Part 13 (2/2)

”But you did,” she interrupted. ”And you were right. I remember you telling me that there were two women, and their ages.” She still wasn't looking him in the eye. ”They were both young. One wasn't much older than Mireva.” Brynna turned her head and stared out the window. ”They were hardly here at all, and the killer snuffed them out like their lives were no more important than candle flames.”

Redmond tried to think of something to say but couldn't. Everything she'd said was true.

”It's sad to think about,” Brynna continued. ”Sad, and ... heavy heavy somehow. I've never felt guilt before. I've never somehow. I've never felt guilt before. I've never had had to.” She scowled. ”It's very difficult, and yet there are so many people in the world who don't seem to be affected by it.” to.” She scowled. ”It's very difficult, and yet there are so many people in the world who don't seem to be affected by it.”

”Sociopaths.”

”What?”

”Sociopaths,” Redmond said again. ”People who feel no guilt exhibit what psychiatrists call sociopathic behavior. No matter what they do or who they hurt, they feel no guilt or regret about it. They don't care. Often they actually enjoy hurting others, and most don't see any problem with sacrificing other people to get what they want.” He paused. ”Maybe that's what we're dealing with here.”

”I don't think so,” Brynna said in a low voice. ”This man is a nephilim, and nephilim are irrevocably tied to humankind. He's been misled and my guess is that this is a great struggle for him. His ties to his destiny are strong, and unless he's lost himself completely, instinct tells him it's wrong and he'll question what he's doing more and more as time pa.s.ses.”

”Then why do this to begin with?” Redmond asked.

”He's weak and he's making the wrong choices. It's the human part of him.” Brynna's eyes were troubled when she looked at him. ”You see, it's all about choices. It always has been. And it's making the wrong choices that gets us all all in trouble.” in trouble.”

Redmond thought about this as he neared the corner of Wrightwood and Mildred. Brynna had talked about choices before, and making the right ones was really what it all came down to. Still, he didn't think it was as black-and-white as it seemed on the surface. There were way too many things that affected decisions, especially the big ones, and if he understood what she claimed was happening here, deception was a key factor. So was circ.u.mstance. And what about those who were forced to choose something they might not have otherwise? Yeah, it was a lot more complicated. But then, wasn't everything? Choices were a part of life, and very few people had truly simple lives.

”This is Mildred,” he said. ”How far down?”

”Not far,” she said. ”Might as well park.”

Redmond nodded and slid the car into a spot on the west side of the street. They got out and Redmond followed Brynna as she crossed to the east sidewalk. She was walking fast, with more determination than he thought he'd ever seen her show. Somehow he wasn't comforted by the change. ”Wait up,” he called when she turned into the walkway of an older apartment building. ”I should go in first.”

She tilted her head. ”Why?”

”Because I'm the police,” he explained patiently. ”And you're not.”

”Fine,” Brynna said and moved aside to follow him. ”The door in the back. But it's probably locked, and I don't know which apartment he lives in.”

Redmond stopped at the entrance, considering. ”But you know for sure he lives here?”

Brynna nodded. ”I'm certain of it. I followed his scent.” When he started to protest, she cut him off. ”Before you say that's crazy, remember that's how I found Cho Kim.”

What could he say to that? He tried the k.n.o.b out of habit, and of course it wouldn't turn. He pointed to the right side of the door, where there was a line of doorbells with a worn label over each. ”But you can't tell from here?”

”Do you push your own doorbell?”

Good point. He stared at the names again, but that certainly wasn't going to help. With nothing beyond Brynna's ... guidance, guidance, he certainly hadn't been able to ask a judge for a search warrant-until now, he hadn't even had an address. No, he'd have to come up with some other way to figure out which of these people was his man. Then he had an idea. ”Let's a.s.sume the killer is a nephilim like you say. Wouldn't his name be on that list, even if he isn't one of the victims?” he certainly hadn't been able to ask a judge for a search warrant-until now, he hadn't even had an address. No, he'd have to come up with some other way to figure out which of these people was his man. Then he had an idea. ”Let's a.s.sume the killer is a nephilim like you say. Wouldn't his name be on that list, even if he isn't one of the victims?”

Brynna lifted one eyebrow. ”Maybe. Actually, more than maybe. Probably.”

Redmond pulled out his phone and had Onani on the line in less than a minute. ”I've got some names here,” he told the tech. ”Run them against that hit list pulled off the jewelry store computer.” When Onani was ready, Redmond read him the mailbox labels, spelling the less common ones. ”Sallee, Osier-what? O-S-I-E-R. No, I have no idea how to p.r.o.nounce it. Nothing yet? Then try these: Van Patten, Ma.s.sie, Skinner, Klesowitch, Gallardo, Fa.s.sl-F-A-S-S-L.” A grim smile swept across his mouth. ”Got it. Here's the last three, just in case: deMonterice, Hodge, Sweedlow.” He listened, then nodded. ”Thanks.” To Brynna he said, ”We have a match. Klesowitch.”

”Great.” She put her hand on the doork.n.o.b. ”Let's go get him. I can open this-”

”I see you!”

The shrill voice cut through the air and both Redmond and Brynna looked up. ”Fabulous,” she muttered. ”Here we go again.”

Above their heads, an old woman was leaning out of her apartment window. ”And I remember you, young lady. I warned you before, this is a Neighborhood Watch area. I should've called the police on you the first time, but you can bet your bottom I'm going to right now!”

Brynna looked perplexed at the woman's words, but Redmond yanked out his badge and held it up before the woman could back away from the sill. ”I am am the police, ma'am. May I ask you a few questions?” the police, ma'am. May I ask you a few questions?”

The old woman's face twisted in indecision. ”What're you doing with her?”

”She's helping me locate someone,” Redmond answered.

”She didn't even know his last name when she was here before!”

”Nothing wrong with her memory,” Brynna said in a voice low enough so that only Redmond could hear.

Redmond suppressed a smile. ”But we do now, and maybe you can help us.”

The elderly woman peered down at him. ”What is it?”

Redmond made a show of glancing around. ”I'd rather not shout it out, if you get my meaning.”

”All right,” the woman said after a moment. Her gaze cut to the left and right, and Redmond could imagine her cooking up some great conspiracy. If only she had any real idea. ”I'll ring you in. Third floor front.”

There were no apartment numbers on the bells, but once the buzzer rang and they were inside, he could see who lived in which apartment. Klesowitch was on the second floor, in the rear; they would pa.s.s it on their way up, and if he heard movement inside ... well, there would be a little delay in talking to the building busybody.

But everything was silent on the second-floor landing, and Brynna confirmed it. ”There's no one in his apartment,” she whispered. ”If there were, I'd be able to hear.” Redmond set his jaw and reluctantly kept going, but what he really wanted to do was kick down the d.a.m.ned door.

”In here,” the old woman said impatiently from the landing above them. ”Don't take all day. Having the door open is letting out my air-conditioning.”

”Yes, ma'am,” Redmond said agreeably. He bit back a retort about how hanging out the open window would have the same effect. Next to him Brynna actually laughed under her breath as they were going through the doorway, although he had no idea why. The apartment was fairly s.p.a.cious, with flowered oval throw rugs on clean wood floors, and overstuffed antique furniture. A small air conditioner hummed in the window to the far left, and semi-sheer curtains muted the light. Dozens of framed photographs, most in black and white, were hung on walls that could have used repainting five years ago. Fresh flowers-daisies, lilies, and the like-rested in a vintage crystal vase on one of the end tables.

”Let me see your badge again,” the woman demanded before he could introduce himself. ”It might be fake. And don't think I'll be fooled if it is.”

Redmond held it out but kept his grip on it when she tried to pull it from his fingers. With his other hand he offered his business card. ”I'm Detective Redmond and this is Ms. Malak. Sorry, but I can't let you take the badge. You're welcome to call in the badge number if you like. We'll wait. And your name is ... ?”

She scowled at him, looking from his badge to the business card, then back to his face. Finally she gestured for them to sit. As they settled onto the couch, she announced in a voice that was too loud, ”My name is Clara Sweedlow. I've been in this apartment for thirty-five years and I know everyone in this building.”

I'll bet you do, Redmond thought, but outwardly he gave her as pleasant a smile as he could manage. Inside, his mind was spinning with impatience, but he knew from experience that you just couldn't push people like this old woman. They'd tell you just about everything you wanted to know, but it would be at their own pace. ”Do you know Michael Klesowitch?”

”Of course I do.” Clara Sweedlow lowered her ample frame onto a rocker upholstered in worn floral fabric, then folded her hands in her lap like a prim schoolteacher. ”He's a very nice young man, lives on the second floor in the rear. Very polite. Very religious,” she added with a small, satisfied nod. Her watery gaze focused on Brynna and her eyes narrowed. ”A bit young for you, I'd think. Although he's very good-looking, so I can see why you'd be interested.”

”I'm not-” Brynna began, but she stopped when Redmond cleared his throat pointedly.

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