I got rid of your woman, but that might not be wise. So I thought that I’d let your imagination help me.”
“If you touch her or Beth, I’ll butcher you the way you deserve, you son of a bitch.”
Drogan chuckled. “No, I’m on top now. All you have are empty words. You won our first encounter, but I’ll win the last. I’ll get you eventually, but now I have Eve Duncan. Do you know what I’m going to do with her?”
“I’m sure you’re going to tell me,” Joe said hoarsely.
“I’ve decided she deserves a ceremonial end. You’re a good cop, aren’t you, Joe Quinn? I’m sure you were able to research my somewhat colorful background. Your Eve reminds me of my mother.” He added softly, “Do you know what I did to my mother?” He hung up.
Joe’s right fist crashed down on the steering wheel. “Bastard. Bastard.”
“Joe?” Kendra tentatively touched his shoulder.
He drew a harsh breath. “Well I definitely know what he’s planning for that snake.” He turned to her. “And I won’t let him do it. We’re going to find him. Help me, dammit. He may toy with her for a while, but he’s—”
“I’ll try. Calm down. I’ll make a phone call,” she interrupted as she dialed. “Dave Kramer. He’s an old friend who owns a head shop in San Ysidro. He also sells a lot of this Goth and occult stuff. He might be able to give me a lead on Drogan’s source.”
“Who may have a delivery address?” Newell asked.
She shrugged. “We just have to follow the dots.” She put the phone on speaker as the call was accessed, “Dave, Kendra Michaels. I need—”
“Do you know what time it is?”
“Did I wake you?”
“No, but you interrupted me.” He added sourly, “Never mind. What do you want?”
“Voodoo oil. I need the name and address of a holy man who sells black arts oil in California.”
Kramer made a disgusted sound. “Kendra, don’t tell me you believe in that crap. The only reason I carry this stuff is that—”
“I don’t want to buy it. There’s a certain oil I need to trace back to the maker. Can you help?”
“I can name four people right off the top of my head. Some of those college kids in Burbank have been fooling around with the cult since there have been all those movies and zombie shows.”
“This isn’t a college kid. He’s the real thing and very nasty. I have to find him fast, Dave.”
He was silent. “Okay. Bring it in, and I’m pretty sure we can—”
“No time for that. I’m in Malibu. But I think I can tell you most of the ingredients.”
“Why make it easy for me, huh?”
“I identified several of them. Probably not all.” She began to reel off the scents she’d detected in the car.
Joe shook his head. Kendra always amazed him—a few minutes of concentration, and she had been able to separate and identify at least ten elements.
“Wait a minute.” Dave stopped her. “Cola?”
“That’s what it smelled like. Am I wrong?”
“Yeah, that’s cinnamon bark you’re smelling. Give me a minute to look through my catalog.” He came back on the line. “There’s only one person in the area who deals with a black oil made with cinnamon bark. It’s Nancy Geronimo and the cinnamon bark is kind of her trademark. She’s an elderly Native American woman, and she claims that the cinnamon bark soothes sacrificial animals used in the rituals.”
“Snakes?”
“I never heard of its being used on snakes. I guess it’s possible. But they’re not usually one of the sacrifices. They tend to embody a god or something.”
“Drogan may be establishing his own rules. Where does she live?”
“Mojave.”
“The desert?”
“The town. It’s in the desert.”
“Can you give me a phone and address?”
He paused, checking, then rattled off the information. “Is that all? Now may I go back to bed?”
“Yes, thanks, Dave.”
“Well, it wasn’t my pleasure, but you’ve done me a couple favors, Kendra. Come and see me next time you’re down my way.” He hung up.
Kendra immediately dialed the phone number for Nancy Geronimo.
No answer.
No voice mail.
Joe muttered a curse.
She dialed again.
No answer.
Kendra hung up and turned to Joe. “We can go bang on her door. But Mojave is over an hour away. When we get there, the old woman may not know anything about Drogan. Or she might be mailing his order somewhere. However you look at it, it’s risky. It’s your call, Joe.”
“Yes, it is.” If this turned out to be a wasted trip, then Eve and Beth