Tortured Spirits (6 page)

Good question,
Jake thought. “How did you figure all this out?”

“I'm a detective, remember? Bernie thinks I'm crazy, and L.T. doesn't know what to do with me. But no cover-up is going to change the truth. Yeah, cover-up: tourists might avoid the Apple if they knew real zombies walked the streets. It tends to make civilians nervous, you know?”

Jake saw she was getting worked up. “Maybe it's best never to discuss it.”

“Easy for you to say. You're not on the job anymore, and you don't have sixty zombie corpses assigned to your name.”

“Do you actually say ‘zombie' at work?”

“You think I'm crazy? With Bernie and L.T., sure, and not even with L.T. anymore. But
other
people talk about it. Detectives familiar with the case call me the zombie lady. One prick called me Sister Voodoo. He won't make that mistake again.”

“You didn't track me down because the kids are making fun of you at school.”

“Edgar was kicking it to Dawn Du Pre. The last time he was seen was entering her apartment building. A man fitting your description went into the building that night, too, and was later seen leaving. Dawn left shortly before that. Edgar never left. Then Dawn turned up dead with Prince Malachai in the foundation of a construction site across the street. A little legwork by yours truly revealed she was shtuping Malachai and Edgar at the same time. Only Malachai's hoppers knew her as Katrina. Guess what? Dawn Du Pre never existed, and Katrina was just an alias. The bitch's real name was Ramera Evans. But you already know that. You knew it the night you and Edgar went to her building and only you came out.”

“The night she turned Edgar into this raven.”

“Stop saying that!”

“I had something Katrina wanted. She agreed to restore Edgar if I gave it to her. We met at that construction site. Things spiraled out of control. Edgar got in her face and down she went.”

“Malachai was a lot deader than she was when we found them.”

“She turned him into something else, some kind of superzombie.”

“His face was missing.”

“That was me.” Jake shuddered at the memory of the back of his head caving in Malachai's face when the undead drug dealer had attempted to crush him. “Now you know my story, whether you believe all of it or not. What's yours?”

“I told you all along I was watching you. I knew you
were in this up to your eyeball. I tailed you more than once. Got to know your routine pretty well: early morning run, lunch in that little park area next to the Tower, an occasional basketball game with Martin. Between my job and your cases, I never managed to devote as much time to you as I wanted. One night I saw you hop a cab with your luggage, so I followed you to a car rental agency, then across the state before I gave up and went back. I also ran a check on your credit card activity—”

“That's illegal.”

“You're a person of interest in the disappearance of a police detective. I learned you drove to New Orleans and checked into the French Lily. When you didn't return after a week, I used my vacation time to go there. I stayed right across the street, with a nice view of your room. And I got your routine down there, too: early morning pickup by your guide, Vincent Wilkins; nine hours of door-to-door legwork; back to your hotel; dinner at a different restaurant every night; online research at the hotel; early to bed. I actually felt sorry for you when I learned you were searching for Miriam Santiago. I was tempted to leave an anonymous note under your door telling you where to find her.”

Jake's ears stung. “So why didn't you?”

“It became like a game. One vacation week turned into another. I dug into my sick days. Now I'm on leave. When you drove here, I didn't have to worry about following you, thanks to your plastic. I just did a little stakeout on Miriam's house. You spent a lot less time talking to her than I expected, which was disappointing. When you left
her house, I was sure you finally made my tail because you drove like a madman. Then you pulled into this parking lot, and Miriam's boys yanked you out of the car, and it looked like you were paralyzed. I snuck out and found that window. It was dumb luck they brought you down here.”

“Thanks for coming to my rescue, by the way.”

“I'd have gotten around to it. But I was too interested in your conversation with Miriam. The two of you confirmed everything I suspected about Dawn's dead soldiers.”

“It also confirmed what I've been telling you about Edgar.”

“Or it proves Miriam is jerking your chain. She's playing into your delusion about Edgar to get you to Pavot Island and spring her husband.”

“You're risking your career just being here.”

“I promised myself I'd find Edgar or find out what happened to him. I promised that to Martin, too.”

“We have that in common, except I know what happened to him.”

“Too bad I can't believe anything you say. You're too dodgy, always covering your tracks. Only a guilty man does that. Your wife is murdered by the Cipher, and he gets eighty-sixed the next day, just hours after Edgar and I interviewed you. No one gets collared. No one gets interviewed about the murder. It was just some vigilante, and the city's happy anyway, right?”

Jake felt his jaw setting. “I'll say this only once, okay? Don't talk about my wife.”

“I used to ask Edgar about it, and his manner would change; he'd get all quiet and evasive. I think he knew you
killed the Cipher and covered for you. Maybe you made Edgar disappear because he knew the truth.”

“Made him disappear where, in Katrina's apartment?”

“I don't know.”

“Believe what you want, but you can't have it both ways.”

“That woman who worked for Tower—Kira Thorn. She provided your alibi when the Cipher got aced, then she disappeared. Convenient.”

“Tower was involved in shady business. Kira was, too. She must have had her reasons for vanishing.”

Maria sized him up. “You've told so many lies to cover your own ass you can't stop. Three months ago, when Martin got sucked into that cult, Teddy Geoghegan from Major Crimes interviewed you about Mayor Madigan's wife. That was right before Madigan and a bunch of power brokers turned up dead in that warehouse in Karlin Reichard's Brooklyn shipyard.”

Jake resisted the urge to clench his fists. Maria was closing in on him, throwing one piece of the pie after another at him. It was easy enough to dodge certain incidents and accusations but not one after another. “Marla Madigan hired me—”

“I know why she hired you. I know what you told Geoghegan and the FBI. I also know that one of those power brokers was Benjamin Bradley, the founder of the Dreamers. Quite a coincidence: Martin joins a cult, then the leader of that cult winds up dead, along with the husband of your client.”

“The media said those guys died of asphyxiation.
Something about a gas leak.”

“Another cover-up. The feds shut that crime scene down so fast it would make your glass eye spin. I spoke to one of the uniforms who first arrived on the scene. He was afraid to talk to me, so I got him drunk. He said one vic's head was crushed. Another's had been shot apart. The rest of them were floating facedown in water with great big holes in the back of their skulls. Does that sound like asphyxiation to you?”

Jake felt no remorse that Cain had crushed Myron Madigan's head with his bare hands or that he had machine gunned Weiskopf's skull into nothingness. The men had deserved worse. Hopefully they got it. “I don't know anything about that. Sounds like the ravings of a drunk.”

“Geoghegan and the feds don't know anything about you and me pulling Martin out of the Dreamers' clutches. If they did, they might see a connection between you and Madigan and Reinhardt.”

She's good,
Jake thought, careful not to convey his discomfort through body language.

“They also might want to know how you got those gashes on your face the same night those men were killed.”

“Some guys knifed me on my way home.”

“Just like some guy stabbed you in the eye on your way home? You need to hire a ghostwriter for new material.”

“Listen to me. Maybe you can't avoid dealing with the zonbies because you were in the Black Magic Task Force and have all those bodies under your name. The two people responsible for the Magic, the Machete Massacres, and the zonbies are dead, and there's no one above them looking for revenge.

“But leave this thing with Madigan and the old guys from the Reichard Foundation alone. They may be dead, but every one of them had underlings. Some of them prospered because of what went down; some suffered. A lot of money was spent covering up those deaths. I'm talking about a daisy chain of men that links global finance, intelligence agencies, the FBI, and NYPD. You send signals that you're snooping around for the truth, and you'll wind up in a coffin—make no mistake about it. Just leave it alone. It doesn't concern you.”

Maria stared at him and swallowed. She appeared angry and ready to cry at the same time. “No shit. You think I'm stupid? But how does it concern
you?”

“You don't need to know that. It's got nothing to do with Edgar, and he's why we're both here.”

She gazed at Edgar. “How the hell can you tell me that's my partner?”

Jake raised the cage and opened the door.

Edgar flew straight for Maria, who dodged to one side with a yelp.

“Don't be afraid,” Jake said.

Edgar landed on Maria's shoulder, which dipped from his weight. She lifted her face to him, eyes fearful. Perched on her shoulder, he stood taller than her head.

“Edgar, is that you?”

Edgar cawed and nestled his head against Maria's cheek.

Tears rolled out of her eyes, and she caressed the raven's feathers with trembling hands. “How did you let this
happen to you?”

“Love is blind,” Jake said.

“You really came all the way down here to change him back?”

“Yes.”

“And you're going to Pavot Island to free Andre Santiago from Malvado's prison?”

“Like the woman said, it's Edgar's only chance.”

“Then I'm going with you.”

Jake did a double take. “That's what you think.”

“Edgar was my partner, too. Malvado's a dictator. His prison is supposed to be a house of horrors. You'll need backup.”

“Miriam said she'd arrange for me to make contact with someone who can help me.”

“You'll need more help than that.”

“Uh-uh. No way. It's too dangerous.”

“What, you think I can't handle myself? Look how I dealt with Miriam's so-called freedom fighters.”

“Yeah? They're human. Malvado's surrounded himself with bokors, vodou witch doctors. That means zonbies, astral projection, pain curses—things you can't even imagine.”

She glanced at Edgar. “My imagination's gotten pretty active.”

“You'll do more good here. Miriam needs to run tests on Edgar before she can restore him. I'd feel better if you were here to watch over him, especially if I don't come back.”

“But if I go with you, the odds of you coming home double. We have the same objective. You're not the only one willing to risk his life to bring Edgar home to Joyce and
Martin. Believe me, I'm just as stubborn as you are. You go to Pavot without me, and I'll just follow you anyway.”

Jake sighed. “All right. We'll go together. But I don't like it.”

Maria stroked Edgar's feathers. “Who says you have to?”

“This is Pavot Island.” Miriam gestured to the map spread out across the table she, Fernando, Jake, and Maria stood around in the otherwise empty nightclub. “It's approximately three thousand square miles. Malvado is a capitalist, not a communist like Castro, but he's a dictator. When a man oppresses his people, they don't care about his political philosophies. Malvado uses Pavot Island's treasury as his personal bank, the population as his workforce. Pavotians sneak out on boats, rafts, inner tubes—anything that will transport them. Many don't survive the trip. But the promise of a better life is worth the risk.”

Fernando pointed at the center of the map. “Pavot City is the nation's capital. Malvado's palace is on the outskirts. There are three smaller cities”—he moved his finger along the map's terrain—”here, here, and here. Each city has at
least one suburb. There are eleven villages surrounding the cities and their provinces and isolated farms and plantations beyond them. The blank spots you see are the fields where Malvado grows the poppy for his heroin and cocaine.”

Miriam lit a cigarette. “The palace forms a triangle with these two complexes that face the national rain forest: El Miedo prison and the central military headquarters. Andre is in El Miedo.”

“El Miedo means ‘fear,'” Maria said to Jake.

“Two million people live on Pavot,” Fernando said. “They're primarily black, Hispanic, and a mixture of the two. It was originally populated by the Tainos who inhabited the Caribbean prior to the arrival of Europeans. First the Spaniards mined it for gold; the Tainos had no immunity against the diseases brought from Spain, and they died out. Then the French came with their African slaves. In 1804, the slaves on Haiti rebelled against their oppressors, which inspired a similar revolution on Pavot. The French and Dutch rulers fled for their lives.”

“Three languages are spoken on Pavot,” Miriam said. “English, French, and Spanish.” She glanced at Jake. “You'll get by.” She turned to Maria. “You'll get by better.”

“I speak French, too. What little I remember from high school anyway.”

“You couldn't ask for a better shotgun,” Miriam told Jake.

Maria cocked one eyebrow. “See? I just got here, and I'm already proving my value.”