The Immortals (25 page)

Nashville
6:00 p.m.

T
aylor saw Ariadne safely out of the building, then joined Marcus to talk to the Howells. The Norwoods already had counsel present and were making noise—there was no sense in forcing them to wait too much longer. But Taylor needed to ask Theo Howell a question before she went any further.

He and his parents were sitting calm and quiet in their interrogation room. Blake Howell was a well-built man, clean shaven, wearing a black suit, white shirt and orange silk tie. His wife was equally decked out, a beautiful spice-colored Turkish pashmina draped across her shoulders. Her blond hair was carefully highlighted and shellacked into place; his was salt-and-pepper, with the salt winning the race. They both stood and introduced themselves when Taylor entered the room.

“Mr. and Mrs. Howell, it's good to meet you. Thank you for being so patient with us this afternoon—we have a lot of ground to cover, as you can imagine. I only have a moment, and we'll be right back to you. But I need to ask Theo a question.”

Mr. Howell took his seat. “Wait just a second, Lieutenant. Is Theo in any sort of trouble? Do we need a lawyer here?”

“That's certainly your right, sir. But we're not seeking charges against Theo at this time. We just need some information.”

“It's okay, Dad.” Theo turned to Taylor. “I've already told them everything we discussed last night. I'm grounded.”

“I'll bet,” Taylor said. “Okay, I need you to think about something for me. Do you remember Jerrold King and Brandon Scott having a fight last week?”

Theo creased his brow for a moment, then said, “Oh, yeah. They got into it before practice. I figured they were arguing over Letha.”

“Letha King, Jerrold's little sister?”

“Yeah. She and Brandon had dated earlier in the year. She broke up with him, though, beginning of October. Said some pretty raunchy things about him, too. He went back and called her some names, they had a little war online, saying nasty things back and forth. But it stopped weeks ago.”

Weeks ago. Ah, how quickly time flies to the young.

“So why would they be fighting now?”

“Like I said, Letha said some…things about Brandon.” He glanced at his parents, tips of his ears red. “She called him a faggot.”

“Was Brandon a homosexual?”

“I don't know. Maybe. He went with a lot of girls, was really popular, but never seemed that into it, if you know what I mean.”

“Are there any boys that you know he might have dated?”

“Well, not really. That's not the kind of thing we all talk about openly, you know?” He began fidgeting in his chair. Theo Howell wasn't a very accomplished liar.

“Is there any chance that Brandon and Jerrold were dating?”

Theo laughed. “No way. Jerry was very much into girls. He was furious that Brandon was using Letha as his beard.”

Evelyn Howell touched her son's arm. “Theo,” she said, the note of warning enough for him to start talking again.

“Sorry. Definitely not Jerry. But he might have gotten together with this guy Schuyler a couple of times. That's what the rumor was, anyway. But Schuyler doesn't go to Hillsboro anymore. His parents sent him to reform school or something, up in Virginia, a couple of semesters ago, so I have no idea. And it was only gossip.”

Mrs. Howell's eyes popped open. “Schuyler Merritt? That's who you're talking about? Jackie Merritt's boy?”

Theo nodded.

“Why, I had no idea. The Merritts are friends of ours, Lieutenant. They sponsored some of the events at the bookstore. Or they used to. They split up last year. The divorce was just finalized a few months back. Jackie remarried lickety-split, the ink was hardly dry on the forms, you know. Her new husband is a marine, was shipped off just a few weeks after they got back from their honeymoon. Sky Senior took it all hard, started drinking. He hasn't been worth much these past few months. Hard on the kids too, they split them up.”

“The kids?” Taylor asked.

“Schuyler has a sister. She's still at Hillsboro, right, Theo? What's Jackie's new married name, Blake?”

“Let me think. At-something.”

“Sky's sister's name is Fane,” Theo said helpfully. “Gorgeous girl, at least she used to be. She and Sky were close. It tore her up when he was sent away. She started hanging with the Goths, wearing all that crazy makeup.”

“Fane Atilio?” Taylor said. Her voice sounded hollow in her ears.

“That's it. Atilio,” Evelyn Howell said, smiling.

“Son of a bitch,” Taylor said. “I mean, sorry. Excuse me.”

“Was it something I said?” she heard Mrs. Howell ask her husband, their tones growing lower as they realized
something was going on. Taylor let the door shut behind her. McKenzie was waiting for her in the hall.

“We need to go have another chat with Fane Atilio.”

 

Fane smiled winningly at McKenzie, then shot Taylor a hateful glance. Taylor was having none of it. She walked around the table, jerked the back of Fane's chair, making the metal screech along the linoleum floor, then sat down right next to her.

“Fane, you have a brother. Schuyler. Where is he?”

Fane looked down her nose at Taylor, then looked away. “Virginia.”

“We need his number. Right now.”

“I don't know it. It's at the house.” She managed to look bored. Her makeup was flaking off. She'd obviously been crying at some point since they'd been gone. Black smears ringed her eyes. Her skin, pale as an opal, blanched further.

“It's not on your cell?” Taylor asked.

“No. I wasn't allowed to call him there.”

“Is Schuyler really in Virginia? Or is he here in Tennessee?”

The eyes clouded. “I don't know what you're talking about. I haven't seen him.”

“You're lying, Fane. We called your mother's work. They said she'd been out sick for a couple of weeks. She wasn't at your house. Where is your mother? We know your step-father is overseas, but where's Jackie?”

Fane bared her fangs at Taylor, then licked her lips.

“Wouldn't you like to know,” she said, then shut down, arms crossed, eyes closed.

Taylor let her sit that way for a moment. She had a bad feeling about Jackie Atilio.

Something Ariadne said popped into her mind, about the coven. The bond these children had was strong, no doubt about it. Divide and conquer, that was the way in. Turn them against one another, let them think the others were talking. That was how she was going to reach into their
minds and draw out the truth, not through threats or cajoling or promises. She stood up, cleared her throat. Spoke softly.

“Fine. We'll just go talk to Thorn again. Between him and Ember, we have most of the story anyway. We know all of you participated in the murders.”

The effect was immediate, violent. Fane lunged upward, out of the chair, hand raised like she was going to slap Taylor.

“Liar,” Fane screamed. “They would never betray us. The penalties are too steep.”

Taylor grabbed her by the arm and twisted, forcing the girl back into the chair. Fane was panting in her fury. Taylor could see her starting to unhinge.

“I beg to differ, little girl. How about you tell me about the movie you and your boyfriend made. The one of the murders?”

Fane looked at the floor, breath coming in short gasps. “What movie? I don't know anything about a movie.”

Taylor released the girl's arm. “Look at me.”

Fane glanced up at her.

“Stop lying, Fane. It was uploaded from your computer. My tech is going over your laptop now—they found the original.”

A beat, the girl gathered her thoughts. “Oh, that. That's all fake. Playacting.”

“How could you possibly expect me to believe that, when you've shot the film at all the crime scenes and you have Brandon Scott's murder on tape? You want me to believe that it's a coincidence? Do you think we're stupid, Fane?”

Fane had calmed herself, was sitting straight again, composed. “Yes, well. We've gotten very good. None of that is real.”

“Right. And how about the letter you sent to
The Tennessean?
Was that fake, too?”

“Isn't
he
going to say anything?” Fane turned to McKenzie, eyes pleading. “You can't let her talk to me like this.”

McKenzie leaned forward, voice deep and grave. “Fane,
I'm very disappointed in you. We talked about this earlier. The more you help us, the less you'll be punished. That's how this works. We know you're involved. You hold the key to this mystery. We want to help you, but you have to help us, too.”

“Don't give me that crap. I'm not going to help you. You don't care. You said you cared, and I know you don't.” She started to cry again, McKenzie rolled his eyes at Taylor.

Taylor handed Fane a tissue. “Blow your nose. You're not going to get any leniency because you're crying. Tell us what we need to know now.”

Fane snuffled into the Kleenex. “It wasn't me. I don't know what you're talking about. And I think I'm done answering your questions. I want a lawyer.”

Shit. They'd pushed her too hard.

“That's your right, Fane. Though if you had nothing to do with all of this, you shouldn't need a lawyer. But we'll go arrange for that. One little issue—we need to inform your parents. I wasn't kidding before, I need to know. Where is your mother?”

“In hell, probably,” she said, then closed her mouth tight and laid her head on the table. They would get nothing more from her.

They left Fane alone in the room. The hall was bright. Taylor felt like she'd spent half this case standing in the hallways of the CJC, trying to interpret the lies spilled in the interrogation rooms. She itched to get outside, back to the scenes. That's where the answers were going to come from, not this merry band of misguided Goth children, lying and cheating their way through life.

“We need to find this mysterious brother. My gut says he's involved,” McKenzie said.

Taylor leaned against the wall, one boot propped against the painted cinderblocks. “I want to find her mother. I don't like any of this.”

“What do you think is going on?”

“I think we're looking at an unhealthy relationship be
tween a brother and sister who were separated when their parents got divorced. Being together was paramount. When they were split, they started doing anything they could to get back together. I think we need to comb through the Atilio's house, get word to the husband, see if we can find the mother. She's too conspicuously absent for anything good to be happening.”

“You may be right. The separation could be a precipitating event. Fane shows definite sociopathic tendencies. If she's practicing Wicca, she could think she's got control, that she can change the course of her life according to her will. Happiness would be anathema for her—she'd strike out against anything she saw that reminded her of what she used to have. You noticed that the families we've talked to have all been relatively happy, with two parents. That could have been the impetus for choosing the victims.”

“So she arranges with her friend Thorn to have the party kids' drugs tainted, then sneaks into their houses and carves pentacles in their stomachs? That's as good a theory as any I've come up with, except for one thing. How did she know who would take the pills and who wouldn't? Theo Howell said he sent word to everyone. Would there have been more? And how would Fane have known?”

“Eight victims. At least three involved. I don't know, LT. Maybe she was there when they took the drugs.”

“And Brandon Scott? He didn't take the drugs and was beaten to death because of it. I think we're going about this the wrong way. These crimes are all related, but it's still too much of a fluke that some of the kids with the drugs took them and some didn't. I think the ones who died were forced to take the drugs.”

“Which would mean Fane was at each crime scene. Or…”

Taylor slapped her forehead. “They split them up. Fane and Juri Edvin and Susan Norwood, they split the targets and each handled a few. They must have gotten in under the guise of delivering the drugs. Remember there was no sign
of forced entry? So they show, drugs in hand, with some sort of weapon, then force their victim to take the pills. The OD effect would kick in almost immediately, and they'd die quickly. They waited around until the victims were fully unconscious, arranged the bodies, carved the pentacles, shot the film and left.”

“Three kids, eight victims, including Brittany Carson, would be pushing it in the time frame. But four kids, that would even the odds,” McKenzie said.

“And Brittany's murder was last. According to Juri Edvin, she and Susan Norwood have a history. The Carson girl dated Norwood's ex-boyfriend and it pissed her off. Juri said Susan wanted him to kill Brittany, that it was her idea. Well. That answers that.”

She stopped. McKenzie was grinning at her—they'd come to the same conclusions at the same time.

“But what about this brother? We still need an ID on the boy from Ariadne's drawing. Think it's Schuyler Merritt?”

“I bet it is. Why don't we go show his picture around? Let's try Susan Norwood first, see what she does. She's the vulnerable one in all of this.”

Nashville
7:00 p.m.

A
riadne crumpled the herbs between her palms, rubbing them back and forth so the fragrant sprigs fell into the fire evenly.

“Isis, Astarte, Diana, Hecate, Demeter, Kali, Inana.”

She repeated the Goddess chant four more times, calm, monotonous, stringing out the last long
A
on Inana, feeling herself become one with her pantheon. Scrying with fire was her specialty, a favorite, and she was sure she'd be able to trace the movements of the warlock now that the bond to his coven had been interrupted. He would be flinging his emotions around on the wind, searching for ways to bring them back together, and Ariadne felt sure she could connect with him.

The flames rose high before her, scented with rosemary for remembrance, and jasmine, because that was the warlock's scent. She allowed her eyes to close and she fell deeper and deeper into her trance, then opened them, staring into the flames, seeking. Seeking.

She saw an altar, simple, crude, even, and a black-handled athamé. Two bodies, male and female, writhing in
the Great Act. Then she saw the female crying, and the male disappeared. There was nothing else.

She drew back and sketched the altar she'd seen. It was a feminine deity being worshipped. There were useful identifiers scattered among the lares and penates on the altar. She tried to make sense of it all.

She knew the male in the flames was the boy she'd seen at Subversion. She just didn't know who he was, or what role he was playing. The female seemed the stronger of the two, but perhaps she was misreading it. Men sometimes withheld their strength in the presence of a female they loved, treated them as equal. When she'd seen them downtown, the boy seemed the stronger half. One thing was certain; their bond was very intense.

She didn't know what else to do. She'd put the word out among her brethren. They were all looking for the mysterious warlock, as well. She finally drifted off into a light sleep, notepad nearby, hoping that perhaps the pantheon would show her the way in her dreams.