No Place Like Hell (4 page)

My face felt like a three-alarm fire. I'd made darn sure I hadn't asked anything that would jeopardize the case, and I wouldn't be told that I had by someone who wasn't there. "But, sir—"

"You're just damn lucky I talked Mack out of filing a formal complaint. If you weren't the poster child for those bra-burning women's libbers, I wouldn't have stopped him." He waved an arthritic hand in the direction Mack had gone. "Leave the detective work to the detectives."

The heat in my face migrated to my gut and my shoulders got tight. "He let the prime suspect go!"

It was a mistake. I should have defended my actions, not questioned Mack's. I was an idiot.

Greene leaned over his desk. "He's following the evidence,
Officer
Demasi, something detectives understand. You think a jury would convict because your feminine intuition said some hippie was guilty?"

My lungs forgot to inflate. My nerves jangled from his derogatory remarks. But I was a fighter so I opened my big mouth even though I knew better.

"I saw him. Sleeth tasted the vic's blood."

Greene's jaw tightened. "Do you know why you're a patrol officer, Demasi? Because a bunch of busybody females hired a lawyer and threatened to sue if we didn't promote 'one of their own.' Women belong at home raising a family, not chasing criminals down dark alleys. You endanger the good officers you serve with because you have neither the brawn nor the guts to be a cop."

Greene turned his attention to the stack of files on his desk. "Now get out."

I spun on my heel and rushed from the office blinking back tears. Down the hall, I darted inside the ladies room. I gripped the edge of the sink so hard my fingers turned white. Bitter disappointment churned in my stomach.

All I'd ever wanted was to help people, to be a cop like my dad. To make him proud. But men like Lenny Greene couldn't see past my gender. He and his cronies would never let me earn a detective shield.

The door swung open and Maggie Tisdahl dashed in, throwing a worried glance over her shoulder.

"You all right, honey? I heard that brute Mack was gunning for you."

She glanced in the mirror and swept a finger over the thick makeup on her cheekbones that disguised four decades of sun damage. She still wore her civvies—a cream peasant blouse and blue jeans with green paisley insets that made the jeans flare at the bottom. The style looked ridiculous on a woman in her mid-forties.

Black and white yin and yang earrings dangled from her earlobes, and gold rings flashed on her thumbs. I'd heard she'd embraced counterculture mysticism after her husband cleaned out their checking account and ran off with a younger woman, forcing her to moonlight at a security company to pay the mortgage.

If Maggie knew about Greene's lecture, then everyone knew. I groaned inwardly and heat rose in my face. The heat stoked the fire of my frustration to a burning rage.

I'd had enough of being their submissive token female. I'd march back to the squad room, type my resignation, and slap it on the sergeant's desk. Then I'd find a job where I was valued.

Maggie put a motherly arm around my shoulders and squeezed. "It's okay, sweetie. You're the sharp end of the stick poking those macho men in the behind. They're just a bunch of fraidy-cats worried we women will replace them. You know all us girls are with you, right?"

Maggie's eyes mirrored the frustration in mine. She'd served twenty years with the Solaris PD, never giving up hope that one day she'd earn the responsibility and the pay of a patrol officer. That one day they'd appreciate her intelligence and loyalty and reward her with the job she deserved. At her age, she'd never see service on a beat.

She knew her dreams had passed her by. That hadn't stopped her from organizing a rowdy celebratory party at the Longbar when the chief announced my promotion. She'd generously seen my advancement as success for her own perseverance.

Now I intended to throw away not only my two years of service, but Maggie's twenty years of sacrifice as well.

I couldn't do it. I couldn't leave, at least not until I'd proved that women had the talent and the moxy to do the job. Not until I'd kicked down the door that barred women from their just due. Then I'd leave on my own terms and not because a stuffed shirt like Lenny Greene ran me away.

I splashed cold water on my face, dried it with a paper towel, and practiced my serious, unflustered expression in the mirror. I straightened my spine and tucked a stray hair behind my ear.

"Thanks, Maggie. What are you doing here so early? I thought you didn't start until eight?"

"Greene called everyone in to 'provide logistical support' to the detectives. For us clerical gals, that's code for 'fetch coffee and sandwiches.'" She gave me a friendly pat on the arm. "Gotta change into my uniform. You keep your chin up."

Maggie swept out.

After a last glance in the mirror, I strode back through the hallway to the squad room, head high. I'd messed up by arguing with Lenny Greene. But if I nailed Sleeth, I'd silence his claims about my ability forever.

Dave rocked in his chair, pencil tapping in his hand while he chatted in a low voice with one of Mack's detectives. When they saw me, their conversation stopped, and the detective sauntered out. From the sympathy on Dave's face, he'd heard about my reprimand.

I yanked my chair out and sat.

"Sorry, Nicky," he mumbled.

My fingers clattered on the typewriter keys. "Not much of a case anyway. Open and shut. Sleeth did it."

Dave dropped his eyes to his own unfinished report.

"What? You don't think Sleeth did it?"

My partner poked at his typewriter with his forefingers, finding one letter at a time. "There's no evidence. No connection to the victim, William Decker."

"You think it's coincidence he showed up there in the middle of the night to find Decker's body? He's guilty as hell. The sick bastard tasted the blood."

"No prints on the knife, and no blood on Sleeth. Mack couldn't break his story about finding Decker like that. We couldn't hold him."

I stopped typing. "The guy's an animal. You saw him. He looked… excited. He gets off on cruelty. And he's smart enough not to leave evidence."

"How do you suppose he managed it? The ME said Decker hadn't been dead more than a few minutes when we arrived. No one could have gutted the man, ripped out the heart, and still been pristine."

I sat back in my chair. "He wore coveralls. Or a surgical gown. It's probably in a garbage can outside the door."

"Mack had officers check all the garbage cans for a two-block radius. No sign of bloody clothes, and none in Sleeth's car, either."

"Then he had one or more accomplices who took them away before we got there. Or they did the slice and dice while Sleeth watched from the door. After all, he'd need help to restrain a grown man the size of Decker."

Dave lolled in his chair. "Why are you so dead set on Sleeth as the killer?"

Sleeth's pale blue eyes stared out from my memory. "He's cold. Cold like a hard frost. Cold like an ice age. If he ever had any humanity, it's dead. It froze over."

"Is that your female intuition talking? Detectives aren't allowed to use intuition." He grinned and gave me his Joe Friday imitation. "
All we want are the facts, ma'am
."

His words stung, not least of all because they echoed Greene's. I'd thought I could count on Dave. No matter what, partners supported partners.

"Laugh all you want. I know a killer when I see one. Sleeth's criminally insane. It's our job to get the bastard off the street."

"Our job is to get the evidence so the DA can convict. We can't lock up psychos until we have proof they've committed a crime."

"And to get that proof, someone else has to die. Doesn't that strike you as wrong?"

"Have faith, Nicky. The righteous will prevail, and the unjust will be punished." Dave pulled his report from the typewriter and checked his watch. "Shift's over. I'm going home. The watch commander wants us at the hospital at three."

"What for?"

"Photo op. The mayor's son made it, and the mayor's going to thank you personally at a press conference. You're a hero." Dave winked at me. "If you want a promotion, nothing beats having the mayor in your debt."

It was exactly the kind of politics that made me hate my job.

6

Kasker pulled his Mustang to the curb in front of the Luna Azul, sure that Seve Calderon would be in the restaurant even though the place wouldn't open for hours. The rising sun already heated the pavement, promising another scorching day.

The burly Latino door guard took note of his arrival but kept his eyes on two men walking on the opposite side of the street. When Kasker approached, the man held the door open.

Inside, a whip-thin Asian and a scruffy white dude lounged at a table by the door. They rose as he entered, hands straying toward guns holstered under jackets. Kasker strode past without acknowledging their presence.

Cool and dim, the interior was welcome refuge from the heat outside. Salsa music played from the doorway to the bar on his left. Kasker glimpsed a busboy polishing glasses.

In the dining room, vacant tables had upturned chairs stacked on their red checkered tablecloths. Orange walls were decorated with sombreros, fans, and painted gourds.

The clanging of pots and pans came from the kitchen at the back of the room. Kasker threaded between tables, making his way toward a booth by the kitchen door. The place smelled of fried food, and his stomach growled, reminding him that he needed to feed the flesh soon or suffer its distraction.

A tall, muscular Negro and an equally impressive Latino flanked Seve Calderon, a diminutive Latino who sat in the vinyl-padded booth and sipped cinnamon-laced coffee. The bodyguards scrambled up, and the Negro put himself in Kasker's path.

Kasker stopped, toe-to-toe with the man, a slow smile forming. Silent, he stared into the bodyguard's eyes, waiting, one ruthless hunter challenging another. The bodyguard flinched and stepped back.

Seve pursed his lips and waved a hand at the bodyguards. "You two, help with the deliveries out back."

Kasker waited while the hired thugs obeyed their master. When they'd gone, he slid into the booth and turned his attention to the demon clothed in the flesh of a rich, middle-aged crime lord. The muscles of the demon-inhabited flesh were stiff and the eyes hooded.

Kasker's flesh tensed in response. While he didn't fear the demon, a certain wariness was called for, and diplomacy was not his strong suit.

"I expected you sooner."

"Decker escaped."

Thin black brows pulled down, and the fine wrinkles at the corners of Seve's frigid brown eyes deepened. "No soul escapes the sabueso del infierno—unless the sabueso permits it. Or have you become weak and incompetent now that you walk among flesh-clothed souls?"

A flash of heat blossomed in Kasker. For a moment, his grip on the flesh loosened. Huge jaws fitted with long, sharp fangs thrust forward from his face. Heavy lips wrinkled in a snarl. Massive leg bones that ended in enormous paws lifted from his arms. His skin, his
true
skin, burned black with the flames of Hell.

Seve's face darkened, overcast by the emergence of a black skull with long spiral horns and empty eye sockets. A forked tongue slithered over the demon's pointed teeth—teeth that gnashed in angry response to Kasker's loss of control.

"We are not for the eyes of mortals, sabueso," the demon said.

The demon faded, and Kasker struggled to submerge his own true nature, envious of how quickly Seve looked fully human again. But the demon had worn the flesh for many years, whereas Kasker had only a few months' experience.

Seve's lips turned up in a smug smile. He'd shown his superiority over Kasker just as Kasker had dominated the overeager guard. Kasker vowed he wouldn't let the demon humiliate him again.

"The pact was broken, the soul untethered," Kasker said.

The demon rubbed his thumb and finger over a mustache no thicker than a pencil. "You're sure?"

"I tasted the blood."

"This is not good news, mi amigo. Could you follow?"

Kasker squeezed his hands into fists on the tabletop. "I was nabbed by the pigs and held until this morning."

"Few untethered souls survive long. By now, he will have escaped his fate." The demon scowled. "You owe me a debt. How will you repay it?"

"His escape wasn't my fault. Find another to take his place," Kasker shot back.

The demon straightened, a challenge in his eyes. "You think it's easy? Then you do it. Find another, bind his blood."

They glared at one another. Kasker needed the demon's support to continue his hunt. There would be consequences for them both if he failed. He looked away.

Seve must have had similar thoughts. The steel in his voice was gone when he spoke.

"How did the police catch you?"

"I still wore the flesh when they arrived at Clark's Books moments after me."

Seve smoothed the tablecloth. "How did they know to come?"