It looked like Wilson knew the guy, too, judging by his stare – a mix of rage and disbelief. “Jernegan! What the fuck are you doing here?”
Then it came back to me. I hadn’t known the guy’s name then, but this Jernegan had been one of Wilson’s fair-haired commando boys last year, when Wilson made his first attempt at starting a race war.
But then he had been possessed by the demon Acheron.
The possessed Jernegan had killed five people that night. I would have been number six, except Karl and Christine saved my ass at the last minute. Then the commando guy, and his demon host, had just walked away.
Was Jernegan still possessed, or had the demon moved on to somebody else?
“Me?” he said to Wilson. “I came in through the garage. One door was up – quite careless, really.” He waved the barrel of the automatic in Wilson’s direction. “Now shut up, you crazy old cunt.”
Well, there was the answer to that question. The real Jernegan would never in his life have talked to Wilson like that.
He looked at me then. “Markowski! We do seem to keep running into each other at these crime scenes, don’t we?”
I nodded. “Hello, Jernegen – or do you prefer Acheron?”
“Either will do, although the former name won’t be appropriate much longer. I’m tired of this host and moving on shortly.”
Did that mean me? Was he going to possess me?
“Keeping you alive all this time has been quite the chore, Markowski. I hope you appreciate my efforts on your behalf.”
Some things were starting to make sense now.
“That was you who took out the Delatasso soldier – the one who was about to kill me that night in the warehouse district.”
He gave a slight bow. “None other.”
“And those three guys behind Jerry’s Diner. That was you, too.”
“They were going to kill you and make it look like a mugging gone wrong. Ronnie Delatasso sent them – but without consulting with Mister Bigbucks here, who apparently wanted you kept alive almost as much as I did. But for different reasons, of course.”
“What are your reasons?” I asked him. “I mean, I’m grateful and all, but – why? Last time we met, you were going to cut my throat.”
“Yes, that was short-sighted of me. I should have realized then that I needed you alive. Just as well your two blood-sucking friends intervened.”
“But what did you need me alive for?”
“Isn’t it obvious? To locate Mister Bigbucks here for me. He and I have some unfinished business, and I was sure the two of you would cross paths again soon.”
“What unfinished business?” Wilson asked. Despite his tan, he looked white. Dead white.
Acheron went over to Wilson and slapped him hard across the face. “Did I not tell you to shut the fuck up? We’ll get to you.”
He turned back to me. “My, but I enjoyed that.”
“That makes two of us,” I said. “But if it won’t get me slapped, I’ve got the same question – what business have you got with Wilson?”
“Isn’t it obvious? It was on the orders of this septic excrescence that I was summoned from Hell.”
“I know Scranton’s got its problems, especially lately,” I said. “But I still would’ve thought it’s better than Hell.”
“Oh, it is! Of course. Immeasurably better.”
“Then why are you mad at Wilson?”
“Because he never intended to set me free – he planned to summon me, use me for his own purposes, and then send me back, just as he had so many of my brothers.”
“Oh.”
“Do you know who suffers the most exquisite tortures in Hell, Markowski?”
“There are degrees of pain down there?”
“Indeed, yes. And the very worst suffering is reserved for wizards, those who had the effrontery to impose their own will on the denizens of Hell. They all die in time, of course – and when they do, we are very eager to make them welcome.”
The way he said that made me decide right then to start attending church more often. Assuming I got the chance.
“And that’s what Wilson’s got in store?” I asked him.
A slow nod. “Most assuredly.”
“So that’s what you’re here for – to send him on his way.”
“No, not just yet. I thought a taste of Hell on Earth would be a worthy prelude to his eternal damnation.”
I hoped he wasn’t going to possess Wilson and force the man to commit various atrocities on himself. I’d seen something like that once before, and it still gave me screaming nightmares.
The only thing worse than that would be making me do it. And, then, once Wilson was reduced to hamburger, forcing me to do the same thing to myself.
Getting shot in the balls was starting to look like a more attractive option than some of the other things that could happen. But I had to know.
“What have you got in mind?” I asked him.
“First, let’s get you squared away.”
He went over to the body of Sheila Barnard. There was a pistol tucked into the back of her jeans. It looked familiar.
Acheron pulled the gun loose and held it up. “Yours, I believe?”
All I could do was nod.
Then he walked over to me and touched one of my wrists. “Your own handcuffs?”
“Yeah.”
“How embarrassing for you. Where do you keep the key?”
“Left side pocket.”
A few seconds later, my hands were free and Acheron was handing the cuffs to me, followed by my Beretta.
“There,” he said. “You’ll need those to make your arrest.”
“Arrest? Arrest who?”
“The killer, of course.”
He pulled out the gun he’d shot Sheila Barnard with and tossed it underhand to Wilson. “Here you go, Moneybags.”
Wilson’s catch was clumsy, but at least he didn’t drop the thing. I gaped – I couldn’t help it. Why would Acheron give Wilson his gun?
Something changed in the room then. Jernegan groaned and put his hands to his head as if he’d been struck. A moment later Wilson screamed, “No, don’t–”
That was as far as he got. Something in Wilson’s face changed, a transformation I’d seen before. In Wilson’s voice, Acheron said, “There, that’s better.”
He’d possessed Wilson now. Was a horror show still on the program? I hoped I wasn’t about to watch Wilson cut himself to pieces.
Jernegan was staggering around, saying things like “Where am…?” And “How did…?”
The thing that used to be Patton Wilson said, “Oh, shut up,” then raised the gun and shot Jernegan three times in the chest.
The gun going off in a contained space like the study had left my ears ringing. When I was sure I could hear again, I said to Acheron, “Not that you ever needed a reason to kill somebody, but I have to ask why you did that.”
“Well, I had no more use for him, now that I’ve found these new accommodations, and he was starting to get on my nerves.”
“Great. Just great.”
“But more to the point, Detective Sergeant, you’ve just observed Patton Wilson commit cold-blooded murder, to which you can testify at his trial. Not to mention all the forensic evidence that can be introduced – gunshot residue on my hands, and so forth.”
“Wilson didn’t do it,” I said. “You did.”
“You and I know that – but no one else needs to, do they? And adding homicide to all the other crimes that Wilson is charged with should almost certainly result in a life sentence, since your state abolished the death penalty. Life without parole, of course.”
Looking at Jernegan’s corpse, I said, “Wilson’s got enough money to hire half the lawyers in the world for his trial.”
“Yes – but he won’t.”