Diana Rowland - Blood of the Demon

It took me a few seconds of puzzled staring to figure out what had happened. I finally decided that Councilman Sharp had either slipped and hit his head or passed out in the shower, managing to fall so that he was facedown, wedged into the corner, with his chin nearly touching his chest and his ass sticking nearly straight up in the air. I’d seen a couple of cases of positional asphyxiation before, and this one pretty much fit the bill.

But I saw those details only peripherally. My gut dropped and a chill swept through me as I felt the discordant wrongness. I shifted quickly into othersight to verify, seeing the tattered remnants of essence clinging to the body. Another one , I thought in numb horror. What the hell could be doing this? I knew that it couldn’t be my ilius , since it wasn’t possible for a demon to stay in this sphere without some sort of binding. But whatever it was, it wasn’t an isolated event anymore.

Could it possibly be another summoner? But summoners were rare, and the chances of another one being in this area and summoning a demon that could eat essence seemed too high to even comprehend.

So was it something else entirely? Frustration gnawed at me, briefly chasing away the horror. There was far too much that I didn’t know.

And whatever it is, what if there’s more than one?

I mentally shied away from thinking about how disastrous that could be and forced myself to concentrate on the mundane aspects of the investigation. I stepped back and pulled my notebook out so that I could jot down the notes I needed to make about the scene. The bathroom and bedroom were neat and tidy, and when I opened a closet I saw orderly rows of shirts and slacks, with shoes lined up precisely along the floor. A second closet was empty save for a few wooden hangers—the kind I told myself I would someday buy to replace the cheap metal ones I got for free from the cleaners. I went back into the bathroom and peered through drawers, finding nothing unusual except for the lack of anything feminine.

His wife went to their condo in Mandeville? I mused. Apparently it wasn’t just a weekend getaway . That was an interesting—and important—detail. I gave the bedroom area one final scan, then went down the hall to a smaller bedroom to speak to the maid.

She was shaken but coherent. I asked her a few quick identification questions, ignoring my near certainty that she was an illegal immigrant and instead being grateful that she spoke damn good English. Auri had worked for the Sharps for the past two years—coming in to cook and clean on Mondays, Thursdays, and Saturdays. Except that this week she’d come Friday as well, at Davis Sharp’s request. She seemed terribly nervous, which I wrote off as concern that I would make an issue of her status, but when I gave her my standard “I’m far more interested in working this case than dealing with immigration issues” speech, she surprised me by shaking her head firmly.

“No. I no worry about that. It Mr. Sharp,” she said, gesturing with a fluttering hand toward the bedroom. “He bad upset yesterday.”

“Because of his wife?”

“ Sí . Miss Elena go Thursday morning and take all her things. But that not all.”

“What else was there?”

“Another lady come over Thursday after Miss Elena go. I hear her talk to Mr. Sharp, then they go upstairs.” She pursed her lips in clear disapproval. “A few minute later he come down and tell me I can go, ask me to come back Friday because Miss Elena not coming back and he need laundry and cooking.”

I blinked. “Hold on. Have you ever seen this woman here before?”

She shook her head slowly. “No … I no think so. I come most time in morning and see Miss Elena go out for walks with ladies from neighborhood, but I no think this lady one of those. But yesterday I come here again. I clean house and cook dinner like Mr. Sharp want, but he no look happy. He stay upstairs most of day. This other lady come and let herself in back door, then she go upstairs like she live here.” Auri scowled and shook her head. “Mr. Sharp, he lean out bedroom door and shout down to me, tell me I can go early.” She spread her hands and shrugged. “I leave dinner in fridge and go.” Her lower lip trembled. “I come today, I see dinner still in fridge. Then I go to bedroom to pick up laundry. I hear water, so I think he in shower. I clean, start laundry, and water still running. It been almost hour, so I call for him, then I look … I think he hurt real bad. I see him in shower, on floor, and he no breathing.” Tears welled up in her eyes. “I turn off water and call police.”

I pressed her for any further details or a description of the woman, but Auri apparently had caught only a fleeting glimpse of the woman as she went upstairs. Light hair, slender figure, dressed in what looked like expensive clothes. And that describes half the female population of this subdivision , I thought in mild annoyance. I finally got as much contact information as I could from her and let her leave.

So, was Sharp getting some action on the side? If so, how long had it been going on? And was that why his wife left? And had this other woman come back later?

I returned to the bathroom, drawn back to the body despite the wrongness of it. I had to clench my hands to keep them from shaking. Could it just be me? Is it my judgment that’s out of whack?

I let out an unsteady breath as I took a mental step back, looking around the bathroom and the adjoining bedroom for any similarity at all to Brian Roth’s death. But nothing leaped out at me. Different neighborhoods, different class of victim.

Maybe a similar cause of death? Brian’s was an apparent suicide, but there were still a lot of questions, and until we found Carol we wouldn’t know anything for certain. And, on the surface, the Davis Sharp case looked as if it was going to be a garden-variety accident or possibly a heart attack, but the fact that his wife had apparently left him certainly added a twist. I had to keep in mind the possibility that this was a murder staged to look like an accident. I’d check with Jill later to see if Crime Scene found anything suspicious, and I’d also check the maid out as much as I could.

I heard Crawford come up behind me, making a noise in the back of his throat at the sight of Sharp’s still-damp rear end.

“Nice view. Got anything yet, Kara?” he asked as he took in the scene.

“Just some basics so far.” I gave him a quick rundown, then closed my notebook, my gaze inexorably drawn back to the body. The emptiness seemed to mock me, and now I couldn’t help but wonder if maybe I was seeing wrongness in something that wasn’t wrong. Maybe something had changed in the way essence was released after death? Changed in the universe in general? Maybe this was happening to all bodies, not just the ones I’d seen yesterday and today. I hadn’t been on any death calls—natural or homicide—since my own “death.” Maybe crossing through the spheres had changed something in my perception?

No, that didn’t make any sense. The essence had obviously been ripped away as soon as death had loosened its grip. I could see the trailing threads, and I couldn’t imagine any possible way for that to occur naturally.

“Kara?” Crawford’s voice jerked me out of my thoughts. “Are you with me?” he said, a mixture of annoyance and worry in his voice.

I flushed and gave a sharp nod. “Yeah, Sarge. Sorry. Well, this looks like an accident, but his wife left him, and he might have been getting some action on the side, so it’s possible that there was something hinky going on. I’ll check the wife’s alibi and see if I can find out who this other woman was.”