In Search of the Dove (12 page)

Devine peered at his in box. On top of the office football pool folder was the list he’d been waiting for. It was an inventory of what had been found in the Bay Street house besides Joe Valenchi’s corpse. Devine scanned the single-space entries and scowled. The sheet didn’t contain much, considering he’d had his men go over the place with a fine-tooth comb. A check of city records had determined that the building’s owner lived out of state and that the property had not been rented in over a year. Lonnie must have simply broken in and taken over the location as a site for business appointments.

When he’d come back after Michael Rome left, Lonnie had apparently removed whatever dope he had on hand. He’d forgotten the plastic hypodermic that had been kicked under the sofa during the scuffle in the living room. But it had been empty.

There wasn’t much else of interest there. The search team had found little more than the remains of several carry-out meals, a rusty key, a couple of match books, some cigarette stubs, and a half-dozen porno magazines.

But there was one other item that Devine didn’t know what to make of. After opening his desk drawer, he removed an envelope and turned it upside down. Onto the center of his blotter fell what looked like a blob of hardened tree gum studded with red-and-green chicken feathers and what he’d swear were a pair of black cat whiskers. It had been found tacked to the molding over the front door. Devine didn’t know what the thing was, and he knew he was going to feel damned ridiculous mentioning it to Michael Rome. But the DEA agent had wanted a full report on whatever he found in that house, and he was going to get it.

Chapter Eight

M
ichael had just put the letters and directory entry back in the plastic bag when the phone rang. “It might be for me,” he informed Jessica. “I’m expecting some information from the local police, and I gave them your number.”

Crossing to the kitchen, she picked up the receiver. In a moment she turned back toward Michael. “You’re right—it’s a Lieutenant Devine.”

She busied herself putting away some dishes while he took the call. After a few moments he turned his back to her and hunched his shoulders slightly. The move effectively ensured his privacy. Nor was there much dialogue on his part beyond an occasional “uh-huh.” There was no way to tell whether he was receiving good or bad news.

“Is that it?” he finally asked. When he turned back to Jessica, there was a thoughtful look on his angular features.

“I take it there’s no big break in the case,” she observed.

“You’ve got it.” He paused, his eyes narrowing. “However, they did find one interesting thing. Would you be willing to come down to the stationhouse and, uh, see if you can tell what the hell it is?”

Jessica carefully set two soup bowls in the cabinet above the stove before answering. “I haven’t been in a police station for twelve years. I don’t know if I can handle it.”

He studied her suddenly sober features. “I know how rough that was on you.”

“No, you don’t!” An hour ago he’d pushed her to the limit with his probing questions about that old trauma. Was this some new attempt to manipulate her?

He saw the mistrust in her eyes. “All right, maybe I don’t know. But believe me, this isn’t the same thing at all. We don’t have to tell anybody about your psychic ability. You’re not going to be exhibit A. You’re just going to be coming along as my associate.”

She suspected Michael Rome was a man who didn’t ordinarily make concessions in his work. Yet as she considered his proposal, another equally troubling thought crossed her mind. “Are they going to question me about Lonnie?” she asked in a low voice. She didn’t want to think about that again, much less bare the disturbing particulars to strangers.

He shook his head. “Jessica, you called me a policeman, but that’s not really accurate. I’m a special agent, and though I cooperate with the local authorities when it’s convenient, I don’t have to abide by their procedures. I gave them a very brief account of what happened with Lonnie—leaving out your name and most of the details after I took you home.”

“You did that for me?”

“Yes.”

She forced herself to meet his gaze. “And this other thing is important to you?”

“I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t important.”

“Then I’ll help you if I can.”

“Thank you.”

A wry smile flickered at the corners of her lips. “Well, if I’m going to be your associate, maybe I’d better change my clothes.”

He eyed her Indian cotton shift and rope sandals. In the casual outfit with her mop of curly hair and pixie face, she looked like a kid. Devine was going to wonder if the DEA was raiding the junior high schools for agents.

“I’ll only be a few minutes,” she assured him.

Michael stifled the impulse to ask her to hurry. Instead he pulled a biography of Louis Armstrong from the bookcase and settled back into the easy chair in the living room. He knew very few women who could dress for a business appointment quickly.

To his surprise, however, Jessica was true to her word. Less than fifteen minutes later she emerged from the bedroom wearing a lightweight camel suit and a bittersweet crepe de chine blouse. High-heel pumps, beige stockings, and understated gold earrings completed the outfit.

Michael, who was a master at changing his own appearance, stared in amazement at the transformation. Even her bouncy curls were under control, and the subtle makeup she’d applied did wonders for her large hazel eyes.

She acknowledged his approving gaze with a slight nod of her head. “This is my buying-trip-to-New York outfit. Too bad I left my briefcase back in Annapolis.”

“Oh, I think you’ll do very nicely even without it,” he assured her. He was so focused on this assignment that he’d almost forgotten that he’d met Jessica out of her own environment. It suddenly struck him that he had no idea what her real life was like.

On the drive down to the precinct station, he used his conversational skills to draw her out about her jewelry business. The gambit was partly to keep her mind off the upcoming appointment and partly to satisfy his own growing interest in a woman he found very appealing. But despite the conversation, he sensed her level of apprehension increasing as they pulled up in front of the drab stone building that housed the district station.

Michael helped her out of the car and then kept a steadying hold on her arm as they left the parking lot. “It’s not going to take too long,” he said as he escorted her up the high stone steps.

She gave him a thin smile. “I’ll be okay.” But her face, which had been animated only a few moments before, had become set in grim lines.

Lieutenant Devine was waiting in a cluttered little office near the end of the second-floor hall. He was a chunky man, Jessica observed, with an overhanging belly that hid the buckle of his pants.

“This is my associate, Miss Duval,” Michael introduced her.

“Glad to meet you. Have a seat.” The lieutenant gestured toward two metal armchairs.

To Jessica’s relief, Michael had been playing straight this time. The busy detective seemed unaware of her involvement in the Bay Street incident and wasn’t particularly interested in why Michael had brought her into the case.

“As I told Rome,” he explained, “the lab couldn’t do much with what we were able to scrounge up at the murder site. But we did find this rather nasty little artifact.” Reaching into his desk, he pulled out the white legal-size envelope and dumped the contents onto the desk blotter.

Jessica stared intently at the pecan-size blob of resin with its attached feathers and whiskers. It smelled faintly of pine and decaying organic matter. She hadn’t seen anything like this since the summer she and Simone had been fooling around with voodoo. They’d made some concoctions of their own. But her friend had wanted something authentic and had gone down to the old crone who lived in a shack at the edge of the swamp. She’d come back with a charm guaranteed to make them both irresistible to boys. It had smelled so offensive they’d had to throw it away.

“Do you happen to know what it is?” Michael questioned.

“A voodoo charm.”

Michael’s brow wrinkled. “A voodoo charm? What’s it supposed to do?”

Jessica eyed the artifact with distaste. “I don’t know. But I don’t like the way it looks.”

“Do you think—” Michael started to ask and then glanced at Devine. “We don’t want to use up any more of your time. Would you mind if we took this into one of the interrogation rooms so Miss Duval could have a closer look?”

The detective shrugged. “There’s an empty office right across the hall. Will that do?”

“Fine.”

Michael slid the talisman back into the envelope and led her across the hall.

Jessica waited until he’d closed the door. “I suppose you want to see if my special talents can tell me anything about the charm,” she observed.

“It can’t hurt. Maybe if you hold it, you’ll be able to tell me who made it, the way you got a picture of Harley’s Pub from the napkin.”

She stared up at him, wondering if she caught a note of sarcasm in his voice. “Is this an admission that you’ve become a believer?”

“I told you. I’m open to any possibility that can give me another lead.” His tone implied that he wasn’t expecting much so he wasn’t going to be disappointed if nothing happened.

Sitting down again, Jessica looked at the long white envelope. Her hand reached out toward it and then stopped as if there were some sort of invisible force field sealing it off. She could almost feel the resistance against her fingertips. The napkin from Harley’s was one thing. This was quite another. Touching it meant getting deeper into the kind of experiences she’d been avoiding for so long—the experiences Michael had forced her to relive.

“What are you waiting for?” he prompted.

She looked into his challenging gray eyes. He thought she wasn’t up to this or that she couldn’t tell him anything. With a grimace she plunged her hand into the envelope. It felt as if she’d punched through a window, a thousand shards of glass digging into her skin. She tried to scream but the sound never passed her lips. Only the instant dilation of her eyes gave any indication of her terror. She tried to counter the spell with all her strength, but her hand was pulled toward the charm with a force she couldn’t control. As soon as her fingers closed around the feathers, another pain—this time white hot—seared her skin and shot up her arm to her shoulder. She gasped and was finally able to jerk her hand away.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s evil,” she whispered.

“How? What do you mean?”

She shook her head, still trembling from the shock. “I had the strong impression that I shouldn’t touch it. As soon as I did, I felt as if I’d been branded.”

“That’s crazy.” Michael reached for the envelope.

“Michael, don’t!”

He ignored the warning and pulled out the charm, holding it in his open palm. “See, it’s not doing a damned thing to me.”

Silently she turned her own hand over. Where her fingers had come into contact with the feathers, angry red blisters had formed.

He stared down at the injury, hardly able to believe the evidence of his own eyes. “How the hell did that happen?”

“I tried to tell you. It burned me.” Her voice was thready.

Gingerly he set the artifact down on the desk blotter. His gaze flicked from it to the welts on Jessica’s fingers and back again, as if they were the paraphernalia of a magician’s trick. What had just happened was totally outside his area of experience. His own skin was unaffected, yet he had seen how Jessica’s flesh had been damaged by a much more tentative contact. Had her own fear conjured up the affliction? Or did the injury come from some necromancer’s power within the charm? He couldn’t say, but he did know he had pushed her into touching it, and he could see that both the pain and the welts were very real.

“Cold water is the best first aid for a burn,” he said, helping her up and leading her out into the hall. At the end of the corridor was a water fountain. Michael stepped on the pedal and thrust Jessica’s hand under the cold flow, his strong fingers gentle but firm as they cradled hers.

The icy water was numbing to his own flesh, but he didn’t let go of her. They both watched as the swelling subsided slightly and became less vivid in color.

“Better?”

“Some.”

He was still holding her hand. Unbidden, a memory of their steamy night together flashed into his mind once more.
Michael, why don’t you want to make love to me?
He remembered the passion in her hazel eyes and his own weakness in not being able to resist what she had offered him. His gaze collided with hers and held. He didn’t need to be a psychic to know that her mind was on the same dangerous wavelength.

A passing patrolman gave them a curious stare, making them both vividly aware that they were standing in the middle of a public hallway. Michael dropped her hand.

“I’m sorry.” It could have been an apology for precipitating her injury. She knew it was more.

Perhaps it was better to bring it right out into the open and dismiss it. “I can pretend that night never happened, if you can,” she said, knowing it was a lie.

“Under the circumstances, that’s probably best.” He cleared his throat. “Let’s go back to that empty office.”

“All right.”

After closing the door, he waited until she had resumed her seat, giving them both time to get the focus of the discussion back onto the charm. “Has anything like that ever happened to you?” he asked, gesturing toward her hand.

“No.” She paused, wondering how he would react to any attempted explanation on her part. “It probably doesn’t make sense to you, but when I touched that thing, along with the pain, I had an overwhelming impression of malevolence.”

He nodded thoughtfully, his gaze shifting to the bizarre-looking talisman. As far as he could tell, it was simply a collection of junk that could have been stuck together by a preschooler in arts and crafts class. What could have infused it with the power to scorch a woman’s skin?

He looked up to see that she was trying to read his face. “Jessica, despite what you may think, sometimes I do play hunches. Let’s just say that in this case, your intuition is operating on a lot stronger level than mine.”