Violet closed the box and set it aside. So Miles had most likely gotten that pentagram tattoo upon joining the Temple. He had been engaging in secret meetings with an occult organization for over three years, without ever once mentioning this to his friend and partner.
And, in the end, something related to all of this had gotten him killed.
She stood up and began pacing, finishing two cigarettes before she came to the decision that she needed more answers. It wasn’t going to be enough to simply find Morehouse and bring him to justice… for one thing, she still didn’t know that he was the one who had killed Miles. Even if he was, was he the one who killed Walter? And how many more people would die over possession of The Damned Thing? She wanted to find that piece of occult hardware and deal with it, too.
But where to start? At the Topaz Club, where Morehouse might be found? Or with Bane’s employer, the mysterious Johann Burkard? Or maybe…
Violet looked over at the box of items related to the Order. A cool smile played upon her full lips. She stubbed out her cigarette and picked up the box, studying the underside of it. There was a small piece of paper stuck to it with glue. She’d felt it with her fingers while manipulating the box but hadn’t glanced at it until now. There was an address scribbled on the paper: 1764 Essex Way. That was in an old Atlanta neighborhood, with several houses that managed to escape Sherman’s burning of the city.
She returned the box to its hiding place and left the apartment, using a spare key she’d found inside to lock the door. Within moments, she was seated in the back of a taxicab, headed towards Essex Way.
Chapter V
The black sedan that had followed Violet’s taxi parked at the far end of the street and the driver quickly pulled up the previous day’s newspaper, covering his face. Violet had noticed it several blocks previously but wasn’t prepared to confront the driver just yet. For all she knew, it was one of McKenzie’s men, assigned to keep tabs on her.
The house at 1764 Essex Way was a lovely, well-kept affair. A white picket fence surrounded the property, which was set some distance off the road. A sign out front read “The Johnson-Davis House.” Violet had never been here before but she knew of the place. Miles had told her when he’d attended a party here some years ago. Now that she knew more about Miles, she realized that the party had been held around the time he’d apparently joined the Order.
Violet stepped through the gate and strode up the steps to the front door. She knocked sharply and immediately heard a man’s footsteps in response. She had thought about the different ways she could handle this meeting on the way over but in the end, she’d elected to go with the direct approach. It was one she favored in general and it suited her current mood.
An older gentleman in a well-tailored dark suit opened the door and his eyes immediately widened at the sight of the lovely Violet. She was holding her pistol directly at his face.
“Hello. My name is Violet Cambridge. My partner Miles Knopf used to be a member of this… club. Is that the right word for it?”
The man took a deep breath to steady his nerves. “Madam, I don’t have the first clue as to what you’re talking about.” He spoke with the deliciously smooth tones of a true Southern gentleman.
“Really? You’re telling me you’ve never heard of The Sovereign Military Order of the Temple of Jerusalem?”
The man’s eyes widened briefly but nothing else on his face suggested that he was surprised by those words. “I think you have the wrong address.”
“Don’t lie to me. Being lied to makes me develop a real itchy trigger finger.”
The man stared at her for a moment before stepping back, holding the door open for her. “Please come inside. There’s no need for the entire neighborhood to hear our business.”
Violet entered the foyer and noted that the place was distinctly male in ambience. The paintings on the walls, the colors of the place, even the scents, made it feel like she’d entered a well-to-do men’s club. “You have a name?” she asked, still brandishing her pistol.
“Indeed I do. My name is William Sinclair, though my friends call me Bill.”
“Considering I’m pointing a gun at you, I’m not sure I qualify as a friend.”
“A beautiful woman is always welcome to call me Bill.”
Despite herself, Violet found herself being charmed by this man. He had an easy way about himself that was appealing. He looked to be in his late forties or early fifties, with silver hair that was long enough to brush the collar of his coat. He was slim but not skinny and his eyes were an enticing shade of oceanic blue. “All right, Bill. How about answering my question? Have you heard of the Order?”
Bill nodded. “Yes. I have. Miles was a member of our organization and I was very sad to hear of his passing. But not altogether surprised. These are dark days, Miss Cambridge. And before things get better, I’m afraid a few more people are going to join Mr. Knopf in the grave.”
Violet didn’t even notice that Sinclair had called her by name. She was so pleased to finally be getting somewhere with her investigation that it totally passed her by. She glanced down at her gun and then back at Bill’s face. “Am I going to need this?”
“I would hope not. I’m certainly not your enemy.”
Violet was about to put the gun back into her purse when the door suddenly exploded inwards, shards of wood striking both her and Sinclair. Someone on the other side had fired a double-barreled shotgun and Violet could hear them reloading. She went to pull Bill out of the way of fire when she noticed that he was bleeding from his belly.
“Damn it,” she whispered, grabbing him by the hand and yanking him into a sitting room down the hall. She pushed him back into a chair and crept back towards the foyer. Another set of shots rang out, basically destroying what was left of the door. It swung inwards, hanging in tatters off its hinges.
A man wearing a dark suit and a fedora hat kicked his way in, scattering more pieces of wood. He was loading in two more shells when Violet sprang out into the open. She emptied her chamber, catching the man with four shots to the chest and midsection. He staggered back, squeezing the trigger of his shotgun as he did so. The blast tore a chunk out of the wall and echoed loudly up and down the street.
Violet relaxed as the man fell backwards, tumbling down the stairs and landing in a bloody heap in the grass. She approached the door cautiously, not sure if the man had come alone. Not seeing anyone, she moved further out until she could see the sedan parked down the street. It was now empty, confirming that this was the man who had followed her from Miles’ apartment.
Kneeling at his side, Violet hurriedly checked for any identification the man might have carried. She noticed a few of the neighbors beginning to cautiously emerge. She ignored their gawking, completing her search. He had nothing on him to indicate who he was but there might be something in the car, she decided. But first she had to check on Sinclair. As she started to rise, she noticed a strange symbol on the back of the dead man’s right hand. A closer examination revealed that this was no mere tattoo. This was a branding, like what was done to cattle. The symbol itself was that of the sun being partially eclipsed.
Violet moved back towards the house, stopping long enough to yell across the street to a portly gentleman with curly hair. “Call the police! Tell them there’s an emergency!” The man responded instantly, sprinting as fast as his obese form would allow.