“The snake?” He stared at her. “Totally bizarre.”
“Particularly if he spread the oil on the snake with his own hands. That would really be weird.” She made an impatient gesture. “Go check out those tire tracks. You can’t help me with this. I’ll be with you as soon as I’m through here.”
Newell looked up at him. “I think he was driving a truck. There are two treads, close together.”
“Which won’t do us much good.” Joe was tensing with frustration. Time was passing, and they were running into blank walls. “We don’t have time to run those tire prints and identify the usual trucks who use them.”
“I’m done.” Kendra was beside them. She examined the tire tracks. “Not much help here, is there? Not on an immediate basis.” She went a little farther down the curb. “But here’s a footprint…” She knelt and shined her beam. “Men’s size eleven or twelve, fairly common hiking boot…”
Sirens in the distance.
She lifted her head. “There’s the police you called, Joe.”
“Then let’s get out of here.” Joe turned and strode back toward the beach cottage. “I did my duty by calling them. But I can’t be stuck here answering questions and filling out reports. You think you can find the source of that voodoo oil? Let’s do it. Hurry.”
Kendra almost ran to keep up with him. “I am hurrying. I know that you— Who is that?” She had stopped in the street and was staring at the driveway of the Malibu cottage.
A woman was kneeling on the driveway beside Rick Avery, cradling him in her arms and rocking back in forth in an agony of sorrow.
Joe muttered a curse. “Nelda Avery.” He was striding up the driveway. “We may have just gotten lucky.” He stopped before Nelda. “Where is Drogan?”
She didn’t seem to hear the question. “My son is dead.” Tears were running down her cheeks. “My Rick is dead.”
“And Beth and Eve may end up that way before the night is over if I don’t get Drogan. I don’t give a damn about your son. Tell me where I can find Drogan.”
“It wasn’t supposed to be this way.” She was gently stroking the hair back from her son’s forehead. “I told him to be careful, not to hurt my Rick. He didn’t listen. Now look at him…” She was sobbing. “I made Rick promise to call me right after he talked to Beth, and he didn’t do it. Rick always kept his promises to me. I called him, and he didn’t answer. I had a terrible feeling…”
“Where is Drogan?”
She was rocking Rick back and forth again. “Go away.”
Joe bent toward her and his voice was low and fierce. “Listen to me. You tell me where he is. Quick. I’m not having those police decide you’re some pitiful victim and taking you away. I don’t care if you’re the mother of this poor, half-witted bastard. You’re responsible for getting Eve here. Now tell me where Drogan took her. Or, by God, I’ll break your neck.”
Kendra took a step forward. “Joe.”
He ignored her. “Where? Stop protecting him.”
“Protecting him?” Nelda looked up at him, her face ravaged by pain. “Do you think I’d protect Drogan? He killed my son. He’s ruined my life. I want him dead.”
“Where is he? I’ll be glad to oblige.”
“I don’t know. He didn’t trust me. I’ve always contacted him by phone, and he was always telling me that he’d do things his way.” She looked down at her son. “This is his way,” she said bitterly. “Go find him. Go kill him. I’d like to do it myself.”
“There must be something you can—”
“I tell you that I don’t know where that bastard is,” she said hoarsely. “Now go away and leave me with my son.”
“She doesn’t know, Joe,” Kendra said. “Can’t you see? She’s telling the truth.”
Joe gazed at Nelda for an instant longer, then whirled on his heel and stalked down the driveway toward his car. Newell straightened from where he was leaning on the front bumper. “I know how you feel, Quinn,” he said quietly. “I’m not sure I wouldn’t have broken her neck anyway. Drogan was the weapon, but she was the one who wielded it.” He got into the backseat of the car. “So we struck out, Kendra. Can you pull any rabbits out of your hat?”
“How the hell do I know?” She got into the front passenger seat and took out her phone. “Get us away from this subdivision before the police get here, Joe. Those sirens sound pretty close. I’ll see what I can find out about that voodoo oil.”
“How?” Joe asked as he pulled away from the curb. “We don’t have time for you to—” His phone rang. His heart leaped as he saw Eve’s ID. His finger jammed the access button. “Eve? For God’s sake, where are you?”
“With me. Drogan. I couldn’t resist talking to you. I hoped to have you present when I got rid of your woman, but that might not be wise. So I thought that I’d let your imagination help me.”
“If you touch her or Beth, I’ll butcher you the way you deserve, you son of a bitch.”
Drogan chuckled. “No, I’m on top now. All you have are empty words. You won our first encounter, but I’ll win the last. I’ll get you eventually, but now I have Eve Duncan. Do you know what I’m going to do with her?”
“I’m sure you’re going to tell me,” Joe said hoarsely.
“I’ve decided she deserves a ceremonial end. You’re a good cop, aren’t you, Joe Quinn? I’m sure you were able to research my somewhat colorful background. Your Eve reminds me of my mother.” He added softly, “Do you know what I did to my mother?” He hung up.
Joe’s right fist crashed down on the steering wheel. “Bastard. Bastard.”
“Joe?” Kendra tentatively touched his shoulder.
He drew a harsh breath. “Well I definitely know what he’s planning for that snake.” He turned to her. “And I won’t let him do it. We’re going to find him. Help me, dammit. He may toy with her for a while, but he’s—”
“I’ll try. Calm down. I’ll make a phone call,” she interrupted as she dialed. “Dave Kramer. He’s an old friend who owns a head shop in San Ysidro. He also sells a lot of this Goth and occult stuff. He might be able to give me a lead on Drogan’s source.”
“Who may have a delivery address?” Newell asked.
She shrugged. “We just have to follow the dots.” She put the phone on speaker as the call was accessed, “Dave, Kendra Michaels. I need—”
“Do you know what time it is?”
“Did I wake you?”
“No, but you interrupted me.” He added sourly, “Never mind. What do you want?”
“Voodoo oil. I need the name and address of a holy man who sells black arts oil in California.”
Kramer made a disgusted sound. “Kendra, don’t tell me you believe in that crap. The only reason I carry this stuff is that—”
“I don’t want to buy it. There’s a certain oil I need to trace back to the maker. Can you help?”
“I can name four people right off the top of my head. Some of those college kids in Burbank have been fooling around with the cult since there have been all those movies and zombie shows.”
“This isn’t a college kid. He’s the real thing and very nasty. I have to find him fast, Dave.”
He was silent. “Okay. Bring it in, and I’m pretty sure we can—”
“No time for that. I’m in Malibu. But I think I can tell you most of the ingredients.”
“Why make it easy for me, huh?”
“I identified several of them. Probably not all.” She began to reel off the scents she’d detected in the car.
Joe shook his head. Kendra always amazed him—a few minutes of concentration, and she had been able to separate and identify at least ten elements.
“Wait a minute.” Dave stopped her. “Cola?”
“That’s what it smelled like. Am I wrong?”
“Yeah, that’s cinnamon bark you’re smelling. Give me a minute to look through my catalog.” He came back on the line. “There’s only one person in the area who deals with a black oil made with cinnamon bark. It’s Nancy Geronimo and the cinnamon bark is kind of her trademark. She’s an elderly Native American woman, and she claims that the cinnamon bark soothes sacrificial animals used in the rituals.”
“Snakes?”
“I never heard of its being used on snakes. I guess it’s possible. But they’re not usually one of the sacrifices. They tend to embody a god or something.”