Dead Cold Mysteries Box Set #2: Books 5-8 (A Dead Cold Box Set), Blake Banner [readnow TXT] 📗

coherently at all, Detective, he is identifying himself as her guardian angel, yes. I think she once jestingly called him that and he liked it.”

I gave Humberto the thumbs up and pushed a little further. “Eu, voce, Maria Sylvie e Simon…”

He groaned loudly, dropped his head on the table and covered it with his arms. “None! None! Diavolo incarnato, note oscura, santaficata Maria! Santaficata Maria! None! None!”

“Is he calling Simon the devil incarnate?”

He sighed. “I don’t know what you hope to achieve with this, Detective.”

I leaned closer toward Humberto. “Diavolo incarnato?”

Paul interrupted, “Onde voce ollo a diavolo incarnato?”

“No jardim de Getsêmani! Santa Maria plena di graza! Fora! Fora! Fora!”

He started covering his head again. Paul placed his hand gently on his shoulder. “I asked him where he had seen the devil incarnate. He said he had seen him in the Garden of Gethsemane.”

“What does that mean?”

“It could be simple fantasy…”

“Does he hallucinate?”

He was taken aback. “Well, no I have never known him to…”

“Then why would this be fantasy?”

“I simply mean…”

“I am getting tired of you putting obstacles in my way at every step of this investigation, Paul. You are not doing yourself any favors. At the moment, I am trying harder than you know to help you and Humberto. Keep trying to sabotage me and you will lose my support. Have I made myself understood? You are running out of credit.”

He drew breath. “He may have seen somebody in Sylvie’s garden. He has referred to her garden as Gethsemane in the past.”

“He did. I know he did. He scared off a burglar shortly before Simon was killed.” He looked astonished, but I ignored him and turned back to Humberto. I put my hand on his huge arm. “Angelo de la guarda. Voce, e eu. Maria Sylvie e Simon.”

He kept his head covered, muttering, “Malo, malefico, diavolo incarnato, muita sanguis nas manos, muita sanguis no punhal, muita sanguis, malo malefica, diavolo incarnato, Santa Maria… Santa Maria…”

He went quiet, but for the sound of his sobs. I looked at Paul.

He sighed again. “He keeps saying it is bad, the devil incarnate had blood on his hands, lots of blood on the dagger. But this does not constitute a confession of any sort, Detective. He could be talking about a film he has seen. It could be anything.”

“You and I both know exactly what it means, Reverend. What did you talk to Sylvie about for forty-five minutes on the phone the night Simon was killed?”

“I called when I saw the police had left to see if she was all right.”

“Why didn’t you go over?”

“She told me not to.”

“Did she tell you Humberto had been there?”

“No!”

Humberto looked up. His face was wet. “Amigo. Angelo di la guarda.”

“Did she tell you who had killed Simon?”

“No. She said she wanted to forget.”

“Was it Humberto?”

“No…!” He hesitated. “I don’t know.”

I turned to Humberto. “Did Simon hurt Sylvie, Humberto?”

“Malo, Diavolo…”

“Did you stop him from hurting Sylvie? Did you stop Simon from hurting Sylvie?”

He grinned. “Humberto, angelo di la guarda, Santa Maria plena di graza…”

My phone rang. I looked at the screen. It was Dehan. I glanced at Paul. “Excuse me.” I stepped out of the room into the corridor and answered.

“Yeah.”

“Stone. I think you’re going to want to come and see this. We found both knives. It’s like a hoard, or a stash of treasures. It’s in the grounds, in the hedgerow by the fence. The bowie knife is in a plastic bag. The kitchen knife isn’t. I think there’s still blood caked on both weapons.”

I was quiet for a moment. “Okay, I’ll be there in twenty minutes. Have you called the CSI team?”

“Yeah. They are already on their way.”

“Don’t let them take anything away till I get there. Here is what I want you to do…”

I stepped back into the room and sat. I smiled at Humberto. He grinned. I put a sentence together I hoped he would understand. “Eu quiero ollare votre tesoro.”

He laughed his donkey bray laugh. “Voce, eu, ollare meu tesoro!”

Paul frowned. “He is going to show you his treasure? What treasure?”

“Let’s find out.”

Fifteen

I stepped out of the reverend’s car onto the wet sidewalk, in the damp, gray afternoon. Paul got out of the driver’s side and helped Humberto out of the back, then led him around to where I was waiting. We walked together through the gate and into the grounds of the church. Outside the big, red doors, a uniformed cop watched us. I stopped and said to Paul, “Don’t say anything.” Then I smiled at Humberto and repeated, “I want to see your treasure. Eu quiero ollare votre tesoro.”

He gripped my arm in a powerful hand, grinning widely, and led me at a shambling run along the path toward the garden where the fête had been held just a few days earlier. I saw Dehan and half a dozen cops standing back, as I had asked her to on the phone. They watched Humberto and I cross the garden toward the hedgerow that separated the church grounds from Sylvie’s house. He was grunting his strange laugh as he pulled me along across the wet grass.

Then he was ducking, crouching down and shouldering his way in among the thick undergrowth of yew trees, holly, and oak, pulling me down to follow him. I crawled in after him, through a green tunnel, and found myself suddenly in a kind of natural, organic chamber, perhaps five or six feet across, four or five feet high, where over time, he had cut back the branches to form a hideout for himself. He sat on an old blanket and grinned at me. I figured I was the first person he had ever brought into this