Excavating the body would have to wait until the scene had been processed. The detectives interviewed me first, with a warning that there would almost certainly be more questions to come.
They weren't happy with my "lured into the garden by psychic vibes" explanation, but I toned down the spiritualism angle, feigning reluctance to put a name to whatever had drawn me there. Still, I think they would have been more comfortable if they could make the most logical deduction-that I'd "found" the body because I put it there. But even a cursory look proved this was no day-old corpse. There was little chance that I'd killed and buried this person months ago, then just happened to be billeted in the same house where, driven by my guilty conscience, I'd coerced Grady into uncovering my victim.
I'm sure they'd still consider that angle; without it, they were left with a possible true case of a spiritualist responding to the calls of the restless dead.
HOPE BROUGHT Zack Flynn over as planned, and ducked past the crowd surrounding Grady to the sunroom where Jeremy and I were lying low.
She waved Zack into the room. "She's all yours. An exclusive interview for the L.A. Times. Be nice to her."
Zack thanked Hope far more fervently than the situation warranted, then stood there, puppy dog eyes following her from the room, turning to me only when she was out of sight.
"Great girl," I said.
"She is, isn't she? She's got what it takes to play with the big boys, but she isn't interested. She's having a blast chasing alien abduction stories and doesn't give a damn what anyone thinks about that."
His gaze slid to the spot where he'd last seen Hope, his expression a mix of envy and infatuation. Aratron's words came back to me. Lucifer's daughter. From what little I knew of demonology, Lucifer was just another lord demon, no more powerful or "evil" than any of the other lord demons. But the name still gave me a chill. I wondered what Zack would think of having Lucifer for a father-in-law. Convenient for any "my soul for a Pulitzer" ambitions, though.
The interview went well. Like the police, he seemed to appreciate that I wasn't going off on an "I hear dead people" rant with this. Unlike them, though, he did press that angle, journalistic instinct backed by a personal interest in the paranormal.
I spoke with reluctance, as if I knew more, but wasn't comfortable admitting it. I said I sensed that the victim was young and female and had likely come to a violent end.
"Though," I added with a wry smile, "one could probably guess the violent-end part by where she ended up. Not exactly a psychic feat."
Zack jotted down my words. He had a recorder, but seemed to use it only as backup. As he wrote, I leaned back in the armchair, catching a ray of late-day sun across my face.
"Did you get a sense, as you call it, of anything else? The girl's age? A name, perhaps?"
I shook my head. "Preteens, maybe, though I could be judging that based on the size of the hand. As for female?" Another self depreciating smile. "Well, I have a fifty-fifty shot there, don't I?"
"Anything more?" He studied me, as if certain I was withholding something.
"I… sensed more, but it's out of context and I may embarrass myself if, let's say, I gave you Holly as a name and it turns out to be that of her cat."
"Holly?" he said, pen poised over his paper.
I shook my head. "Just an example. If I had to…" I toyed with a strand of hair hanging over my shoulder, then looked up at him. "R. S. That's all I'll say. It could be her initials. It could be the initials of her school or the street where she lived. I don't know."
He nodded and wrote. A few more questions, then Hope rapped at the door.
"Interview's over, Flynn," she said. "My turn now… and quite possibly the only chance I'll ever get to show you up, which, by the way, I intend to do."
He grinned. "Think so, do you?"
"Know so."
She sauntered past him. There was no sway in her stride, but his gaze was glued to her every step of the way.
"How about a wager?" he said. "Whoever's story gets more inches gets dinner at Patina."
Hope laughed. "You think I can afford Patina on my salary?"
"Oh, right. Forgot. Hmm. McDonald's then?"
Another laugh and she shooed him from the room. He was too busy bantering to notice she hadn't agreed to the wager.
"Not your type?" I asked when Zack was gone.
"As a friend, yes. But I don't-" A cloud passed behind her eyes, then she forced a wide smile. "Between playing weird-tales girl for True News, girl Friday for the council and chaos demon-in-training, my life is pretty darned full. I'm trying to set Zack up with a preschool teacher at our gym-a nice normal girl who doesn't see death and destruction on every street corner. More his speed, I think."
I glanced around. "Being here… is that okay for you?"
"If you mean because of those poor kids, I'm not seeing anything, so I'd presume they weren't killed here. I'm exaggerating with the 'every street corner' thing. On average, I get maybe a couple of visions a day and most aren't so bad. Though I did notice something in the dining room when I passed."
"The hanging guy?"
"You can see him too?"
"Every time I sit down for a meal."
"And you eat in there? Seeing that?" She shook her head. "I've got a lot of work to do before I hit that stage. They still catch me off guard. Sometimes badly off guard. Like when I met Karl. Hugely embarrassing. "
She stopped there.
I tapped my watch. "We have about another twenty minutes to make this look like a real interview. Spill."
"It was in a buffet line, which probably isn't the strangest place to meet a werewolf. I'm minding my own business, eyeing this nice roast duck centerpiece. Then everything goes black and I'm running through a dark forest. I snap out of it and there, on the table, is the duck-now freshly killed, blood and entrails everywhere. I freaked."
"Don't blame you."
"I spun around and hit the guy behind me. Knocked the plate from his hands. Snagged my bracelet on his sleeve. Generally made a fool of myself. Being Karl, he was as cool and suave as could be, which only made it worse."
She shook her head, but the smile playing on her lips told me she hadn't taken it as badly as she pretended.
"And the vision was Karl… chasing someone?"
"Nah. Just a general 'hi, I'm a werewolf image tag."
"You can tell what kind of supernaturals we are?"
She waggled her hand. "Iffy. The stronger the power, the more likely I'll get a vision. It's like detecting chaos. If that hanged guy was jumping off the table right now, I'd probably get a flash. If he was just thinking about it, I have about a twenty percent shot."
"You can read thoughts?"
I must have looked worried, because she lifted her hands.
"No, no. Not like that. I pick up chaotic thoughts. For example, if you're sitting there thinking my shirt is god-ugly, I wouldn't know. If you're thinking about wrapping your hands around my neck and strangling the life from me, I may pick it up."
"Handy."
"The key word is may, I'm afraid. Not as useful as it sounds."
We chatted for a while longer, swapping stories.
As for the interview, she might still do a story, but that would come later. True News came out weekly, meaning it wasn't a timely way to get the group's attention. But if Zack's interview and the other media bits didn't lure them out, Hope's article would run next week, with more damning details that would definitely spark their interest.
AFTERWARD, I gave some sound bites to the biggest TV news crews- just enough to ensure they knew whose vibes had led to the body- then slipped away in search of peace and Jeremy. As I passed the living room, I heard someone being pelted with questions. Those crews who hadn't been lucky enough to get an interview with Grady or me had tracked down a substitute.
"Um, yes," Angelique was saying. "I have picked up some, uh, feelings in the yard."