Dark Angels
Uriel was in love. He'd found the perfect girl for him, a girl at the school where he worked. He thought about her all the time, longed to be with her all the time. Now Gabriel was so jealous that he was being mean and trying to hurt her. Uriel was frightened. He was afraid Gabriel would get so angry that he'd kill her the way he'd killed Uriel's other girlfriend.
Then on a weekend when Gabriel went to an educational conference held in the nearby city of Columbia, Uriel felt safe enough to bring his girl down into the cave and show her all his reptiles and arachnids. She was afraid at first and held back, but after he had explained everything and told her how beautiful and special his creatures were, she had loved it, too, and said she didn't care and wanted him to teach her how to raise spiders and snakes. She said she loved him and would do anything in the world for him, and they'd made love there in the cave, the very first time for both of them.
Uriel had never been so happy. But now Gabriel had returned, and Uriel was late meeting him at the cave. So he was in a hurry when he got to the boiler room and unlatched the water heater. He jumped down into the tunnel, terrified Gabriel would get angry and lose his temper, but Uriel had been at his girl's house and hadn't wanted to leave her. That's why he was late, but Gabriel could never, ever find out about it.
Uriel followed the shaft into the domed cavern but didn't see Gabriel anywhere. He stood very still and listened. Something about the place seemed spooky tonight, not like it had felt earlier when he'd been there with his love. It was completely quiet, except for faint scratches of the scorpions and the rustle of snakes in the leaves on the bottom of their cages.
Then out of nowhere, Uriel was tackled from behind and knocked to the ground. It was Gabriel, and Uriel tried as hard as he could to fight him off, but Gabriel was violently angry and fought like a maniac. They rolled on the ground until Gabriel had him pinned underneath him. He doubled his fist and hit Uriel in the head, stunning him for a moment. Uriel stared up at his friend, his benefactor, shocked and horrified at the black rage he saw in Gabriel's eyes. Gabriel sat on his chest and grabbed him by the throat with both hands. His face was red, his words harsh and low and furious.
“You brought that little bitch down here, you bastard. To our private place, to our secret lair. I thought I could trust you, but now everything's ruined. You stupid little fool, don't you see? She'll get pissed off at you someday and tell the police what we've done. We'll end up in prison, both of us, and it'll all be your fault. How could you do this to me, how could you? I trusted you!”
“No, I didn't, I didn't bring her here. I swear.”
“Liar! I saw you. I knew you were sneaking around with her and lying to me about it. There wasn't any conference in Columbia. I stayed here. I watched you bring her down to our secret place. I saw you screwing her. And now she's got to die.”
Uriel lay still and stared up at Gabriel's demented face. “No. No way. I love her, Gabriel. And there's nothing wrong with that. There's no need for you to be jealous. I love you, too. You're my blood brother, you'll always be the most important person in my life.” Uriel felt the tears well up and begin to burn. “Please, just let me have her. I'll do anything you say, anything, if you'll let me have her.”
“No, no, no! We made a pact that we wouldn't have women. And if we did, then we'd kill them afterward. I've always kept up my end of the bargain. Now it's your turn. You shouldn't have brought her down here. Now she's gotta die, and you gotta do it.”
Uriel fought Gabriel's grip on his neck, unable to stop weeping. “No, no, please, Gabriel . . .”
“Shut up your sniveling, Uriel, you hear me? Shut your damn mouth and listen good. You go get her right now and bring her to my house. Tell her I want to meet her tonight, tell her I've given the two of you my blessing, tell her whatever the hell you want. Just get her there, and then you're going to kill her while I watch. You got that? You can do it any way you want, but she's gonna die tonight. Do you understand me? Do you? This is your punishment for breaking our code.”
Defeated, Uriel nodded but couldn't stop sobbing.
“If you don't do it, Uriel, I will. You understand that? I'm gonna do her, then I'm going to put her in a sleeping bag with some widows and watch her die a long, slow, horrible death.”
Gabriel climbed off Uriel, then jerked him to his feet by the front of his shirt. He shoved him toward the tunnel. “Now go get her and meet me at my house and don't make it too late. I've got to go to work tomorrow. This is your fault, Uriel! How could you have been so stupid?”
Uriel obeyed, but as he drove to his love's house he could barely see the road ahead for his tears. He could not kill her. He loved her too much. But how could he lose Gabriel? Gabriel was everything to him, had always been everything to him. And Gabriel would kill her if he didn't.
Outside his love's house, he sat in the car and wiped his tears on his shirt sleeve. Then after a long time, he got out of the car, walked up the sidewalk, and knocked on her door. His heart ached, and he hated himself for what he was about to do.
It was much later that night when Uriel held onto his love's arm and guided her up the front steps to Gabriel's front door. He felt sick to his stomach, really sick inside his heart. She was so young, so happy and smiling, so eager to do whatever Uriel asked of her. She loved him. He felt afraid now that the time was at hand to do what had to be done. She wanted to lift the door knocker and he let her. It fell with a clang against the brass plate. They waited, and she smiled up at him the whole time, her eyes glowing with love.
It didn't take long for Gabriel to open the door and admit them. He grinned at Uriel, and Uriel could tell Gabriel was pleased that Uriel was willing to sacrifice his true love for their secrets. He invited them inside, and Gabriel took the girl's hand and kissed the back of it, as if he was very glad to see her. He asked her how she liked her job at the school and told her how pleased he was to finally meet the girl that Uriel loved so much. He turned her away from Uriel and pointed out some of his artwork so that Uriel could strike her from behind when she wasn't expecting it, just like they'd planned.
Uriel clamped his jaw. He knew what he had to do, but he didn't want to. He wasn't sure he could. Oh lord, how could he? He looked around for something heavy to wield. He picked up the heaviest object he could find and crept up behind Gabriel and the girl. He raised it high in the air and brought it down as hard as he could. Then he fell to his knees and wept with horror and remorse at what he had been forced to do.
TWENTY-FIVE
By the time I reached Cedar Bend with Jules Verne, my headache had worked itself into a frenzy of sharp, shooting pains and throbbing temples. I felt exhausted. Hell, I was exhausted. I wished that Black was home but he was in New York, for at least three days, more if he got snowed in. I guess the guy's become a habit, after all.
His personal security guard, a six-foot-six giant of a man by the name of Jerry Presson, saluted me as if I had on Queen Elizabeth's fancy jeweled crown, so I wished him a subdued happy New Year and cuddled poor, shivering Jules Verne on the elevator's quiet swoop up to Black's palatial crib.
The place was pretty much pitch black and silent so I snapped on this fancy chrome-and-glass lamp in the hallway near the elevator. I hadn't been here often without Black, and the sprawling penthouse seemed lonely and strange in all its black-and-tan glory; even the whisper-footed staff had faded into the woodwork. Or maybe Black had given them New Year's Day off. He was pretty good about stuff like that.
More important, the penthouse was spider/rattler free, and that was a mighty big plus in my book. Nonetheless I checked the shiny cherrywood floors and listened for the skitter and rattle of scorpions, and whatnot.
I was too sleep deprived to worry long, but I checked out every nook and cranny in Black's huge, ultramasculine bedroom, threw off the sheets and shook them like I was trying to kill them, and armed myself with a small can of Raid I found under the kitchen sink. Finally, Jules Verne and I slipped between varmint-free smooth black satin sheets together and gave it up.
The nightmares began at once, an extension of my life, I guess. I dreamed that Black was a huge, hairy brown recluse with his handsome face smiling and winking at me, and Bud was a snake with six arms that had rattles for fingers that kept grabbing at me. I was a field mouse trying to get away from them but instead ran straight into a huge, sticky white web that Joe McKay had spun high in the trees behind his farmhouse. He was sitting in his four-wheeler in the middle of that gigantic web, grinning and dimpled up, with a little kid wrapped in silk wiggling in the web beside him. A midnight snack, no doubt.
I awoke with a start and found myself drenched in sweat. I was more frightened by McKay's deadly methods than I'd realized, which really ticked me off. I was pretty shook up and couldn't get a hold on it. Everything was so damn awful, so insane, downright scary even. That's right, I am scared, and I don't like it. So is Jules Verne. He is whimpering and burrowing deep under the covers. Must have had the same dream as me. After all Jules had been through, Black was going to have to invest in a canine shrink.
I raised up on one elbow, snatched my cell phone off the bedside table and punched in the hospital's number. Bud's nurse said he was doing better but had a long way to go. Then I called the department and found no one had picked up McKay during the night. The autopsies on the new victims wouldn't start until mid-afternoon so I got out of bed, showered, dressed, and strapped on all my guns and wished I had more than just two. I stuck some extra ammo clips in my pockets in case I got to unload on McKay, slipped into my parka and shoved my trusty can of Raid in my other pocket, just in case. Suddenly that miniature aerosol can was my bestest, most trusted friend. The “Mexican Hat Dance” erupted in the quiet room, and I grabbed my cell phone.
Black said, “Where are you?”
“At your place. I found a couple of unwelcome home presents at my house.”
“Oh my God. What?”
“Just a cobweb-coated squirrel in a plastic bag so I'd think it was Jules Verne. It scared the hell out of me, let me tell you, but don't worry, Jules's fine.”
“Goddamn him.”
“We can only hope. Oh, yes. McKay taped up Jules but didn't sic any spiders on him, so I guess down deep he's an animal lover. Too bad Simon Classon wasn't a Pekingese. Oh, yeah, I forgot, he put a bunch of brown recluses in my tub, too, so I decided to skip my bubble bath today.” My attempt at glib was definitely not coming off. Actually, it sounded more like I was trying to break all my teeth off at the gums. I wouldn't have laughed at me, either. I sounded creeped out, because I was creeped out. Soon it appeared that Black was creeped out, too.
“Don't go back there, Claire. I mean it. Don't do it. And that's it, I'm out of here, to hell with this consultation. They'll have to handle it without me. He's getting too close, and his warnings more deadly. I don't understand why he's continuing with it. He's got to know you're not scaring off. And it doesn't seem like he's really trying to hurt you, just trying to warn you off.” He finished his comments with a couple of rather creative obscenities, some of which I'd never heard him utter aloud but that I'd been thinking lately, too, then he asked, “How's Bud?”
“Better, but not good. No sign of Joe McKay yet but we've got every officer in the state looking for him.”
Another rather unique curse, one with French Cajun overtones from his Louisiana youth, I suppose. “Yeah, and I better warn you, Claire, the media's picked up on Classon's murder. They're calling the guy Spiderman.”
“Oh, crap.” I hadn't even thought about the media jackals, figured they were too busy with blizzard updates and keeping their heads warm without messing up their hair. I walked to the windows in search of satellite trucks. None had mushroomed up during the night. Not yet.
Black was still asking me questions. “What about the victims in the woods? Any IDs?”
“Buck thinks one is a young girl, teenager, maybe. The body's too decomposed to be a recent kill.”
“Claire, this is not good. This is too morbid. This guy's been killing for years and getting away with it.”
“Don't worry, I'll get him.”
“Don't you mean
we
? As in the rest of the department?”
“Sure. That's what I meant.”
“Don't go after him alone, Claire. Promise me.”
“I can't go after him. I don't know where he is.”
“If the weather holds, I can be back by tonight. Tomorrow morning at the latest.”
“Great. And, Black, you better call that exterminator again. He might want to give my bathtub another spritz or two.”
“Just stay away from your place. No use taking chances.”
I was only too pleased to agree. Not that I thought McKay would show up there again. He was hiding out in some dark hole, waiting, biding his time, like one of his goddamned spiders.
“Listen to me, Claire, you've got to be more careful. Don't do anything reckless.”
“Who, me?”
Dead silence. I could almost see his teeth clamping. “This guy's dangerous as hell, and he's got it out for you.”
“Yeah, I noticed. Somebody targeting me and my friends. Imagine.” I shut my eyes and remembered last summer and last year and all the years of my past when the people around me died because somebody hated me.
“This time's different. He's not targeting your friends. He's targeting you. They're just getting in the way.”
“Now that makes me feel better.”
“None of this is your fault. Remember how we talked this out. It's him doing this, and him alone.”
“I thought it was over.”
“This is different than before. This guy's after you because you're on to him.” I said nothing so he said, “How does this make you feel?”
There you go, psychiatrist mode kicking in. But he'd helped me before so I played along. “How do you think I feel?”
“I think you'll blame yourself and pull away from people who care about you.”
“Right, and funniest thing, that saves the lives of people around me.”
“Remember our sessions. This is not your fault. You've got a dangerous job, and sometimes bad things happen to people in law enforcement.”
“Right.”
“I don't like the way you said that.”
“Right.”
“For God's sake, Claire, listen to what I'm saying! Don't go off and try to prove something.”
“Right.”
Black fell silent, except for a highly exasperated sigh. He usually didn't react when I badgered him. Guess I need to be civil. And he was right, of course, and I knew it.
“I'm not going to do anything stupid. I'm heading out to the crime scene now. About fifty officers are out there sweeping the woods, who can babysit me. Anyway, I've got my Glock and new .38 snub-nosed, all snug in their beds and ready to blow away anything that moves.”
“Just so you don't play Rambo.”
“You're no fun anymore, Black.”
“You're getting on my nerves.”
“Well, everybody's got to have a hobby.”
He laughed but he definitely was not amused. “I shouldn't have left.”
“Get off it, Black, I'm a big girl, remember? A real, live, experienced police officer, trained and everything. I've even slapped a few criminals behind bars. Give me a break with the gloom and doom.”
“Right.”
I smiled. “See you when I see you. Stop worrying and take care of your patients. No sense rushing back here, just because I'm in deadly danger from a deranged arachnicidal maniac.”
“Be careful. Duck and weave, et cetera, you know the drill.”
“Right. Ditto.”
“Are you wearing your Saint Michael's medallion?”
“I never take it off.”
“Well, don't. I'm superstitious.”
We hung up, and for some reason all his dire warnings made me feel better. Loved, even, maybe. I zipped up my parka and left Jules Verne nervous as hell and tiptoeing around and avoiding highly dimpled men toting black trash bags. I checked out my Explorer inch by inch, then sprayed Raid under the seats, much to the naive amusement of Mike, the burly security guard. Obviously, he had never seen a Egyptian fat-tailed scorpion.
Outside, it was sunny, bright, and a little warmer, which had probably been met with cheers and whoops of joy at the crime scene. When I got back to McKay's little farm of horrors, four SUVs and the county crime scene van were still there. I checked out the house, where Buck's team was dusting for fingerprints and looking for blood spatter, without much luck. Shag was squirting around with a spray bottle of Luminol to see if McKay had washed up any gore nice and tidy-like.
I got back in my Explorer and jounced my way across the back field. I could still see the wide tracks Black and I had made in the Humvee. I could also see that all the bodies were now down and had been transported to the medical examiner's office for autopsy. Buckeye Boyd was still on scene, still shaking his head, still chain-smoking. I wondered how many packs of Marlboros he'd gone through. I wondered if I should start smoking. Maybe it'd calm my nerves.
“Hey, Buck. You been here all night?”
He nodded and flicked the butt to the ground. It hissed when it hit the snow. “Yeah, I supervised retrieval. But I'm done. I'm going home, get some shut-eye, then I'll start the autopsies.”
“Any kind of IDs on the bodies?”
“Nope. Most of them were nude, nothing we could trace.”
“Think one might be that lady janitor that took off without telling anybody?”
Buckeye shrugged. “Looks like the perp had a field day, really ran the gamut, Claire, I mean, men, women, children. It's sickening, surreal. Like, I mean, where's David Duchovny and Gillian Anderson? I keep expecting them to show up any minute, coats open and flapping.”
Buckeye was a big fan of
X-Files
reruns.
The wind shivered through the tree branches. A branch cracked and fell in a shower of snow. I pulled up my hood and stared at the frayed ropes still dangling where the killer tied the victims off under the arms. They swirled in the wind like hair on a corpse.
“I think I'll take a look around, Buck. How about letting me use that four-wheeler over there?” I pointed at the small off-road vehicle parked about twenty feet away.
“Sure. The state guys used it to search the perimeter. When you get done, leave it where you found it. They're picking it up later.”
I climbed on, got the thing going and roared along the tree line just outside the yellow crime-scene tape. I slowed and surveyed the tree trunks marked with the yellow tape, the ones in which the bodies had been hoisted.
When I reached the back of the kill site, I shut down the four-wheeler. Silence dropped like a heavy shroud, and then I heard the distant voices of the criminalists wrapping up their work at the scene. The scent of pine surrounded me, mixed in with gasoline fumes emitted by the four-wheeler. I searched the ground. Lots of footprints everywhere, and I mean lots. Teams of investigators had tramped around throughout the night, trying to find something. It looked like smaller groups, two and threes, spread out through the woods, searching, searching.
I was looking for McKay's four-wheeler tracks, and when I found them, the disruption of the snow looked like my colleagues had already checked it out. I climbed on the four-wheeler and followed McKay's trail about a mile due north to a steep rock outcropping. The tread marks led into a small stream that was frozen along both banks. Water trickled down the middle of the bed, plenty wide enough for McKay to ride through in a four-wheeler.
I hunkered down at the edge of the stream and then walked the bank about thirty yards in each direction. There were lots of bushes and trees growing along the opposite shore at the base of the cliff, all mounded with snow but with no exit point that I could see where McKay could have left the stream. There were no tire tracks on the sandy bottom that I could detect. My gut told me the rippling water had already erased them.