Mark of the Demon (Kara Gillian 1)

I clenched my jaw and pulled my arm away from him. “I didn’t see anything. I was just making notes.”

His expression darkened. “Detective Gillian, we do not need to be withholding information from each other. If you saw something, you need to share it with me.”

And have you order a commitment hearing? Fat chance, darlin. “If I had information that would benefit you in the slightest, I promise I would be sure to pass it on.”

He made a noise of frustration in the back of his throat, then jammed his sunglasses on and stalked away. I watched him walk off. He’s going to put an eye out if he keeps this shit up, I thought, then followed after him and returned to my car.

I was feeling ornery, so I took my time getting my notes together, deliberately making the others wait a few extra minutes. I was also dawdling because I’d begged and pleaded and wheedled and promised Saints tickets to Dr. Lanza, and he’d relented and told me that he would go ahead and perform the autopsy on the latest victim that afternoon.>I sighed. I was being stupid. I needed all the help I could get. And I also had to accept that there was a very real chance I’d get pulled off the case completely so it could be handled by someone with more experience. Which was pretty much anybody in Investigations.

I pulled up to the mouth of the alley that ran behind the stores, joining the throng of other police vehicles. The area where the body had been found was known as the outlet mall, but that was a poor description for what it was now. Ten years ago it had been an outlet mall, but it had lasted as such for less than a year, the victim of a very poor layout, a lousy location, and greedy local politicians. In its second year, the stores had begun to pull out in desperate acts of self-preservation. Eventually it was a run-down strip of empty storefronts, interrupted occasionally by a struggling entrepreneur who had been lured in by the low rent. Unfortunately, even the folks who tried to tough it out ended up going out of business, since the rest of the mall was so trashy no one wanted to go there to shop, simply out of fear for the safety of themselves and their vehicles.

I walked past the other cars, taking stock of the vicinity before getting to the actual scene. About half a dozen battered yellow Dumpsters were spaced along the alley, each surrounded by scattered trash that had missed its mark. I didn’t think that the Dumpsters had been emptied in several months, and the aroma of old garbage clung to the area like mildew in a shower. There was enough room to drive a car down the alley, but not many people would be willing to risk their cars passing over all of the debris back here.

I also knew I wouldn’t be looking through any surveillance video of this scene. Even though there were a few cameras left on the corners of buildings in places where people couldn’t get to them and steal them, there hadn’t been film in them in many years.

I looked ahead and saw my captain talking to three men by the crime-scene tape that had been stretched across a section of the alley. My steps slowed. I’d been right; I was finally getting some help. Be careful what you wish for, right? I thought with a grimace. But hopefully this means I’ll be staying on the case. After all, I’d been paged to report to the scene. That had to be a good sign.

Special Agent Kristoff, aka Obnoxious, was one of the men speaking to Captain Turnham. Another of the men was much shorter than Kristoff, and when he turned I bit back a groan. Detective James Harris was with the St. Long Parish Sheriff’s Office, a supercilious man who was very full of his own importance and thus difficult to get along with. A couple of inches shorter than me, he had a thick build with a paunch that stretched his dress shirts to their limits and a fleshy, ruddy face that tended to get even redder whenever he was annoyed. Unfortunately, he was fairly good at his job, had experience with ritual and cult murders, and was no doubt more than eager to get on a task force for this sort of case.

I didn’t recognize the third man—though judging by his suit and his haircut, I figured him for a Fed as well. He looked like he was barely eighteen, with short blond hair and a healthy tan that made him look more like a surfer. I knew he had to be older to be an agent, but I did have to wonder just how long he’d been with the bureau.

“Oh, yay, now everybody gets to think I’m a nutjob,” I muttered, resisting the urge to go back to my car and do a quick makeup check. Since I’d visited Tessa on my way to work, I was at least dressed like a detective today, in a red tailored shirt with dark-blue dress slacks and matching jacket. I’d even remembered to accessorize, which in my world meant that I’d stuck little pearl stud earrings into the holes in my earlobes.

Captain Turnham gave me a nod as I approached. “Gentlemen, this is Detective Kara Gillian. She’s been the primary on these cases. And,” he said with a quick glance at me, “as I said before, I intend to keep her on as the detective in charge.”

I struggled to keep the professional smile on my face. My captain had been serious about having a rookie detective on the lead! Unbelievable. And I had the distinct impression that there’d been some discussion about this already. Kristoff wore a stony expression, while Harris was actively frowning, face red. The only one who looked at me with a smile was Surfer Boy.

“Gillian, this is Agent Zachary Garner,” Captain Turnham said, indicating the blond agent. “I believe you’ve already met Agent Ryan Kristoff, and I’m sure you know Detective Harris, with the sheriff’s office.”

I shook their hands in turn, but my attention was already on the body that I could see beyond the tape. I smiled and murmured something appropriate, then turned away and ducked under the tape, distantly realizing though not caring that the three had followed me. The arcane energy practically crackled on this one, and it nearly took my breath away.

I stopped several feet from the body, and when Agent Kristoff continued forward, I threw up my arm to stop him, only realizing that I’d done so afterward. I looked up at him and gave a grimace of apology. “Sorry … uh, just thought that there was something on the ground there.”

He frowned and peered down at the ground, taking off his sunglasses to do so. Damn, he has pretty eyes, I thought again, then gave myself a mental slap to get my focus back.

Cautiously stepping forward, I watched the arcane flickers crawl and twine about the body. This is freshly dumped, I realized. This is what the shit looks like unfaded. I let out a sound of frustration. There was absolutely no way that I’d be able to get my aunt here, not with the Feds present.

“Are you all right, Detective Gillian?” Agent Kristoff asked.

I realized I was standing with one foot off the ground. I quickly put it down, avoiding a strand of energy that had wiggled off the body and was already beginning to fade. “I’m fine. There’s just evidence here that I don’t want to lose.”

Kristoff narrowed his eyes and replaced his sunglasses on his face. Harris cleared his throat and stuck his thumbs behind his belt. “We realize that, darlin’. That’s why our crime scene people and yours are going to cover every inch of this area and process the body as well.”

I forgot to hide the scowl as I looked at Harris, obscurely pleased that he was short enough for me to look down at him. “Can I at least have a few minutes to look before your folks come swooping in to save the day?” Darlin? It’s “Detective,” asshole, I wanted to add.

Harris’s face reddened again. Crap, there goes your Tact and Diplomacy merit badge again, Kara.

“Detective Gillian,” Kristoff said, voice unbearably cool and even, “our greatest desire is to work together with local law enforcement in order to accomplish the apprehension and conviction of the perpetrator of this series of criminal acts.”

I blinked. Then I gave him a bright smile. “Cool! Thanks, darlin’!” I smacked him lightly on the arm and turned back toward the body. “I’ll just be a minute, then.”

I heard someone stifle a laugh behind me. I knew it couldn’t have come from Kristoff or Harris, so I figured it had to be Garner. Could Feds even laugh? I’d always thought that the ability had been burned out of them in their training.

I ignored them and crouched about a foot from the body. Even as I watched, the strands were dissipating. Another twenty minutes and they would be just smudges. Definitely a fresh dump. And, unfortunately, not too difficult to believe that it could be dumped here unseen. “Who found the body?” I asked no one in particular, not taking my eyes off the arcane leavings.

“Anonymous call,” Garner answered. “No luck tracing it.”

He wanted us to find this body quickly. But why? I couldn’t wrap my mind around any answer that made sense. I could accept that the body at the treatment plant had been found quickly by accident, but the one at the ball field had been in plain sight. And now this one—with the phone call to make sure that we found it quickly. I was missing some key connection, some compelling reason for the change in method.