The Paradise Prophecy

“Details to come. Just answer the question.”

Batty reread the verse. “It’s incomplete, for one thing. There’s a whole lot comes before and after it. I’m guessing you know it’s from Book Eleven, when the sun is eclipsed and Adam and Eve see a cloud descending from heaven.”

Callahan nodded again. “I got that much from the CliffsNotes.”

“But if you’re looking for any kind of hidden meaning, I’m afraid you’re out of luck. Taken as a whole, Paradise Lost is a work of genius, but a couple lines alone don’t mean much beyond the simple fact that your victim may have had a thing for angels. Which, of course, leads me to believe you’re talking about Gabriela Zuada, and that’s my cue to say good-bye.”

He set the glass and slip of paper on the coffee table in front of him and got to his feet.

Callahan didn’t move. “Sit down, Professor. We aren’t finished yet.”

“As far as I’m concerned we are.”

“Do you want me to take you downstairs and tie you up again?”

Batty looked at her. He may have been pretty good with a left hook, but he had no doubt that she could do exactly what she was threatening to do without breaking much of a sweat.

He sat back down. “You know, I’d probably be a lot more cooperative if you just told me what this is all about.”

So she did.

She told him she was down here to help the local police investigate the death of Gabriela Zuada. That there were a lot of unanswered questions surrounding it, including possible signs of a Satanic ritual. Gabriela had apparently been obsessed with Paradise Lost, and she left behind a cryptic message that may or may not have been related to it.

Batty gestured to the slip of paper. “The lines of verse?”

“That’s only part of what we found. The message I’m curious about was written in the margin of the book, which she repeated over the phone right before she died.”

“And what was it?”

“Defende eam. Protect her.”

“Protect who?”

“That’s what I’m trying to find out. When a victim says something like that right before she’s killed, you tend to think it might be important. Whoever she wanted to protect is potentially another victim, or a possible witness. So you can see why we’d want to locate this person.”

“I’m afraid I can’t help you much there.”

“I know this is a shot in the dark, Professor, but you can’t think of any way her message might relate to those lines of verse?”

Batty shook his head and sighed. “Paradise Lost revolves around Satan’s fall from grace and the corruption of mankind, and despite your victim’s obsession with it, I’d have a hard time equating any part of it to a murder or a Satanic ritual.”

“Would you mind taking a look at the crime-scene photos?”

“If I refuse, will you let me go?”

“Not likely.”

“I’m not sure how much good it’ll do you.”

“Just take a look and tell me if anything jumps out at you.”

She brought out a cell phone, played with it for a moment, then handed it to Batty. “Just touch the arrow to flip through the photos.”

Batty did as he was told and the screen came to life with a publicity shot of Gabriela Zuada. Before now, he’d only had a vague idea of what she looked like, but the moment he saw that face, his heart rate kicked up.

He’d seen her before. And not on TV.

This was the girl from his nightmare the other night. The one whose screams had awakened him. The one consumed by a wall of fire.

He sat there, unmoving, staring at her image, then reluctantly touched the screen again, advancing through the next several photos.

What he saw was a burned body. Burned beyond recognition. Then shots of a floor marred by dark scorches that roughly formed a circle with an A at its center.

Goose bumps rose on the back of Batty’s neck.

He stared at the screen wordlessly, suddenly swept away to a place he didn’t want to go. To a moment in time he had spent the last two years trying to obliterate.

Struggling to pull himself back, he said, “Where did they find this body?”

“In a backstage storage room at the local performing arts center.”

“I need to go there. Right now.”

Callahan frowned at him. “That’s probably not a good idea, Professor. I’m sure anything you have to contribute can be handled right-”

“You don’t understand. I’m not asking, I’m telling you. It’s imperative that I see that storeroom. You’re in danger. Grave danger. And so is anyone else involved in this investigation.”

“Danger? What are you talking about?”

Batty got to his feet again. She could try to stop him, but this time he had adrenaline on his side.

“This isn’t a negotiation,” he said. “Take me to the crime scene or stay the hell out of my way.”

18

They took a cab to the performing arts center.

Callahan had tried to get LaLaurie to spill-to tell her what he’d seen in those photographs that she couldn’t see-but he had refused to budge. On the ride over, he remained evasive, and the more time she spent time with him, the more her irritation grew.

Danger. Grave danger.

What the hell was that supposed to mean? Did she have another Lieutenant Martinez on her hands?

As they were waved through the barricades, Callahan noted that the crowd outside had grown considerably, and she wondered how long it would be before it was too big to be controlled.

LaLaurie took it all in with a trace of wonder in his eyes. “A lot of fuss and bother for one little girl.”

Callahan arched a brow. “Do you have any idea how famous Gabriela was?”

“Not a clue.”

“There’s the pope, then there’s Santa Gabriela. And in some circles even the pope has to play catch-up.” She looked at him. “Are you ready to talk to me now?”

“About what?”

“About what you saw in those photographs.”

“Not until I know for sure.”

“Know what for sure?”

“I’ll tell you when I know.”

“And when will that be?”

“Soon,” LaLaurie said. “Very soon.”

Infuriating.

Less than five minutes later, they were climbing the loading-dock steps. They entered the building, crossed through a small warehouse, then followed a hallway until they came to the storeroom where Gabriela’s body had been found.

LaLaurie paused at the doorway, just short of the police tape. “You smell that?”

“What?” Callahan asked. “And if you say gasoline, I’ll kick your butt.”

“Sulfur,” he said. “It’s not strong, but it’s there.”

“You must have a better nose than I do.” Callahan pulled the crime-scene tape aside and flicked on the light.