“Could be Forrest discovered her lie about the trip and used the call to you Wednesday morning as a cover.” Nick turned south on Griffith Park Boulevard. “The question is, how would Forrest track his wife to Jarret’s, and who let him in? Laycee?”
“Forrest and Laycee both knew our garage code in Atlanta, and Jarret still uses the same code. As Dave implied at dinner last night, tracking her movements would be tough, though not impossible. Laycee was a talker. Even if the bartender at the hotel didn’t know where she went with Kyle Tuesday night, she might have told someone else she was going to the game—the bell captain, the desk clerk. Forrest would take extreme lengths to find her. Violence wouldn’t shock me, especially if he caught her cheating. I can envision him parked on the street all night waiting for Laycee to come out.”
“He sees Jarret leave in the morning, goes in the house, and finds Laycee in bed—his worst fears confirmed.”
Nick turned right on Hyperion into the Silver Lake business district, cruising by a tattoo parlor, a dance studio, three auto repair centers, and a string of hipster restaurants. He parked in front of a one-story black building with a spectacular art deco starburst etched on the stainless-steel door in the center.
I picked up the pamphlet and got out of the car, approaching the building with curiosity. No windows. No address. “Horus works here?”
“This is her studio. She’s an artist.” Nick pressed the mother-of-pearl doorbell.
“She?” I stepped back. “Horus is a woman?”
“I didn’t mention that?”
A whirring sound drew my attention above the door. A small camera mounted over the doorjamb rotated until the lens focused at our heads. Nick waved and the door lock clicked open. We entered a black vestibule four feet deep, as wide as the building, and as cold as an ice cave.
Nick grasped my hand before the outside door swung closed, leaving us in blackness. He rustled along the back wall, and then pushed open a swinging door into a large, dimly lit room.
A lone candle flickered inside a hurricane lamp on a black iron floor sconce in the far corner. Good thing I didn’t wear a skirt—my jeans kept the lower half of me warm while every hair on my arms stood on end from the chill. We crossed the room and sat on two black folding chairs next to the candle.
As my vision adjusted to the dim light, I noted the bare walls around us. I crossed my legs and cradled my arms, leaning forward to protect my body heat and wondering if I could see my breath. Too dark to tell.
“You sure know how to show a girl a good time,” I said in a whisper.
“Anything for you, baby,” Nick said.
“Where’s her art? The room is empty.”
“She’s the art.”
Hinges squeaked. A door on the far wall swung open and Horus, slim as a boy and barefoot, entered the room wearing nothing but a string bikini bottom over her tattooed body. Rings pierced the nipples on her small breasts. Blue-and-black snake tattoos coiled up her calves to her thighs and hips, the snakeheads licking orange-and-red flame tattoos rising from her groin to her navel.
Nick stood and accepted her hug, gingerly patting his fingertips on her back. “Thanks for seeing us.”
“It’s about time I get to meet your lover.” She stood, smiling, in the candlelight. Her sapphire blue eyes were framed with long black lashes and lightning-bolt tattoos instead of eyebrows. Holding out a slender blue hand to me, she said, “I’m Horus. I’ll take him after you’re done. He’ll make pretty babies.”
“I won’t be done for a long, long time. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Liz.” I shook her hand, fighting not to stare at the horns implanted on her temples or her fringed black bangs, the only hair on her tattooed face and skull.
“Your hands are freezing. Is it cold in here? I can’t tell,” she said. “I’ll get you a sweater.”
“Please don’t bother,” I said between chattering teeth. “The cool air is a nice change from the heat outside.”
“This is why I called you.” Nick handed her Herrick Schelz’s pamphlet.
Horus sat down and studied the booklet under the candlelight. She paged through, reading and rereading sections. Pointing at the title page she said, “I’ve seen a few of these old American pamphlets before. The devil made a big comeback—not that he was ever really missing—in the late sixties. Schelz’s ramblings twist the hell out of LaVey’s tenets, and not well. Why the interest in this guy?”
“A murderer used the inverted pentagram with a five and three crosses to mark his victim.” He took the pamphlet and opened to a page. “Exactly like this.”
“The fifth Satanic Statement. Vengeance,” Horus said. “An eye for an eye.”
“Or a twist of the fifth commandment,” Nick said. “Thou shalt not kill.”
“The fifth satanic sin—herd conformity.”
“The fifth deadly sin,” Nick said. “Lust.”
“My favorite.” Horus beamed with delight. “Perhaps the fifth satanic rule against unwanted sexual advances. Was the victim male?”
“Female,” I said.