Smalls hadn’t slept. All he could do was pace around the classroom that had been made his temporary quarters. After he rushed to the police station downtown, the sergeant on duty told him that no one was there at that time of night that could help him, but he could check back in the daylight. The problem was it took daylight forever to get there, and worse, it was a Saturday morning. The detective he needed to speak to wouldn’t be there, but as soon at his watch told him it was 8 a.m., he lit out for the police station again.
It took him about half an hour to walk from St. Joan of Arc Church to the police station. Cold rain drizzled on his way there, which made him walk faster. When he stepped into the police station, the officer who had told him to come back in the morning was still on duty.
“Father,” he said. “I’m glad you came back.”
“I told you that I would. It’s imperative that I speak to Detective Cooper.”
“It’s imperative I speak to you.” Cooper came from behind a cubicle partition. “I called the number we had for you, and St. Mary’s-by-the-Bay.”
“What is it? Have you found Ashe or Cybil?”
“I don’t really want to talk about this in the open. Come to my office.”
Smalls followed Cooper into the bowels of the police station. Her office was unkempt with Styrofoam coffee cups sitting all over her desk. Papers of different sizes and colors spilled from piles. She sat behind her desk. The area in front of her was the only area devoid of clutter. Smalls sat across from her.
“I’m glad to see that you are well,” Cooper said.
“That’s surprising since the last time we saw each other I was sure you wanted me nailed to the wall by my scrotum.”
“I did, but that was before I found out you were innocent.”
“I’m glad to know that the police are impartial, but what about Ashe and Cybil?”
Cooper flipped open a tan manila folder that lay on a precarious pile of forms. She took out three pieces of paper and handed them to him. “I was hoping you could tell me. Those are pictures from a motel room up in Saraland. I left Dr. Shrove there yesterday evening with express instructions to stay put and only answer calls from me. When he didn’t answer his phone, I sent a patrol to check on him. That’s what they found.”
Smalls examined the pictures. They showed a motel room badly in need of updating. All the colors and fabrics looked like they had stepped out of a 1970s porno. The bed was made. One bedside lamp glowed from under the orange shade. It appeared no one had been in the room.
“I don’t see anything wrong. Am I overlooking something?” he asked.
“Yeah, Dr. Shrove. That room doesn’t look like anyone has been in it, although I dropped him off there myself.”
“He contacted me late last night and said that he’d been kidnapped. Probably by the same people that broke into his house and left me on Dauphin Island. He said that he was sure they had him in the warehouse that Detective Semmes checked out on Michigan Avenue that belonged to that parading society.”
Cooper shook her head. “I doubt that. After Semmes’ body was found, we sent some officers to that place. It was completely empty. Some Russian guy said he owned the place and was waiting for a supply of Eastern European goods to come in. He said he was opening an import business.”
“Are you sure they went to the right place? I’m sure that Ashe wasn’t lying.”
“What else did he say?”
“He wanted me to email him an incantation against demons.”
Cooper’s eyes widened, and it appeared she tried to hold back a laugh. “Demons?”
“You’ve taken over Semmes’ case about Ashe’s girlfriend walking out of the morgue over at University Hospital. Archbishop Harrington, he’s over the Archdioceses of Mobile, and I had been working under an assumption that her disappearance might be demonic in nature. One of the things I study is psychoreligious phenomena. I’m an expert in it.”
The detective reared back in her chair and rubbed her face. Before saying anything else, she took a few more pages from the manila folder and handed them to Smalls. He looked at the top one. A grainy black and white image showed a black car behind a white van. Three large men stood around the car. One appeared to be stomping the head of the car’s driver with his foot. He flipped to the next picture. Another of the men manhandled what looked like Harrington. The third picture was of the white van pulling away. Smalls set those photos on top of the ones from the motel room.
“What does that mean?” he asked.
“Archbishop Harrington has apparently been kidnapped. Those men indeed killed his driver, a Father Thomas, by smashing his head into the pavement. It happened late last night at the intersection of Ann and Government.”
“I had no idea.”
“We’re keeping it a secret, along with this.” She took some more pictures and handed them over.
These were of a morgue. The time and date were stamped on the corner. He thumbed through the pages. They acted almost like an old-fashioned flipbook as he watched the corpse on the table sit up and walk out. He also recognized two of the people in the photo. One was the assailant from Ashe’s house. The other was Erik Rogers.
“That’s Dr. Erik Rogers,” he said. “He’s a colleague of mine at Tech. One of the big men attacked Cybil and me at Ashe’s house yesterday.”
“That Dr. Rogers’ body type and style of clothing match the man on the surveillance video of the Amanda Moore murder. The van that was used to kidnap Archbishop Harrington was the same one that dumped Semmes’ body,” Cooper said.
“Rogers was also working with Ashe on recording emotion engrams.” Smalls’ words tapered off as he became lost in deep contemplation.
The tumblers began to click into place and the door that led to the memories Smalls had been trying to find opened. Somehow Rogers had figured out that demons couldn’t possess the dead because they didn’t have emotions. He used Ashe’s device to put emotions into the corpses and allow the demons to possess them. When Cybil heard the two men in Rogers’ office, they wanted his engram recordings. Those were the ones that he used for research. The people bringing back the dead were using his engrams gathered for studies to allow the possession of dead bodies.
“We’ve got to find Rogers,” he said.
“I’ve already tried. He’s not at home or at Alabama Tech. Any idea where he might be?”
“Have you tried that warehouse again?”
“Why would I? It’s a dead lead, Father Smalls. You might be an expert on the paranormal, but police work is my forte.” Cooper took the pictures and stuck them back into the folder.
“This may be both. I think it’s worth a shot.”
“I guess it’s better than any lead I have right now. Let me get an officer to go with us out there, just in case.”
Smalls nodded and then crossed himself. The detective gave him a skeptical look.
“Just in case,” he said.
The ride to the large warehouse on Michigan Avenue not far from St. Joan of Arc Church took only a few minutes. Cooper made Smalls ride in the back of the unmarked car. The uniformed officer drove, and she rode shotgun. A high fence surrounded the whole compound, so they had to park across the street.
“I’ll do all the talking,” Cooper said as they crossed the street.
“Do you know all the questions to ask?” Smalls asked.
“I’m a detective. Asking questions is my job.”
They stopped at the fence. A talk box hung from a thigh-high metal pole near the gate. Cooper pressed the button under the speaker.
A rigid-sounding voice came over the box. “Can I help you?”
“I am Detective Cooper with the Mobile Police Department. I need to ask the owner of this warehouse a few questions. Do you think I could come in?”
The speaker went silent. Cooper looked at her watch. Smalls decided to do the same thing. It seemed to him like they were getting a cool reception. The traffic on the street seemed brisk. Several different kinds of personal vehicles drove past. A few of those blasted varieties of loud music that could be heard clearly even though the windows were up. Two tractor-trailers rumbled past. Foul-smelling diesel exhaust wafted around them. Smalls coughed. The caustic odor always nauseated him. The back of his tongue felt heavy as if he might vomit right there. He bent over enough to hopefully alleviate the symptoms.
“Are you okay?” the officer asked.
“Diesel fumes just get to me a little bit. I think I’m going to be okay.”
“Buck up,” Cooper said. “I thought you’d be made of stronger stuff.”
Smalls straightened back up. “Even the hardest stuff cracks under enough pressure. Don’t you think we’ve been standing here for a little too long?”
“I was just about to do something about that.”
Cooper reached to press the button again, when the speaker crackled and popped.
“Can I help you?”
The heavy accent in the voice sounded Eastern European or Russian to Smalls. The wave of nausea subsided. He felt they had found the right place. Cybil had told them she’d overheard Rogers talking with a man who sounded Russian. Although Mobile was a major port city, he hadn’t run into many Russians in his time living there.
“This is the police,” Smalls blurted out before Cooper could say anything. “We have questions, and we want answers. No is not going to suffice as one though.”
The detective pushed him so hard that he almost tripped over his feet. She mouthed for him to shut up, but he had no intention right now.
“Do you have a warrant?”
“We don’t need one,” Smalls answered. “You’re not accused of anything, we just need some answers about a missing persons report in the area. If you want us to, we’ll be happy to get one and haul you downtown.”
“That will not be necessary. You may come in.”
The speaker crackled, but the fence popped as the electric pulley engaged. The gate slid open, shuddering as it did so. Cooper stepped through the gate first, followed by the uniformed officer. Smalls brought up the rear. The detective kept staring back at him as they walked across the small paved area between the gate and the door. He was sure if she could have she’d have put a bullet between his eyes with her service revolver. They stopped at the door, which was locked.
“What happened to letting me do the talking?”
“Heat of the moment,” Smalls said. “Besides that guy sounded Russian.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Cybil said that she overheard Erik—Dr. Rogers—talking to a Russian and sounding like they were engaged in some bad business.”
“That still doesn’t justify why you talked. You’re not even a cop.”
Smalls decided to tip his hand on this one before Cooper exploded. “I think Erik is involved in demonic activity. Those photos you have of him from Mississippi should tell you he’s into something serious. Besides murder, he did resurrect the dead.”
Cooper snorted in derision. “So you think this Russian guy is a Devil worshiper? Didn’t we decide all that stuff was an urban legend?”
“I don’t think he’s a Satanist.” Smalls licked his lips and took a deep breath. He hadn’t uttered his suspicion aloud yet for fear that Cooper would think he was out of his mind, but she needed to know just in case. “I think he is Satan.”
The uniformed officer burst out with a loud laugh. Smalls watched Cooper’s mouth drop lower than he imagined a human mouth could do. Her eyes said that she wanted to laugh and curse at him at the same time, but before anything else could be said the door rattled and swung open. A short, swarthy man stood framed in the door. His dark eyes looked as if there was no difference between his pupil and iris, as if there was a huge hole in the sclera. He smiled to show small teeth, precisely lined up in his mouth.
“What questions can I answer for you?” he asked.
Cooper looked at him. Her mouth slowly closed. Smalls could tell that she was a bit surprised by him, almost as much as he was. She swallowed.
“May we come inside? It’s a bit cool, and we’ve been standing out here for a while,” she said.
“No. I am afraid that I cannot allow you inside, although I am happy to answer your questions.” He looked at Smalls. “I thought you were all police officers.”
“We are.” Cooper pointed to Smalls. “He’s a priest, but he is assisting us in finding this missing person.”
“Oh really?”
“Yes. Can I get your name for the record?” she asked.
“I am Mikal Czernobog. C-Z-E-R-N-O-B-O-G.”
“Archbishop Harrington, the head of the Archdiocese of Mobile, was kidnapped not far from here last night. His driver was killed. I was wondering if you have seen anything unusual.”
Czernobog smiled. “I am looking at something unusual right now. How often do American police officers carry a priest around with them?”
“Not often, but have you seen the archbishop?” Smalls stepped toward Czernobog.
“I do not know. I have never seen the man to know what he looks like.”
“Do you know Dr. Erik Rogers or Dr. Ashley Shrove?” Smalls pressed.
“No.”
“What about Cybil Fairchild, Marianne Lenard, or Amanda ‘Hortense’ Moore?”
“Father Smalls, please,” Cooper said.
Czernobog licked across his teeth and narrowed his eyes. “No, and I believe that we are done with the line of questioning. If you want more, I suggest getting a warrant. I may not know much of your laws, but I know about that.”
“We understand.” Cooper grabbed Smalls around the arm and pulled him away from the warehouse.
The uniformed officer tipped his hat to Czernobog and followed. The Russian remained in the doorway watching them. When they were through the gate, it began to close. Smalls jerked himself free from Cooper and grabbed hold of the chain link.
“What about Francisco de San Roman? Ever heard of him?”
Czernobog looked at him as he began to back into the gloom on the other side of the open door. “I have. He was burned as a heretic a long time ago. I don’t think you need worry about him being kidnapped.”
“I know. Thanks.”
Smalls watched the Russian close himself back into the warehouse. He stepped away from the fence and back to the car. Cooper drummed her fingers on the top of the car. She looked livid.
“What was that about?” she asked. “I ought to arrest you for hindering an investigation.”
“I haven’t hindered anything. I just proved that he knows everything.”
“How do you figure that?”
“Why else would he become so angry when I mentioned such random names? Also, he knew who Francisco de San Roman was.”
“What does that prove?” Cooper asked.
“Do you know who he was?” She shook her head. “Neither did I until a met a man claiming to be him. It turns out that like Czernobog said, he was burned at the stake over 500 years ago.”
“So Satan and a dead heretic are doing all this?” Cooper asked, sliding into the car.
Smalls crawled into the back seat. “That’s what the archbishop thought, and told me the night he was kidnapped. I believe it too, especially since there is supposed to be a demon named Czernobog.”
Cooper looked at the uniformed officer. “Not a word about this to anyone.”