Normally he had little trouble bullshitting about anything - he liked to think that was part of the job of being a detective - but those people he hated in a reflexive, belligerent sort of way, kind of like Fox News commentators or televangelists (who were often sex predators, so maybe that was a chicken and egg sort of thing). Any predator was bad enough, but the ones who preyed on kids were the ones he wanted to flay alive and nail to barn doors with an industrial staple gun. He was sure some psychiatrist would have a field day with that, say it was related to his miserable childhood (and was there something he wasn’t mentioning?) but at the end of the day he could give a shit. People who preyed on those weaker than them - and why would anyone prey on someone stronger than them? - needed an ass kicking of galactic proportions.

This was when he really missed Paris. Paris was an award winning actor that the Academy would never notice. He could pretend to be whatever he needed to be to get the job done. He said he’d been training all his life, pretending to be a perfectly straight lady’s man, and something else entirely at other times; he could shift identities as he slid between worlds, so much so that it became second nature for him to put on a mask. Being honest was difficult as a result - Paris said that even now, when he was generally too exhausted to pretend to be anyone else for long, he said he fought the impulse to lie when he didn’t have to, to adapt to whatever people wanted from him. Roan found it astounding, as Paris made lying an art, made deception a beautiful dance. Him? It felt like he was pulling his own teeth out with ice tongs, and everybody knew it; he felt like people could see through him so easily that they only went along with the charade to humor him.

Still, Marley was clearly buying him as a scumbag (now that was an ego blow). He mentioned the rave thing that was going on right now, and she admitted she never got out there during the weekdays because of work and school. She mainly went on the weekends. She implied that there were some great parties at the church, and “they” met a lot of friends there. Some schoolmates even, people they didn’t even know were into the whole “kitty thing”. He wanted to ask her for names, but her trust was fragile, and he didn’t know how to do it without breaking the spell. Besides, it didn’t matter; that wasn’t what he was actually after.

He asked if Danny ever went during the weekdays, which reminded her that he was also a detective looking for her best friend (whom she surely knew was running away - she had probably helped, probably knew where he was) , and she cooled off a bit, becoming deliberately vague. Her boss finally did come over and reminded her this was work, not a coffee shop. Roan looked at her directly and said, “Sorry Ma’am,” secretly enjoying the way her eyes grew hard at being called “Ma’am” - no one with a nose ring ever expected to be called “Ma’am”. Marley enjoyed it too, she turned away smirking so her boss didn’t catch her.

He bought the homocore CD, and they discussed seeing each other at the church sometime. Apparently she must have thought a straight man would enjoy a CD such as this. Well, it was possible - he enjoyed straight people’s music from time to time too.

Roan wandered down towards the exit, which cut through the food court, and he passed an A&W stand. They still existed? Wow. Was there anything more sickly sweet and disgusting than root beer? He was hard pressed to think of anything. So he went and bought a root beer, then sat down at a table in an empty corner of the food court. (Wasn’t hard to find, since the food court was rather empty at this time of night). He took out his cell and called Sikorski.

It rang three times before a female voice answered. “Hello?”

“Hi Connie, it’s Roan.”

“Roan!” Oddly enough, she sounded happy to hear from him. “How are you?”

He had to kill a minute with small talk. Connie was Gordo’s wife, whom he met at a funeral for another police officer. She was a rather matronly woman, slightly plump in that soft older middle aged way, crow’s feet starting to make a crease of her lead colored eyes, her straw blonde hair showing streaks of gray and framing her apple pie face like a designer scarf. She looked like she smelled of lavender and baby powder and made her own oatmeal raisin cookies (which were both true). She seemed like she was too good for Gordo, and too delicate to be a cop’s wife, but he suspected that only the latter was false.

After some pointless chatter where he lied and said everything was just hunky dory, she put Sikorski on the phone. “This isn’t a social call, is it?” he asked sarcastically.

“I just wanted to make sure you rode the coroner hard, make sure he doesn’t just superficially glance at the bodies of the kids.”

Sikorski groaned. “And why would you think he’d be so unprofessional, Roan?”

“That crime scene was fucked up. You know that, right?”

“Of course it was. We had four bodies.”

“No, I mean beyond badly mangled people. It’s fucked up. How could the kids be killed in that way while Tweaks was chewed on like an old bone? Why did it chew on Tweaks but kill the others quickly? How was one segment of the house unaware of what was going on in another segment?”

“Huh?”

“The milk on the floor. Tweaks was surprised getting milk from the fridge. One kid was in the bathroom and two were in a bedroom, and this is a split level. Someone being killed would have screamed, would have altered the others, but it looks like they were all surprised. How did that work?”

“Roan-”

“And the grass outside the window. You saw how overgrown the back yard was, right? So how come there’s no path in it? A big cat would have broken the grass, it would have left a trail. There wasn’t one. How does that make sense?”

“Roan!” He snapped. “You aren’t on the force anymore. This isn’t your investigation. You weren’t even supposed to be at the scene.”

“No, but I was, and I’m telling you this stinks to high heaven.”

He sighed heavily, and started to lecture him on this being his case and Roan technically being a civilian now. Roan had heard it before, so he didn’t really listen, he just sipped his too sweet soda and read the back of his CD. No Pansy Division?! Sacrilege. But why he cared when he had all their CDs he had no idea. Maybe it was the principal of the thing.

Finally, when he could get a word in edgewise, he said, “Just promise me you’ll look into it, Gordo, that’s all I ask. Don’t let this get dismissed as a routine kitty kill.”

“There’s nothing routine about a cat kill, and you know it.”

“Tell that to the boys downtown,” he replied, and then his phone obliged his little snit by losing the connection just then. Fine. He could have called him back but he just didn’t feel like it.

If Paris was here he’d probably be lecturing him too - not your case, not your case - but he began to wonder what possible connection there could be between Tweaks and DeSilvo, if any. Seemed like the sort of thing worth investigating.

But that was for later. He finished his sickly sweet root beer and toss the cup in the trash. He needed to get to the church - he needed to confront Eli.

And without Paris trying to hold him back, he might be able to beat something useful out of him.

*****

By the time he arrived, he could actually find a place on the street to park. There were still too many cars there, and he thought he could hear the strains of AFI leaking from the area near the auditorium as he approached the church. In the dark, with the wan light from streetlamps and porch lights, and the homey glow of yellow lights bleeding from curtained windows, this place looked harmless, almost welcoming, a harbor in the darkness. Maybe that’s why it was so attractive to kids.

The path to the porch was dim, but the house itself was fairly well lit on the inside. By the time he reached the porch, he was torn on whether he should just storm in or knock. It was technically a church, but right now it seemed like a house. Luckily they had some closed circuit cameras watching the front, and Rainbow opened the door as he neared it. “Roan, you’re back.” She pasted on a weak, phony little smile that seemed to strain her in some mysterious fashion. She didn’t seem that happy to see him.

“I’m not here to cause trouble,” he told her, pushing the door open gently and forcing his way inside as she looked over his shoulder, searching for Paris. “I’ve just confirmed that Danny, the boy I’m looking for, was here on several occasions, including quite recently. “

She backed up into the foyer, her innocent little doe’s eyes looking blurry and confused. “We don’t do anything illegal.”

“I’m not saying you have. But you know there are some members who are more inclined to help kids who may be in trouble, maybe unhappy at home … especially if they’re young boys.”

She started shaking her head half way through his sentence.. “We don’t -”

“He could be in serious danger, “ he interrupted, fixing her with a stern look that had made a few weak willed suspects fold in its time. “Look, we all know I don’t like Eli and he doesn’t like me, but I have no interest in nailing the church with anything right now, no matter what Guy thinks. I just want to find Danny before he turns up dead.”

The use of the word “dead” visibly shocked her. “Dead? What are you implying?”

“Have you heard what happened at Tweaks’? Did that make the evening news?”

He’d been subtly advancing down the hall as they talked, forcing Rainbow to keep backing up, and letting him deeper inside the church. The music had lowered until it was barely a thrum, and he could still smell a rather large amount of people, but elsewhere. The incense had faded to a background irritant, and it was because of it he picked up the faint but undeniable scent of a cat. It was diluted, but quite recent. “I don’t watch the news,” she admitted. “It’s never good.”

He had to give her that. “Tweaks was killed, Rainbow, and so were three kids staying at his place.”

She gasped hard, bringing a hand to her throat as tears welled in her eyes. It could have been a magnificent bit of fakery, but he didn’t think so; Rainbow just wasn’t that good an actress. “What? How? What happened?”

“I don’t think you want the details. But Danny was supposed to be there, and I have a horrible feeling that someone’s after him. I’d like to get to him before the killer does. So I need those names, Rainbow.” Okay, he was bullshitting her, but he knew Danny was probably camped out at the house of one of these oh so helpful church visitors, who was as kind as could be to those with young, firm bodies.

She looked torn, her bottom lip quivering slightly as she squeezed her eyes shut in sorrow and doubt, but she let out a little sigh. “I don’t know -”

“This could be life or death. I’m serious.” And he was, if not precisely honest. He could see the thought process going on behind her eyes as soon as she opened them, the flicker and fade of emotions, doubt, and loyalty to the church. But Rainbow didn’t just look like an old hippie, she kind of was one too, and that’s how he knew she’d cave and give him what he wanted. She’d be more concerned about the welfare of the kids’ than her boss’s approval. “I may know some people who can help you. Wait here,” she said, disappearing through a side door.

But Roan had no intention of waiting. He decided to see if he could follow the scent of the cat who had passed through here recently, although that was far from easy. In fact, it was damn near impossible in a place where lots of people - especially infecteds - passed through, but with the incense extinguished he figured he had a good shot at it if he concentrated. He closed his eyes to concentrate on smell, and carefully worked his way through the lobby and its pictures of big cats, and turned into the corridor beyond. He thought the scent headed towards the auditorium, but no, it headed the opposite way down the hall, where it seemed to get stronger by the simple virtue of so few people coming this way and the air conditioner being absent from this end of the hall. He opened his eyes as he banged into an end table, and he quickly snatched a vase of dried flowers out of the air before it hit the carpet. The scent trail seemed to lead upstairs, which was strange. Only a few select church “members” lived on the upper levels, and as far as he knew, none of them were actually infected. Had that changed? Or had someone decided to sneak their bit of jailbait upstairs? Perhaps both. Oh boy, he couldn’t wait to see.

He started up the stairs, which were narrow and creaky, probably the original stairs of the house that had never been upgraded. There was a wall sconce that looked tarnished with age - another holdover - but it was sadly dark, so he couldn’t enjoy the feeling of being in a Victorian mystery, however fleeting.

“Roan,” Rainbow cried from below, and even though he didn’t answer her, she heard the creak of the stairs and looked up towards him. “What are you doing?” she hissed, lowering her voice to a strained whisper. She quickly came up the stairs after him, a small piece of paper gathered in one bony fist.

She was too late, of course. He was in the upstairs corridor, which was narrow and unlit, so much so that he could barely make out the braided carpet runner or the separate doorways down the corridor. One was ajar, but it was simply a bathroom; he could smell the 1,000 Flushes from here. He’d just started down the hall when Rainbow did something unusually bold for her - she grabbed his arm. It was pure reflex, he didn’t mean to, but he yanked his arm clear of her grip more forcefully than necessary; he was concentrating on the scent trail and he didn’t like another of his sense (touch) being engaged. She took a step back, giving him some room. “What are you doing up here?” she whispered fiercely. “Guy won’t like this.”

“Guy can go fuck himself,” he snarled. “In fact, he’d best do so, ‘cause I can’t imagine who else would.”

“You shouldn’t be up here.”

“I smell a cat.” The scent went straight down the hall; he was sure of it. The hall ended with a white painted door, the largest one on the floor.

He sensed Rainbow stiffen behind him; it was like the charge in the air jumped a thousand fold. “Why - you can’t - I mean, there’s no cats -”

“You’re lying.” She was. And more to the point, she was nervous, scared. Who the fuck was behind that door?

He just went ahead and tried the doorknob. It was locked, so he slammed his shoulder up against the door, once, twice, three times. Finally the door frame began to splinter as he put his weight behind it and got angrier and angrier, and finally it slammed opened.

What it revealed was a fairly spacious bedroom showing signs of damage - broken mirrors and a shredded chair were strewn across the wheat colored carpet, the bed listed to the side in a broken wooden frame - but what caught his eye was the movement of the curtain. The color of eggshells, it bellowed and flapped in the breeze coming from the broken window like a trapped and frantic ghost.

The smell of cat was strong as this one had clearly marked its territory, but there was something else. The faint smell of Ferragamo after shave permeated the room beneath the cat scent, and he knew of only one person in this place who wore Ferragamo : Eli.

Rainbow walked into the broken room, squeezing past him, and looked around with genuine shock. “He … he said he wasn’t feeling well …”

Eli was now an infected. Worse yet, he was on the loose in his cat form.