Satans servant, p.7
Satan's Servant, page 7
“Whose? “
“Wade Spencer’s.” She stepped off the concrete stoop, onto the ground. “Ouch! I should have worn shoes.” She stood on one leg and examined the bottom of her bare foot. “Tumbleweed stickers are murder.”
“Wait until you step on a goathead.”
She made a pained expression. “Believe me, I have.” Mike smiled. “Where did Spencer live?”
“Around the corner. This looks like a duplex, but it’s really a triplex. The third apartment’s hidden. Come on. I’ll show you.”
“Want to get your shoes first?”
“No. I’m a masochist at heart.” Carefully watching where she stepped, she led him around to the side of the stucco building. “Here you are.” She pointed to a door with a painted-over metal “C” in the middle. “It’s the only apartment here with a number on the door.” She shrugged. “If that makes any difference.”
Mike stepped up to the door and pulled some keys out of his pocket. “Now we’ll see which key works. The landlord gave me six of them.” Mike tried a key; it would not fit. “How well did you know Spencer?”
“I met him when he moved in about two months ago. Try that one.” She pointed to one of the keys. Mike tried it, and the lock clicked. He pushed the door open.
Karen followed him into the room. “He was a graduate student in anthropology at UNM. Of course, I guess you knew that. Not much of a place is it?”
They were standing in the living room of a small three-room apartment. The only furnishings were a beat-up couch and a small coffee table displaying numerous cigarette burns. Except for a phonograph and its twin speakers, almost every inch of space along the walls was taken up with books crammed into pumice-block-and-board bookcases.
“Did he read a lot?”
“I guess.” She pointed to a small bookcase by the couch. “Those are his textbooks. The rest of this stuff’s all on the occult.”
“Tell me about his interest in the occult.” Mike stepped over to one of the larger bookcases and began checking titles.
“He was really fascinated with it. It’s all he talked about.”
“Did he ever perform any black magic rituals or anything like that?” He pulled down a volume and leafed through it.
“He never did around me, but I’m sure he did. He was too hung up on it not to.” She stepped up beside Mike and pulled down a thin, very-old-looking book. “Here. This was his favorite.” She handed it to Mike. “He called it the Thurgy-con or something like that.”
Mike opened the book. “The paper’s all rotting away.”
“It’s not paper. It’s parchment. It’s supposed to be hundreds of years old.”
Mike stared at the faded handwritten words. “Huh? It’s all Greek to me.”
She smiled. “You left yourself wide open, you know.”
“How’s that?”
“It really is written in Greek—at least that’s what Wade said.”
Mike carefully closed the book. “It sounds like you knew him pretty well.”
“Oh, he was okay at first. All his talk about the occult was really interesting. But he was beginning to seem more and more creepy to me lately, so I sort of avoided him.”
“Creepy? What do you mean?”
“Oh, he was too hung up on it, I guess. And then he went out all the time in the middle of the night.”
“What did he do?”
“I don’t know. He’d leave about midnight, usually, and he wouldn’t come back until four sometimes.”
“Did you ever see him with a chicken?”
She looked surprised. “A chicken? What would he want with—” She touched her hand to her face. “He has a cage, though. It’s about the right size. He’d take it with him when he went out.” She glanced around the room. “It must be here somewhere.”
“I’ll look for it later.”
“I guess you’ve got it figured out the same way I do.”
“How’s that?”
“He kidnapped the baby to use as a sacrifice in a ritual.”
“Do you have any specific reasons for thinking that?”
“Sure, everything I just told you.”
“Do you have any idea why he moved out here to Rancho Lucero? It’s a long way to drive for school.”
“He said he wanted to get out of the city. Besides, he didn’t go to class much. At the rate he was going, I think he would have flunked out.” She plopped down on the couch. “What do you think killed him?”
Mike sighed. “You tell me, and we’ll both know.”
“No clues, huh?”
“Do you know if he was a member of the Church of the Four Elements?”
“No, he wasn’t. I took him a couple of times, but he said their rituals were just for show. They didn’t really know anything about black magic.” She rolled her eyes. “He said Father Roger was nothing but a superficial PR man.”
“I take it you’re a member, then?”
“Sure.” She looked Mike sharply in the eyes. “You’re not one of those—”
Mike stopped her with a shake of his head and a smile. “I’m an atheist myself. My mother says I’m a disgrace to the Ryans.”
She returned his smile. “I’m sorry. I’m too pigheaded to lie about it.” She leaned forward and cupped her hand beside her mouth. “Don’t tell anybody, but there are some of us who go because of all the sexy things they do, and religion doesn’t have a thing to do with it.”
5
The University of New Mexico’s main campus sprawled over many city blocks a mile or two east of downtown Albuquerque. The campus, it seemed, was growing even faster than the city. Every time Mike returned to his alma mater, another enormous structure of some sort had been erected. The buildings were all beige and southwestern in style, but even staying within those limits, the architects had managed to create a variety of remarkably dissimilar structures.
Mike pulled into a parking lot, shoved the gearshift to Park, and reached for the key.
“I’m sorry, sir. You can’t park here.” A burly University of New Mexico policeman was standing by the patrol car with his arms folded.
“Huh? Why not?”
“This area’s for faculty parking only, and you don’t have a faculty parking sticker.”
Mike gave him a shocked look. “But I’m a police officer on official business.”
The university policeman unfolded his arms and stuck his thumbs in his gun belt. “I’m sorry, sir. You’ll have to move your car.”
“What’s this sir stuff? I’m a cop like you. And I’m investigating a homicide.”
“I don’t know that, sir. You could be here for an afternoon class for all I know.”
Mike’s Irish temper was starting to simmer. “Dammit! A law enforcement officer in pursuit of his duties can park wherever the hell he wants to!”
“If you leave it there, I’ll have it towed, sir.”
Mike glowered at him. “All right, all right! Where should I put it?”
“Any visitors parking lot, sir. But before you go to a lot, you’ll have to stop by the campus police station and get a temporary parking sticker.” He pointed down the street. “Two blocks, then turn right.”
Mike angrily gunned the engine and reached for the gearshift.
“One more thing, sir—just a reminder that the speed limit on campus is twenty miles an hour.”
A small volcano erupted inside Mike, but he managed to control himself. “Yes, officer.” He smiled his most superficial grin and gently slipped the car into gear.
6
“No! Leave me alone!”
Elizabeth Harmon turned from the blackboard to see what all the commotion was about. Everyone was staring at Ricky Claussen and Susie Penwinkle. Ricky was grinning, and Susie was leaning as far away from him as she could get without tipping her desk over.
“Miz Harmon, please make him leave me alone.” Susie was on the verge of tears.
“All right now. Let’s hear it. What’s going on?” She picked up her pointer and slapped it into her palm for emphasis.
Susie sniffed. “He said things to me, Miz Harmon, and he tried to grab me.”
“Ricky.” She adopted her most severe expression and continued tapping her hand with the pointer. “What did you do to Susie?”
“None of your fuckin’ business, bitch!”
She almost dropped the pointer. “Young man! You come up here this instant!”
“Screw you.”
Ricky’s face had lost all of its boyish innocence. His expression was twisted and full of hate. All of a sudden, he looked very old and sinister.
Elizabeth Harmon realized she was afraid. “I said—”
“I’ll tell you what I told her. I said I was going to tickle her cunt and make her come like a waterfall.” His voice had a high-pitched, squeaky sound to it, like a rat which had suddenly learned to convert its squeals into words.
She took a step forward.
“Don’t come near me, you two-bit whore!” He stood up, drool running from the corner of his mouth. “I know all about you. I know how you finger-fuck yourself in bed at night. You’re nothing but a horny slut that wants to lick a big, wet prick.” He took a step toward her.
Elizabeth Harmon began slowly backing up. “I’ve got a big, stiff dick. I’ll even put it in your ass. How about it? You want it?”
She felt her back hit the blackboard. “You—you—”
“Aw, forget it. I wouldn’t even waste my time on an old bag like you.” He whirled around and glared at Susie. “But you—you just wait. When I get through with you, you’ll follow me around begging me for more. Ha-ha-ha-ha-heeeeeeeee!” The laugh sounded almost like a high-pitched howl.
As the sound trailed away, the room was filled with an overpowering stench.
7
Where Mike sat, there was a big, fuzzy thing with enormous pincers only a foot from his left elbow. Professor Brian Warner’s small office in the UNM biology department was filled with glass display cases containing hundreds of insects. There were big bugs, little bugs, and some that were so grotesque they could easily be the stuff of nightmares. Somewhere in the depths of Mike’s brain, something was telling him to keep an eye on those glass cases—to make sure nothing inside moved.
The professor, a short, bald man with a bushy moustache, sat behind his desk, rubbing his fingers across the claw marks on the board Mike had brought him. “I’ve never seen anything like it,” he said, looking up at Mike. “I don’t know of any animal that could do this.”
“Something did it.”
“Okay, look.” The zoologist pointed to the claw marks, and Mike stood up and leaned over the desk. “It was something big and powerful. It would take a large nail to cut gashes this wide. Also, it would take something very powerful to gouge the wood this deeply. Now, look how close together the marks are. There’s simply no animal big enough to do this which has paws that narrow.” He placed a ruler across the gashes. “Look. Not even three inches.”
“Move that ruler a second.” Mike laid his hand on the board. “The marks just about match my fingertips. Could it be a hoax? Somebody wearing claws on the ends of his fingers or something like that?”
The professor wrinkled his brow and thought for a moment. “No, a man’s fingers aren’t strong enough. Even if his hand were braced somehow, a man just isn’t that powerful.”
“If it’s not an animal and it’s not a man, what’s left?”
The zoologist shook his head. “I don’t know. Have you checked to see if any rare animals have escaped from a circus or a zoo?”
“Yes. There’s no reports of anything like that.”
The professor rubbed his fingers across the claw marks again. “Can I keep this for a while? I can show it to some of my colleagues. Maybe one of them will have an idea.”
Mike nodded. “Sure. I just left a whole box full of boards like that off at the lab, and I’ve got more at the office. I’ve got plenty of samples.”
8
“Police, Gabaldon.”
“Hi, Erminio. This is Dr. Romero. Is Mike there?”
“No, he’s in Albuquerque.”
“Oh. Well, I’ve got the preliminaries on those autopsies. You want to take it?”
“Yeah, what you got?”
“Well, the baby died from loss of blood because of its cut throat. The man died from a broken neck.”
“What about the claw marks?”
“Some of them were pretty deep, but none of them should have killed him. I’ll send over a written report in a day or two.”
“I meant—did you find out anything about the claw marks?”
“Sorry, I’ve got no idea what got a hold of him.”
9
The young man looked at him with sad eyes. It was an odd kind of look. It seemed to connote total despair, the end of the line. But Warren Armstrong was not going to let himself be tripped up by human emotions. No, sir. Not him. The loan officer of the Rancho Lucero State Bank had to consider what was best for the bank. That was how one succeeded in the banking business well, one of the ways.
At twenty-eight, Warren Armstrong sat behind the desk in his own office. He got there by saying the right things to the right people, although wearing expensive suits from an exclusive men’s shop in Albuquerque had not hurt. Nor had the fact he was fit, trim, had a healthy head of blond hair, and had encouraged the bank president’s ugly daughter to fall in love with him. He was a young man on the way up—a total contrast to the person sitting across the desk from him. The man was about his age, but he wore soiled work clothes and had dirt under his nails. He was nervous, uncertain, the way members of the lower class always acted when they were forced to deal with people like Warren Armstrong—people who had their own offices, who said “yes” or “no” to their loan applications. People of power.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Rodriguez. But it wouldn’t be sound banking practice to lend you money for a business which is so close to failure.”
“Look, Mr. Armstrong. This plumbing business has been in my family for fifty years. It’s solid. It’s just that my father was sick while I was away in the service. He couldn’t handle everything. But I can get the customers back. The business can go. You’ll see.”
“I’m sure it will. But you’ll have to get the money somewhere else. I’m afraid I simply can’t justify such a loan.”
“Sure, sure. If I was a big-time lawyer, you’d lend me the money right away. But I’m a poor working man trying to save his business, and that’s a risk. You can’t take risks, right?”
“In your case, I’m afraid not, Mr. Rodriguez. If there’s nothing more—”
“I only hope and pray that someday you are in a situation where you need someone to take a chance on you. I hope you are as desperate as I am. And I hope you learn. Good-bye, Mr. Armstrong.”
Rodriguez’s words seemed to offend some newly-acquired part of Warren Armstrong—something he only vaguely remembered saying “yes” to, something that had become an integral part of his being.
He screamed: “Don’t display that high-handed attitude around me, you dumb fucking Mexican! The reason the business went broke is because your father is a useless drunk! Now get the fuck out of here before I have you arrested for impersonating a human being!”
Rodriguez gaped in disbelief. Armstrong had slowly floated up from his chair and was hovering—still in the sitting position—about a foot above his desk.
10
“Good afternoon. Church of the Four Elements.”
“Uh, Father Roger?”
“Yes.”
“This is Mike Ryan. I was wondering if you could stop by the station sometime at your convenience. I’ve got some stuff here I want you to take a look at.”
“I’ve been wanting to talk to you, too. But could you possibly come out here? I’ve found it’s best if I keep a low profile, and I try to stay out of town as much as possible.”
“I just unloaded all this stuff. I’ve got boxes and boxes of it. It would be a lot more convenient if you came here.”
“What is it you want me to look at? Does it have to do with the baby and Wade Spencer?”
“It’s connected with that, yes.”
“Very well. Uh, I’ll stop by tomorrow afternoon. I can’t leave now. I’ve got to get ready for tonight—Friday is one of our big nights here.”
“All right. I’ll look for you tomorrow afternoon, then. Thanks for helping me out.”
“Oh, sure. Anytime.”
Mike no sooner hung up the phone than it rang. “Police, Ryan.”
“Hi, Mike. How’s the cop business?”
“Hi, Jill. How’s the secretary business?”
“That’s what I called about. I’m going to have to work late tonight. I probably won’t get home until after midnight.”
“What’s up? Hasn’t your boss got any respect for Friday nights?”
“Mr. Abernathy’s going out of town. He’s leaving Sunday evening, and he wants a whole pile of stuff typed to take with him. If I don’t stay and do it tonight, I’ll have to come back tomorrow. I’d rather get it over with.”
“Okay. I guess I’ll just sack out here tonight. Do you want me to check on Pita?”
“I think she’ll be okay. She’s got plenty of food and water. If it rains again, she’s got her doghouse.”
“Okay. I’ll see you sometime tomorrow.”
“Bye-bye.”
“Bye.”
11
It was almost midnight when the Rancho Lucero town limit sign popped up in the beam of Jill’s headlights. Then she whizzed by a whole series of signs telling prospective home buyers how to get to any one of three major subdivisions and how great living in each would be. She was almost home.
She took a deep breath of the crisp, cool night air. It seemed to have an unusually sweet fragrance to it, and she felt a tingle run through her body. The scent seemed to be teasing her, beckoning her, daring her. Suddenly, she felt cut off from nature, squeezed by society into a superficial mold which was a false denial of her real self. The aroma seemed to be telling her it was the odor of the earth itself, the perfume of all that was natural. It was her way to escape the false constraints of society. All she had to do was accept it.
