CHEBOYGAN POLICEMAN SLAIN
DEATH BLAMED ON LOCAL CULT
Damien stared at the headline--over a year old now--that screamed up at him. He was holding an old Tribune from July of 1989; that was when it had all started. He'd read the article before, several times, yet each time he read it it was like he felt the same way all over again. [Note--the following article, and some of the text after it, contain spoilers for Lucifer.]
CHEBOYGAN, MI--Police Detective Sergeant Edward Danser was killed in the line of duty this July 20, 1989. Investigators say he was shot while attempting to apprehend a suspect in the abduction of a young woman named Elise Danbrook. The suspect, one Derrick Grant, is said to be involved in a satanic cult known as "Scorpio," which has tentatively been linked to several other crimes committed in the Northern Michigan area. Both Danbrook and Grant, as well as the shooter, have disappeared and their whereabouts are unknown. Police are cautioning anyone who may encounter the cultists, saying that they may be armed and dangerous.
Danser's partner, Officer Christopher Felman, who was also present at the time, was hospitalized due to shock. So far attempts to obtain information from him have been unsuccessful, as doctors are refusing to let him be questioned, explaining that his mental state may be too fragile to attempt an interrogation at this time.
Sgt. Danser was a veteran of the Michigan State Police force, working out of the Cheboygan post. His funeral is scheduled for next week, July 31. He will be interred with full honors.
Sgt. Danser is survived by his wife, Lynette, and daughter, Justina.
Damien put the paper aside, rubbing his eyes. Printed out the incident looked like so many words you could read and stick on paper and make to seem normal, like any other newspaper story. What he'd have like [sic] to read was just how Officer Felman felt when Danser grabbed hold of his arms and died. Just how Officer Jones felt when he showed up and saw them. Just how he felt when he stood at the funeral watching them lower the coffin and fire the rifles and fold up the flag into a little triangle. Just how Lynette and Justina felt. [Note--I didn't note it above as the bold of my note would blend in with the bold of the article! Stylistic preferences in the news article--e. g., no caps on "satanic," caps on "Northern Michigan"--were intentional and meant to reflect a newspaper writer's style. Justina Danser was intended to play a bigger role when she showed up again, as a young adult, in the later D4D stories.]
Of course, it was only a newspaper. It wasn't like they were out to get the whole story or anything.
Like this "local cult" bit. Local?
He invited himself over to the police station for no real reason other than to find something to do. Officer Haley was again present; Damien decided Jones must be taking some vacation time, or working a different shift. In any case Haley was a lot politer. He smiled and said, "Hi," when Damien entered, immediately immersing himself in his work again.
Damien milled around a little before going over to the desk. Haley looked right up at him as if to say, "How may I help you?"
"Yeah?" he said, still with that bright smile.
Jeez. He's still gonna be smiling five years into this job. "It all right if I go upstairs?" he asked. Haley hesitated, frowned, then smiled again and shrugged.
"Sure, I suppose." He began typing something up on the computer. "Don't get into anything you shouldn't."
Does that mean there's something up there I should get into? Damien didn't bother asking. "Thanks," he said instead, heading for the stairway. Haley bobbed his head though Damien wasn't looking, already being halfway to the top.
Upstairs was where the higher-ranking police had their offices, as well as files and other items he believed to be stored away, such as the tape Officer Jones had brought down. [Note--I have no clue what's upstairs at the Cheboygan state police post in reality.] Danser had worked up here. Damien stopped at a doorway on the right and stared at what was stencilled on the window. SGT. EDWARD DANSER. Over a year now and the thing still hadn't been removed. He tried the handle and of course it was locked.
"Lose something?" Damien pulled away as Detective Mulroy appeared, eating a Popsicle. He shot the cop a dirty look for interrupting and turned his head so Mulroy couldn't see the guilt flash across his face.
"No," he said, a little too sharply.
"I can't believe they haven't taken that off yet," Mulroy said with surprise, examining the door. He tried the handle too; Damien blinked and Mulroy snorted. "Hmf. Like dangling a carrot in front of a donkey."
"There something you looking for?"
"Not really. I just can't believe they haven't taken that thing down yet." He looked at Damien and shrugged. "Obviously, you can't either." He paused as if realizing something. "Oh," he said, finally. "Oh, that's right. You were there."
"Huh?" Damien asked, confused.
Mulroy shook his head. "I'm sorry. I forgot about it. Danser, I mean. Yeah, I suppose you'd be wondering what became of his old office."
"You knew him?"
"I worked with him, yes."
"On any Scorpio cases?"
Mulroy shrugged again and offered a smile that the singer didn't quite like. "I worked with him, yes." [Note--Gawd! Just go read The Scorpio Murders already!]
"Have you heard anything on Felman?"
"Felman? No. I tried to ask up at Northampton. [Note--the name of a fictional mental institution I created, in the Upper Peninsula I believe. Also appears in True Believers, The Pro, and in other D4D stories. Cripes, the gang even goes to visit there in The Scorpio Murders if you'd bother to go look!] I heard that's where he was." Damien nodded. Mulroy hitched a shoulder. "They said he was doing as fine as he could, considering, and no, they wouldn't let in anyone to see him, especially a cop. Especially a cop who worked with him. I don't know, maybe they thought he'd go bonkers again. Shrinks." He snorted.
They stood staring at the door for a while.
"How's his family?" Damien finally thought to ask. "Justina and--uh--"
"Lynette?"
"--Yeah, Lynette. How are they?"
A small sigh. Mulroy put his hands in his pockets and let his eyes trace the words on the door. "They're okay. You got a cop for a husband who gets killed in the line of duty, you're going to be set for life."
Yeah, kinda makes me wish I were in her position, too! "I wanted to say I was sorry," he murmured; Mulroy looked over at him. Damien wasn't even completely aware that he was talking out loud. If he were, he probably would have stopped speaking. "All I could do was stare at them and think about what they'd say if I went over there."
Mulroy was silent for a while. He slightly hitched one shoulder again and shook his head.
"It's not like you could have done anything," he said. Damien felt his insides seethe; he sensed sympathy in Mulroy's voice and hated it. The detective paused as if noticing this, and turned back to the door. "No, Lynette and Justina are fine. They can do okay on their own."
But sometimes okay isn't enough. Sometimes okay is far too little to be nearly enough.
"I was talking with Officer Brown this morning," Mulroy spoke up, changing the subject. "They kept sending out a squad car every hour on the hour to check out Ms. Laws's place, and they tell me nothing really hap--"
He cut himself off and stepped to the side, bumping into Damien. The singer glanced up as a tall blond man in a suit came up, a stack of folders under his arm, and bent to unlock the door. The other two watched silently as he did so, pushing it open, flicking on the light, and stepping inside. The door started to swing shut behind him.
Mulroy and Damien shared a look, and the detective's raised eyebrows told Damien he had no idea what was going on, either. They turned back to the door and Mulroy pushed it back before it could shut completely, stepping into the office. Damien followed.
Inside the man was busy unlocking and checking out the drawers in the desk. Damien noticed that Danser's old nameplate was missing, as well as several things that had been hanging on the walls; other than that, it looked pretty much the same. He got a strange sensation of deja vu simply being there, and had the feeling that, if he just waited long enough, Officer Felman would step in and start taking notes.
"Hi," Mulroy said.
The blond man glanced up at him as if to say, "Who are you?" before bending back to his work. "Yes?"
"Uh." The detective put his hands back in his pockets, walking around to the other side of the desk almost casually. Damien just wanted to know what the heck was going on. "Can I ask what you're doing?"
"Yes, you can." This time he didn't even look at them.
A very long pause as he continued scrabbling around. "May I ask what you're doing?" Mulroy finally said. This time the man stood up and gave him a look that very clearly said he was annoyed by their presence.
"I've been assigned to this post temporarily, until you get another sergeant. I hear this office has gone unused for a year now."
"True." Mulroy kept his voice mild. More scrabbling. "But I never heard of you being called in here."
"That's probably because you weren't informed."
Now Mulroy looked pissed. Damien backed away a little. "Look, a friend of mine used to work in here, and if you're just going to storm in and rip the place apart, Mr.--Mr.--"
"Sergeant," the man said, standing again and holding out his hand. Mulroy looked at it. "Johansen. Out of the Petoskey state post. Where we haven't lost a man in over twenty years. [Note--in reality, I haven't a clue about any local police stats.] Here, however, in a city about half the size of Petoskey, you've managed to lose three men in little over a year. That's a really good record, Detective. How do you do it?"
Three? Damien thought; but then, Oh, yeah. He's talking about Mabarak.
"Who the hell are you?" Mulroy snapped.
"I told you. Sergeant Nate Johansen. Petoskey post. I have rank over you, Detective, so I suggest you not ask me 'who the hell' I am. It certainly won't look good for your post."
"My post?" Mulroy was just about livid.
"This post," Johansen clarified, waving his hand at the air. "District Number Seven. You know, I've read of at least two unsolved murders you've got here, and that wasn't in the papers. Is there something you people are trying to keep under wraps? Because if you are, you should at least be working on it right now."
"We've got bigger things to work on right now," Mulroy shot back. Damien just stood off to the side looking surprised. If Mulroy hadn't been blowing his top, he was sure he'd be saying the exact same things himself. [Note--I'm kind of puzzled by this part, about what two murders, exactly, they're talking about. I'm assuming one is Danser; the other might be Mabarak, but probably isn't since technically he wasn't murdered. This makes it likely that he's referring to Damien's sister Lilu, since even though Luther confessed to that, I don't think the case was ever officially closed. So if one of these is Lilu, Damien's reaction--to brush it off in favor of Leslie's case--is VERY out of character. Sure, he'd focus on helping Leslie, but he certainly wouldn't share Mulroy's "Dead is dead" attitude--and would likely be offended by it. I could be wrong though, if Johansen isn't talking about Lilu.] "Whoever's dead is dead. If what you've read about this post is true. Right now we're making sure it doesn't happen again."
"Again?" Johansen said. "Oh, that's right. This lady you're working with." Now both of them looked surprised. "Says some cult is after her baby. Yes, I suppose you'd want to get right on that."
"Who told you this?" Mulroy's voice was quiet.
Johansen made eye contact. "I work for the state. Just like you. I hear about these things." He shrugged and turned away, opening a folder. "Officer Haley is also a very good source of information."
Mulroy muttered something under his breath that sounded like "rookie." Damien sighed and looked up at the walls, wondering if this position would still best be filled by someone like Danser. He hadn't liked Danser very much, but at least he hadn't been as rude as this person.
Plus he didn't quite think he could get away with punching this guy in the jaw.
"And could you inform me who you are?" He looked up to see Johansen staring straight at him. Somehow the look made him feel uncomfortable and he broke eye contact, examining the walls again.
"He's helping us on the case," Mulroy answered for him; Damien glanced over at him with more surprise. Maybe he'd had the detective figured out wrong; so far he was the only one standing up for him.
Johansen shrugged, disinterested. "Whatever. In any case this is my office for now, and any activities you two may be up to regarding this 'case' have to be reported to me." Mulroy opened his mouth to speak but Johansen cut him off before he could. "Because effective immediately I'm assuming the post--should I say posts--that were vacated by Sergeant Danser and Lieutenant Mabarak. Until this station can get a decent replacement who won't end up dead or brainwashed. Or both." He turned his back on them, rifling through a folder. "Close the door behind you on your way out."
Mulroy paused; Damien could tell he was biting the inside of his mouth, hard from the looks of it; then he turned away abruptly for the door. Damien followed. "Thanks," he said, making sure to inject his voice with the slightest amount of sarcasm. Sergeant Johansen turned his head to watch them leave, shutting the door as they'd been instructed. Damien kept his eye on him till it closed.
In the hallway Mulroy let out his breath, and Damien realized he'd been holding it for quite a while. "What a son of a bitch," he muttered, turning away and jogging down the stairs, his hand gripping the rail so hard his knuckles went white. The singer continued following him, trying to hear what he was saying. "Soon as I find out who assigned him here, someone's head is gonna be impaled on my lilac bush."
Damien tried not to shudder. "Look. I'm starting to learn that if you at least pretend to work with these guys, then maybe you can find some things out you wouldn't any other way."
Mulroy turned to look at him, surprised. He opened his mouth and shut it. Damien smiled crookedly.
"Yeah, I've been using it on you, too."
The detective just blinked. "Damn." He looked as if he'd just caught his friend cheating at poker. He turned away again and jogged down to the bottom of the stairs. Damien smiled to himself this time before following.
Mulroy left the police station and walked across the lot to Pizza Hut, just next door. [Note--yep--in real life, Pizza Hut is situated right near the state police station. Don't know if it was there in 1990, though...] Damien kept up just behind him. He was still telling himself not to trust anyone implicitly--he was still itching over Mulroy's evasive comment on working with Danser--but that reaction to Johansen taking over the empty post was anything but faked. He could tell. He could tell because it was the exact same thing he was feeling and the exact same way he would have acted. That is, if Mulroy hadn't done it for him.
When the detective saw he was being followed he asked for a booth for two, near the windows looking back at the station. Mulroy cast a brief glance at the jukebox before sitting, Damien following suit.
"Anything of yours on there?" he asked; when Damien gave him a blank look he waved at the jukebox.
"I didn't know you followed my work."
A half-guilty smile and shrug. "I don't, not really. Not to say I haven't heard of you."
"I try to make sure nothing of mine makes it into Cheboygan's public places."
A snort. "Could you get me a coffee, please?" he said to the waitress who appeared at Damien's shoulder. He looked at Damien. "And you--?"
"Water." Damien was looking right at Mulroy as he said it. The detective simply shrugged and pushed his napkin aside.
"You must have a pretty decent understanding of a cop's salary, ordering water. How many albums you have out now?"
Damien had to search for his voice. What the heck's he asking me that for? "Two," he said.
"Oh yeah, that's right. I really don't follow you too much but I liked the second one. That one song, how's it go..." He looked up at the ceiling as if searching for something there, and started singing, "Light grows dimmer, shadows grow...da da da da..."
Damien had to bite his lip this time.
"Damn, can't remember the words. My sister would know it. Uh--I've searched for so long but the dark holds me down--what's that line--I'm crying out but you're nowhere around--chorus, da da da..." [Note--these lyrics, minus the "da da da"s, are from the song "Hiding In The Shadows." You can find the full lyrics online.]
Damien just nodded. He really didn't want to discuss his work in a Pizza Hut.
"Whatever." Mulroy dismissed it with a flick of his hand, picking up the coffee the waitress dropped of [sic] and taking a sip. Damien wrapped his hands around the tall glass of ice water but didn't drink. "They played that one to death, if you ask me."
Damien allowed himself to sigh, surprised that it was with some relief. "Yeah, they did."
"Like they did with that one by Mike + The Mechanics, what was it? 'The Living Years'? That was it. Not that I didn't like your song, really--"
"It's okay. They did play it up too much. I'm taking it you don't like Johansen too much."
He said it just to change the subject. Mulroy scowled, looked down into his drink, and swirled it with a spoon.
"Smug son of a bitch. Just waltzing in and snapping up Danser's spot. Like he can do it any better."
"You worked with him."
"Huh?" Mulroy looked up, surprised; then he went back to his coffee. "Oh. You mean Danser. Yeah, I did."
"Felman was his partner."
"Not as his partner. He was a friend of mine. We saw a lot of each other. And we did work on a few cases together."
"Such as?"
This time Mulroy's glance was guarded. Damien felt his earlier growing trust begin to fade a little. It took him a moment to realize he had the same look in his eyes that Mulroy did, and he turned away without physically doing so.
"Well." The detective swirled his coffee, looked out the window. "I suppose you know one of them. The Amelia Grant case, for example." [Note--AAAHH! THAT'S probably one of the unsolved murders mentioned earlier! DUH! However, that would mean that either Johansen WASN'T also referring to Danser, or else was omitting mention of Lilu. Remembering Amelia Grant, I now rather believe Johansen was referring to her and Lilu and not to Danser at all since there were witnesses to Danser's murder (so the case is solved though still open). So, my earlier comment about Damien's reaction still stands. Jeez, how could I forget Amelia??]
Damien's look was sharp. "Amelia Grant? You didn't work on that. It was in the Sixties."
"There's no statute of limitations on murder. That case is still open as far as I know. Johansen said so. Like we have any real leads on it or anything."
[Note--some spoilers for Lucifer.] Damien fell silent. Amelia Grant was the name of a woman who'd gone missing in 1967, and had turned up again in 1969...shot full of holes. Like she'd been trying to escape something or someone, Damien and his uncle and Officer Jones had agreed. Damien had the feeling the something she'd been trying to escape was Scorpio. Because Amelia Grant was the mother of someone he knew. Someone mentioned in the news clipping on Danser's death.
Someone a little closer to Scorpio than anyone liked.
"Did you know the connection to Derrick Grant?" he asked, keeping his voice mild. Mulroy noted what was beneath the surface, however, and Damien mentally cursed himself for being too eager. [Note--by now, I seem to have fixed up most of my problems with wandering POV in this story. "Mulroy noted," however, seems to shift the POV here. I should have said something like, "Mulroy apparently noted..."] The detective answered anyway.
"Yeah." He nodded slightly. "Not at first, of course. But I read the papers just like you. He got this friend of yours, I believe; Elise? Danbrook?"
Damien nodded, studying the ice in his glass.
"I heard about that, too. Through channels. Of which we have plenty." He sighed and pushed his mug away. "You're not believing me but I know how it feels when somebody close to you is in trouble like that. Don't look at me like I don't; I do."
Damien was thinking, You? How?
But Mulroy didn't choose to answer that. "Let's just say I know how it feels to want all the info you can get. Well, I'll tell you right up front--as a detective--I can't tell you every single little thing I know. I'll tell you all I can, though."
I bet you will. He found himself thinking of something Lieutenant Mabarak had said to him when they'd first met, phrasing his statement much the same way Mulroy had. Damien had asked him if he had anything against Scorpio. Mabarak had answered, You could say I got something to do with them. [Note--D Is For Damien, Chapter 13.]
How true that had been.
"I got involved in the case in the Eighties," Mulroy said, and Damien snapped back to the present. "There just wasn't much to go on. But as soon as I found out about Derrick, it didn't take a mental giant to put two and two together."
"His name, wasn't it."
"Pretty much. Like I said, no mental giants needed. We're not as ignorant of Scorpio as you peg us." He held up a hand when Damien opened his mouth to ask what that meant. "I can't tell you all the details of the case, it's still open. But those of us working it pretty much figured this Scorpio must've been behind it."
"Why?"
"Does this look like New York? Chicago? It certainly wasn't the Mafia, was it? In Cheboygan, people don't end up with over four dozen bullets in their backs." Damien did shudder this time. "At least, they didn't use [sic?] to. Scorpio left a definite trail. They wanted to. Alec Bodine did, that is." He named the person who'd been high priest before Luther Broderick had taken over. "Bodine was pretty much a braggart. I suppose that's what led to his fall. Luther's a lot cleaner about his business. He doesn't want to mess around."
"Cleaner?" It burst out before Damien could stop it. He actually leaned over the table towards the detective, half threatening. "You call what he did to my sister clean?"
Mulroy held up his hands hastily, sensing the sore spot. "Not clean, not clean physically. I didn't mean that. I never meant to imply he hasn't left his own trail to follow."
Damien forced himself to calm down, lean back. Mulroy let his hands down slowly. He picked up his spoon to stir the coffee, just to prevent his hand from shaking. He took another drink.
"It's just that he doesn't leave the clues Bodine did. I'm not sure if you knew, we actually had Bodine in custody once." Damien sat up. "Some minor thing, but at least we had him. But there was something wrong with the case." He snorted. "Either that or something wrong with the judge's head. A technicality. Bodine pretty much laughed at us and went on his merry way." Another sip. Mulroy's eyebrows went down as he stared over the rim of the cup, at a spot just past Damien's shoulder. "To tell you the truth, I'm actually not too upset Luther shot him in the head. It was the least he deserved." [Note--hm...by that I guess I meant, it was the MOST he deserved...]
"Would you like Luther shot in the head?" He had to ask, just to know where Mulroy stood.
Mulroy searched his face and chose his words carefully. "I'm not normally a vengeful person, you know. I try to consider myself enlightened. Or at least civilized. Civilized people don't go around shooting each other in the head."
"So in your mind Luther's not civilized."
"Civilized? No. Smart? Yes. He's very smart, and that's why we don't have him yet. We even had Bodine in custody, but never Luther. I think when it comes to us catching him or not there's only two real choices. One is us not catching him."
"And the other?"
Mulroy gave him a frank look. "The other would be him ending up dead." A shrug. "No jail time for him, if you ask me. I honestly think he'd get killed--or have himself killed--before that happens."
"You never found anything on Amelia Grant?" Damien asked, switching back to the original topic. He found their discussion of Luther to be more than a little uncomfortable, considering his own former association with the high priest. He'd been Luther's friend years before Scorpio came into the picture. [Note--events that were to be outlined in The Return Of Luther--sequel to this story.]
Mulroy shook his head and set down his mug. The waitress stopped by and refilled it, then moved on. "Just that someone had it in for her, and she'd just delivered a baby. You must know this, don't you--?"
"Yes, I do. But there's nothing else?"
Mulroy stared at him, glanced over into the main part of the restaurant, then back at Damien. He leaned forward on the table. Damien found himself unconsciously doing the same thing, so their faces were inches from each other.
"This is pretty much hearsay. Nothing ever verified." Mulroy's voice was low, almost indistinct in the restaurant's murmur. Damien had to strain to hear him. "Ms. Grant wasn't married or engaged or anything that we know of before she disappeared. No ring on her finger, no boyfriend anyone knew of."
"So?"
"So why didn't anyone ask who the baby's father was? Derrick's father. Nobody had any idea."
Damien realized he'd never quite thought of that, either. "So, who is it?"
"I've said we still don't know. But we can pretty much guess why Scorpio wanted her in the first place. The reason Satanic cults usually use women." [Note--if any real Satanists happen by this story, BTW, take note that I said SATANIC CULTS! NOT religious Satanists! The D4D stories are about SATANIC CULTS! You know? How there are also CHRISTIAN CULTS? I AM WRITING ABOUT CRIMINALS WHO HAPPEN TO USE THEIR OWN VERSION OF SATANISM TO COMMIT CRIMES. NOT ABOUT HOW BAD SATANISM IS! Sorry to yell, it's just that I've gotten so many "real Satanists" (probably of the wannabe Goth type) sniping at me about how "bigoted" I'm being; one lovely fellow even advised me, after merely reading the prologue to D Is For Damien (which doesn't even MENTION the word "Satan"--I think he based his entire comment on the story SUMMARY), to "stop writing" COMPLETELY. Talk about bigoted! Cripes already. Learn to read a disclaimer!]
Damien felt his insides growing cold. "Breeders," he whispered.
Mulroy nodded. "That's probably why they kidnapped her in the first place. No specific reason they chose her, just that she happened to be alone and available. Two years later she shows up dead with her baby missing. Someone in the cult had to be the daddy."
He paused, and Damien was silent for a while until it hit him. "Bodine?" he asked, his voice filled with disbelief.
Mulroy hitched a shoulder, his eyes drifting back to the window. "A possibility. But what I had in mind is that it could be one of many people in the cult. Two years, means they probably made pretty good use of her. Maybe all at the same time."
Damien sat back, away from him, putting his hands to his eyes. He let out his breath and rubbed furiously, trying to rub away the image of his sister that formed just behind his eyelids. He'd thought what had happened to her was bad. But what Mulroy was suggesting happened to Amelia, that was even worse...
"He's pretty lucky now, though. From all I've heard Bodine was hard on Derrick, but when Luther took over, I guess something changed. He's high up in the cult, second in command. I suppose Luther's the best thing that happened to Derrick. God knows Bodine treated him--and probably Amelia--like trash. I wonder if Bodine ever told Derrick anything about his mother."
And now Damien found himself actually feeling a pang for Derrick, Derrick of all people; though he supposed even the bad had their feelings about family, as Derrick had told him before it had all happened in the first place--You should know my own mother was in the cult. I never got to know her, just like you barely got to know your parents. At least you saw yours. And they're still alive. That's a cage my mother will never climb out of. [Note--from Lucifer, Chapter 12. There's an error in that "And they're still alive" should read "And they're still alive."]
He shook his head, forcing himself not to contemplate Derrick's words to him over a year ago. They didn't matter now. None of this, what Mulroy had been telling him about, Amelia and Luther and Derrick, none of it mattered now. What mattered was whatever Scorpio had planned for Leslie. And what this Sergeant Johansen had to do with any of it.
"You don't trust this Johansen guy, do you."
"Didn't I make that clear? Jeez, any guy that just comes waltzing in and tells me how to do my job..."
He's worse than Dino. Mulroy apparently couldn't stay focused on that for long; he trailed off muttering and staring into his coffee again. Damien waited a moment before clearing his throat a little politely, trying to draw his attention back. The detective shook his head as if snapping out of something and looked Damien in the eye.
"I told you if I ever do anything weird to trust me. It doesn't hold for him. The damn Petoskey post! For God's sake, what're they doing sending him over? He doesn't know anything about this Scorpio stuff..."
"Maybe he does," Damien said, without even thinking about it. Mulroy looked up again but Damien's face had gone blank.
"What makes you say that?" Damien looked at him. Mulroy was frowning, his eyes narrowed slightly. The singer couldn't tell if it was suspicion or confusion he was seeing.
"Nothing," he replied, shaking his head, pretending he didn't know what he was talking about. "I'm just getting ideas in my head."
"Yeah, well, sometime if you wouldn't mind sharing them with me--"
Damien reached out for his water glass and purposefully knocked it over. It was something his uncle had done, on accident, when meeting with Derrick. The two of them knew now how much anybody belonging to Scorpio hated water, and Derrick's reaction had been proof of that. The cup toppled and spilled out towards Mulroy, who jerked back as it splashed his arm. Damien held his breath and watched as the detective glanced down at it dripping in his lap. He looked up at Damien with an odd expression on his face which said he'd seen right through the trick. Damien forced any doubts he felt to stay down.
"I'll assume that was an accident?" Mulroy asked, his voice mild.
Damien let out his breath and nodded. He hadn't taken any notice of how hard his heart was beating till now. He offered a faint smile. "Oops."
Mulroy snorted, picked up his napkin, and tried drying himself off. "Well, this is great. Looks like I wet myself now." Damien's smile grew a little wider. Mulroy stood up, still wiping at himself, and finally took off his jacket and held it over his arm in front of himself. "You're lucky it's still not too cold out there. If anybody sees me like this, well--I don't even want to guess what Jones will be saying in the morning."
"Sorry," Damien said, not feeling sorry in the least. He was feeling relieved.
One down. How many more to go?
"I'll pay for my coffee. I'd pay for your water, but I'm guessing it's free. And good thing, too, now that I'm wearing it." He started for the counter. "See you tomorrow, or whenever you next show up."
"Tomorrow." Damien's eyes followed him as he paid for the coffee and left, then he stood and sighed as he wiped up the remainder of the water with his own napkin.
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