Speak of the Devil (21 page)

Raphael hung up the phone, finally turning his attention back to me. “Saul is on his way here. Have you caught up with me yet?”

“You want me to hide from the police,” I said in an accusatory voice.

“At least for the moment,” he agreed. “If anyone saw us go in there tonight and they tell the police, I’m betting you’ll get promoted from ‘person of interest’ to ‘suspect’ in no time flat. We can’t afford to have you locked up.”

“Running away is just going to make me look guilty!” I protested, but I wasn’t surprised that Raphael didn’t budge.

“Better to look guilty than get thrown in jail,” he said. “We need Adam’s input. Do you want to call him, or shall I?”

Control freak that I am, I should have insisted on making the call myself. But I just couldn’t psych myself up to do it. I was too tired, too stressed, to deal with Adam, who would probably find some reason why this fiasco was all my fault.

“You do it,” I said flatly.

To my surprise, Raphael reached out and gave my arm a squeeze, and it didn’t feel like he was trying to crush my bones into powder.

“We’ve gotten through worse situations,” he said. “We’ll get through this, too.”

I wanted to object to the word “we,” didn’t want to admit that Raphael and I were in any way in this together, but for once I managed to keep my opinion to myself. I gave a brisk nod that Raphael took as agreement of some kind. Then he parked me in his living room with a strong rum and Coke by my side and called Adam for advice.

Despite my desire to retreat into my personal cone of silence, Adam demanded to speak to me after Raphael finished briefing him on the situation. There was nothing in the world that could
force
me to give in to Adam’s demand, except for the knowledge that not talking to him would be a form of cowardice.

“Please don’t tell me the situation is any worse than we already know,” I begged him.

“Sorry, love,” he answered, and he did actually sound sorry. “The late Mr. Keller ‘found’ a thumb drive belonging to Hillerman, and when the police looked at it, they found the letter Hillerman had sent to Brian, as well as the doctored photo.”

“Shit.” There wasn’t anything else I could add.

“Yeah. My esteemed colleagues have had some questions for me now that they’ve seen the photo. I told them it was a fake, but they’re starting to wonder about the times I’ve taken statements from you.”

“Shit.” A good, all-purpose cuss word always comes in handy.

“I don’t think they’re going to find anything that would hurt me too badly, but it does mean I have to step back even further in this case.”

Once upon a time, I’d been a bit shocked by
Adam’s casual disregard for the law, but right now, I’d have loved to have that back. He’d kept me out of more trouble than I could believe, and I couldn’t help being terrified that I’d end up in prison without his help.

“I tried to talk to Maguire’s ex-girlfriend earlier today,” Adam said in what seemed like a non sequitur, “but I never managed to reach her, and now that I’m under a microscope, I don’t think it would be a good idea for me to be seen talking to her.”

Great. Now that the demon had fled his second murdered host, we needed information to help identify him more than ever. I doubted, however, that anyone in our merry band other than Adam had the requisite skills to question the girlfriend with any success. I glanced at Raphael and amended my thought: No one but Adam could question the girlfriend without getting us into even worse trouble.

Adam read my mind. “We need to get answers from her, see if she knows anything that could help us identify our rogue.”

“Are you suggesting
I
go talk to her?” I asked doubtfully.

His snort of derision would have hurt my feelings—or pissed me off—if I didn’t know how badly suited I was for the job, and how conspicuous I would be if I tried to approach the girlfriend.

“No, I’m suggesting we get
Barbie
to go talk to her.”

“What? Are you crazy?”

“Just hear me out. It’s very important to her to keep her nose clean. If she loses her license for some reason and can’t keep up her payments to The Healing Circle, Blair’s going straight to whatever crappy nursing home has an open bed. Barbie knows
it’s in her best interests to keep you out of jail, since you can so easily take her down with you.”

“And just how does she know that?” I growled, although I knew Adam far too well not to guess the answer.

“Because I drew a picture for her.”

“In other words, you’ve already sent her on a mission to interview the ex.”

I could almost hear the smug grin on his face. “I didn’t think asking your permission would be in our best interests.”

“Asshole,” I muttered. “You know you’re just handing her rope she can hang us all with.”

“I don’t get the impression she’s anxious to hang us, even if it wouldn’t have such serious repercussions for her.”

I wasn’t sure how good a judge of character Adam was, but since he’d already had his little talk with Barbie, it wasn’t looking too likely that I’d be able to undo whatever damage he may have done.

“You’d better hope you’re right,” I said, resigned.

“I do indeed,” he answered, then hung up—as usual—without saying good-bye.

The evening was already majorly sucky even before Saul arrived at Raphael’s place, but the minute he stepped through the doorway, the tension that filled the air quadrupled in intensity. Raphael acted like he didn’t notice, calmly filling Saul in, telling him about the murder of David Keller.

Saul was quiet for a couple of minutes as he absorbed the story, then he nodded briskly.

“All right,” he said, “I guess I’ll go back to Adam’s place.”

“No, you won’t,” Raphael said, and that was all it took to get Saul’s eyes glowing.

I considered attempting to take on the role of peacekeeper, but I didn’t have Dominic’s bravery or tact. Instead, I took a couple of steps backward to put some space between me and them, and I scouted out my escape route should the fur begin to fly.

Raphael’s voice remained calm, and there was no outward sign that he was preparing to defend himself. “Adam’s now under some scrutiny himself. If you go stay there, they may become curious about your identity, and that would be bad.”

“I’ll take my chances,” Saul said, then tried to duck around his father to reach the front door.

Raphael stepped between Saul and the door. “Use your brain. If they can’t identify you, they’re going to be even more curious, and they’ll start asking Adam and Dominic some difficult questions. If they aren’t satisfied with the answers, they might even bring in an exorcist to examine your aura.”

For the first time, a hint of alarm entered Saul’s face. I clamped my teeth together to keep from blurting out a stream of expletives, because Raphael was right. If Saul acted like he was hiding something, it was certainly possible they’d call in an exorcist. Pennsylvania is one of the least demon-friendly states, and it was fairly routine to submit suspects to an examination by an exorcist. After all, if you locked someone up thinking he was just your average, everyday human, and he turned out to be possessed, you were pretty likely to find yourself with an escaped prisoner and a bunch of dead guards. All it would take was the slightest pretext for the court to order an examination—which was generally considered a minor inconvenience rather than a violation of privacy—and when the exorcist found Saul was possessed
and he didn’t have any paperwork to prove it was legal …

“You don’t want to be declared an illegal demon in this state,” Raphael said, hammering home his point.

I’d exorcized Saul once before, and I hadn’t had any real difficulty doing so, but Lugh contended it was only because Saul hadn’t resisted, and because I’m a particularly powerful exorcist. But if the court were to order Saul exorcized now, when I was under suspension, would another exorcist be able to cast him out? Like I said, Pennsylvania is not demon-friendly, and we’re one of only ten states that executes illegal demons that can’t be exorcized.

Saul looked indecisive.

“Whatever you think of me,” Raphael continued, “I wouldn’t want you to be killed.”

Saul gave him an unfathomable look. “It’s too late to pretend fatherly affection.”

Raphael shrugged casually. “Does it require a great deal of affection not to want to see someone burned alive? At the moment, I can’t think of a single person I hate enough to wish that fate on. Even Dougal, who would not hesitate to do it to me if he ever catches me.

“Morgan can have my guest bedroom, and you can have the couch,” Raphael continued, as if everything were settled. “I’ll stay out of the way as much as possible so you don’t have to suffer my presence.”

Saul glanced at me. “Do you have an opinion, or are you just window dressing?”

“If you’re trying to get a rise out of me,” I answered, “then give it up. I’m tired, I’m scared, and the love of my life rejected me again. I don’t have any energy left for petty quarrels.” I turned to Raphael.

“Point me toward the guest bedroom so I can go collapse. You two work out your differences without me. Or don’t. I honestly don’t care.”

I must have looked as bad as I felt, because neither Saul nor Raphael argued.

That night
, I slept like the dead. I half expected Lugh to interrupt my sleep for a little strategy meeting or a seduction attempt, but he didn’t. I should have been well rested when I woke up the next morning at around ten, but I still felt almost as exhausted as I had when I’d turned in.

“Lugh, please tell me you weren’t driving my body around during my sleep,” I muttered to the empty air.

My defenses were obviously still down, for I had no trouble hearing his response:
I wasn’t driving your body around during your sleep. The exhaustion isn’t physical
.

Great. At least physical exhaustion I knew how to fix. This emotional breakdown, or whatever it was, I had no idea what to do with.

I’d slept in my clothes, so I was looking less than my best when I dragged myself out of bed. I took a quick shower, which failed to make me feel any more lively, then pulled on the same outfit and wandered out into the main room.

There was a plaid blanket neatly folded over one
arm of the sofa, but that was the only visible evidence that Saul had ever been here. I wondered where he’d gone, but I wasn’t interested enough to call him and find out.

There was also no sign of Raphael, which I couldn’t see as anything but a positive. In the kitchen, a pot of coffee at least an hour old languished on the burner. I helped myself to a cup anyway. Even stale coffee is better than no coffee, and I was too lazy to brew a fresh pot.

I sat on Raphael’s couch for I don’t know how long, sipping coffee and staring off into space, trying not to brood. I was surprisingly successful at it, unless sitting around doing nothing while white noise filled my head could be considered brooding. I might have been able to sit there all day, but the sound of a ringing phone snapped me out of it.

It was my cell phone, which, of course, was in my purse, which was in the bedroom. I had to sprint to get to it in time. Considering the stupor I’d been in, I moved remarkably fast. I hate to admit it, but the only reason I moved so fast was the faint hope that it might be Brian, that he might be ready to talk. I wondered if that spike of hope meant that I’d be able to get over my own irrational anger if Brian would only come back to me.

If my brain had been even marginally functional, I’d have known it wasn’t Brian. I’d assigned him a special ring tone on my cell, and this wasn’t it. When I answered the phone and heard a female voice on the other end of the line, I was so disappointed I felt almost dizzy with it.

“Morgan? Hello?” It was PI Barbie—just the person I wanted to talk to first thing in the morning.

I frowned. First thing in the morning was long
gone. It could be afternoon for all I knew. I glanced at my watch and saw that it was eleven-thirty.

“Hello?” Barbie queried again. “Can you hear me?”

I sighed. “Yeah, I can hear you.”

“This is Barbara Paget. I talked to Maguire’s ex-girlfriend, Jessica Miles, this morning, and I found out something very interesting.”

She sounded kind of excited. I couldn’t muster any excitement myself, but I managed to make an encouraging noise that prompted her to continue.

“Your whole … situation started when Jessica accused Maguire of beating her up. But it turns out that wasn’t what really happened.”

This
was what she was getting all excited about? “So what? Maguire always claimed it was the new guy in her life who hit her, not him.” I’d even felt sorry for him for a while, until after I’d exorcized the demon and seen the wreckage that was his host. The demon might not have hurt Jessica Miles, but he’d sure done a job on Jordan Maguire Jr.

“Turns out Maguire was right, and it was her new guy who hit her. But get this: It was a setup, on both their parts. The new guy, Tim Simms— great name, huh?—convinced her Maguire had been cheating on her. He even produced photographs for proof.”

Okay, I had to admit my interest was piqued now.

“Simms whipped Jessica into a frenzy about Maguire, the two-timing jerk, and they came up with a plan to get revenge. They waited until after she’d argued with Maguire, then she called Simms over and he gave her a couple of showy bruises. And that was all it took to get Maguire’s demon exorcized.”

I shuddered. The general public thinks demons die when they’re exorcized, which meant Jessica and her
boyfriend had committed what they thought was cold-blooded murder.

“And here’s the
really
weird part,” Barbie said. “Simms disappeared on the day you exorcized Maguire’s demon. He didn’t pack up a bag or anything, and his car’s still in his apartment’s parking lot. But no one has seen or heard from him since.”

I had a sneaking suspicion that Simms would eventually be found, and that he wouldn’t be breathing. Psycho Demon—as I’d now dubbed the demon who had it in for me—seemed to have no qualms about using “disposable” hosts. I frowned, wishing all the information I had would line up and add up to a clear and tangible threat.