House Infernal by Edward Lee (27 page)

This welcome news refreshed the Exalted Duke; it
made him feel five hundred years younger. "Your news
makes me so joyous I could eat a newborn babe alive, and
pick my teeth with his bones."

Boniface, indeed, was overjoyed-by the abstraction
and, moreover, by the following reality. When Willirmoz
snapped his dead fingers, the Sergeant at Arms stepped
in the chamber bearing a newborn Hybrid on a silver
platter.

Little chubby hands reached out, accompanied by a
cheery whine. The infant blew happy spit bubbles from
its tiny mouth, and in spite of skin like the rind of an avocado, the baby couldn't have been cuter.

"What a thoughtful Lithomancer!" Boniface rejoiced.
"Come, my friend, and share with me in this delectable
feast."

Venetia felt encircled by a black cloud; it was something
about the look of the slim, weather-worn woman named
Sue Maitland: the cast of her eyes, her poise and liquorroughened voice. A murderess, Venetia thought, chilled.
Was this really the Devil's manifestation of evil on earth?
There was no relief from the feeling until Berns had exited
the interview room. For a split second, the woman looked
right at Venetia-even though she couldn't really see
her-and smiled. Then the curtain was closed.

"Well," Dan said, "that about pegs my creepometer."

"Hard to believe," Venetia said. From the hall she heard
Berns' voice addressing an unseen officer: "Call HQ and
get a jail nurse. I want a suicide watch on her. If she offs
herself while under county custody, my ass is grass."

Cop talk, she presumed. Rough and detached. It's still a
human life, Venetia thought. A child of God ruined by the
various taints of an ungodly world.

"That's one fully cooked psych-job in there," someone
else said.

It was sad.

Berns returned to the observation room. "So much for
that," he said addressing them both. Venetia doubted it
was her imagination, but Berns kept taking quick glances
at her. Just like Dan. I guess they both think I'm hot. The no tion flattered her but only in an amused way. Venetia felt
anything but attractive now, still muggy and grass-flecked
from mowing the yard.

"That was very interesting," she told the brawny captain.

"Not to mention disturbing," Dan added. "And I wish I
could tell you I've seen her before but I'm sure I haven't. If
you've got a picture, I could show it to Mrs. Newlwyn and
her daughter back at the house. They're from the area."

"And so is John," Venetia said.

"I can do that. Thanks."

Venetia pointed to the closed folder on the desk. "Captain, Dan and I were wondering-that folder says Stevenson and Jessel on it. Is that the case file?"

Berns picked it up guardedly. "Damn, I didn't mean to
leave that there. Did you ... look at it?"

"Well, no, but we'd like to."

"It's mostly autopsy photographs," the officer said.
"Believe me, you don't want to see them. Especially you,
Dan. You knew these women."

"Well, we'd still like to see them, sir," Dan said, "unless
it's confidential or something. It might help us understand more about the case, since we are working at the
murder scene."

Berns seemed flummoxed. "Well, since you asked..."
He handed them the file.

Venetia found the macabre photos much less disturbing
than the interview. She watched over Dan's shoulder as
he flipped through. First was Lottie Jessel, the church custodian, who lay skinny and withered, with flattened
breasts centered by nipples that looked like dried prunes.
She was in her sixties. The other one was Patricia
Stevenson-the nun. The nude body on the slab could've
been a Playboy centerfold gone to sleep; Venetia was startled by how attractive the woman was even in deathbuxom, curvaceous. The physique broke the stereotype
that nuns weren't supposed to be attractive; then Venetia
wondered how she herself might fare against the same
prejudice.

Photos deeper in the stack grew grim: their bodies Y -sectioned and yawning open, then two photos of the infamous incision rejoined by black staples. But on each
photo the deep-almost black-gashes could be seen on
the left side of either woman's throat.

"It doesn't bother us like it would regular people,"
Venetia said with cheery lift in her tone.

"Regular people?" Berns attention seemed to be alerted
as Venetia let her hair down.

"We're hard-core Catholics," Dan said.

And Venetia: "To us these pictures are just dead meat.
We celebrate Patricia and Lottie's ascendence into Paradise." She shrugged and smiled. "They're in a much better place."

"I sure fuckin' hope so." Then Berns winced. "Sorry.
Can't help it sometimes."

"I suppose profanity is an occupational hazard for police." Dan laughed.

"It's a profane world," Venetia added. She tried to sit in
a way that would offer less temptation to his wandering
eyes; however, she wasn't offended at all, for it was obvious how hard he was trying not to look. If anything, she
found him interesting and attractive. "We're curious
about the comments regarding the blood, Captain."

"The official cause of death for both women was-and I
hope you're ready for a mouthful-'multiple-organ system failure and cardiac/pulmonary arrest due to expeditious exsanguination.' It means their blood was drained,
almost entirely. Strange part was there was no trace of
blood in the rooms where the bodies were found."

"So they were murdered elsewhere," Dan said.

"Thought so until I read the follow-up conclusions
from the state medical examiner. Something about the
pericardial sack. I don't even know what that is, but the
ME said there was still enough fluid in it to indicate that
the women were murdered in the same place they were
found."

Venetia's eyes narrowed. "And Sue Maitland said they
saved the blood."

"Sounds pretty lurid," Dan said.

Berns led them back to the car. He seemed burdened
but not necessarily by this. How curious, Venetia thought.

"It's more than lurid, Dan. There's an underbelly in our
society that's really hard to figure. It's almost like there's
a system to people's mental problems, like it's contagious." He chuckled and oddly offered Venetia the backseat this time. "But you'd have to be a cop to get what I'm
saying. But then again, I guess priests see more of that
than we do."

"I'm not quite a priest yet," Dan said, and got in the passenger seat. "But, yeah, I think I do know what you mean.
People from bad environments tend to gravitate toward
one another, and because they don't really have much
hope for better things, they seize delusional solutions-"

"And the occult is one of them," Venetia said. "The lesser
minds are the followers and the strong mind is the leader."

Berns looked over his shoulder with a surprised expression. "You know, that's exactly what the case is here.
And we've got the leader is custody in Maine-that guy
Freddie she was talking about. Between Freddie and Maitland, I think we'll get the rest of the answers we want."

Venetia's hair fluffed up in the car's air-conditioning,
and began to chill her chest. As Berns pulled out of the
parking lot, her gaze latched onto a figure hunched over a
garbage can near the docks. Another poor soul, she
thought. Matted gray hair hung down in a mop as his
crabbed hands rummaged for anything edible.

Just as the car pulled away, the vagabond looked right
at Venetia with yellowed eyes and snarled.

When they pulled into the front of the prior house, Berns
said, "What's this? A delivery?"

Venetia leaned up between the seats and saw a large
moving truck, with men taking boxes out of the back and
rolling them into the house on dollies.

"I can't imagine what Driscoll would be ordering,"
Dan said.

"He didn't mention anything," " Venetia added.

"Well, I better let you off here 'cos the truck is blocking
the court." Berns shook hands with Dan, then turned
toward Venetia. "Thank you both for your help. I'll be
bringing that picture around soon, and I'd appreciate it if
you could let Father Driscoll know that I'd like to talk to
him as well."

"Sure thing," Dan said, and got out.

Berns' gaze loitered on Venetia's face.

She smiled. "Nice meeting you, Captain."

"Likewise. I hope to see you soon," but the reply
sounded strained, until he grinned. "If you ever get a
parking ticket, let me know. I'll fix it."

Venetia laughed and waved good-bye.

Dan was chuckling when the car was gone. "Looks like
Deputy Dawg has a crush on Venetia."

"It seems so," she said, and thought, But so do you.

Driscoll came around the side of the house. "Where
have you two been?"

"The cops," Venetia told him. "So far they've caught
two of the murderers."

"What?"

Dan stood with his arms crossed, sweating again in the
heat. "Yeah, the captain wanted us to watch an interrogation to see if anything rang a bell." A sly smile. "And he
wants to talk to you."

Driscoll looked perplexed. "If that's not the nuttiest
thing ...

"And what's this delivery?"

The priest's brow popped up. "The good news is
they're portable air-conditioners-ten of them."

"That's great!" Dan exclaimed.

"And the bad news is I don't know where the heck they
came from."

"The diocese must've ordered them," Venetia said.
"They don't want us dropping dead from heat stroke."

Driscoll slowly shook his head. "That's what I thought
until I called them. They don't know anything about it."

"You're pulling our legs," Dan said.

"Wish I was. So I gotta tell these guys to load it all back
on the truck. It's a wrong address or something."

"Who sent them?" Venetia asked.

"R. B. Electronics, the invoice says. Never heard of
them."

"I have," Venetia said, and got out her cell phone. "It's
my father's company."

Dan and Driscoll gave her astonished looks. "What
would-"

"Hi, Mom," Venetia said into her phone. "Did Dad rent
a bunch of air-conditioners and send them to the prior
house?" She could see Dan and Driscoll standing frozen,
listening. Even Driscoll had his fingers crossed.

"Oh, honey," her mother's voice shrilled. "When you
told me you didn't have any, I insisted. As hot as it is? And
he didn't rent them, he bought them. Tell Father Driscoll
it's a church donation."

"I will, Mom. He'll really like that. We're all very grateful down here, because, you're right, it's real hot, and I just
mowed half an acre in it."

"Your poor thing! You're not supposed to be doing that
kind of work!"

"I actually love the exercise." Venetia didn't say anything about the apprehension of Sue Maitland. That would
just bend her out of shape.

"Just don't overdo it, dear."

"I won't-"

"Oh, and there's another delivery coming, too," Maxine Barlow added.

"What is it?"

"A surprise. Call me when you get it!"

"Okay, Mom." But Venetia's thoughts fluttered back.
"Oh, and did you-"

"I'm just about to start that Web search you asked me to
do, though I'm still a bit mystified about it."

The voices in the dream, came the unpleasant recollection. But she was sure they were just figments of a stressed imagination. I just have to know, Venetia told herself. Then
it wouldn't be able to bother her.

She rang off with her mother. "Well, Father Driscoll.
You're to consider the AC units a donation to the Church.
And my mother mentioned something else to be delivered but didn't say what."

"That's a big donation," " Dan pointed out. "Those units
are pretty high-end."

"I'm sure they are if my father ordered them."

Driscoll smiled with satisfaction. "Charity comes from
the heart of God ... and remind your father that every
penny of his expenditure can be deducted as a charitable
contribution."

"I'm sure he's aware of that," she chuckled.

The priest appeared to be musing now. "And it serves
as a steady reminder to us, of the words of James: 'Every
act of giving, with every perfect gift, is from above."'

Dan had a challenge in his eyes. "And I'll bet you can't
name this verse, Father: 'Freely we have received, so
freely we must give."'

Driscoll frowned. "Gospel According to Matthew. Come
on, Dan. You know better than to try and stump me."

"But, Venetia, like I was saying," Dan went on, "every
act of giving is terrific, but come on. These units must've
cost a fortune."

Venetia shielded her eyes in the sun. "Well, my father's
a very generous man, and he's also very rich."

Driscoll held up a finger. "'He who giveth in abundance, receiveth in abundance.' Name it, Dan."

Dan rolled his eyes. "You would quote from noncanonical
scripture, but of course it's Tobit, Chapter Four, I believe."

"You guys sound like two jocks arguing baseball statistics." Venetia laughed. "But to answer the parts of your
question that St. Matthew's Gospel didn't: My father
patented some kind of computer processor and circuit
board a long time ago."

"So now he's rolling in the dough?" Dan asked.

.Yep."

"And it's our good fortune," Driscoll said. "Because
last night I thought I was beginning to cook."

Dan glanced over. "But didn't you say something about
another delivery?"

Just as Dan had spoken, another truck pulled into the
court. The side panels read OMAHA srEAKS.

Like little kids at Christmas, Venetia thought with a smile.
Driscoll called the entire group together and led a prayer
thanking God-and Venetia's father-for the much appreciated gifts. The portable air-conditioners were rolled
to everyone's rooms and required nothing in the way of
installation save for positioning a vent hose out each window. Then they all retreated to the kitchen to help put
away the gourmet food: vacuum-sealed and flash-frozen
T-bones, filet mignons, ground sirloin, and ribs, as well as
pounds of jumbo shrimp, king crab, and stout South
African lobster tails.