Fury of the Demon (Kara Gillian) by Diana Rowland Page B

Olympic gymnast weep in envy. Her face lit with exuberance. “A murder scene! This is exciting!” Then she quickly sobered, chagrined. “Perhaps not the choicest response.”
    I tried not to laugh, with only partial success. “Perhaps not.” After giving her the details and location I climbed into the Camry and headed out with her following on the motorcycle. I really needed to learn how to ride one of the damn things. A woman on a motorcycle automatically got something like fifty “hot chick” points. Then again, there was no way in hell Eilahn would ever let me risk myself like that.
Hmmf.
    The Walmart parking lot appeared to be business as usual when we arrived, with no sign of a crime scene. It wasn’t until I continued around to the back that I found the swarm of cops. The majority of the activity appeared to be centered around a parked eighteen-wheeler with an open back. Crime scene tape had been strung between cars to form a sizeable perimeter.
    I found a convenient place to park, got out, and adjusted my jacket. Eilahn pulled up behind me and dismounted, removed her helmet, then went into scan-for-threats mode.
    I walked up to the deputy who stood with a clipboard by the crime scene tape. “I’m a special consultant for the FBI,” I told him, taking great pleasure in showing my pretty ID. To my annoyance, the deputy barely even glanced at it and failed to show even the slightest bit of awe at my status. Vaguely disgruntled, I signed the crime scene log then headed toward the open back end of the truck and the knot of law enforcement types there. I automatically looked for the familiar sight of Jill among the cops before remembering that the snarky-yet-awesome crime scene tech was eight months pregnant and working in the lab instead of the field.
    A heavy set man with greasy black hair stood a few feet from the truck, phone pressed to his ear. Not far from him a much smaller, wiry man sucked on a cigarette as he tucked a notepad into his pocket. Vincent Pellini and Marcel Boudreaux, two of Beaulac PD’s Violent Crimes detectives and all-around royal pains in the ass. Pellini did enough work to get by, but that was about it. He gave the impression of being perpetually miserable and didn’t hesitate to ridicule or belittle anyone or anything whenever the opportunity arose. Boudreaux was cut from the same cloth and exacerbated the general unpleasantness.
    Pellini gave me a nod and, to my surprise, sent what might have almost been something vaguely resembling a smile in my direction. He ended his call as I approached.
    “Hey, Pellini,” I said. I even gave him a smile in return. What the hell. I was feeling generous.
    His gaze swept over me, easily noting the gun under my jacket to judge by the way his eyes stopped at the slight bulge before continuing on. “Damn, Gillian,” he said with a little scowl that was oddly lacking in malice. “Never thought you’d go Fed on us.”
    “I didn’t,” I replied. “It’s worse. I’m a
civilian consultant
.”
    Pellini shuddered. “Well, we’ll get you started on a good case.”
    “What’s the deal?” I looked over at the dark maw of the semi-trailer. “I heard it looked like a Symbol Man victim.” My eyes went back to his. “But the Symbol Man’s dead.” I stopped short of saying,
I saw him die. I saw the demonic lord rip his head off for daring to attempt to summon and bind him.
Probably best not to go there.
    “Looks like somebody doing a copycat but making it their own,” he replied, shrugging. “It’s a lot cleaner, and there’s no doubt they wanted us to find the body.”
    “You got an anonymous tip?”
    Pellini’s mouth twisted beneath his thick black moustache. “You could say that.” He dug a photo out of the folder in his hand and passed it to me. It was an aerial shot of the parking lot with the semi in clear view.
Dead Body Inside
had been painted in huge letters on top of the truck.
    “Yeah, that would be a Clue,” I