“Good. I didn’t know what they were doing exactly, but it seemed to be aimed at him. I figured they were working to have him arrest me.”
“Can spells do that?”
“If the magician’s any good. It’s something like mind control, but not.”
Skye shook her head. Talking with Moira could be exhausting. “I promised him you and Rafe will be at the police station to finish your conversation tomorrow at eight a.m.”
“I’ll try-”
“You’ll be there or he’ll put a warrant out on you. And leave your gun in the car-you’re going to get me in trouble, and yourself deported.”
“I’m sorry, I understand, but-”
“I don’t think you do. You run around like the law doesn’t apply to you. I’m trying to help, but you make it extremely difficult!”
“Skye, what’s wrong?”
Skye took a deep breath. “I have to go back to Santa Louisa. The D.A. let Elizabeth Ellis out of jail.”
“What? He can’t do that!” Moira said. “I should have done it my way.”
“That’s not the answer, and you know it. Besides, Ellis is not the one we need to worry about. Let’s get these seven bastards back where they belong and worry about the human problems later. Hank and Jared are keeping a close eye on Lily. They took her to my house, and I’ll be there with her tonight. But right now you have to promise me, swear on a Bible if you have to, that you’ll be at the police station to meet Nelson at eight a.m. tomorrow morning and tell him what he wants to know.”
“He wouldn’t believe the truth.”
“Maybe, maybe not.”
“Skye-”
“Dammit, Moira, this is serious.”
“All right.”
“Promise?”
“I said yes.”
“Did you check out the houses?”
“Yes-Galion’s is locked up tight, gated, the works. I didn’t sense anything, but we didn’t go inside. I don’t think there’s anything strange there. Stephanie Frazier, ditto. The roommate was there, Rafe sweet-talked his way inside; I sensed nothing. From her house or her roommate.”
“I thought it was a shot.”
“We also met with a friend who has some information about Wendy Donovan and her cult, and we’re going to follow up on that.”
“Nelson just got a call about evidence in the Erickson case.”
“What kind of evidence?”
“Prints all over his bedroom.”
“Whose?”
“I don’t know, one of the waitresses at Velocity. He’s not exactly my best friend right now. He’s keeping me in the dark until you come in. But he also has
“Where’s the detective now?” Moira asked.
“On his way to the suspect’s apartment.”
“Alone?”
“He’s meeting his partner. What’s wrong, Moira?”
“You have to stop him. I know who killed Craig Monroe. It was Nadine Anson, one of the club’s waitresses, and she was possessed. If that’s the same woman who was with Erickson last night, that puts Detective Nelson in danger.”
“Explain.”
“I don’t have time! I have her address.”
“Hold it, Moira! How do you know who killed Craig Monroe?”
“I saw it. I can’t explain how, but you have to trust me, Skye.”
This situation was getting out of control. Skye wished she didn’t have to leave right now. But honestly, how could she stop it? She had to focus on what she did best: being a cop. She could protect Lily. She couldn’t battle demons.
Skye said, “Moira, put a lid on it with Nelson. He’s a good cop, but this case is getting to him.”
“I’ll be good.”
“Check in with me. Often.”
“Roger that, Sheriff,” Moira said lightly and hung up.
Skye pocketed her phone and waited for Rod Fielding. She hoped she’d made the right decision to go back to Santa Louisa.
She had a sick feeling she was leaving Moira and Rafe to the lions.
FOURTEEN
With the streetlight above illuminating him, Jeff Johnston sat on his motorcycle across from Nadine Anson’s pricey condo only a mile from Velocity. Grant pulled up behind Johnston. Before Grant had even turned off the engine, his partner had hopped off his bike and handed him the report.
“Thanks,” Grant mumbled through his headache. The sun had set well over an hour ago. Grant despised winter; the weather in L.A. was good, but he hated early darkness.
He read the summary, then looked at the computer printout that matched the prints-good enough for court. The prints at Erickson’s also matched a partial from the dumpster next to where Craig Monroe’s body was found-not admissible in court because they only had a small fraction of a print.
If Nadine Anson had been involved in the orgy with Erickson’s wife as the photo that Nina Hardwick gave him suggested, she could argue that her prints were in the bedroom because she and Pam Erickson were lovers.
It was enough to bring Mrs. Erickson and Ms. Anson in for questioning, but hardly enough to get the D.A. to even glance at the case.
Grant sighed heavily. “We don’t have any evidence that George Erickson was murdered. The coroner is ruling cardiac arrest pending full drug panel.”
“We can nail Anson for not reporting Erickson’s death. If she could have saved him and didn’t, we can get her for manslaughter. If he was dead, we could get her for not reporting the death.”
“She’d plead out, get probation and time served, and the D.A. would jump at it because it wasn’t premeditated. We’d be lucky to get a nickel, and she’d make too good a witness. Can’t you see the defense dragging in all the sex pictures? Complete circus. She turns on the waterworks, apologizes, gets acquitted. The media would eat it up. The D.A. would never go all the way on this unless Nadine Anson or Pam Erickson planned to kill him. We need to keep looking at the wife. Maybe Nina Hardwick was right and Mrs. Erickson was jealous, spiked his vitamins, slowly poisoned him with arsenic, anything. Or blackmailed Nadine to do it. Paid her. We can get her financials Monday morning, see what comes out.”
“You’re stretching, Nelson.”
Johnston was right, but Grant was at his wits’ end and his pounding head made it worse. “I don’t know what to make of this case. Cults, witches, orgies.” He opened his door. “Let’s go up and talk to Anson. You’re sure she isn’t working today?”
“Got the Velocity schedule from Julie; she’s off.”
Grant looked at his phone. “Great, Sheriff McPherson just sent me a message.” He read, “‘Moira O’Donnell is
