Allison Brennan - Carnal Sin

“I don’t have time! I have her address.”

“Hold it, Moira! How do you know who killed Craig Monroe?”

“I saw it. I can’t explain how, but you have to trust me, Skye.”

This situation was getting out of control. Skye wished she didn’t have to leave right now. But honestly, how could she stop it? She had to focus on what she did best: being a cop. She could protect Lily. She couldn’t battle demons.

Skye said, “Moira, put a lid on it with Nelson. He’s a good cop, but this case is getting to him.”

“I’ll be good.”

“Check in with me. Often.”

“Roger that, Sheriff,” Moira said lightly and hung up.

Skye pocketed her phone and waited for Rod Fielding. She hoped she’d made the right decision to go back to Santa Louisa.

She had a sick feeling she was leaving Moira and Rafe to the lions.

With the streetlight above illuminating him, Jeff Johnston sat on his motorcycle across from Nadine Anson’s pricey condo only a mile from Velocity. Grant pulled up behind Johnston. Before Grant had even turned off the engine, his partner had hopped off his bike and handed him the report.

“Thanks,” Grant mumbled through his headache. The sun had set well over an hour ago. Grant despised winter; the weather in L.A. was good, but he hated early darkness.

He read the summary, then looked at the computer printout that matched the prints-good enough for court. The prints at Erickson’s also matched a partial from the dumpster next to where Craig Monroe’s body was found-not admissible in court because they only had a small fraction of a print.

If Nadine Anson had been involved in the orgy with Erickson’s wife as the photo that Nina Hardwick gave him suggested, she could argue that her prints were in the bedroom because she and Pam Erickson were lovers.

It was enough to bring Mrs. Erickson and Ms. Anson in for questioning, but hardly enough to get the D.A. to even glance at the case.

Grant sighed heavily. “We don’t have any evidence that George Erickson was murdered. The coroner is ruling cardiac arrest pending full drug panel.”

“We can nail Anson for not reporting Erickson’s death. If she could have saved him and didn’t, we can get her for manslaughter. If he was dead, we could get her for not reporting the death.”

“She’d plead out, get probation and time served, and the D.A. would jump at it because it wasn’t premeditated. We’d be lucky to get a nickel, and she’d make too good a witness. Can’t you see the defense dragging in all the sex pictures? Complete circus. She turns on the waterworks, apologizes, gets acquitted. The media would eat it up. The D.A. would never go all the way on this unless Nadine Anson or Pam Erickson planned to kill him. We need to keep looking at the wife. Maybe Nina Hardwick was right and Mrs. Erickson was jealous, spiked his vitamins, slowly poisoned him with arsenic, anything. Or blackmailed Nadine to do it. Paid her. We can get her financials Monday morning, see what comes out.”

“You’re stretching, Nelson.”

Johnston was right, but Grant was at his wits’ end and his pounding head made it worse. “I don’t know what to make of this case. Cults, witches, orgies.” He opened his door. “Let’s go up and talk to Anson. You’re sure she isn’t working today?”

“Got the Velocity schedule from Julie; she’s off.”

Grant looked at his phone. “Great, Sheriff McPherson just sent me a message.” He read, “‘Moira O’Donnell is on her way to meet you at the suspect’s apartment. I’m on my way back to Santa Louisa, call if you need anything.’”

He glanced at Johnston. “I never told her where I was going.”

“How’d she know?”

“Maybe that friend of hers is more involved in cults than the sheriff said. Maybe she knows exactly what’s going on. I should take her into custody as a material witness.”

“So-what, we’re gonna wait for her?”

“Hell no, I’m not running this investigation on the whims of a small-town cop. I still can’t buy that this is some broom-toting female cult killing men. Why? There has to be a reason. I can almost buy into Nina’s statement that the swinger lifestyle only went one way. I’ve met crazier women than Pam Erickson in my life. Georgie-boy strays, wife kills him. But why would Nadine Anson help her? And leave her prints all over the place?”

“And what about the marks on the bodies? That’s damn creepy. That also ties into Craig Monroe and Galion.”

Jeff had a point. “We’ve got a lot of work to do.”

“We’re working this weekend, huh?”

“If we don’t, that damn sheriff and her cute little sidekick will be mucking up my investigation. And who do I call to get her off my back? The district attorney in Santa Louisa? A small county like that is going to be tight; he’s not going to call her off.”

Grant crossed the quiet side street, Johnston at his side. “Let’s play it nice with Anson, make her comfortable. See how much we can get out of her before we push.”

They identified themselves to the condo manager and were let into the lobby. After knocking on her door, it was clear that Nadine wasn’t home. Her neighbor across the hall was leaving as they stood waiting.

“Nadine isn’t here,” he said.

Grant flashed his badge. “Do you know when she usually comes in?”

“She has Thursdays and Fridays off, but I haven’t seen her in a week.”

Grant asked, “Does she have a boyfriend or family in the area?”

“She’s from the Midwest; I don’t know much about her family. But her boyfriend is a stockbroker who lives in Los Feliz.”

“Do you have his name and contact information?”

The guy seemed put out, but shrugged. He unlocked his door. “Is it important?”

“Yes. She’s a material witness in an ongoing investigation,” Jeff said.

“Just a minute.”

He went inside and less than a minute later emerged with a name and phone number scrawled on a sticky note.

Marcus Galion, 818-555-4579 .

“Galion?”

“Yeah. Kent Galion’s little brother. You heard that Kent died last week? Maybe Nadine went to stay with Marcus for a while, to cheer him up. Hell, Nadine could cheer me up any night she wanted.”

Grant and Jeff took the stairs down to the courtyard. “Where to now?” Jeff asked, glancing at his watch.

“Go home, but put in a call to Marcus Galion and ask him about Nadine Anson. I’ll go to Velocity and talk to Julie about her. There’s something here, I feel it.”

“That’s it.” Moira directed Rafe toward the condo where Nadine Anson lived. “Close to Velocity.”

Rafe parked across the street. “Are you sure you want to do this? That detective is never going to listen to what we have to say.”

“Skye was a genius with the cult story; we’ll run with that. And demons are kind of like supernatural drugs. Sort of.”

Rafe grinned while shaking his head at her. “Just watch the sarcasm, like Skye said. Nelson is a hothead and frustrated. Oh shit-”

Moira followed Rafe’s eyes to where Grant Nelson and his partner were leaving the condo.

“We’re too late,” she said. “She’s probably not home. We should follow them.”

“You want me to follow a cop?”

“I’m good at tailing people. Want me to drive?”

“No.” He watched Nelson get into an unmarked sedan and drive away. He made an illegal U-turn down the street. Johnston jumped on a bike and did the same. “That makes us following two of them. Impossible if they split up.”

“My money’s on Nelson. He’s not going home. My guess? He’s going to try and track Nadine down at the club, or maybe a friend or boyfriend’s house.”