The Voodoo Killings (41 page)

“I’d like to take a look around your place, Ms. Strange,” he said at last.

I lifted an eyebrow. “Have a warrant?”

He smiled and I followed suit. “We will. What were you doing at Mr. Odu’s home this morning?”

“Max and I were meeting.”

“And why would that be?”

“Book club.”

“Can you tell me your whereabouts last night?”

Yeah, I was kidnapped by a ghoul and a poltergeist, and forced to hear another practitioner gutted. Oh yeah, and she was trying to kill me too. “Not really.”

That caught him off guard.

“An alibi?”

“Lots of them.” I glanced at the two-way mirror. “Including Detective Baal. Club 9, the artists’ hangout. Ran into him there while I was working with my client as a sober companion.”

Marks watched me, reassessing.

“Am I under arrest?”

“You’re being detained.”

“For what and how long?”

“That’s up to my discretion where known necromancers are concerned. That is what you folk call yourself, Ms. Strange? Necromancers?”

I managed to keep the distaste off my face. “ ‘Practitioner’ is the correct term, Captain. People think necromancers have something to do with sex and dead people.”

His eyes widened. “I’ll have to remember that,” he said, and turned his attention to the folder. “So can you tell me a bit about being expelled from Washington State University for cheating?”

I felt my face flush. “It was a misunderstanding. They wrote a new rule against using ghosts as a primary resource after I turned my paper in. The expulsion was revoked on appeal.” Though I’d never gone back.

“Ah.” He looked again at the papers. “And a short while afterwards you were charged with grave desecration? Is that right?”

“That had nothing to do with me. It was a will dispute. The charges were dropped.”

The captain glanced up from the file. “Ah. Another misunderstanding.” He nodded. “Funny thing, Ms. Strange. One-offs happen to everyone. Wrong place, wrong time.” He shrugged. “But when someone ends up with a file this full of misunderstandings, I start wondering what’s going on.”

I didn’t say a word.

“What about raising an unwilling zombie?”

I went cold. “Is there a point to this?”

He didn’t reply, just pulled out another set of papers. I caught the Canadian RCMP logo in the top corner. “Born in Vancouver, Canada, dual citizenship through your father. Says here you were involved in the raising of your mother’s corpse a few years back. Against your mother’s and father’s wishes.”

Where the hell had he got that?

“I quote: ‘The victim’—your mother—‘was unwilling to testify. Treated as hostile.’ ”

I glared at the mirror again, wondering whether any of them cared that this line of questioning was probably illegal. I was going to be having one hell of a phone call with the Vancouver RCMP. After my raising a few dead witnesses for them, you’d think they’d be a little more grateful. The file should have been closed. Except I’d told Aaron about it…

For once in your life, Kincaid, don’t let it get personal.

Dad was an asshole all his life, and a coward. I’d made my peace with that a long time ago, and also found out that cowards back down once they know you’ll make good on a threat. It was my mother who couldn’t be bothered to muster up a backbone and stand up to him.

“That was a domestic abuse investigation, Captain. The police suspected the victim—my mother—was thrown down a flight of stairs after being severely beaten. Canada’s laws are different when it comes to murder investigations than they are here, and they allow raising victims and witnesses, even hostile ones.” And believe me, my mother had been hostile. Thrown down a flight of stairs and from the grave she was still making excuses for him…“That file should be sealed.”

Captain Marks ignored me. “Case was dismissed, lack of evidence. Your father wasn’t very happy with you. Innocent man accused of murdering his own wife. Disowned you afterwards, for being a ‘crazy hell-bound devil worshipper.’ ” He chose that moment to look up at me. “Strong words, Ms. Strange. Suppose that’s why you changed your name and moved to Seattle. Can’t blame you. I’d be ashamed to show myself around my hometown too if I were in your shoes.”

I don’t know what the hell else the captain said after that; all I could hear was the blood rushing in my ears. And all I could see was my mother’s corpse lying to me, telling me it’d been an accident, he hadn’t meant to do it…and the only thing I could think about was wringing her insipid neck. Screw anger management. I launched myself at the captain across the metal table. He jumped out of his chair, managing to get himself out of my range.

I was vaguely aware of yelling and the door opening.

Sarah got hold of my waist and dragged me out of the room before I could wrap my hands around the captain’s neck. God knows I tried.

He was smiling at me as Sarah dragged me out.

Sarah had me walking towards my cell fast, cursing the entire way. “Assholes. Can’t even run an interrogation properly…”

Only when I was back behind bars did she turn her ire on me.

“I’ve seen you do a lot of stupid things, Kincaid, but that tops all of them.”

“Did you not hear any of what he said to me?”

“Yeah, and you already knew he was an asshole.”

“Sarah, they think I’m a serial killer. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you and Aaron figured me as the perpetrator on this….”

She looked at the floor then and it dawned on me.

“How long, Sarah? How long? How long have I been your primary suspect?”

She didn’t answer and she didn’t look up at me.

“Son of a bitch, was I ever
not
a suspect?”

“How the hell were we not supposed to consider you a suspect? You and Max both, until he turned up dead this morning.” She shook her head. “For the record, I don’t think you did it, and not because you’re a friend, but because there isn’t any evidence.” Her expression hardened. “Not that your stunt back there helped any. Now get yourself together while I go try to—I don’t know—get them to behave like adults?”

“Sarah?”

She turned back at me.

“You never said you thought I wasn’t capable of it.”

Her face softened. “That was implied.”

I sat back down on the bench and closed my eyes.

—

“Ms. Strange?”

I lifted my head. My neck was sore, my mouth was dry, and I was damn tired. The young officer who’d retrieved me from my cell for my interrogation was outside the cell.

“Someone asking to see you.” He cleared his throat. “Your lawyer?” It should have been a statement, but it ended up sounding like a question.

I heard two distinct sets of footsteps coming my way, someone in runners and another person in heels.

“Cameron,” I said as he appeared behind the officer. Thank god, not looking worse for wear. When the second person came into view, my jaw dropped.

Lee Ling.

She’d covered her face with enough makeup to hide her scars and was dressed in an impeccable black suit. She allowed me a fraction of a smile. “Ms. Kincaid,” she said. “This lovely gentleman will be letting you out.”

The officer unlocked the door and the next thing I knew I was following Lee and Cameron towards the exit. No sign of Aaron or Sarah. I’d probably slug Aaron if I saw him. Shit, spoke too soon. I swore and earned an elbow jab from Cameron.

“Watch how you use that thing,” I said. “You realize it’s liable to fall off?”

“I won’t use my elbow if you stop looking like you’re about to attack a cop.”

“Fantastic, tell that to
them
.”

Aaron and the captain were bearing down on us. The captain reached me first. “This isn’t over. As soon as we find evidence—”

“You won’t,” Lee said, stepping in front of me.

The look on his face told me everything I needed to know. He could care less about a few practitioners getting killed, probably thought someone was doing the city a favour; he just wanted me locked up.

Marks looked as though he wanted a piece of Lee too, but Aaron stepped in his way. The captain might be an asshole, but he wasn’t stupid. Not wanting to risk an altercation with a lawyer, he left us at the front desk. Aaron hovered while Lee filled out paperwork and I collected my effects.

“Kincaid,” Aaron tried.

I ignored him, but when I turned to go, he blocked my way. He leaned in close and whispered, “Whoever is behind these killings, Kincaid, is running out of practitioners. Stop involving yourself.”

“Is that a threat?”

“A warning.”

I pushed past Aaron and followed Lee and Cameron out the door. To my relief, my Hawk was waiting for me.

“How the hell did you pull that off?” I said to Lee once we were out of earshot.

“You need evidence to charge someone,” she said.

“But the body? There were charred remains—”

“Dealt with,” Lee said.

“All they can do is fine you for an illegal bonfire,” Cameron added.

I stopped to stare at him. “You’re serious?” I knew Lee had crews to handle surface-side zombie mishap cleanup, but Max’s place had been crawling with cops. Forensics must have picked up some remains.

Lee gripped my arm. “I have no intention of discussing the details. Keep walking,” she hissed.

“Lee, I need to know who’s left practitioner-wise in Seattle.”

Lee and Cameron exchanged a glance. She said, “That meet the killer’s specifications? You are it.”

Why did I even ask?

CHAPTER 25

THE DEVIL’S IN THE DETAILS

Gideon had left Max’s notebooks on my bathroom counter, except for one. There was a message left in Manhunt red lipliner on the mirror.

I took the notes on clients
, Gideon wrote.
I need those to see if I can piece together wherever the hell my payment got to
.

I frowned. That lipliner was exclusively for summoning Nate. It wasn’t cheap. And I’d wanted to consult the client accounts specifically for the notes on Cameron, along with what the hell Max’s arrangement with Gideon had been. I should have said something back at Max’s.

I collected what was there and headed to the desk in the guest room. I’d have to settle for reading Max’s technical accounts, where he recorded all the bindings and modifications he’d used. I found the ones on Cameron near the back of the notebook, and there wasn’t one page but many….What the hell had Max done?

The gear-like symbols were both the problem and the solution. Thinking of them like clock bindings was accurate, because that’s exactly what they were: a clock meant to count down a set number
of days until Cameron was finished his paintings. Once that time was up, the sixth and last gear would start to turn and unravel the rest of the bindings. It was an ingenious system: remotely raise a client at the time of death, guaranteeing there’d be minimal damage, and then create a fail-safe that would drop Cameron back to a corpse a week later. I had to assume Cameron and Max had discussed time frames and Cameron had thought a week would be enough…or all that was feasible within the bounds of Otherside.

The problem was that nothing like this had ever been tried before. I figured out in no time that the bindings in Max’s notebook were incomplete since I could see lines on Cameron that had never reached the page. Either Max had still been adding to them or he was interrupted before he could write the final arrangements down. He’d never finished testing for side effects and complications. He hadn’t discovered the Otherside resonance issue, or the lack of healing, or he didn’t think those things were problems if Cameron was a zombie for only a week.

Which presented an entirely different can of rotting worms. Cameron was down to the fifth gear. In theory, if I could keep the sixth gear from triggering, I might give myself enough time to fix the rest of the bindings so that Cameron would start repairing like a normal zombie. Or he might just go feral. Like I said, one big can of zombiefied worms…

I felt the warning brush of cold before Nate slid into the chair beside me.

“Nate, please say you found something good in Neon’s apartment.” He’d located it two floors up and one over.

He shook his head. “Nothing. Not even a creepy serial killer journal.”

“There’s got to be something. Souvenirs, phone numbers, Post-it notes—”

“K, if she’s got anything, it’s hidden somewhere good. Are we even sure this chick really understood what was going on?”

I remembered the look on Neon’s face before the poltergeist knocked me out. “Nate, she was obsessed with getting her hands
on a Jinn. There’s got to be something—a list, a set of instructions. It might not be obvious. Get creative. Pretend you were the one hiding it.”

Nate sighed. “All right, I’ll keep looking.” He dissolved.

I looked down at the notebooks and tried wrapping my mind around the fact that Max was gone. I failed. I stood up and headed into the kitchen.

Cameron was lying on my kitchen table as Lee sutured his wound. She’d abandoned the suit for a red silk dress covered in white flowers and had removed the thick layer of makeup. I picked up the sweet smell of formaldehyde as Lee tied off the last stitch then wiped blood from her fingers with a kitchen towel. She pursed her lips when she saw me, and after taking a sip of a brain concoction that vaguely resembled a pink cosmo and exchanging a soft word with Cameron, she came over to me.

I didn’t think I had martini glasses…or food colouring…

“How is he?” I asked.

“Not good. I’ve done what I can for the wound itself. The formaldehyde-and-ether soak I embalmed it with should halt further deterioration, but Cameron is not well.”

“How are the brains working on him?”

Lee shrugged. “The wound isn’t healing and he is showing signs of internal decay.”

I closed my eyes. In short order he’d no longer pass as a human. “How long until he has to move into the city?”

“I’m not sure I would allow him anywhere but the docks. You’ve said it yourself: Otherside makes him too unpredictable. Did you find anything useful in Max’s notes?”

I sighed. “Cameron was meant to be temporary. I might be able to diffuse the Otherside fail-safe Max loaded into his bindings. If I can figure out how to do that before it goes off and unravels the rest of his bindings, I should be able to fix him.”