Chapter 10

Sunny Days Inn

Bakersfield, CA

8:13 A.M.

October 14, 2005

Harsh rays of morning sun were streaming in the large windows in the lobby when Angela made her way back down, lugging her suitcase behind her. It had taken the police nearly a full hour to arrive, and even longer for the chief medical examiner to be summoned and the body to be removed. She'd showered and changed, but never gotten back to sleep, promising to meet the others for a "free continental breakfast" in the lobby.

Constantine watched her walk down the stairs out of the corner of his eye. They were the only people in the lobby aside from the sleepy looking desk clerk. This was obviously not a popular hotel. He forked what appeared to be a pastry as she made her way over and proceeded to bounce it off his plate a couple of times; hard as a rock. Weiss cleared his throat and looked at the newspaper he'd bought.

"Enjoying the locale?" asked Angela, ditching her suitcase and eyeing the buffet table that had been set up with a large array of gooey looking foods.

"Oh, yes," said Constantine dryly. "The cuisine is excellent. And the décor…" He gestured at the painfully fake palm tree which looked just as droopy as the desk clerk. "It's just…to die for."

"John…"

"Terrible coffee," said Weiss without looking up.

Constantine glanced across the table at his sullen companion, then got up and took Angela by the arm, leading her over to the buffet. He needed a moment to speak with her; he knew she shared his concerns about the case, but she wouldn't ever dare voice them in front of Weiss. Her career was in enough turmoil as it was without some nosey underling starting more suspicion.

"John…what are you doing?" she asked under her breath as they reached the table on the far side of the room.

"Grab a plate," he muttered, shoving one into her free hand and dropping her arm.

"John…if you think I'm going to eat this there is no way in hell…"

"Humor me," he insisted, giving her just a hint of a smile.

Angela looked over the line then settled on a single hardboiled egg, spearing it savagely with a fork and plopping it down unceremoniously in the middle of the paper plate. She took a step away from the table then turned to face him, holding the plate between them like a shield. She met his gaze and for a moment Constantine felt a thrill of the nervous energy that seemed t crackle in the air between them.

"This is not about you overseeing my breakfast," she said firmly. "Whatever you're going to say, say it. Now."

"The autopsy results are in for our first victim. And for Mr. Fernandez."

"And?"

"And they definitely don't match. Neese's skull was cut away using a specially designed bone saw from Ravenscar's morgue. Fernandez was simply knocked out by a punch."

"And?" She was getting impatient. "What does this tell us that we didn't already know?"

"You dreamed about both of these murders," he said bluntly. "That's how you knew. I need you to tell me what you saw."

Her gaze dropped to the floor, more out of dread than shame, he guessed. Constantine swallowed a pang of self-loathing; he knew the extent of her nightmare, had heard her awake in the night but hadn't been able to bring himself to so much as check on her.

"I saw…a…presence. A pair of eyes, once. The first time…a hand, I think. Only for a second. And the saw. And a knife."

"But you couldn't see the killer?"

Angela shook her head.

"He…it…is never fully visible."

Constantine nodded slowly, then reached into his pocket, pulling out the little treasure he'd salvaged the night before.

"We need to go to Eureka."

"Excuse me?" Angela narrowed her eyes at him.

He stepped forward and held out the piece of paper. It was a rough map on one side, scrawled in a hurried-man's handwriting. Los Angeles and Bakersfield were pinpointed, along with several others all the way up the west coast. On the other side was a list of names and addresses.

"Eureka. It's next on the list."

"Where the hell did you get that?" snapped Angela.

Constantine remained silent, knowing what was coming.

"You didn't. John. You fucking didn't."

He shrugged.

"I borrowed it. From our friends at the local P.D. Found it in the dead guy's date book and figured it'd come in handy." For a moment he wondered if it was possible for her eyes to spout flame and scorch him to a crisp.

"I am not seeing this," she said at last.

"Good," said Constantine, stuffing the paper back in his pocket and heading for the table. "Why don't you not see it all the way to Eureka. A hundred bucks says that's where the next sighting of Malone will be."

The Red Light

Eureka, C.A.

October 14, 2005

11:22 A.M.

Walter Bryce was not a nice man. Never had been and likely never would be. Charlie stared down at the cheap map he'd shoplifted from a roadside convenience store and sighed. After his failure with Ben he was tempted to just give up on the others, get out and save his own skin. He still didn't understand why he had to be the one to warn the others. Probably because he was the only one who still believed.

Still, he'd always had a special place in his heart for Walter, one filled with a distaste more acute than anything he felt toward the others. For one, Walter was anything but good-looking. At six foot three and a staggering three hundred pounds, Bryce was a hulking mountain of a man. He shaved and oiled his scalp and wore many chunky rings on his porky hands. He seemed completely oblivious to his own looks and acted as though he were the most in-demand man on the planet.

Charlie sighed again, folded up the map and got out of his stolen car. He knew he should start looking for a better mode of transportation soon—the police would have a lead on this vehicle already if they were halfway useful. But there simply wasn't time. No time for any convenience or comfort, just time for traveling—for running, warning, and hiding. It was what Charlie had spent the majority of his life getting good at. He was a master now.

He stared up at the building looming before him like a garbage bin in a trash-filled alleyway. A falling-down awning proudly announced "Topless Girls Seven Days a Week" in peeling nylon letters. This was the worst part of town, a fitting place for Walter's residence. The man had always had a liking for anything illegal or unsavory, especially when it involved sex. Charlie was not surprised in the least to see his former comrade's current place of work. He steeled himself and went inside.

The interior of the club was filled with a perpetual haze of smoke, so thick he could barely see three feet in front of his face despite the fact that it was not even noon. Loud bass music drowned out the low babble of conversation between a few of the regulars, and the lights glowed a low red. A slinky blonde in a bikini top and mini skirt greeted Charlie at the door, leering at him between red painted lips.

"Can I help ya, mister?"

Charlie found himself grasping for the list in his pocket, the list of names and addresses they had each agreed to keep.

"I…I…yeah. I'm looking for Walter Bryce. I understand he owns the…establishment."

The girl flipped her long hair over one shoulder exposing a collar bone that looked as if it was about to poke clear through her translucent skin and fluttered unnaturally long eyelashes at him.

"He ain't here right now."

Charlie gulped.

"Do you…do you know when he'll be back?"

The girl shrugged.

"No idea. He comes and goes as he likes. We don't ask questions."

"Okay," said Charlie, forcing himself to breathe slowly. "Well…um…can you tell him that…Charlie came to see him."

The girl took a step forward and poked one long red-lacquered nail into the center of his chest.

"You got it. Anything else?"

Charlie backed away. She smelled of alcohol and perhaps marijuana.

"Tell him…tell him it's time to go." He spun on his heel and all but ran out of the club. There was no time for him to do any more here.

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