Mark of the Demon

CHAPTER 17

The sky was alight with the pink and orange of dawn by the time we finally finished processing and searching the house. To Harris’s and everyone else’s disappointment, there was no secret basement that concealed a torture and execution chamber, no hidden closets containing arcane implements of death and destruction, and no evidence whatsoever that Greg had actually been the serial killer, or even connected to the killer, other than the pictures in his workroom. I made my way home, blearily stumbling through the back door of my house, barely remembering to lock it behind me. I stripped off my clothes and collapsed onto my bed, falling asleep within half a dozen heartbeats.

I woke late in the day with dim and scattered memories of dreams containing Rhyzkahl—hazy threads of images that bore little resemblance to the powerful sendings of his previous visits. I lay on my back, looking up at the wood of my ceiling, allowing myself to wake up fully. Those were probably actual dreams, I decided, as I tried and failed to remember the content. Dim snatches lingered briefly—images of Rhyzkahl scowling at me, calling to me, and a jumbled memory of me rolling over in bed and telling him to go away and let me sleep. It had to have been a dream. Surely I hadn’t told a Demonic Lord to go away and let me sleep.

The clock on the nightstand showed seven p.m. I sat up, running my fingers through my tangled hair. My internal clock was completely screwed up now, after staying awake two nights in a row. Again.

The one good thing about having slept all day was that I knew it would be easier to be out most of the night looking for people. I showered and changed into jeans and a T-shirt that was uncharacteristically devoid of anything police-related, strapped on the ankle holster that held my little Kel-Tec .32 under my jeans, and pulled my shirt down over the holster on my belt that held my Glock 9mm. And, no, I wasn’t going to call Ryan to come with me on this. I wanted people to talk to me. Fed Boy would more likely scare people off.

I drove slowly through town, considering where to start. Beaulac was not exactly a bustling metropolis, even though its population and the population of the entire parish had swelled dramatically after Katrina, much like all the other parishes that surrounded New Orleans. And, of course, that unexpected growth had resulted in an increase in the number of “problem” neighborhoods. Areas that were previously “not so nice” had morphed into “don’t go there after dark,” much to the dismay of the community leaders.

I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel. Some of those areas were exactly what I needed. But even armed, I was reluctant to go in without backup. However, I could think of a number of places where I’d be able to find people who could help me out. In fact, the outreach center where Greg had done so much of his work was probably the best place to start. With any luck, Reverend Thomas would be around and able to identify some of the pictures.

I drove past the outreach center, scowling as I saw that the doors were closed by a metal gate. Obviously the people who ran the center were smart enough to maintain a certain level of security on the building. But that also meant I wouldn’t have the chance to talk to Reverend Thomas tonight. There was a small group of about half a dozen people clustered out front, though. I peered at them as I drove by, then smiled in satisfaction as I recognized a face. Reverend Thomas wasn’t the only one who might have some information.

I parked a short distance down the street, then grabbed my stack of pictures and made my way toward the group. They parted before me, giving me a wide berth. Even in plain clothes, I knew that my whole bearing shrieked “Cop!” I scanned the faces quickly, giving them small, tight nods—nothing too friendly just yet.

“Whatcha want here, Sarge?” A grizzled black man with a shortage of teeth spoke. He looked to be in his mid to late forties, with broad shoulders, thick muscles, and scarred knuckles. He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest as he looked at me.

I gave the speaker an easy smile. I knew this one, which was why I’d decided to stop and talk to him. I’d arrested Tio a number of times, but I was always cool with him and he was always cool with me in return. He’d never gone so far as to be an informant, but he helped me out in other ways, such as vouching for my integrity to others who weren’t sure that I could be trusted. Once upon a time, Tio had tried to make it as a boxer, but then he lost one fight too many and ended up eking out a living by more-questionable means. He’d had fights with most of the other cops in the department, but I was always able to talk him into the handcuffs. Good thing, too, since I knew he could totally kick my ass.

“Hey, Tio. Just looking for some people,” I said as disarmingly as I could. “I ain’t bringing no trouble here tonight.”

He curled his lip. “Wit’ warrants? No one here gonna help you snatch up folk.”

I shook my head. “No, man, it ain’t like that. I ain’t hookin’ anyone. I’m looking for some people to make sure they don’t get hurt. You know, I’m doing that protecting-and-serving shit.” I gave him a grin. My years as a street cop had taught me many things, and the most important one was that it was a whole lot easier to get help from people if you were nice and friendly with them. The second-most-important thing I’d learned was that there was also a time to stop being nice and friendly.

To my relief, he laughed. “Protect and serve! Yeah, you right. So how you gonna protect and serve us out here?”

I could sense the others in the group watching the interplay intently. I knew that getting any help from them depended completely on what happened with Tio. I pulled out the picture of Greg and showed it to him. “See this guy? I’m trying to find out if anyone out here has ever seen him around, talking to anyone, offering them jobs or anything like that.”

Tio glanced at the picture, then shook his head. “Nah, he looks too friendly and nice to be down here. He’d stand out like … like a little ladycop.” He tipped his head back and laughed.

I laughed with him, allowing myself to share in the joke. “Yeah, yeah, I know. But I’m telling you, I wouldn’t be doing shit this crazy if I didn’t really want to help these people out.” I leaned in a bit closer. “Look, y’all know about the Symbol Man, right?”

Tio scowled. “That is some fucked-up shit, ladycop.”

“I know it is, Tio,” I said, lowering my voice. “But I’m gonna catch that fucker.” I pulled out the photos taken from Greg’s house of the latest victim—photos that showed her as a living, breathing, smiling person, not as a shredded, tortured corpse. I passed the top photo to Tio. “This is his last victim. You know who that is?”

Tio’s expression went stony. “Yeah. I know her. Knew her. Katy, dunno her last name. Saw on the news that someone else had been cut up by this asshole. Didn’t know it was her.”

I kept my face from betraying my elation at the identification, partial though it was. It was still far more than we’d had. “It was bad, Tio. You know I’ve seen some nasty-ass shit, but this guy’s the worst.” I gave him a level look. “I really need the help of y’all on the street.”

“Katy was cool,” he said as he pushed off the wall. “She was a bit fucked up, but she was tryin’ hard. She didn’t deserve that shit.”

“No one deserves what this guy is doing.”

Tio cracked his thick knuckles. “Lemme see that first guy again?”

I handed the pic over, trying not to let my relief and excitement show. Tio stepped into the light from the street-lamp and peered more seriously at the photo.

“Yeah,” he said after a moment. “I seen this guy around. He comes and sits in the center here and draws, and then pays people ten or twenty bucks or so to pose for him. Seen him other places too.”

“Where else?” I fought to stay calm. I couldn’t appear too eager for the information or it was going to start costing me.

Tio scratched his stubbled chin as he considered. “Shit, I dunno. Mebbe down in the park.”

“Does he ever take pictures of the people when they pose?”

Tio nodded. “Yeah, that’s usually what he does. So is this the guy? This the killer?” He clenched his hands into fists. “Man, I will fuck his shit up next time I see him!”

I reached out and took the picture from Tio’s hand. “No. He’s dead now. The Symbol Man got him too.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah.” I pulled out the page that I’d created with the pics of the unidentified people on it. The ones who I hoped were still alive. “How about these people? Do you know where I can find them?”

Tio peered at the page, then motioned one of the other bystanders over. A skinny white male with poor-quality tattoos on his arms shuffled up. Tio showed the page to him.

“I think I know some of these folk,” the second man said. “I mean, not personal, like, but just seen ’em out, y’know?”

“I really need to find these people,” I said. “I think that they might be in danger from the Symbol Man.”

Tio’s brows drew together. “Why he be goin’ after them?”

“I can’t really say right now, but we’ve gotten some leads that might”—I stressed the word—“link all these people—the ones who’ve already been killed, and then these folk—together. I just need to find them.” I gave Tio an earnest look. “If they’re scared of the police, at least let them know to be careful. Tell them not to go anywhere with anyone they don’t know.”

Tio was silent for several heartbeats and then nodded. “This one here’s AnnMarie,” he said, pointing to a picture of a white girl with a fleshy face and dark hair. “And this one’s Skeeter.” He indicated a picture of a rail-thin black man, then glanced around the crowd. “Anyone else know these folk?”

I tried not to react, but my relief was damn near overwhelming. Some of the others began to make tentative identifications, and I scribbled names quickly, breathless. With Tio cooperating, the others were a thousand times more likely to contribute what they knew. There were no last names, but it was still a phenomenal improvement over the nothing that I’d had before.

Tio looked up at me after I finished writing. “That gonna do ya?”

I gave him a smile thick with gratitude. “It’s a terrific start. And if you can spread the word to anyone you know, that would be fantastic too.”

He nodded once, serious. “I’ll take care of it, ladycop.”

“All right, Tio. I appreciate it.” I handed him a stack of copies of the pictures, then gave him a handful of my business cards as well. “If anyone’s willing, I’d really like to talk to them. We need every break we can get on this case.”

Tio tucked the cards and the pictures into a side pocket of his pants. “You got it, ladycop.”

“Cool. Stay out of trouble, Tio, all right?”

He winked and grinned. “Trouble finds me.”

“Then run from it, ya big goof!”