The Diabolist (Dominic Grey 3) (7 page)

Grey saw a familiar gleam in Viktor’s eye, one which Grey knew signaled Viktor possessed an interest in the subject of an investigation beyond mere detective work.

Grey liked and respected Viktor. But he also knew Viktor had a private agenda, an
urge
, which drove him around the world to investigate cults on the extreme end of human behavior, searching for hidden knowledge.

“So we’re dealing with people who say their Hail Marys to Satan,” Grey said. “And since you’ve already told me human sacrifice is involved, I know we’re not talking about bored teens who’ve listened to too much heavy metal.”

“Bored teens sometimes perpetrate acts of unspeakable evil,” Viktor said. “But no, L’église de la Bête is not an isolated cult, but rather an organized collection of Satanists headquartered in Paris, with small chapters across western Europe and reputedly in the States. They’re rumored to have infiltrated certain levels of polite society, including government, and are believed responsible for a whole host of kidnappings and murders.”

“You helped with the Parisian investigation, didn’t you?”

Viktor nodded, once.

“And?” Grey said.

“The lead witness was found butchered in a rough neighborhood in Paris.”

Grey grimaced. “Any other links between the murders? Besides the fact that both victims were leaders of Satanic cults? Was Xavier killed in the same way?”

“Xavier was found alone in his Parisian flat, cause of death uncertain. The time of death was also estimated to be midnight.”

Viktor showed Grey a series of pictures of a compact, middle-aged man sprawled on a carpeted floor, muscular limbs askew and tinged an unnatural shade of blue. One of the close-ups evidenced extreme dilation of the pupils.

“Poisoned?” Grey said.

“Most likely. A toxicology report is pending. The neighbors saw him enter his flat around nine p.m., and never saw him leave. No one remembers anyone else suspicious entering the building. Jacques tells me the neighbors were aghast when they found out the true identity of their bourgeois neighbor.”

Grey’s breath whistled between his teeth. “Any other similarities?”

“Monsieur Xavier Marcel also received a letter. Except for his name, it was exactly the same as the one delivered to Matthias Gregory, declaring Xavier a heretic and announcing his death in six days’ time.”

“I guess that settles that. And kills my theory that Matthias was killed by a rival Satanic church, or even someone in his own organization, for not being
a true believer. Kind of hard to argue, from what you’re telling me, that this Black Cleric wasn’t a true believer.”

“Indeed,” Viktor murmured.

“That brings us back to someone who’s trying to put a serious dent in the world’s Satanic cults. So far they’re doing a pretty good job.”

Viktor steepled his fingers, and Grey sensed there was something Viktor wasn’t telling him, some angle Grey wasn’t seeing.

“It’s useless to speculate further at this juncture,” Viktor said. Grey pursed his lips but said nothing.

Viktor pulled out the witness list and the membership ledger, and started comparing names on the two lists. He found one and marked it with an asterisk, then marked another.

Grey leaned over. “What’re you looking for?”

“The oldest and newest members present the night of the murder. I find that gives the broadest range of insight into cult activity.”

Grey filed away the information, and Viktor put his finger on the name Douglas Oakenfeld. There was an address next to the name.

“Oldest first,” Viktor said.

T
he fog deepened, the waning sun a penumbra of ambient light as Grey and Viktor took a taxi to Haight-Ashbury. Cocooned in mist, they sped through the blighted streets of the Tenderloin district, past Buena Vista Park and into the Haight, the low gray buildings wraithlike as the taxi glided through the fog.

The earthy smell of marijuana seeped into the taxi. As Grey watched through the window he wondered wryly if there were more shops in the Haight selling Tibetan wares than in the entire Himalayas. They turned right just past a vinyl record store, gathering stares from a group of dreadlocked white kids lounging on collapsed cardboard boxes. Two blocks later the taxi arrived at the address for Douglas Oakenfeld, member of the House of Lucifer since 1966, the year of its founding.

The first thing Grey thought was that Douglas Oakenfeld was doing nothing to conceal his religious persuasion. A spiked iron fence fronted the property, the ironwork on the gate crafted into the image of a man with bat wings and the horned head of a goat, the man sitting cross-legged and grasping a snake in each hand. Behind the gate a yard full of sticks and scraggly grass sloped upward to a large Victorian. Ebony drapes obscured the windows, and every inch of wood had been painted black, including the porch, peaked roof, turret, wide stone steps, and gutters. A reverse pentagram hung above the doorway.

There was no buzzer, so Grey checked the gate. Unlocked. They stepped inside, closing the gate behind them. Worn stone steps led to the front door,
but as they started up the path the door opened and a huge mottled dog burst into the yard. It looked like a cross between a pit bull and a rottweiler, and it came straight at Grey without a sound, scrabbling on the steps as it built speed.

There might have been time to open the gate and back out, but Grey wasn’t going to chance a monster pit bull snapping his leg in half from behind. He moved ahead of Viktor, yanking off his Windbreaker and pulling it taut by the sleeves. He shoved the tightened center of the nylon coat into the back of the dog’s mouth as it lunged.

The dog whipped its head back and forth with incredible strength, but Grey kept shoving, moving the dog’s weight to its rear as he lowered and swept the dog’s hind legs with his right foot. The dog yelped and crashed to its side. Grey leapt on top of the animal and held its massive throat at bay with the jacket, kneeling on the dog’s rib cage to keep it pinned.

A man in a skullcap and biker’s leathers rushed out of the house waving a baseball bat, long gray hair flying as he yelled at Grey not to hurt his dog. Viktor stepped between Grey and the man, Viktor’s nearly seven-foot frame towering over the shorter but thicker man. Grey could tell by the way the man held the bat that he wasn’t a real fighter, so he decided to hold his position and not incapacitate the dog if he didn’t have to.

The man stopped five feet away, the bat still raised above his head with both hands. “What’re you doing in my fucking yard?”

“We’re with Interpol,” Viktor said, pulling out his identification.

“I don’t care who you’re with, you let go of my goddamn dog.”

Grey had been soothing the dog with soft words. The dog kept growling, but Grey felt the tension leave its body, and the growls lost their edge. Some dogs would never have stopped fighting, but dogs tended to mirror the personality of their owners, and this dog, like the bully who owned him, had no interest in facing off against someone who could fight back.

Grey rose, keeping one hand wrapped around the dog’s collar. “Maybe you should think twice before loosing your animal on strangers. The gate was unlocked and we didn’t see a buzzer.”

“Christ,” the man muttered, pulling at his beard. He had mean eyes and a gimpy left leg. “What the hell do you want? I already talked to the cops about Matty, and I don’t see a warrant in your hands. And what the hell does Interpol have to do with any of this?”

“Douglas Oakenfeld?” Viktor said.

The man hesitated as if he didn’t want to give his name, then realized he just had. “Just Oak.”

“Local police answers to Interpol under international law,” Viktor said, which Grey knew was stretching the truth. Local police were obligated to heed an Interpol request for information, but Interpol itself had no jurisdiction on the ground. “I can contact SFPD and we can discuss matters in the police station, or you can answer a few questions for me right now.”

The man’s small eyes flittered from Viktor to Grey, with the wariness of someone used to dealing with liars and criminals. “Why don’t you ask your questions, and I’ll let you know if I feel like answering them. And if you don’t let go of my dog I’ll—”

He cut off as Grey let go of the dog. The dog scampered behind his owner and growled from behind his leg, but Grey knew the dog no longer sensed fear and wouldn’t attack again. Grey moved to stand a few feet in front of Oak. He didn’t like people who used their animals as weapons, and he didn’t like this man, period. “It’s better to answer the questions.”

Oak tried to stare Grey down, but after a few seconds he looked away and cursed. Viktor pulled a sheet of paper from his suit pocket. “The membership records state that you’ve been a member of the House of Lucifer since 1966. After the death of Matthias, you’re the longest-standing member.”

“So?”

“Why don’t you tell us what happened the night Matthias died?” Viktor said.

Oak sniffed. “Like I told the cop on the phone, we all saw the same thing. Right at midnight Matty was in the middle of a sermon, and next thing we knew he was a living inferno. It was crazy shit. I wish I could say I’d dropped a hit that night, but I hadn’t. Some people are saying they saw a figure in black
robes right before Matthias lit up, but I didn’t see a thing.
They
probably dropped a hit. Lots of us do before we meet.”

Grey said, “You’re saying you didn’t see anyone else besides Matthias?”

“What do you think, the Devil came and got him? Matty was a charismatic man, had a lot of devoted followers. I suppose some people need to think he didn’t kill himself.”

Viktor stepped forward, his looming height causing Oak to crane his neck upward to meet his gaze. “Do you have any idea why Matthias might have had cause to commit suicide?”

“Nope.”

“Any other recent death threats, enemies you didn’t disclose to the police?”

“If I didn’t tell the cops, why would I tell you?”

It was Viktor’s turn to lock stares, again causing Oak to look away.

“Look man,” Oak said, “there’s nothing to tell. Just the usual crap from the Tammy Fayes.”

“Anyone in particular?” Viktor said.

“They’re always anonymous.” He tapped the bat against his right palm, causing Grey’s hands to tense. The moment Oak reared back to swing, Grey would strike him in the throat and strip the bat, using it to fend off the dog as necessary. “Not many people are stupid enough to insult us to our face,” Oak said.

“Had Matthias been depressed or moody, any change in behavior?”

“Nope.”

“Surely,” Viktor said, “as long as you’ve known the man, you have some speculation as to why he might’ve taken his own life, if that’s your theory?”

“These things happen, people crack.”

Grey said, “Why would he crack?”

Oak threw his hands up. “Life, man. I don’t know, maybe he dropped one too many bad hits, fried his circuits. The man’s done a lot of heavy shit.”

“I suppose you didn’t notice Matthias start the fire?” Viktor said.

“You suppose right.”

“Did anyone try to help him?”

“Seriously, what do you think? Of course we ran up there, took our shirts off and tried to beat the fire down, but he was already cooked. He must’ve soaked himself in lighter fluid, because that fire was hot as Honduras, and we had a helluva time getting the fire out.”

“But you didn’t see how it started?” Viktor said.

“It’s not hard to figure out. He was behind the pulpit, and he lit a match.”

Oak’s diction was odd to Grey, like a cross between an aging Berkeley hippie and a biker thug. Grey also thought Oak didn’t seem very upset about the death of his church’s founder.

Viktor said, “How long had you known Matthias?”

“Nearly fifty years. Since the beginning, man. We started this thing together.”

“You’re the lead bishop,” Viktor said.

“That’s right.”

“Is this your only employment?”

Oak lifted his head towards his house. “I do all right, if that’s what you’re asking. The House has some generous members. And I got this place back when the Haight was no-man’s-land.”

“Have you assumed Matthias’s duties?” Viktor said.

“I’m too old to handle all this shit. I’ll do it until we find someone else.”

“Did you remain close friends during all those years?”

“What kind of question is that? Goddamn, show some respect.”

Viktor’s lips creased. “Forgive me, but you don’t sound too distraught.”

“Are we done here?”

“Perhaps it’s because you didn’t share the same theology?”

Oak pointed the bat at Viktor, and Grey stepped forward. Oak hesitated, then took a step back. “It’s time you got off my property.”

“That ring on your right index finger, the image of which has no doubt been branded somewhere on your body,” Viktor said. “That’s a symbol of allegiance to Lucifer.”

Grey followed Oak’s eyes downward, glimpsing a square-faced silver ring with an engraved image of a dragon intertwined around a black cross.

“I’m with the House of
Lucifer
, man. What the hell you think I’m gonna wear?”

“I think you’re going to wear a ring that aligns with the tenets of your religion,” Viktor said, “rather than a ring symbolizing a secret initiation rite involving the Black Mass, blood sacrifice, and swearing lifelong allegiance to Satan, under the aegis of L’église de la Bête.”