The Demon Pool (24 page)

Special Agent Bill Joyce was working at his desk
wrapping up the paperwork from a Haitian sex ring investigation when his cell
phone rang. Joyce looked at the caller ID before answering. The number belonged
to his old boss, the director of the Florida Highway Patrol. The director had
been Joyce’s supervisor fifteen years earlier when Joyce had been a state
trooper, before moving to the Florida Department of Law Enforcement.

“Good afternoon, director. How can I help you
today?”

“Bill, I need you to take a look into a sensitive
matter.”

Every now and then, the director would call,
asking Joyce to help with some “sensitive matter.” Joyce’s bosses at the
Department of Law Enforcement never seemed to mind the occasional favor, and
Joyce had learned early in his career not to burn bridges that he might have to
cross back over someday.

The director’s usual air of authority sounded
tempered by a hint of uncertainty. He continued, “It seems that one of my boys
got his tail in a crack.”

“Let me guess, director,” Joyce interrupted.
“Trooper gone wild?”

Bill Joyce was one of the few men in Florida who
could interrupt the director without losing part of their anatomy.

“Yep,” the director continued, “the trooper gone
wild. Trooper Jim Demore, our shining star, youngest-ever homicide
investigator. Claims that he was at a topless joint in Tampa to question a
suspect and someone drugged him.”

“Pretty convenient excuse. Any evidence someone
slipped him a mickey?”

“We got blood test results from one of your labs
that backs up his story. But I need to know the whole truth, and I need an
unbiased investigator to make damn sure we get to the bottom of this mess
without looking like fools. I’m not sure that this wasn’t done to make me look
bad.”

Joyce knew about the Trooper Gone Wild case down
in Ft. Myers. Hell, the whole damn state and half the country had heard about
the case by now. Embarrassing. Not only for the director, but for all of
Florida Law Enforcement.

“What can I do sir?”

“I need to get the case he was working on closed.
I can’t put the boy back on the street until we complete a formal
investigation, not till he’s officially cleared. That might take a while ‘cause
we can’t let it look like we’re whitewashing this thing.”

“What’s the case you want closed?”

“The Jefferson Briggs’ crash. Tragic accident.
Can I count on you, Bill?”

“Of course, sir,” Joyce answered. “I need to wrap
up a couple of things here, but I can be in Ft. Myers in the next couple of
days.”

Joyce hesitated a moment, then asked the obvious
question.

“Why not just hand it off to another accident
investigator?”

“I’m catching heat on this, Bill. I need to get
it off my plate. My troopers watch out for each other. You know that, and
normally that’s a good thing, but I need this closed. I’m sure there is nothing
too it. Just a tragic accident. Can I count on you?”

“You can always count on me, sir.”

If the director wanted the case closed, Joyce
would close the case.

“Great,” the director said. “I’ll let his commanding
officer know you’ll be down to visit. She’ll understand that it’ll look better
to have someone outside of the Highway Patrol wrap this thing up.” The Director
sounded relieved. “One last thing...”

“Sir?”

“You know, Demore was the trooper who someone
tried to blow up the other day. Get the Briggs’ case closed and try to stay
away from Demore. Be careful, okay?”

“Yes, sir. You know me, director. I’m always
careful. Always. That’s why you call me.”

Joyce heard the director’s phone disconnect. He
put his cell phone away, opened a browser on his computer, and did an Internet
search for “trooper gone wild.” The video and pictures of Trooper Jim Demore
had gone viral. An hour later, Joyce closed his web browser.

In spite of the ugly initial news report, he doubted
that Demore had volunteered to be videotaped or photographed doing the nasty
with some skank dancer from a topless joint. Nevertheless, at this point, that
probably did not matter. The story, with its explicit video and pictures, along
with the apparent attempted murder, compromised Demore’s ability to conduct an
objective investigation. Whatever Demore had got into, it was now beyond his
efforts to straighten out. Joyce picked up his desk phone and dialed the number
for Demore’s commander.

***

Major Kant picked up the phone on
the second ring. She had just spent half an hour on the phone, trying to get
Corporal Demore reinstated. The director would not return her calls, so she
worked the chain of command and heard the same response all the way up — “It’s
not my decision, major.” Finally, she left two more messages with the
director’s office. She hoped this was the expected return call. When she heard
Bill Joyce’s voice on the other end, disappointment, and concern, entered the
picture.

“Major Kant, this is Bill Joyce, Department of Law
Enforcement.”

Major Kant and Bill Joyce had crossed paths
before. Every senior officer in the Highway Patrol knew of Special Agent
Joyce’s reputation as the director’s “hatchet man.”

“I know where you work, Bill. I don’t mean to be
rude, but I’m waiting for a call from the director’s office.” Major Kant did
not feel warm and fuzzy about receiving a call from Joyce.

“Not a social call, major. I’ve been asked to
shepherd the Briggs’ investigation. I’ll be down to see you tomorrow.”

Major Kant sighed. “Shepherd” was Joyce’s
euphemism for “I’m taking over, and there is not a damn thing you can do about
it.”

“I haven’t heard anything from the director’s
office,” she said. She felt the resistance rising up in her. “Even if Demore is
not reinstated, I have investigators who can handle this case.”

“I’m sure you do, major,” Kant said
condescendingly. “Regardless, I will be down there tomorrow. I need to meet
with Demore. Your office. Say ten a.m.?”

Major Kant knew arguing would be useless.

“Ten a.m. sounds fine.”

She found it hard to keep the resentment out of
her voice.

“I’ll have Demore here, reinstated or not.”

“Very good, major.” Joyce hung up.

Major Kant sighed once more. Before she picked up
the phone to call Corporal Demore, it rang again.

“Major Kant,” she answered, her voice filled with
the irritation she felt.

“Did Bill Joyce call you? Sounds like he might
have.”

Major Kant recognized the director’s voice.
Finally.

“Yes, sir. I have a meeting with him and Corporal
Demore at ten a.m. tomorrow. I am still waiting to find out Corporal Demore’s
status.”
Might as well be direct.

“The governor’s office is not happy about this
whole mess, but it looks like Demore is clear of any intentional wrongdoing.”

Major Kant sighed for the third time. A sigh of
relief.

“Nevertheless,” the director continued,
“something about this entire incident stinks. I don’t like it. Give Joyce what
he wants and keep Demore on a short leash. Let him drive a desk for a while,
until he’s officially cleared, and major,” the director paused, “if he gets off
his leash, he’ll be patrolling the Florida side of the Okefenokee Swamp in a
golf cart...and you’ll be supervising him there. Understand?”

She understood.

“Yes, sir.”

The line went dead and Major Kant replaced the
handset.
What a bunch of crap.

Major Kant picked up the phone again and dialed
.
It rang several times before someone answered.

“Corporal Demore, Highway Patrol”

“Jim, it’s Major Kant.”

“Am I back?”

A simple question, with a not-so-simple answer.

“Kind of. Be in my office at ten a.m. tomorrow.
We’ll go over the details.”

Major Kant tried to keep it upbeat.

“Kind of? Not exactly sure what that means,
major, but I guess it’s better than ‘You’re fired.’”

“It’s a lot better than ‘You’re fired.’” Major
Kant said. “I’ll see you in my office tomorrow.”

“Yes, ma’am. And thanks, major. I want to get
back on top of this thing.”

“And I want to make sure this thing does not get
back on top of you. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

Major Kant understood why marines got the name
“Devil Dogs.” Once they get hold of something, the bastards do not let go.

“You’re not back yet, Jim, so stay away from
anything to do with the Briggs’ investigation. Understand?”

“Yes, ma’am. I understand.”

Major Kant heard the defiance in Jim’s voice.

“I mean it. You ever spent any time up on the
Florida side of the Okefenokee Swamp?” Major Kant asked, her voice humorless.

“No ma’am. Never had a reason to go up there.”

“You want to keep it that way. Not much up there
but ‘gators and mosquitoes. Know what I mean?”

“Yes, ma’am. Tomorrow, ten a.m.”

“Good.”

Major Kant hung up the phone.
God, Demore. I
hope for your sake, and mine, you do know what I mean.

Jim Demore found himself in a better mood. The call from
Major Kant had come while he and Saffi were driving to the restaurant. Yes,
Major Kant had warned him off the Briggs case, but Jim knew there were ways to
keep his hand in it without directly disobeying the major. The Briggs’ case was
his, and he would be the one to close it. Come hell or high water.

Jim sipped the black coffee he had ordered as dessert.
Saffi used her spoon to play with a scoop of tropical sorbet that sat in the
middle of a small dessert plate. Jim put his coffee cup down and smiled at Saffi.
She reminded him of a girl out of a nineteen-fifties beach movie. She looked as
pretty as any girl he had ever dated and she was just plain nice. Yet, he could
not help feeling that she had some secret agenda. After all, don’t most human
beings have unspoken
agendas?

***

Compared to Saffi’s life of
school, the lab, and church, the life Jim described to her was adventurous,
dangerous, and exciting. A twinge of jealousy ran through Saffi. While Jim
freely shared his high school, military, and Highway Patrol experiences, when
the conversation drifted around to relationships, she found herself tip-toeing
into an emotional minefield.

“So, no current girlfriend?” Saffi asked. She
decided to jump into the minefield with both feet. Might as well know upfront.

“Not at the moment,” Jim said.

Saffi tried to analyze his reply.
Flippant?
Expectant? Disappointed?

“Looking?” she asked, pushing the envelope. She
smiled, but she was mentally kicking herself. She half-expected to hear the
pop-pop-pop of little cartoon balloons appearing above her head, drawn with
arrows pointing toward her, containing words like “desperate,” “needy,” “I’m
available,”
and “pick me, pick me.”
You’re a scientist Saffi. Stop
being so damn silly.

“To tell you the truth, I don’t think I have ever
been ‘looking.’ I certainly wasn’t looking when I met
Linda.” Jim
paused, sipped his coffee. “She just sort of showed up in my life one day and
stayed around for the next couple of years.”

“Doesn’t sound too romantic,” Saffi said. She
carved off a piece of the sorbet and parked it in her mouth. The flavor melted
across her tongue, the cold and texture providing a small pleasure all their
own.

“Linda was someone who knew what she wanted and
went after it. Can’t fault her for that. She was and still is pretty much about
what she wants.”

“Did she just change her mind about the two of
you or did you do something...?”
Give him the third degree, Saffi. That will
get him interested in you. Dummy.

“I behaved myself. I mean, yeah, girls flirt with
me,” Jim looked embarrassed. “Mostly, I think it was the job. The uniform,
probably. A little too pedestrian.”

He finished his coffee and signaled the waiter.

“At least she didn’t have to deal with crap of
the last few days. Not directly anyway.”

He paused to order more coffee. Saffi shook her
head when the waiter looked at her. Jim continued, more serious that before.

“Saffi, do you have any experience with the
supernatural? The occult?”

The question surprised her.

“You mean like am I a witch or something?”

“No, no, no, no.” Jim replied. He smiled and
waved his hands at her as if brushing the idea away. “That’s not what I mean at
all. I just keep running into people who seem to be, I don’t know, out there.
Way, way out there. Like the woman who owns the voodoo store in Ft. Myers.
Candle and magic something. Candle and witches and crap. I don’t know.”

Jim held up a finger.

“Wait a minute.”

He reached for his little notebook, removed it
from his breast pocket, and flipped through a few pages.

“Candle and Wind. Ever hear of it?”

“I’ve driven past it. Never went in. Jim, I think
there’s something you need to know about me. I’m one of those born-again,
Christian types, and I take my faith seriously. I would have no reason to go
into that kind of store unless it was related to work, or if I happened to feel
like poking the devil in the eye a little.”
All right, Saffi. At least now
he knows where you are coming from. If it scares him off, oh well.

“
I thought you were more of the
science-geek type than the religious-geek type
.”

Jim smiled broadly at Saffi. She stared at him
for a moment.
He thinks I’m a geek
.
Fine
.

“And what was your grade on that last test we
took. You remember. The one on blood evidence?”
He wants geek, I’ll show him
geek.

“
Okay, okay. I am not the greatest test
taker
.
I got an eighty-nine
.
I’ll study harder, teacher.”

A second later, Jim’s face lit up.

“You blew up the curve, didn’t you?”

Saffi actually felt a little guilty. All through
school, she had pissed off her fellow classmates with her grades. In every
class she took, she always blew up the curve.

“Yep, Mr. Trooper Demore. Afraid I did. Got a
hundred. Sorry.” Saffi had put extra emphasis on the words
Trooper Demore
.
“I’ve got brains and religion.”

“You got attitude, too.” Jim laughed. “Spices up
the girl-next-door persona. I like that.”

Their eyes met for a moment and Saffi felt the
spark. She glanced away and wondered if Jim had felt the same thing. A moment
of awkward silence followed.

“Back to the matter at hand,” Jim said, his voice
a little softer. “What started off as a routine accident investigation...” His
eyes met Saffi’s again. “I don’t know. Now it has a creepy feel to it. Like
there is some invisible hand, or force, or power, or some master control person
pushing me away from this case. I don’t like it, but it has to be a
flesh-and-blood person. I’ve really never believed in the creepy, supernatural
stuff.”

“That’s interesting. You know the traditional
Christian view is that in addition to our natural, physical world, there is a
supernatural world consisting of God, Lucifer, also known as Satan or the
devil, angels, and demons. What most people describe as ‘the occult’ — what you
just called the creepy stuff — is actually Satan’s back yard, the part of the
supernatural or metaphysical world dominated by the devil and his angels, the
demons. That is pretty much the Bible’s view. Do you believe the Bible, Jim?”
Might
as well find out now.

Jim’s eyes narrowed.

“I’ve read some of it and I heard a lot of
preaching when I was growing up, but I would have to say that I am more of a
naturalist than a supernaturalist.”

“I see.”

Saffi kept her thoughts to herself for a moment.
She carved a large spoonful of sorbet from her dessert plate and put it in her
mouth. Jim worked on his second cup of coffee. Saffi let the sorbet dissolve
before continuing.

“The occult world exists. That is a fact,” she
told him. “It’s just a matter of how you define it.”

“What do you mean?” Jim asked.

“Demons and angels, ghosts, spirits. Regardless
of one’s personal view, there is little doubt that there is more to our world
than purely physical processes. Otherwise, how do we explain morality, music,
beauty, self-awareness, and spirituality? There is much more to our world than
what can be explained by strict naturalism and evolution.”

“All right,” Jim said, “let’s presume for
argument’s sake that there is a metaphysical world, that the occult world
exists. I know a lot of people believe in that stuff, even if I never did. How
does it work? If it exists. Do we control it or does it control us? What
actually happens when someone pokes around in the devil’s backyard?”

“Well, the way I understand it,” Saffi replied, “is
that, usually, the devil either pokes back, or climbs on board for a ride.”

“Okay, that doesn’t sound too good. At least not
for those who believe in this stuff. I guess ‘climbing on board for the ride’
means some kind of demonic possession. Right? What about that? I think I
remember that being in the Bible somewhere. I know my Uncle Jack, the family
Bible-thumper, believed in it.”

Saffi winced at the words Bible-thumper. Jim’s
eyes widened apparently realizing he had screwed up.
Faux pas, Mr. Demore.

“The Bible teaches demon possession, and like
millions and millions of people, I believe the Bible is true.” Her voice became
very serious. “Jim, if there is a demonic force behind what has happened, you
are in real danger. And not just physical danger. Regardless of what you
believe, Bible-thumping or not, I would not take this lightly.”

Jim’s eyes narrowed and a wry smile crawled
across his face.

“Someone tried to blow me up and someone is
trying to destroy my career. I am taking it seriously. I just want to make sure
I’m not spending my time chasing after the make believe. After all, Briggs and
his girlfriend were flesh and blood. I know — I saw the blood. I smelled the
dead flesh. They were decapitated, Saffi. It was just about as bad as anything
I saw in Iraq and Afghanistan.”

“I’m sorry, Jim. That must have been terrible.”

“I’m sorry about the Bible-thumper comment,” he
said.

Silence, for a moment. Jim finished his coffee
and Saffi polished off the last of the sorbet. After a moment, she spoke again.

“It’s getting late. I have an early day tomorrow.”

“Me too. I have an early meeting with Major Kant,
my C.O., and I still have a few things I want to look into.”

“You don’t quit, do you?” Saffi chided him,
gently.

“I’ve never quit on anything in my life,” Jim
said flatly.

It was a matter-of-fact statement. No sense of
brag or false bravado. He smiled, lessening the tension.

“Not even the devil himself is going to keep me
from closing this case.”

Saffi smiled back, weakly.
Poor guy. If this
really is demonic, he doesn’t have a clue what he’s up against.

“Maybe there is something supernatural, maybe
not. Just in case there is, let me pray for you,” Saffi said.

Jim looked surprised.

“Now?”

Saffi’s smile strengthened. She reached across
the table and took his hand. In spite of herself, she liked the feel of his
skin against hers.

“It probably feels weird to you, but why take
chances? I believe there is a greater power. Let’s see if we can get it on your
side.”

“I guess it can’t hurt.”

His hand closed on hers.

“No, it can’t,” She assured him, “and it might
actually help. Let us pray.”

***

The demonic network in South Florida
had worked itself into a frenzy of activity. Although Baalzaric could not be in
two places at one time, he received reports from the various wraiths under his
control. Not only were they a legion, but in the supernatural world, they moved
at supernatural speed.

Baalzaric, miles away in Tampa, found himself
amused by the reports.
So, Demore had found a prayer partner. Good luck with
that.

Demore reminded him of that fool Father Miguel, the
priest who thought he could exorcise Baalzaric from the Spanish Adelantado,
Juan Carlos de la Viña. Father Miguel had lost both his life and his soul. Why
should Jim Demore fare any better?