Hex Appeal (P.N. Elrod) (Kitty Norville 4.60)

“Doubt it,” he said. I’d never heard Prieto sound quite that dour. “I can’t throw any real resources at this. If he gets got, it’ll be your witches, probably.”

That was depressing because I wasn’t feeling a lot of love from the witch community for this, and Andy … well, Andy would do his best, and his best was incredible, but it was just the two of us, so far.

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Maybe the stakeout would be lucky.

I hung up with Prieto and changed into comfy clothes, packed snacks and water, and was ready and waiting at the door when a dark blue late-model sedan pulled up at the curb. The passenger window rolled down, and the driver leaned across the seat to look out at me.

“Miss Caldwell?” he asked. I remembered him now, from the crime scene. He wasn’t especially, well, anything … a pleasant, rounded face, and a nice smile. He was probably in his late twenties. “Sure hope you brought snacks.”

“Greg, right?” I opened the door and got in, putting the bag on the floor between my feet as I strapped myself in. “Do you like potato chips?”

“Who doesn’t? Bonus points if you brought dip.”

“Ranch,” I said, and returned his smile. “And just what are you bringing to the table?”

“A fearless sense of adventure,” Greg said, “also, beef jerky. Aren’t we waiting for your boyfriend? Prieto said something about him tagging along.”

“He can’t make it. Guess you’re stuck with me.”

He flashed me another of those warm, comfortable smiles. “Not a problem, trust me.” It wasn’t quite flirting … there was a little something more than just being sociable, but not enough that I’d feel hit on. Masterfully done. He reached over and punched some buttons in the dash, and the GPS lit up. “You know, even if he does do this again tonight—which personally I kind of doubt—he doesn’t have to keep the same order of dump sites. I wouldn’t, if it were me. So don’t get your hopes up that we’re going to heroically save somebody tonight.”

“I’m not,” I said. “He doesn’t kill them where he dumps them, anyway. By the time we see him—if we do—the victim will already be past saving.”

Greg nodded as he drove down my residential street. He took a right at the main intersection. “Of course, you could say they’re sort of past saving anyway,” he said. “I mean, from what Prieto said … these are his previous victims, right? He’s sort of reliving his greatest hits. Technically, it’s not even murder. I guess you could argue improper disposal of a body, but…”

“It’s murder,” I said flatly. Greg’s ability to blithely reduce these young women to objects—to corpses—without value chilled me, even though I knew that he was right, from the standpoint of legalities. “They still feel everything he does to them. How can it be anything but murder?”

He cast me a sideways look, raised his eyebrows, and said, “Sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it. I was just talking about—”

“The law,” I said. “Yes, I know. But these girls never got any law on their side, did they? Nobody was ever caught and punished, and now to say that he can just do it all over again…”

“Maybe it’s not the same guy at all. Maybe it’s a, a groupie or something.”

That was yet another sickening thought, but I doubted it; there had been too close a similarity in the small details of the crime scene. That wasn’t the work of a copycat unless the copycat had been given access to all of the police’s data.

We’d strayed pretty far from the otherwise pleasant talk about potato chips and ranch dip, and I already missed the comfort of that, even if it was false. As if he sensed that, Greg started a running monologue about the neighborhoods we were passing—it was entertaining, if still a bit morbid, since he’d only been around here on official business, and business was apparently pretty good. By the time the GPS’s stern feminine voice announced we’d arrived at our destination, he’d given me a whole new appreciation for the ghosts that haunted even this relatively benign section of Austin.

The second dump site was an empty, overgrown field, which in this time of year meant lots of dry, tangled weeds grown up to about knee height. It was dark, and the streetlights only cast a vague suggestion in the lot’s direction. We parked down the street in front of a small bodega that advertised homemade tacos and tortillas, and Greg turned off the engine.

“That’s it,” he said, and nodded toward the vacant lot. “The body was found there almost exactly twenty-four hours after the first victim was discovered. Forensics were pretty much a dead end; vacant lots are hell for working any trace evidence, and there was nothing of any use on the body itself.”

“Did you work the case?” I asked.

He shook his head. “Before my time,” he said. “I joined about seven months ago. I read up on it since Prieto told me what was going on.” He settled back in his seat with a sigh and unbuckled the safety belt. “Better get comfortable. We may be here a while.”

“Shouldn’t we check the lot first?” I asked. “Just to make sure it hasn’t already happened?”

Greg stared out the windshield for a moment, unmoving, and then said, “Yeah, I guess that’s probably a good idea. Want to go with me?”

“I’ll wait here.” I was happy to let him go tramping off in the dark. I had my cell phone out, just in case, but Greg’s expedition—aided by a flashlight—was evidently unsuccessful. As he came back, I got the cheerful chime for a text message, which almost startled me into dropping the phone.

Andy had texted me, which was odd; I didn’t think he was comfortable enough with the technology to actually type out messages. But it came from his number, and read, KEEP DOORS LOCKED WILL BE HOME BY 8 AM.

Well, technically, I wasn’t breaking the rules. I had the car doors locked though I thumbed the control to let Greg back in. He took his seat, stowed the flashlight again, and said, “Nothing out there but the usual trash, condoms and crack vials.”

That was a relief, but it also made it that much more imperative we stay awake and alert. I broke out the water first, then the chips and dip. Greg didn’t say much for a while, and I was okay with that. I was busy worrying about where Andy was, and what he was doing. Surely, it was a lot more dangerous than this.