So after cleaning up and taking a shower, I dressed and managed to eat some Lucky Charms while Rachel made coffee. It was early for her to be up, but she couldn’t go back to sleep. She ate toast and drank coffee with me. “You all right?”
“Yeah.” Not really. I’ve seen people die, some of whom I could have saved. It was never easy.
After breakfast I carried my mug of coffee back into the office and called Warren Pierce. “Hello, Warren Pierce, how may I help—oh, Tom Jurgen.”
“Yeah. I understand that Natalie McGinnis is dead.”
“Oh god. Yes. I saw it this morning. I called Marcus right away. What’s going on?”
“Why call Marcus? You called him before. With Charmaine.”
“Because—I don’t know, we were all friends. I guess he was just the first person I thought of. Why?”
“Just . . . curious.” It was better than “suspicious.” Something about Warren’s interest in both deaths was making me wonder. “Can you give me Neva’s number? Charmaine’s sister?”
“Uh, sure, I’ll send a text.”
I checked the clock on my computer. 7:32. Neva might not be awake yet. I decided not to bother her too early. Instead I went on a deep dive for information about Warren Pierce.
His LinkedIn profile had his full résumé, including his law degree from the University of Chicago. He’d posted articles on tax and estate law, and volunteered his services pro bono to a number of charitable institutions around the city. In his profile photo he was sitting at a desk in front of a window with a wide view of Lake Michigan. He was clean-shaven, with short brown hair and dark brown eyes.
No Facebook profile. I searched for Neva, and found her after a few minutes. Different last name—Karville—but she had Charmaine listed as a friend. I clicked over to Charmaine’s profile.
Her “About” page showed that she’d gone to Lane Tech High School before the U of C. She’d worked at a small accounting firm in the suburbs. I scrolled through her pictures. She was short and blond, with a wide smile. Her photos featured beaches, birthday parties, nieces and nephews—and two shots of Warren Pierce.
In one, they had their arms around each others’ shoulders, holding drinks and laughing. The other showed them sitting across a table from each other, eating dinner, smiling.
Then I searched again for Natalie McGinnis on social media, scrolling slowly this time. After a few of her puppy pictures, I found one with her and Warren hugging.
It was still too early to call Neva. But Marcus Keene was already up. “Hi. I have a question—did your friend Warren date Charmaine? Or Natalie?”
“I don’t think so. Not in college, that I remember, but I haven’t heard from him in—wait, what are you saying?”
“I’m not sure. Let’s not jump to conclusions.” Even though I’d already leaped. “Why would he call you about Charmaine and Natalie, though?”
“He’s—he was sort of attached to me. Not sexually, just like he wanted me to be his best Black friend. Or something like that. He calls me or sends me an email every couple of weeks. Complains about his job, bad dates, stuff like that.”
Warren had said they were all close. But different people have different perspectives of their friends. Still . . .
I thanked Marcus and hung up. Tried to think.
Azar had killed two people. Women. Was it targeting all the women in the group? That left only Anis. I had to warn her. But what the hell could I say?
At 9 a.m. I couldn’t wait anymore. I called Neva. She was awake, and she answered quickly. I explained who I was and apologized for bothering her. Told her I was sorry for her loss.
“Th-thank you.” She sniffled. “I don’t even know how to do a funeral these days. Our parents are gone. I guess I’m glad they didn’t have to go through this. All of this.”
“I understand.” I paused as she blew her nose. “I’d like to ask you a few questions. I hope they don’t upset you too much.”
“Is this about Charmaine?”
“A little. But I’m not trying to dig into her life. Do you know a friend of hers, Natalie McGinnis?”
“I think I remember her name. From college. She hung out with a group of friends at the U of C.”
“Yeah.” I hesitated. “I’m sorry to tell you this, but Natalie is dead.”
“Oh no! What’s—what happened?”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out. The reason they’re connected—aside from being friends—is that she posted the word ‘Azar’ on her Facebook page before she died.”
Neva shrieked so loud I almost dropped my phone. “What the —? That’s—it’s—oh god, oh god . . .” She gasped for 10 seconds. I was afraid she might throw up.
Finally she caught her breath. “I’m sorry. It was just—so horrible. What’s Azar?”
Again I hesitated. “This is going to sound crazy, but it might be a demon that Charmaine and her friends contacted during a séance at college.”
“Oh.” A deep breath. “Yeah. Charmaine loved all the occult stuff. I never believed in it, really, but we did one together too, one time, and it was pretty weird. I don’t know what to think now.”
“Do you know if she was having nightmares about Azar?”
“I don’t—yeah, I talked to her a few days before—before it happened, and she said she wasn’t sleeping good. Bad dreams. But she didn’t say anything else.”
“Can I ask you—did your sister ever date Warren Pierce? He was one of her college friends.”
“Warren? Y-yeah. About a year ago. It was—okay at first, I guess, but then Charmaine broke up with him. He was drinking a lot, using coke, and stuff like that. He was—he sort of stalked her for a while, but I never heard anything about him after a few months. Do you think—”
“I’m not sure.” I cut her off before she could speculate too much. “Did you know Natalie McGinnis?”
“Not really. I met her once or twice. Nice girl.”
“You wouldn’t know if she was involved with Warren?”
“No idea. Sorry.”
“No problem. Thanks for your time. Again, I’m sorry about your sister.”
“Th-thank you.”
Rachel came into the office in jeans and a sweatshirt. “Getting anywhere?”
“Maybe. Warren Pierce dated Charmaine, and apparently didn’t take it well when they broke up. And there’s a photo of him on Natalie’s Facebook page.”
“Huh.” She set her mug of coffee down next to her computer. “You’re thinking he’s somehow using Azar to kill them? Because he’s mad at them for breaking up with him?”
“I don’t . . .” I stopped. “Yeah. That’s what I’m thinking.”
I called Joe Busch again. “How is Anis?”
“More nightmares last night. This is getting crazy. Neither of us can sleep. Do you know anything?”
“Did she ever date Warren Pierce? He was in your group—”
“Oh hell. Honey? Can you come in here?”
A moment later Anis was on the line. “Warren . . . we never really—I mean, we did it a few times. In college. I was drunk—I mean, not that drunk, I knew what I was doing. But he was kind of weird, especially after the séance. So I kind of stayed away from him after that. I’m sorry, honey, it didn’t mean anything—”
“It’s okay. You told me all about it a long time ago . . .”
I waited a moment to let them gather themselves. When Warren cleared his throat, I asked, “So when you say he got weird—what do you mean? Did he stalk you?”
“Kind of. I kept seeing him everywhere I went. He called me in the middle of the night, twice, but then he stopped. Eventually I stopped seeing him everywhere. But last week—he sent me a friend request. So I accepted it. And we chatted a little. He said he’d heard about me and Joe—”
“Is this when the nightmares started?”
She paused to think. “Uh, yeah. I think so. Yeah.”
It was Warren. Somehow. “Thanks. I’ll be in touch.” As soon as I figured out what the hell I was going to do.
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