“That’s him, isn’t it?” Cooper pointed to a blurry image on the television screen.
Smalls squinted. It was hard to make out anything in the grainy black and white still from the video. A line of paused movement obscured part of the picture. Even if he wasn’t sure of everyone in the picture, the man in the forefront was Erik Rogers, and he knew the man behind him was Archbishop Harrington.
“I can’t be positive, but the other man is Harrington, or was the archbishop.”
“You think the archbishop is dead now?” she asked.
“I think he was dead then.” Smalls pecked on the screen. “If what I think has been happening is then that’s the shell of the man that was once head of the Mobile Archdioceses.”
“I still don’t buy this whole possession thing.”
“How do you explain this?” He pointed to another screen shot of a string of medical staff and patients walking single file down the hall with Cybil at the lead. “Pied piper?”
“There are many explanations better than possession.”
“Like?”
“Brainwashing. Threats of harm,” Cooper said. “What kind of detective would I be if I jumped straight to demons every time something strange happens?”
“Why can’t we recover any more of the images on the screen?” Smalls asked.
“There was a power surge right as that picture was taken.” The house supervisor pointed to the distorted picture of Harrington and Rogers. “This one was taken a few minutes later according to the time stamp. According to the tech guys the video system has to reset. It takes about that long.”
Smalls stared at the television screens. He looked from the first picture to the later one. Ashe had suspected that Rogers was working with the Russians because they had threatened him. Czernobog seemed to be a Russian with something to hide. Harrington warned of the Devil and now seemed to be in on everything. His head swam with so much information.
“We finally got an ID on the van that kidnapped Harrington,” Cooper said. “It belongs to the Mystics of Mayhem parading society. Mikal Czernobog signed the registration.”
“So why haven’t you moved on this?”
“Just in case you are living in a cave, most of our resources are focused on the church arsons. Over fifteen churches or religiously affiliated buildings were torched including your basilica and the largest Baptist church in the county. Chasing after these kidnappers has been left to me alone.” Cooper lowered her voice. “To be honest, they’ve limited how much longer I can work on this thing.”
“How long?”
“Until Ash Wednesday.”
“Two days from now.” Smalls nodded. “I’m pretty sure everything will be over by then.”
“The judge has given me another warrant to check out that warehouse, and one to look through the house that Cybil told the beat cop she escaped from. My usual partner is tied up at St. Simon’s School. You game?”
Smalls pulled a small book from the inside pocket of his coat. “As ready as I’m going to be.”
“The Bible?”
“A book with incantations to expel evil and vile spirits. It’s an old volume considered heretical. It’s been in my arsenal for years.”
Cooper reached behind her and brought out a pistol. “9mm expels creeps and weirdoes. Been in my holster all day.”
The house they strolled up to was unassuming. Nestled behind a plank board fence, the two visible stories of the house sat between a pair of Spanish moss–covered live oaks. The yellow paint peeled from the wooden siding. The hurricane shutters hadn’t seen a coat of paint in years. Smalls remembered the place. He’d passed it many mornings on his jogs through downtown. Usually, he came from the front side of the house, where there was not a fence. Today he and Cooper had to approach up the street from the back of the house. The smaller streets around it were no-parking areas, even for police vehicles.
“Cheery place.” Cooper stared up at it. “Hard to believe kidnappers would be in there.”
“I know you’re being sarcastic, but it kind of is. I would expect crack dealers more than anything. I jog through this neighborhood a lot. The fear of getting shot in a drug war or pricked by a used needle is always present.”
“You’re a priest. Why would you worry about that.” She walked the way down the sidewalk that led to the front of the house. “You should be straight with the man upstairs.”
“Until now, it was my biggest fear. The world ending at the hands of Satan trumps most everything else.”
They stepped into the yard. High weeds flanked the broken concrete sidewalk. The steps to the porch listed to one side, and several of the floorboards stuck up, warped from time and lack of care.
Cooper drew her pistol out. “We’re going in fast and hard. I don’t want to give anyone time to get out the door.”
Smalls nodded. He crossed himself then kissed his fingers. The detective rushed up the steps and kicked the door. He came up after her. The door creaked, popped, and slammed open. She rushed in. Before crossing the threshold, the priest took out the book of incantations and flipped it open. He wanted to try some different ones to see if they worked. Although he feared failure, the Buddhist one did the charm and would be a good fallback point. A quick silent prayer went up as he headed into the dark entryway.
“Mobile police,” Cooper yelled. “Come out now with your hands where I can see them.”
Smalls followed the direction of her voice. He entered into what would have been a living room at one time. There was no furniture. The wallpaper peeled from the walls, and cobwebs hung from the blown ceiling. The next room looked like a dining area. An old round breakfast table sat in the middle of the room. A large column candle was in the middle. Red wax spread everywhere over the tabletop like a pool of blood. He heard quick footsteps in the room just beyond that one. Smalls headed that way. The kitchen looked as if it had been recently used. A coffee maker sat on the filth-encrusted counter. It still perked. From the corner of his eye he saw movement.
The priest turned as a small black woman lumbered toward him. She held a cleaver in her hand. Her amber eyes had the look of evil and possession in them. The urge to yell out to Cooper for protection filled him up, but he turned to his book. This was not the time to turn tail.
“Bless you.” He read from the page he’d turned to. The shock of such a simple phrase children used when people sneezed took him aback but did nothing to the advancing woman. He regrouped and put real meaning into. “Bless you!”
The woman stopped. The cleaver dropped from her hands. The words stunned her. Smalls said them again, but in a Gregorian chant cadence. The amber eyes that stared at him rolled over white. The woman pitched and shook, hitting the floor with enough force to make the boards creak. A few flops like a fish out of water and a dark shadow erupted from her mouth. Smalls kept up his bless you chant. The shadow charged him and passed through him at great speed. He felt the heat of a million fires as it enveloped him, but didn’t stop. Everything cooled. The body on the floor stayed in place. He stopped his chant.
“That was some pretty singing,” Cooper said from behind him.
He turned. She held Rogers by the arm. His hands were secured behind him with handcuffs. Her 9mm poked his ribs at an angle that would send the bullet to his heart.
“I found him hiding in a closet under the stairs.”
Smalls nodded toward the dead body. “I found her in the corner ready to chop me up with a meat cleaver.”
“They’re too slow after a few days,” Rogers said. “Rigor mortis starts to set in, and they all move like Frankenstein.”
“So they’re dead bodies?” Cooper asked.
“I’m not saying anything without my lawyer.”
“Are there any more in here?” Smalls asked.
“I’m not answering.”
“I’ll remind you that I’m not a cop. I can make it real uncomfortable for you,” Smalls said.
Rogers huffed a laugh of derision. “You’re a priest, and I’m alive. That little chant won’t work with me. It wouldn’t have worked with a spirit better entrenched either. Don’t think Czernobog isn’t aware of that. Fortunately, he’s more powerful than those childish chants and stupid witticisms.”
Smalls walked to Rogers. He loathed the man at that moment. Although such an emotion should never enter a priest’s mind, his former friend brought Satan into all their lives in an overly personal way. The hubris of the Devil bolstered his former friend’s confidence.
“The power of Christ compels you.” He planted a knee into Roger’s groin.
The psychologist bent double, but Cooper wouldn’t let him go so that he could crumple to the floor. His face turned red.
“She’s all that’s here,” he said between pained gasps.
“Who is she?” Smalls asked.
“I’m not telling.”
“I’ll grind it in this time.”
“I don’t remember her name. I brought her from the Pascagoula hospital a few nights ago.”
“The night you killed the doctor. Her name was Debra Henry,” Cooper said.
“I’m going to say a prayer for her soul. She didn’t deserve the fate she received.”
“Do it on the way to the car. I want to get him back to the station so we can get his lawyer to him.” She looked at the body on the floor. “I’ll call her location in.”
Smalls nodded and started his silent prayer for the poor dead woman and one for his own forgiveness for his treatment of Rogers.