from the cursed book? How could Kasker hunt something he couldn't detect? How would he avoid another trap?

For a moment, he wanted to release the flesh, experience the world around him through his true form, reassure himself that no unseen runes were drawn on the pavement ahead. But other humans came and went through the station door, and one held steady just inside, watching.

Kasker's eyes raked the streets—and the skies. He'd refused a ride from the pigs to retrieve his car. He balled his hands into fists and headed west for no particular reason.

He'd need a new car, and a new place to stay. He'd be a fool to frequent any of his old haunts, including the Luna Azul. Goats! That must have been where the men who'd given him Mong's location started tailing him. He'd need their names. He turned at the next corner.

A car glided to the curb. The front passenger door flew open in his path. Kasker stopped with a jerk.

"Get in," the ward said.

Kasker swallowed and scanned the sky, listening for the beating of wings. Hanging out with her was to invite disaster.

"I've had my fill of pork today," he said and squeezed past the door.