Rusty Nails (The Dade Gibson Case Files) (5 page)

“Are you kidding me?” Liz said, clutching tightly to his arm. “Can you even shoot an angel?” The lifeless body on the bed argued that such a thing was indeed possible.

Obviously in no hurry to escape from the scene of the crime, Mrs. Hartwell strolled over to the body and rummaged inside the coat until she found the syringe.

“This’ll keep Samael off my butt for a day or two longer,” she said to herself in what might have been a tone of relief. Dade and Liz watched in shock as she went to the bathroom and wet a washcloth, rubbing her neck and face where the blood had splattered.

“If I didn’t know better,” Dade said, “I would say she’s done this once or twice before. This has all of the markings of a planned killing.”

“No joke,” Liz agreed as Mrs. Hartwell came out of the bathroom and began to get dressed. “She knew what she was doing. She took off her clothes so they didn’t get splattered. But it looks like she might be a little careless. She still didn’t get all the blood off. Look.”

“I don’t think that’s blood,” Dade remarked as he tried to make out the shape on the woman’s right buttock. “I think it’s a tattoo.”

“A tattoo? Of what?”

“I don’t know,” Dade said as a half-forgotten memory opened one sleepy eye. “But we can’t stick around to find out.” Dade tugged at Liz’s hand. They made it to the side of the building just as the door to Mrs. Hartwell’s hotel room opened. Dade held his hand over Liz’s mouth until he heard Hartwell’s car leave the parking lot.

“What just happened?” she said, breathing hard.

“She just shot an angel in cold blood, and she did it professionally,” Dade said, hands on both knees.

“I think we should forget we ever met this woman,” Liz said. “She’s nothing but trouble.”

“That’s the hard part,” Dade said. “My family’s involved.”

“You should have at least kept the money,” Liz said glumly.

Chapter 8

All too often, Father Benjamin had seen what became of the children that went into foster care. There were some instances where the foster home was an environment built on love. Still, there were those times where abuse and mistreatment were the governing lords. And as strange as this boy named Rush seemed to be, Benjamin couldn’t find it in his heart to simply ship the child away before making sure that he was all right.

Many of his parishioners would have openly objected to his housing a twelve-year-old boy. And he knew the implications that could be drawn if someone wanted to besmudge his reputation, especially with all the bad press the clergy was getting these days. But he wasn’t worried about keeping up pretensions.

Despite all that had happened the night before, Benjamin woke up early and brewed a pot of coffee while Rush slept in the guest room. After glancing at the morning paper and pouring himself a mug full of decaf, Benjamin decided that a walk might do him some good. The boy would probably sleep for quite a while given all he’d been through. Benjamin, however, got no further in his walk than the rectory’s front door.

Unprepared for the shock of a bloody angel slumped against the doorframe, Benjamin dropped the mug of coffee in surprise. Throughout his years as a priest, he had always maintained his belief in the existence of the angelic hosts. Yet, somehow, the notion that there was such a thing always carried a certain fairy-tale quality about it. The fact that there was an angel bleeding on his doorstep changed matters considerably.

The creature wasn’t at all like he had imagined one would appear. Bleeding and bruised from a particularly nasty fight, the angel was dressed in blue jeans that were tattered in several places. The snakeskin boots on the creature’s feet were ancient, looking like they might have been made from the original serpent in the garden. The wings that should have been heavily feathered and glorious to behold were thin and ripped and scarcely capable of flight.

Knowing that something had to be done immediately, Benjamin tried to roll the seraph over. In his attempt to turn the creature, fresh spurts of blood trickled from unseen wounds, and his hands came away red from the effort. At first, he was unable to tell where all the blood was coming from-the few cuts and lacerations he could see scarcely seemed like the source of so much mess. Then, pushing the feathers aside for a closer look, he saw where a whip had insatiably bitten into angelic flesh over and over again.

“Father, help me,” the angel whispered in a hoarse voice. Benjamin wasn’t sure if the creature was referring to him or to the Almighty, but he was determined to do what he could.

Frantic, Benjamin ran to the sink and poured a glass of water from the tap. Because he was so weak from his injuries, the angel wasn’t able to raise himself up enough to drink from the cup. Benjamin quickly headed back to one of the cabinets and found a small bowl that the angel could lap from. Like a thirsty dog, the seraph drank until the bowl was empty.

“What’s going on?” Rush said sleepily from the doorway.

At the sound of the child’s voice, the angel raised his head with more strength than he seemed capable of and mouthed something that sounded like Hebrew. Instinctively, Rush responded, stringing unknown words together, his tongue clicking against the back of his teeth in the peculiar dialect. Benjamin studied the boy carefully and tried to understand what it was he was seeing.

“I know you,” the angel said cryptically, focusing his eyes on the child, his eyes blazing with a newfound fury. Benjamin saw the exchange between the two and couldn’t help noticing the rage that racked the angel’s body in convulsions. “I know who you are,” he screamed. “The stories they’ve been telling about you are wrong.”

“I don’t understand any of this,” the priest responded. But the seraph didn’t say anything else. His eyes were closed. Benjamin tried to shake him again. This time, however, it was no use. The angel was dead.

Chapter 9

Although Dade didn’t know how or why, everything seemed to lead back to angels. The Zodiac Club was frequented by angels. An angel was featured prominently in the vision he had in his car. Louise Hartwell just murdered an angel. And not some wannabe cherubim either. This seemed like the real deal.

Those had been real wings jutting from the angel’s back. That was real blood trickling from the hole in the angel’s head. Reality had shifted and grown to include one more impossibility in a matter of seconds.

After seeing the murder, Dade and Liz had driven around town for over an hour, trying to make sense out of it all. But in the end, they just came up with more questions and a growing sense of dread that wouldn’t go away.

In the end, Dade had decided that he needed some time to think on his own and had dropped Liz off at her place. Then, he had gone back to his office. The phone was ringing when he got there.

“Are you ready to play ball yet, Mr. Gibson?” The Southern voice on the other end was immediately recognizable.

“What is it that you want?”

“I thought we already talked about this at The Zodiac. I want you to find Richard Edgemore’s bones.”

“Or else?”

Louise Hartwell sighed playfully. “Let‘s get right to it. If you don’t do what I say, things won’t be pleasant for your sister and father. I may look like a Southern belle, but I know a little bit about the darkness. If I want to, I can summon the spirits of those two and cast them into the bodies of lab animals that are being tortured. Or, if that doesn’t sound bad enough, I can conjure up a curse or two to add to the ones they’re doomed with in Hell.”

“You leave them out of it,” Dade screamed into the phone. “I’ll find the bones.”

“Well, darlin, that’s all I wanted in the first place,” Louise said sweetly.

“If I found out that you’re tinkering with my family’s souls, I will hunt you down and show you the real meaning of the word torture. Are we clear?”

Louise Hartwell laughed. “Oh, baby, you don’t scare me in the least little bit. I know about boys like you. You’re all talk. But that’s o.k. I guess you just need to get your frustrations out in the open. As long as you get those bones for me, I’ll listen to all of your threats and smile about ‘em. Now, if you would be so kind as to meet me at the mausoleum, I’ll give you a guided tour of Richard’s crypt. There might be a clue or two there. Meet me at two o’clock. And bring your girlfriend.”

“No way,” Dade said. “Liz isn’t coming.”

“Bring her or else,” Louise said. “This isn’t up for discussion.”

Dade slammed the phone down and grabbed one of his guns for reassurance. In his mind, all he could picture was putting the barrel to Louise Hartwell’s head and squeezing the trigger. It was a thought he’d never really had before. He’d never hated someone so much that his first thought was to kill them in cold blood. Then again, he’d never had anyone threaten his family with torment and misery. It tended to change one’s perspective.

Chapter 10

Thankfully, Liz didn’t ask too many questions when she picked him up. Dade didn’t mention his phone conversation with Louise Hartwell because he didn’t want to scare her. He believed that Hartwell would make good on her threats, and he wasn’t quite sure how to broach that subject with Liz yet. Instead, he focused on the case.

“I wish I knew what the big deal about this Edgemore guy is,” he said as Liz maneuvered her LeBaron through the streets of Crowley’s Point.

“The first time I ever heard that name was at The Zodiac Club,” Liz confessed.

“I still think finding out some information about Edgemore is the key,” Dade said.

“I don’t know about Edgemore, but this has everything to do with angels. We’ve seen them at The Zodiac Club, and we’ve seen them on the receiving end of a bullet.”

And we’ve seen them in a vision played across the glass of my rearview mirror,
Dade thought but did not say.

“Angels are definitely a point of focus for this investigation,” he agreed. “But then, so is Louise Hartwell. Let’s not forget that she killed an angel in cold blood.”

“Do you think that’s really possible? To kill an angel?” Liz asked as she used one hand to turn down the radio. “I mean, sure, there is a certain amount of flesh and blood to a creature like that. But there’s also a supernatural power to them too.”

“Nothing that a few cursed bullets won‘t fix. If you know the true name of an angel and can pinpoint how to write that name in angelic script, all you have to do is scratch the name backwards on a bullet, use it to shoot the angel that’s named, and it will be as if that angel never existed.”

“Seriously, your knowledge scares me sometimes,” Liz confessed. “I’m not even going to ask how you know that.”

“A magician never reveals his secrets,” Dade said with a smile. “Not sure about an overweight redhead with a Southern accent.”

“I doubt she’s going to divulge any of her secrets either,” Liz said. “We’ll have to get our own answers. Maybe we can learn something from the crypt.”

“We may need a tour guide to show us around,” Dade said, pointing at the mausoleum. “That thing is huge.”

“I’ll bring the bread crumbs to mark the path,” Liz said as she opened her door and stepped out.

Louise Hartwell came toward them immediately. Yet, there wasn’t a hint of malice on her face. Only a smile. “Mr. Gibson, Liz, so glad you both could make it.” Her demeanor was all mirth and Southern charm. Gone were all traces of the vile, nasty ogre she had been on the telephone.

“So this is it, huh?” Dade said, trying hard not to let his rage overwhelm him. “This is the scene of the crime.”

“It would appear so,” Mrs. Hartwell said dryly. “A graveyard is usually the best place for someone to steal bones.”

“But you don’t have any suspects? I mean, surely you must have some idea of why someone would want a bunch of your husband‘s bones. Or maybe he wasn‘t really your husband.”

“You’re really not in a position to worry about a minor detail like that at this point,” Hartwell replied.

“So you don’t have any idea?”

“I don’t,” Louise explained. “And neither does Richard.”

“I thought the two of you couldn’t communicate anymore.”

“He left a message on my refrigerator. I put up one of those dry-erase boards so we can talk. It’s the only way I’ve been able to speak to him since the bones were snatched. He can leave sporadic messages. He just doesn’t have enough cohesion left to manifest in a chat room.”

“I’m not sure I understand,” Liz said.

“Imagine a couple of kids passing notes in class and that’s basically what Richard and I have been reduced to. I’ll post a question. A few hours later I can go back and see his answer. It’s never immediate. Whoever’s controlling him is preventing him from freely communicating with me. He’s having to sneak around to do it, and only when his captor isn’t directly using their influence to control him.”

“I’m still not sure I understand exactly what the problem is here,” Dade said, cracking his knuckles one by one, drawing a nasty look from Liz. “You and Richard can still communicate. But he can’t give you any information about what might have happened to his remains?”

“That’s right. I guess you could say that dry-erase board is like a telephone. On it, Richard told me that he knew a secret that he wasn’t supposed to tell. If anyone got hold of his remains, they could threaten him with eternal limbo if he didn’t reveal what he knew.”

“And you think that’s why someone took his bones?”

Mrs. Hartwell nodded vigorously. “I’m sure of it.”

“Why doesn’t Richard just write down what he wants to say if there’s something we need to know? Why all this cloak-and-dagger stuff?”

“Like I said before, that dry-erase board is like a telephone, but the calls are expensive. It takes an enormous amount of energy for Richard to tell me what he does.”

“That still doesn’t explain why he doesn’t just tell you what the secret is. If you knew that information, you might also be able to figure out who would benefit from it. We need some suspects. Maybe you should ask Richard to give you some names, the next time you two pass notes on the board.”

“Richard is trying to protect me, and I’m trying to protect him.”