Fury From Hell (26 page)

“Find the woman?”

“Huh?”

“The looker?  Rennkler case?  You that tired, Yearwood?”

Clift turned and looked over his shoulder at the younger man.  Yearwood put his hand on his hip and rubbed his eyes with the other.  “Yeah, I’m beat.  And no, I didn’t see the woman entering the casino.  We don’t have all the footage from each of the entrances.  We just have the main entrance security discs.  We don’t even have the disc from the employee entrance!  I was wondering if that chick worked there.”

“Not with that ring on her finger she doesn’t,” Clift grunted and stretched in his chair.

“I got nothing else either.  I should head out.”  Clift refused to mention sighting the blond guy Holden met at the casino.

“So, what’s the game plan for later today?”

“Feinster and Holden are going to take the looker’s picture to the jewelry stores they’re supposed to locate.  I hope for a hit.  We put the fear of God in Forensics and make sure Babs gets us what we need faster than normal.  We have to pray we’ve got prints, even partial ones.  We go to the casino and strong arm them into giving us all the security tapes —”

Yearwood interrupted him. “Why don’t we get a warrant?  Or, is our evidence too flimsy?”

“Usually, it would be too scant.  But, we can get just about anything we need because the Top Brass wants this one solved like yesterday.  I can request a warrant now and it should be granted before noon.  And I suppose we have to tell the next of kin sometime later today.”

“Us?”

“If not us, me,” Clift sighed and rubbed his generous paunch.  “I’m the most senior.  The Sarge’ll probably go with me if you don’t want to.”

“Where’s next of kin living?”

“Thankfully, only in Jersey.  Rennkler’s got some kind of a mansion type deal out there.  His only daughter lives with him in her own freaking
wing
.  Read that on TMZ,” Clift said smugly before he continued. “The guy was originally from Sacramento but he relocated to Jersey two decades ago in some swanky town, uh, Saddle River.  Looked it up online and it’s the 27
^th
highest-income neighborhood out of 100 in the US.”

Yearwood clapped him on the back.  “Your Internet research skills are coming along,” he said with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

Clift basking in the compliment didn’t notice the other man’s preoccupation.  Clift rattled off more extraneous information and Yearwood tuned him out and thought instead of Holden and her treachery.

Yearwood made sure to make the appropriate listening sounds and nodded at the right times.  As soon as a break came, he grabbed it. “Clift, I gotta run — I need to take a leak and get some shut eye.  See you, what?  By 10 or 10:30?”

“If you get back by eleven I’m good.  Feinster and Holden will be in before us; supposed to be by 7:30 but I’m sure we’ll see them closer to 9.  Everyone’s doing double-duty on this.  Think I should call them and see how many jewelers they found?”

Yearwood’s heart lurched.  He wanted the opportunity to talk to Holden but this wasn’t the right time.  He needed her alone.  “The morning’s fine.  I’m more interested in if the jewelers recognize the woman.”

“Yeah, you’re right.  Must be the sleep talkin’.  All right, get outta here.  Be right behind you.”  Turning back to his monitor, Clift banged away at the keys and Yearwood took off heading to the locker rooms with more speed than his tired body possessed.

***

Monday, November 12
^th

Abatu thundered around Brooklyn fuming at the witches’ interference.  Anger consumed the demon and it plotted a myriad of tortuous ways to rid the Earth plane of them both.  The Fury knew that right now the host’s apartment was inhospitable.  Wondering about the host’s work place, the Fury pondered if the host would show up there.  But, what if the witches discouraged the host from going to the work place?  Abatu would have wasted still more time.  Roaring with frustration and gripped by indecision, the demon realized that Kyma Barnes still had yet to be avenged, as well.  If her soul wasn’t avenged — and soon — the Ancient One would have to forfeit Kyma’s soul allowing it enter that
other
eternal resting place.  If that were to happen, that would be a first for it in its 700+ years of service to the Dark One.

Frustrated, but still on the warpath, the Fury felt a tug from below and realized it had unconsciously traveled to the host’s work place.  The anguished soul that touched the Fury was coming from a medium-build lanky man who walked with his head down and shoulders slumped.  Problems were heavy around him making him a very enticing and easy prey.  Abatu began following him.  It looked for evil and found none within the man’s mind, or his past.  The slight red aura around him that attracted the demon was because of the man’s current emotional landscape.

The Fury became disinterested, it zoomed ahead and took a look at him before shooting off and jerked to a halt.  This man was a colleague of the host!  The Fury thought back and recalled he was at the murder site of Kyma Barnes…the supportive law officer.  Abatu noted that he was clearly not in the same state of mind now as he was then.

Intrigued by this turn of events, the Fury sent a note of thanks to the Dark One for the assistance.  Abatu allowed the man to pass under it and followed him.  He got into a car and drove for forty minutes.  He cut the engine in a front of a small house in an area with many miniscule front yards and quaint row houses whose windows were still dark.

Fumbling with his keys, the Fury watched him feeling anxiety for the first time in centuries.  Its reticence in dealing with men other than for feeding was now a hindrance.  The Fury wanted very much to peek inside this man’s mind but the idea repulsed and sickened it.  Avenging women was the Fury’s modus operandi, not possessing men!

Watching the man further, the Fury decided to follow him into the house.  Getting in just before he shut the door, Abatu watched as he stripped off his jacket and dropped it on the floor.  His shirt followed and that was followed by his pants.  He left a trail of clothing behind as he made his way to the second floor where he reverently took his gun out of its holster and unloaded it.  With care, he put it away being mindful that the safety was on.

Muttering to himself, Abatu swore it heard the man say the host’s name.  Interest piqued the demon realized that if he was connected to the host, the host would probably trust him.  If the host trusted him, then he would be a perfect guise for the Fury to use to get the host alone and gain entry once more!  Hope surged in the demon.  Kyma Barnes’ soul would be avenged after all!  The glinting evil smiled returned to the Fury’s countenance as it slowly carefully ventured inside the man’s mind…

***

Monday, November 12
^th
, 3:12 A.M.

Betty threw the overstuffed duffel bag and a large rolling suitcase in the back of her Hybrid.  She glanced at Lady Ariella across the street.  She was getting into her Altima.  Betty then peered at the already seated Jennifer whose face was pinched and drawn; she sighed and ran a hand through her hair trying to reassure herself.

Betty refocused on her task and made sure she had her laptop and the notes for the Rennkler case.  She got in her car and headed to the High Priestess’ house.

The plan was that Lady Ariella was taking the badly shaken Jennifer straight to the safe house and would start making the bath with whatever herbs she found there.  Betty was to go to Lady Ariella’s and pick up some clothes for her, all of her herbs and the High Priestess’ spiritual bag.

Betty sent up a prayer that things would go as planned for the rest of the night.  She knew Jennifer needed some kind of solace and sleep.  Betty wanted to ensure that the Fury could not possess her friend again, but there was no guarantee that wouldn’t happen.  Biting her lip, Betty wondered where the demon was.  And, why had it given up so easily?  Was it laying in wait for them both at the precinct?  Should they both take emergency leaves of absence and deal with the fallout from the Rennkler case later?

“That would be a helluva lot of fallout.  We both could get canned,” she muttered as she soared through every red light she came to in order to make better time.

Shaking her head, Betty knew they
had
to report to work in a few hours.  The Rennkler case was paramount.  There was too much riding on the precinct, and them handling this case well.  And, right now, for half of the team to disappear?  The extent of bad press their leaves would generate made Betty’s head ache.  Blowing out a noisy breath, Betty raced towards Lady Ariella’s home and forced her mind to think only about the traffic and grabbing all she needed in ten minutes flat.

***

Monday, November 12
^th
, 11:57 A.M.

Clift pulled up in front of the gates and waited for someone to respond to his buzz on the intercom.

“Yes?”  A voice with European hints answered.

“Detectives Clift and Yearwood to see Ms. Chelsea Rennkler on a personal, urgent, matter.”

“I’m afraid she is indisposed at the moment.”

“Uh, Ma’am?  Please just let her know we’re here and we have some urgent matters to discuss with her regarding her father.”

There was a pregnant pause.  Their answer came in the form of the iron gates swinging open. They drove the squad car up the graveled path and parked it in front of the main entrance.  Squinting from the high noon sun, they took in the large structure that had old European home stamped all over it with disparate materials that seemed more suited to a Southern Californian ranch rather than to a mansion in New Jersey.

The overall look was open and rustic with modern classic touches.  Mounting the simple white stone stairs that seemed more like rough-hewn marble ledges that ascended into luxury, the men already knew they were well out of their element. The door opened and they both stopped short.  In front of them was the high-maintenance looker from the casino.  The yellow rock was on her hand and she was wearing an irritated expression.

“Well, stop gawking like commoners and come inside.”

Snapping out of their shocked stupor they hurried their pace to follow Rennkler’s daughter.  They entered the well-appointed living room that continued the white marble flooring from the foyer.  The Swedish-styled furniture coupled with the neutral tones accentuated with splashes of rich color awed them.  The exposed minimally treated wood ceilings did a lot to make the expensive décor almost seem as if it were in range of the everyday man — but not quite.  The luxurious cashmere throws and the fluffy white bearskin rugs along with the in-wall media center gave it all away.

Clift pursed his lips and put his hands behind his back.  The woman’s beauty did not go deeper than her flawless porcelain skin.  She was tapping her Gucci-clad foot waiting for them to speak.  She hadn’t even invited them to sit or ask if they needed a libation of any sort.  Clift chided himself.  He reminded himself he wasn’t there for a social call no matter how much he wished he was.

Clift spoke up. “Ms. Rennkler, we’re with the NYPD in Brooklyn.  Your father was found last night.  He was murdered.  I’m very sorry.”  His 17 ½ years on the job had shown him that quicker was the best way to break bad news.

Yearwood was closer to Rennkler’s daughter and noticed her body trembling.  He took three large steps and caught her before she collapsed on the floor.   He called out for help. “Hey! Is there anyone here?  Your mistress needs some water or smelling salts!”

Clift walked to the back of the living room where there was a hallway and he called out reiterating Yearwood’s plea.  No one answered. He quickly walked back to the white chaise that Yearwood laid the woman on.  She was out cold.

“Yearwood, go into the kitchen back there and get her some water.”

Yearwood left and came back within two minutes carrying the water.

Chelsea was coming to as Clift alternately patted her cheeks and rubbed the backs of her hands.

“Here, drink some water,” Yearwood put the thick lead crystal stemmed goblet to her lips.

She drank deeply and had a look of gratefulness in her eyes.  She took a moment to compose herself before speaking to the cops that kneeled before her. “Are you sure it’s my father?”

“Yes, we are.   Due to his many governmental contracts and other dealings, his fingerprints are available to us.  We have a 100 percent match.”

The words were a death blow to her.  In the space of a few minutes, she seemed to have visibly aged.  “Where is he now?”

“A City morgue in Brooklyn,” Clift said as he handed her his card.

“Is there anyone you’d like for us to call to come and be with you?  We don’t want to leave you here alone.”

“The caretaker, Felipe is here in the gardens.”

“It’s mid November, Ms. Rennkler.  What’s he doing in the garden?”  Yearwood asked, confused.

“Oh sorry.  It’s an indoor greenhouse and he’s pruning, harvesting the herbs and other fruits we’re growing…” she trailed off and stared at the distance.

Clift frowned.  Getting information from her was going to be tough. “Ms. Rennkler?  Can you tell me what you and your father were doing at Resorts World this past weekend?”

Confusion swirled in her eyes as she turned to face him again.  He was still kneeling and he was glad he was even though his knees were not.

“We…we met there on Friday evening, I think.  He hadn’t been there since the grand opening.  He felt like enjoying the atmosphere without everyone clawing at him seeking money for their projects.  He was tired of the social clubs and wanted to be around
normal
people for a change.  I see that might not have been the wisest move…”

Yearwood tried to regain her attention. “What about bodyguards?  Did you have any with you that evening?”

She wrinkled her brow.  “Why ever for?  We don’t usually need them.  The driver is trained in the military arts along with…many other defensive and offensive methods — he was outside in the car.  There has never been a real need to protect my father in that way.  He’s generous to a fault.  He gives to all the major universities and colleges.  He has a foundation that helps the homeless, battered women, orphaned children — for God’s sakes he’s a living saint!”