Damnation Code (William Massa) - William Massa Page 0,15
back tears. Everyone who saw and recognized him averted their gaze or offered awkward condolences. He appreciated the gesture even though he drew little comfort from their words.
Unnerved by the attention his presence was drawing from the staff, Talon clenched his jaw and picked up his pace. Heading straight into Richard Powell’s office, he found the Chronicle’s editor-in-chief busy fielding calls.
When Richard noticed Talon, his eyes flashed with surprise. He got off the phone and rushed over, shaking Talon’s hand. “I’m so sorry about what happened,“ Richard said. “Everyone at the paper is in shock. How are you holding up?”
Talon opted not to answer that question. Before the silence could become uncomfortable, Richard continued. “I spoke with Detective Serrone earlier this morning. She is spearheading the investigation into the cult killings and doing everything in her power to catch these psychos.”
For a moment Talon’s mind turned back to the Hispanic detective who had offered her condolences to him. “Does the SFPD have any leads?”
“Not to my knowledge, but they’re playing it close to the chest on this one, “ Richard said.
“I know Michelle did some reporting on these cult crimes. Could that be why this happened?”
“The cops have been asking me the same question, and I’m going to give you the same answer. I don’t know. Michelle could be quite secretive when it came to the stories she was working on.”
Talon’s mood darkened. This wasn’t what he’d hoped to hear. “Do you mind if I take a look at her files?”
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible. Michelle kept all her work on her laptop. According to the police, her computer and smartphone are missing. I’m sorry I can’t be of more help.”
Talon nodded and got up. He was almost out the door when Powell addressed him again. “Wait — there’s one thing. Michelle believed that the cult had ties to Silicon Valley.”
“What do you mean?”
“The three suicides were all tech workers: coders and engineers. It’s a competitive industry. Not every upstart turns into the next Facebook or Apple. For every giant success that makes the news, there are hundreds of failures. The Valley can breed addiction, dysfunction and a sense of entitlement. Maybe even a crackpot cult. It was an angle Michelle was looking into — make of that what you will.”
Talon filed this latest detail away for future analysis. He thanked Powell for his time and left the Chronicle. His next stop was a local occult bookstore he had Googled earlier.
Talon entered the small shop and shook his head at his macabre surroundings. Esoteric paraphernalia crammed the shelves, ranging from spell kits and ritual supplies to bulk herbs and books on Wicca, Santeria, Norse mythology and every conceivable occult tradition imaginable.
Talon didn’t put much stock in any of this superstitious mumbo jumbo. In the battle between science and superstition, science had won a long time ago. It amazed him that so many people still clung to these archaic notions about the world. It was proof that while man was pretty clever, he was still ruled by his hopes and fears.
As he explored the shop, Talon paid little attention to the Tarot cards and Ouija boards. He ignored the vast assortment of crystals and candles. Instead, he bee-lined straight for the section dealing with satanic rituals.
Talon felt uncomfortable in the otherworldly store; it seemed to have been designed to eschew all forms of natural light. The owners were selling the idea of a transcendent experience. Combined with the New Age soundtrack being piped through the loudspeaker system, the décor achieved the desired effect.
Talon wasn’t a superstitious man but ten years of war with fanatics in the Middle East had taught him both the power and the danger of misguided faith in the supernatural. It could turn murder into a holy act and justify the most terrible of crimes, crimes committed in the name of God. Even though he didn’t believe in the Devil Talon did believe in knowing your enemy. If Michelle’s killer worshipped the Prince of Lies, Talon wanted to understand what drove him (or her) to such monstrous acts.
As Talon eyed the shelves of books classified under Satanism, he groaned inwardly at some of the titles. Massive doorstops like THE HISTORY OF THE DEVIL and SERVING DARKNESS promised something a little different than light beach reading.
A waif-like store clerk sidled up to him. Her myriad tattoos and alabaster skin conjured the illusion that she was attuned to some other frequency than the rest of humanity.
She flashed Talon her