“Detective Snyder was an informant for a drug cartel.”
All eyes turn to me again. No pair is opened as wide as David’s. In the deafening silence, I hurry to keep talking before someone shoots me.
“He was meeting with members of a rival gang that’s been working to take over the Galeana Cartel. That’s how Hugo knew the names and addresses of all the detectives who were murdered last night.” My eyes laser in on David’s, needing at least him to believe me. “That’s how they found out where Paige and I lived, and that’s how they found us hiding at Fiona’s.”
I wait for David to respond. He stands there in shock. He’ll have to wrap his head around the fact that his partner was working with a drug cartel. I wonder if I’ve lost him.
“That’s a pretty serious accusation, young lady,” Hollis says pointedly. “Do you have evidence to back that up?”
I stand up. “I can take you to their meeting place. You’ll find all the evidence there.”
* * *
I tell Captain Hollis and David about the hideout in Sterling Terrace. I mention the map we found in the old Victorian house, which I now realize must have pinpointed the addresses of all the detectives. I show them the photo I took with my phone. At first glance, it’s difficult to discern the details of the various streets. However, the vicinities do suggest a correlation with the addresses of the murdered detectives. I then mention the empty soda cans and stains on the carpet—stains, I also now realize, that were caused by tobacco spit.
Hollis is dismissive, but David pulls him away to talk in private. Paige and I continue to listen to the chatter around us. As of now, eight detectives were murdered last night. All remaining detectives, especially those with connections to the Galeana Cartel cases, have been pulled into their respective stations for safety.
My accusation of Detective Snyder has not been greeted with appreciation or even belief, but after last night, the police aren’t taking any chances. Since this morning, even family members of detectives have gone into hiding. Their whereabouts have not been announced to the LAPD.
Paige and I continue to sit for an hour in the bullpen. Our only sustenance comes from a vending machine we find in the hall. As we sit in the break room, munching on candy bars and trail mix, Paige asks me when I’m going to tell David about Santa Muerte.
“I just accused his partner of working with the drug cartels. I think I’ll need to give it a minute before I bring that up.” He already thinks I’m crazy, so I don’t need to stoke that fire.
“We have to warn them,” she says. “You know what that thing can do. You can’t shoot it. You can’t run away from it. Santa Muerte is going to hunt them all down and rip their hearts out one by one. Including David’s.”
“I have to go with him. Protect him. Wherever he goes, I need to be there, ready to fight.”
“Protect him? How? You heard Fiona—only magic can defeat Melchora. And you don’t have…” Paige stops, and I can see realization dawning. “You can’t control Dudley.”
I can’t explain something this fantastic to David, so using my supernatural advantage is our only option. “I have to try. It’s the only thing I can do to protect David.”
Paige considers this. “You know I’m coming with you, right?”
I know. “When the time comes, I’ll tell you to run,” I say. “Run, and make sure no one else is around.”
David enters the break room. “We’re thin right now, but I’ve secured a four-member SWAT team to accompany us to the site. They’ll be here in an hour. Darcy,” he says, turning to me, “I need to know where we’re going.”
“We’re going with you,” I say, standing. Paige stands with me. “We’ve been there. We know the lay of the land.”
“It’s too dangerous,” he says. But I can tell he has little fight left for me. I’m going to win this argument.
“David, Paige and I can warn you about any traps.”
“Fine,” he says. “You two and I will hang back until they secure the area.”
When the SWAT team arrives, I’m given a municipal map of the city of Los Angeles. It’s been abandoned so long that it’s not even on the current map. It’s strange for me to be surrounded by armored soldiers and uniformed officers while I hold court and direct them to Sterling Terrace. Paige and I are dwarfed by everyone, including the one female officer on the team. Once I’m done, David, the SWAT team, and the four uniformed officers come up with a plan.
We return to the parking garage and wait by David’s blue Charger. Outside, a SWAT vehicle called a BearCat pulls up. It’s a four-wheeled armored vehicle that looks military ready. Two more black-and-whites and a Field Investigative Unit truck also join us before we head out.
David arrives, carrying two ballistic vests with LAPD stamped across the heart. “You know how to put these on?”
“We’ve got it,” I answer, taking the vests. Paige and I help each other zip up and strap in. When no one is looking, I help her holster her Glock into one of the vest pockets.
“Can I admit something?” I ask her.
“Of course.”
“I’m glad you have the gun.”
* * *
Our convoy arrives at the chain-link fencing blocking access to the abandoned community of Sterling Terrace. A tactical officer cuts the lock with bolt cutters. Colorful bits of debris are pressed against the fence—red, lavender, yellow, and orange. A wind passes through the fence, sending a scattering toward us. Paper-thin and no bigger than potato chips, they float toward us and pass by the car.
“What are those?” David asks.
“Flower petals,” I answer, watching a handful drift past the window.
Once the gate is opened, the convoy drives down the road over a floral path that has been
