Split, Part Three

Rachel was chopping vegetables when I got home. “How was work, dear?” She smirked.

            “It’s a jungle out there.” I kissed her. “What’s for dinner?”

            “I’m not sure yet.” She had onions, green peppers, celery, and a few veggies I didn’t recognize, and something was simmering in a pot on the stove. “Let’s call it Rachel’s Triumph. Unless it sucks, and then I’m going to call it Tom’s Fault.”

            “Can’t wait.” I got myself a beer from the fridge and went into the office to check my messages.

            A few clients had questions, and some requests for information on different cases had come in. I sorted through them, answered most of the questions, and made notes of items to check on later.

            Then my phone buzzed. Leonard Rupp. With a sigh, I answered. “Tom Jurgen speaking.”

            “Jurgen! Where’s Zack? Where is he?”

            He sounded drunk. And frantic. “He’s with your uncle. Where are you?”

            “I’m at—they found my apartment. I’m not there. Listen, I don’t have much time until it comes back. I’ve got to find Zack.”

            Maybe the demon wasn’t active for the moment. Asleep or something. I bit my lip. Anything I did to help him could make me an accessory to whatever murders the demon had committed. At the very least, the cops could take me for aiding and abetting a fugitive. 

            “Look, Leonard, the police are looking for you,” I told him. It was the only thing to do. “The safest thing for you to do is—”

            “I’ve got to find Zack!” He was shouting. I wondered if anyone nearby could hear him. “It’s the only way to get this thing out! For both of us!”

“Where are you?” I wasn’t sure he was really listening to anything I said, but I had to try. “Leonard, where are you now?”

“I don’t—I don’t think I know.” His voice was quiet now. “I don’t remember how I got here.”

“Are you inside? Outside? What do you see?” If he could spot a street sign, or a building—

“Ahh!” He shrieked, and I had to pull the phone away from my ear. Then: “No! This is Hell! I won’t go! Never, never—”

The call dropped.

Damn it. I called the police number. This time I got Cruz again. I told him about the call, and he groaned. “That’s great. No idea where he was?”

“That’s what I said. I told him Zack was with their uncle, so—”

“And they’re gone too. Naperville police just checked the house. No one home.”

“That’s weird. Oscar said he doesn’t drive.” Did he have a car? I hadn’t seen one.

“Whatever. Let me know right away if Rupp calls you again. This time, try to find out where the hell he is.” Cruz hung up.

I glared at the phone. Rachel stuck her head through the doorway. “Dinner.” She saw my expression. “What’s up?”

I told her. “I get that he’s busy with a murder case, but P.I.s have feelings too.” 

“Poor baby.” She patted my head. “Will some of Rachel’s Triumph make you feel better?”

I stood up. Then I sat down again. “Give me five minutes.”

She rolled her eyes. “I know that look. I’m starting without you.”

Zack had mentioned an ex-girlfriend. Jessica. I checked his social media pages and found her quickly: Jessica Stavic, 20something, blond, paralegal. A few minutes later I had a phone number for her.

I got voice mail, so I left a quick message asking if she’d had any contact with Zack today. After waiting a few minutes in case she was just screening her calls, I went to the kitchen for dinner.

Rachel’s Triumph had vegetables, lentils, curry and other spices. “So?” she demanded, glaring at me.

“A triumph.” I took another spoonful. “And I’d say that even though the wrong answer would turn it into Tom,’s Fault.”

She snorted. “Good. I’m freezing it so you can’t use it tomorrow when it’s your turn to cook.”

“Tom’s Triumph? Let’s see, I’ll start with some ketchup, add a pinch of turmeric, pour it all over some zucchini and the last of the elbow macaroni—” My phone buzzed. “Sorry. I should—Hello, Tom Jurgen speaking.”

“Tom Jurgen? This is Jessica Stavic. You called me?”

“Yes, I’m looking for Zack Rupp. He mentioned that you drove him last night. I’m wondering if you’ve heard from him today.”

She hesitated. “Is he in trouble? Because he seems like it. I’m not sure I should be talking to you, but—it feels like something’s wrong.”

I scooted my chair back, trying to decide how much to tell her. “Was his uncle with him?”

“Oscar. Yeah. He kept trying to keep Zack calm. He’d be shouting, and Oscar would calm him down.”

“Did they mention Zack’s brother? Leonard?”

Another pause. “They—they were afraid of Leonard, I guess. I heard his name a couple of times.”

“Where did you take them, Jessica?”

I heard her swallow. “Could we meet up? I don’t want to talk on the phone.”

“Are they close by? At your house?” 

“No. But I can’t talk here, I’ve got roommates. Look, if you come out here I’ll tell you everything. Please? Can you hurry?”

I didn’t like it. Aside from the fact that I was eating dinner, this sounded like a trap from a bad detective movie. Zack wasn’t really my problem anymore. I wasn’t getting paid—

“Where are you?” I asked.

“There’s a coffee shop.” She gave me an address. In Woodridge. I stifled a groan. “Okay, give me an hour.” We hung up.

Rachel shook her head. “I don’t even need my psychic powers for this. You have to go.”

“Yeah, damn it.” My problem is that I’m too curious and stubborn for my own good sometimes. I shoveled down one more spoonful of Rachel’s Triumph and stood up. “I’ll be back as soon as—”

But she stood up at the same time. “I’m coming too.”

“You don’t have to. Don’t you have studying or—”

“I’m tired of sitting at home missing all the fun while you go out and fight crime, or whatever.” She punched my shoulder. “Give me three minutes to clean up.”

I knew better than to argue with her. Plus, I missed taking her with me when I was working. “I’ll help.”

 

So an hour and 10 minutes later Rachel and I were sitting in a small coffee shop on a busy street in downtown Woodridge, only a few blocks from the church where I’d found Zack this afternoon. 

Jessica Stavic was short, wearing glasses and a zip-up sweater and jeans. She looked nervous as we sat down. “Thanks. I know it’s a long drive.”

            I’d bought coffee for Rachel and me. Jessica had a latté in front of her. 

“Can you tell us where Zack is?” I asked. 

            She bit her lip, as if deciding whether to trust us. “He called me this morning to pick him up from some convenience store in Naperville. I was taking him back to my place, but then he saw this church and said he had to go there. I let him out, and he just ran inside.” 

            “Then what happened?” Rachel asked, more patient than me.

            “Then he called me a few hours ago. He said he needed me to take him and his uncle back to that church.” She sighed. “But when we got there, the church was closed and locked. They were standing around, I was in my car waiting for them to come back, but then this guy came around the side of the church. They started talking, and then they were arguing, but then they just walked back to where the guy came from. Zack waved to me that he was okay.” She rubbed her eyes. “I came home, and I got your message, and I thought I should call you.”

            “What did he look like? The other man?”

            She frowned. “I didn’t get a good look at him, but he kind of looked like Zack. Same kind of body, broad shoulders, short, blond hair . . .”

            Leonard. At least it sounded like him. “You didn’t hear anything they said?”

            Jessica shook her head. “But before he got out of the car, he gave me this.” She dug into her pocket. 

            It was a yellow Post-it with the word “Malik” on the front. On the Post-it side it said, “Help me.”

            “I didn’t look at it until I got home. I didn’t know what to do, and then I heard your message. What is ‘Malik’?”

            “It could be the name of the demon.” I looked at Rachel. “Can you check it out?”

            She had her laptop in a shoulder bag. “Give me a minute.”

“Demon?” Jessica gaped at me. “You mean—a demon?”

I nodded. “Zack and his brother have been possessed by a demon. If this is its name, that can help an exorcist force it out.” 

I waited for Jessica to tell me I was crazy, but she looked away, processing it. “Okay, well—” She stood up. “You need anything more? I’ve got, uh, stuff to do—”

“That’s fine, thanks.” I watched her go, leaving her latté behind on the table. Then I turned to Rachel. “Anything?”  

“Right here on Wikipedia.” She turned the screen for me. “Malik—Persian devil, born in Hell and exiled to wander Earth corrupting and collecting souls. Also killing random people so their souls will go down to the underworld. Sounds like a nice guy.” She sighed. “I’ve missed this kind of stuff.”

“Glad you’re here.” I pressed the Post-it into her hand. “Does this tell you anything?”

Rachel closed her eyes. “Fear. Mixed with anger. Mixed with—hunger. Not like he missed lunch.”

I noticed the café manager looking at us. We hadn’t touched our coffee. “Let’s get out of here.” I stood up.

“Home?” Rachel picked up our cups to throw away.

“Yeah. No.” I shook my head. “As long as we’re here, I want to swing by that church again. Maybe we’ll spot something.”

“Shouldn’t you call the cops about Rupp being there?”

I hesitated. Rachel was right, but I knew the police would just tell me to go home. I didn’t want to. Not yet. “I can call them later. Chances are he’s long gone.”

She rolled her eyes. “Hope you’re right. We didn’t bring Donald.”

“Donald Duck” was our nickname for the handgun I’d bought. I only carry it when I’m dealing with a potential murderer; otherwise it’s locked in our bedroom closet. I hadn’t been expecting to run into Leonard Rupp when I drove out to Woodridge. Maybe I should have, but I don’t really want to get into the habit of carrying it too often. I might use it.

In the car I checked my GPS, and we headed for the church. At night it looked smaller, with a weak spotlight illuminating its name above the front door. The parking lot was empty. The flowers swayed in the evening breeze.

Rachel carried the car’s flashlight as we got out. Nothing seemed to be moving inside the stained-glass windows. I checked the door, but it was locked, like Jessica said.

I tried peering through a front window. I could see the foyer, and a light inside the sanctuary, but nothing more.

“What are we looking for?” Rachel asked, flicking the light back and forth.

“I don’t know.” Another Post-it? A message scrawled in the dirt? Zack and Leonard inside the church? Whatever I wanted, I wasn’t finding it here. “Let’s take a look in back.”

We walked around the building. One light from the corner of the roof cast shadows across the cracked pavement of the alley and two locked dumpsters. A van with the church’s name on the side was parked in front of the back door.

Rachel froze. “Uh, Tom . . .?” She aimed the light between the two dumpsters.

A foot.

Oh hell. I took the flashlight from her and stepped forward. One step, then another, and then I pointed the light toward the ground.

It was Oscar Parks, with a huge bloody gash across his chest, dried blood staining his shirt and jacket, his glasses lying next to his face, broken. Dead.