She hits me with her toilet bag and that leads to a tussle, which leads to one of the beds. I am told to be careful. Strangely, that instruction, as well as the emperor-size bed, add a certain frisson to our lovemaking. If I’m not careful, she’ll be wanting to be pregnant on a permanent basis.
“Is he all right?” I ask, resting a hand on her belly.
“Loving it,” she says, her voice deep. “Apparently fetuses are stimulated by their parents doing it.”
I find that vaguely disturbing, but don’t say so. Shortly afterward Karen, being Karen, starts to talk about her big case. To be fair, she has a meeting at the Justice Department tomorrow and she wants to have all the facts straight.
“…nail that bastard Gavin Burdett,” she says, her eyes flashing. “God, he makes me sick.”
I smile at her. “Aren’t police officers supposed to remain impartial and dispassionate?”
I get an elbow in my stomach for that.
“Take my word for it, he’s a complete scumbag.”
I remember the time I tailed Gavin Burdett to the occult supplies store in the East End. I still haven’t told Karen about that, not least because I don’t know what to read into it. Burdett is the kind of highly focused investment pirate who doesn’t waste his time on anything that doesn’t make him money.
“In fact,” Karen continues, in an unusually forthcoming mood, “when he’s in Washington, which he is at least once a month to meet with the thieving money men over here, he stays at a private house in Georgetown, near the university.” She turns to me, an expression of disgust on her face. “Do you know what he does there?”
I’m tempted to reply that he summons up the devil, but hold myself back. “Do tell,” I say sweetly.
“He has whores sent round. According to the FBI, they all look underage…”
“Why haven’t they arrested him, then?”
She looks at me as if I’m an idiot. “Because he’ll get off in half an hour with the lawyers he can afford. Besides, his hide is mine.”
“You’ve been reading my Western phrase book again.” I can no longer resist the urge to needle her. “And just how are you going to get the Justice Department to sign off on that?”
“Simple,” she replies. “I’ll ask them for everything they have on Burdett, and at the same time insist I have a right to arrest a British citizen back home.”
“And you think they’ll buy that?”
Karen gives me her most seductive smile. “Undoubtedly,” she says, getting off the bed. “I’m going for a bath.”
“Mind you don’t drown under the weight of your own…the weight of my son,” I say. When she’s safely ensconced in two feet of warm water, I go over to the expansive dressing table. Typical Karen. Instead of facial unguents and hairstyling equipment, she’s laid out her case files under the mirror. I cast a practiced eye over them and find the one on Gavin Burdett. The thing is, I’m going to have plenty of free time when Karen’s at meetings. I’ve acquired a taste for tailing Gavin Burdett and it would be a challenge to do so in a foreign city. I find the relevant FBI report and note down the address of a house in Georgetown.
Thirty-Two
Joe Greenbaum was sitting on a bench in Rock Creek Park in northwest D.C. I was watching from behind the tree line through a pair of his binoculars, the midmorning air still chilly enough to make my nose twitch. We were about a hundred yards from the nearest road but, given time, it wouldn’t have been hard for the cops to set up an ambush. So Joe had called Detective Simmons only half an hour ago and insisted on meeting immediately. He hadn’t mentioned me.
When a heavily built black man came into sight, I scanned the area behind him, and to his left and right. It was a weekday, so there weren’t many people in the vicinity. A female jogger passed Joe, but she was wearing skintight gear-no place to hide a weapon. Besides, she disappeared round the corner rapidly.
The cop approached Joe and, after shaking hands, sat next to him. I watched his face. It was rugged, with a slightly world-weary expression. He looked competent and, more to the point, reasonable. I gave them a few minutes, scanned the paths and woods one last time, and then broke cover. I had one of the Glocks and the combat knife under my belt in the small of my back. No doubt Detective Simmons was armed, too, but I wasn’t going to let myself be locked up again, no matter what happened.
I joined the track about twenty yards behind them and started walking. Joe didn’t turn round, and neither did Simmons, until I was almost on them.
“Jesus, Matt!” Joe said in surprise, as I sat down. I hadn’t told him how furtive I could be. He looked at the detective. “Like I say, just hear the man out.”
“Mr. Wells,” the detective said, leaning forward and extending a hand. “Welcome back to D.C. I’m Clem Simmons.”
I shook his great paw. He seemed friendly enough and not particularly interested in arresting me. “Call me Matt,” I said. “Clem.”
He smiled. “Okay, Matt. Joe here says you’ve got things to tell me. You’ve got to understand, I can’t offer you any kind of assurance that I won’t take you in.” Furrows appeared on his forehead. “But, as you know, I’m not investigating the killings anymore.”
I nodded. “But you don’t think I’m guilty of them.”
“It’s up to you to convince me of that. Tell me, you got an interest in black magic, that kind of stuff?”
I raised my shoulders. “Interest, no. Involvement, yes. In the past I was chased by a pair of killers who played around with satanic names and imagery.”
“The White Devil and the Soul Collector. I read about them. Seems you’re pretty good at looking after yourself.”
“I took precautions,” I said, and then told him something about the training I’d undergone with Dave. Then I got on to the camp and my escape from it.
When I’d finished, Simmons glanced at Joe and shook his head. “Is this guy for real?”
Joe and I laughed, then saw the serious look on his face.
“It ever occur to you that the Soul Collector could be behind these murders, Matt?” Simmons asked. “I mean, she’s bound to have your fingerprints, isn’t she?”
“Yup,” I said. “But if she is, I’ve no idea how to nail her, especially off my home ground.”
“She couldn’t have got herself involved with this Antichurch of Lucifer Triumphant, could she?” Joe asked.
I didn’t mention that they were at the camp-I didn’t know him well enough to spill my guts completely. “Sara’s capable of anything,” I said. “But we’d be better off tracking the Antichurch itself.”
The detective shook his head. “The FBI has got their Hate Crimes people involved.”
“Any reason why you can’t run a check, as well?” I asked.
“Apart from the fact that I’m off the case?” Simmons shrugged. “I guess I can do that.”
I nodded. I liked the man, but he wasn’t exactly buzzing with solutions to my problems. Karen was as lost as ever, while I was still suspect number one.
“Yeah,” Simmons said, “I can check the Antichurch out, at least here in D.C., but that won’t keep you out of jail down the line, my friend. And I’ve got other cases now.”
“What about the latest victim?” Joe asked. “Any ID yet?”
The detective shook his head. “Not that I’ve heard of. The Feds won’t be telling me anything, though.”
“But he is another occult killing,” I said.
“You tell me, Matt,” Simmons said. “Personally, I’m not convinced. Could be a copycat.”
“Oh, great,” Joe said, with a groan. “Now we’ve got two crazies terrorizing the capital of the world?”
The detective caught my eye. “So, what are you going to do?”
I smiled. “You sure you want to know?”
“Probably not.” He looked at Joe. “I’m trusting you to keep me informed.”
Joe nodded. “Anything helpful you want to drop our way?”
Clem Simmons checked the area. There was no one near us. He slid his hand inside his coat and handed a brown envelope to Joe. “I must be out of my mind,” he said morosely. “You didn’t get these from me. The press doesn’t know about them. Every victim’s body except the last had a drawing pinned to it. See if you can figure out what these mean before the assholes in the Bureau do. And make sure you tell me first.” He walked away at surprising speed for such a bulky man.
