Secrets of the Demon (Kara Gillian 3)

He looked up as I entered and gave me a warm smile. “Gillian. Come on in. Close the door behind you, please?”

The request to close the door sent a warning ping through me, but there was absolutely nothing in his expression or demeanor to indicate that anything untoward was about to happen. I complied, then took a seat in front of the desk. Little had changed in the office since I’d last been in here with the previous chief. The Beaulac PD seal was still painted on the wall behind his desk, and the shelves were still filled with books and various awards. But they were no longer arranged meticulously by height, and there were pictures of other people besides the chief. It was little things, but the general atmosphere seemed much less foreboding.

But some of my tension must have been evident. “Relax, Kara,” he said. “You’re not in any sort of trouble.” He leaned back in his chair, as if to emphasize that this was a casual meeting.

Right. Like any meeting in the chief’s office could ever be truly casual. But I forced down the sliver of worry and made myself relax into my chair. “Of course not, Chief. I never do anything that could get me into trouble.”

He let out a dry laugh. “If it doesn’t get caught on camera, it never happened, right?”

I maintained an innocent expression. He gave a soft snort of amusement, then leaned forward and laced his fingers loosely together on the desk in front of him. “I wanted to let you know that Ben Moran called me this morning.”

I frowned. “Oh?”

He gave a slight nod. “He wanted to let me know that he was worried for his niece and to inform me that he believed that the incident Saturday night was little more than a prank that got out of control.”

My frown deepened. “And why did he feel the need to call you with this theory?”

I could see his jaw tighten briefly. “He wanted to see if the investigation could be quietly dropped, and he expressed his concern that Lida would face possible fraud charges when it was discovered that the attack was merely a publicity stunt.”

I digested this for several seconds. Chief Turnham remained silent as he allowed me time to consider what he’d told me.

“I see,” I finally said, tamping down my annoyance at the entire situation. “What do you suggest I do, sir?” I steeled myself for the order to drop the case and look the other way.

“Do you believe it was a publicity stunt?” he asked, eyes intent upon me.

“It’s one possibility, sir,” I admitted. “But so is the possibility that Lida has a stalker. At this time I have nothing definitive to prove or disprove anything. Plus, the, uh, circumstances surrounding the incident in New Orleans were unusual enough that I wouldn’t be comfortable simply letting the whole thing drop. Not without Lida coming forward to admit it was a prank.”

He didn’t ask me to explain what I meant about circumstances, merely gave a tight nod. “You should know that after I spoke to Ben Moran I received a call from the mayor, asking me to please accommodate Mr. Moran in any way I could.” I could hear a trace of anger in the chief’s voice now which told me that he was absolutely livid. He never showed anger. “But I want you to know that I expect you to do your job to the best of your ability and that you have my support.”

I took a deep breath. “Sir, I appreciate that.” I paused, unable to keep from smiling. “But the mayor and Mr. Moran are forgetting a fairly crucial detail.”

Chief Turnham gave me a questioning look.

“She was attacked in New Orleans, sir.”

A broad smile spread across his face and he began to chuckle. “And I take it you had a member of the NOPD on your task force?”

I matched his smile. “Yes, sir. Detective Marco Knight took the report, which means that Mr. Moran and the mayor will have a much harder time getting the whole thing dropped.” I inclined my head to him slightly. “But, as far as this department is concerned, I think you can honestly state that the Beaulac Police Department has no active cases concerning an attack on Lida Moran.”

He leaned back in his chair. “Detective Gillian, what I want to say at this moment would no doubt be considered extremely inappropriate and unprofessional, even though it would be meant as a compliment to you.” Then he surprised me by laughing. “Screw it. You’re a devious, clever bitch, and I’m glad you work for me.”

“Thank you, sir,” I said with a grin. “I think.”

“Though I have to admit that I did wonder why a financial crimes task force was looking into a singer receiving death threats in the first place.” He gave me a penetrating gaze, and I was reminded that he was quite shrewd, and I would be a fool to underestimate him.

“Well, sir, its primary focus is financial crimes, but it also deals with anything that doesn’t quite fit anywhere else.” Including anything related to the arcane or “magic” or strange creatures or ritual murders ... but I had no plans to explain all of that to him. “The whole thing is under the Homeland Security umbrella, which makes it kind of a catchall. When the complaint came in, our group was the one that was available.”

“All right, well keep in mind that there’s a lot of attention on you and that task force now. Make sure that you have justification for whatever you do.”

“Yes, sir.”

He gave me a wave of dismissal and I made my exit, mulling over what he’d said. I’d been a cop long enough to be unsurprised that someone with social or political clout would try to influence an ongoing investigation. Yet I could understand why Lida’s uncle would try and do so. If his niece truly had participated in something as boneheaded as a publicity stunt—and, to make matters worse, one that got out of control—it was no surprise that he’d want to shield her from repercussions that would no doubt destroy her career and affect her future.

I’d also been a cop long enough to know that the world was not fair and just, and that people with money and influence often did not have to suffer the same tribulations that the “common” folk did. I still vividly remembered an incident from my days as a road cop. My sergeant had asked me to stay after roll call, and after everyone else had left, he’d handed me a speeding ticket that I’d written the day before. With a tight expression, he’d then asked me to please change it to a ticket for not wearing a seat belt.

“So, who is it?” I’d asked.

He’d sighed and shrugged. “Who knows. It came down from someone in the upper ranks. Someone they don’t want to piss off.”