It wouldn't be so bad if those jerks supposed to be doing the programming had gotten off their thumbs and done some work instead of deciding to prove it couldn't be done in the time schedule I set. So what if I'm not a programmer? No big deal to doing a decent project estimate.

He ran through the parking lot and crossed the gra.s.s, heading for a little s.p.a.ce between two big evergreen bushes. He got himself slotted into the path, and increased his pace a little, trying to drive the useless worries out of his mind.

But the worries wouldn't go.

Is it my fault the machine was down so much? Is it my fault we lost half the old crew? I hired in twice as many new bodies they should have been able to pick up the slack and then some!

Programming is programming is programming.

He recalled with shame the retirement party they'd thrown for George Herschal this afternoon.

George had been with the company since forever. Since before computers. And toward the end of the party he'd taken Tom aside "Young'un," he'd said, in that good-ol'-boy accent of his, his arm lying heavily across Tom's shoulders, "what you got is a people problem, he-ah. You don't know programming an' you don'

know squat about how t' handle people. That wouldn't hurt you so much, I've seen leads manage with less'n you but dammit, boy, you don't lissen t' them as knows what they're doin'! You done bit off more'n you c'n chew, an' the sooner you 'fess up an' let 'em put you back t' what you do good, the happier you're gonna be. You keep tryin' t' play boss-man when you ain't got what it takes, an' you gonna find you went an' painted yourself inta a corner fer sure."

G.o.d, the humiliation.

The damp air was heavy, and seemed hard to breathe. He glanced up, noting that there weren't any stars visible. The sky was heavily overcast again tonight. Hopefully there wouldn't be a repet.i.tion of last night's monster storm. The path had dried out during the day, but another rain would make it a muddy mess and he'd have to use the street for a while. And if it began to rain now Carole had told him not to go out running But shoot, that wasn't because of the weather, that was just because she was hysterical about all those people getting carved up. He snorted to himself. Women and their irrational fears. Nothing like that would ever happen to him. Most of that bunch had been b.u.ms, winos, street-gang punks. Probably the papers were making a big deal out of nothing. Probably the only two solid citizens that had gotten killed had been killed for their money. n.o.body mugged a jogger. Everybody knew they never had any cash on them.

He rounded the first landmark that marked his halfway point, feeling the air weigh heavily in his chest, feeling none of the usual runner's euphoria. Too bad one of those hadn't been my head programmer, he thought wistfully. Then I could have claimed that the entire team was too shaken up to work.

He brooded on his problems as he continued to run, never noticing the shadows that were paralleling his course past the screening trees.

Mark had been forewarned, but it didn't make the scene any easier to handle. After one look, Di had turned pasty white, then headed straight for the nearest park ladies' room, and he didn't blame her.

The only good thing about this was that the Five Banners park was self-contained and more than adequately fenced. So there were no gawkers and journalists, and there had been no one at all in the park until the maintenance people had found the body.If you could call it that. It was appalling.

The maintenance crew that had found the body had been carted off to the hospital to be treated for shock. So far as anyone could tell, they'd unlocked their entrance after checking the perimeter as they always did, and had found nothing out of the ordinary certainly no signs of illegal entry. Then they'd gotten as far as the central plaza....

As was getting to be routine (if such a thing could be called "routine"), there had been a cardiectomy. But not until after the victim had been flayed from his soles to his hairline. The heart was missing again; so was the skin.

The whole rite had been performed on a big flat rock right in the middle of the deserted park, next to the double-decker carousel. With the park closed for the winter and the maintenance people gone for the day, Mark figured you could have staged a sit-down orgy for five hundred and n.o.body would have noticed.

Of course, that didn't explain how the victim and his murderers got inside the park in the first place.

The insurance company that covered the park was very unhappy; they had some pretty stiff rules regarding access to the place during off hours. Of course, the owners of the park were even less happy this was supposed to be a place for fun, not mayhem. And since they ran their own security, they, like Amerine, had no one to blame but themselves.

To see the aftermaths of these things by floodlight had been bad enough but to see it by the light of day made it somehow worse.

The coroner himself was on the scene, supervising the whole thing personally.

When Di got back, Mark came up behind him and tapped him on the shoulder, Di trailing along behind him, silent and still very pale.

"Got anything for me yet, Doc?" he asked.

The middle-aged, tough coroner looked more like a weathered old ranch hand than a doctor. It took a lot to rattle him but by the pallor beneath his tan, this had rattled him good.

"A bit," he replied. "It ain't what you'd call pleasant hearing." He looked askance at Di.

"Fire away," Mark said, "I think I'm getting numb at this point."

"I'm part of the team, too," Di gulped. "I have to know eventually; it might as well be now."

"First thing is it looks like the poor b.a.s.t.a.r.d was gang-raped before he was skinned. Not what you're thinkin', not by men. By women."

Mark felt his jaw coming unhinged. "You have got to be kidding me!" he exclaimed. "A guy?"

The coroner nodded reluctantly. "Yeah, I know; it sounds impossible. But it can be done, and it leaves real distinct signs. It looks to me like it was. Second thing is it looks from the pattern of bloodstains and the condition of the corpse like they were real careful about how they got the skin off the poor SOB. What I'm saying is they literally skinned him alive. Then they cut his heart out."

Mark had thought he was numb, but his gorge rose at that. He was just as glad that they were taking the body away and he didn't have to look at it any more.

"And I got another update on the second lot of stiffs from night before last," the coroner added.

"Go ahead," Mark managed. Di nodded agreement.

"Ramirez found the rock, like you said he would. He found somethin' else; what was left of a bonfire, and we found bits of burned skin all over that rock. So it looks to us like they threw those four men into the fire, toasted 'em for a bit, pulled 'em out still alive. Then they tricked 'em out in their flowers and all, and cut the hearts out. Looks to us like throwin' 'em in the car and settin' it afire was just their way of cleanin' up afterwards."

He grimaced, shrugged, and got back to his crew.

The atmosphere got a little easier after they took the gruesome corpse away. While Di worked with the Forensics group and did a little discreet "checking" with a different set of investigative "tools," Mark took the opportunity to talk with the Chief.

This was the first time he'd ever been put in charge of anything on a case this major, even if it was only a two-man team, and while he wasn't precisely nervous Well, he wasn't precisely at ease with the idea either. So he b.u.t.tonholed the Chief outside the "official" atmosphere of the office and went over everything they'd checked out so far, including his own solo leg-work. This wasn't a cla.s.s, after all; this was a d.a.m.ned serious case. He wasn't being graded. And there were people dying out here. The Chief had told them all, time and time again, that they were a team and should act like one and Mark was not too proud to ask for advice ever.

Especially not from the man who had solved more big cases than Mark and all his buddies combined.

There were a few things he had to leave out, of course, which was something of a pity, but he was surprised at the amount of ground they'd covered in the last four or five weeks.

"Have I missed anything?" he asked when he'd finished. "Left anything undone that you would have done?"

The Chief slowly shook his head. "Not by my reckonin'," he replied. "Yer doin' what I asked y'all t'do; m'nose tells me yer gettin' close. Closer'n we bin gettin', that's fer sure. Charlie's brother gonna git you in with them war-drummers?"

"We decided against it," Mark replied. "We don't want to flush his credibility; we might need somebody where he is again some day."

"Huh; yeah, could be. Jest keep in steady touch with him, okay? Otherwise play it as it lays, boy.

Say, what was it Miz Di did t' rout that kraut t'other day? Heard somethin" bout that, but jest enough t'

make me powerful curious."

Willing to change the topic of conversation now that he was fairly sure of the Chief's mind, Mark gave him a blow-by-blow account of Di and the German journalist. Before he was through, the Chief was laughing so hard his face was red and tears were squeezing out of his eyes.

"Oh d.a.m.n!" he gasped. "d.a.m.n, I wish't I'd been there! That boy is one pain in the you-know; I bin prayin' fer an excuse t' bounce him put on his can, but he don't give me none. Lissen, you kin tell Miz Di fer me that I think she is one all-right gal. An' the next time she takes on Herr Fieber, I wanna be there. Front row seat, an' popcorn."

When Di returned to the house late that afternoon, Mark's aunt was waiting for her, and with her was a thin, sun-bronzed woman not too many years Juanita's junior.

"Diana, this is Marguerita Valdoza," Aunt Nita said quietly. "I took the liberty of telling her something about you, and something of what you need."

"I'm very pleased to meet you," Di replied with all the sincerity she could muster; not easy since she was about ready to drop. "Thanks, Aunt Nita; that makes things a lot simpler."

She held out her hand and the woman took it; her clasp was warm, firm, and dry. Di's immediate impression was of a woman who would brook no nonsense from anyone; and a woman of absolute and unwavering honesty.

Not an easy person to live with but then, I don't have to live with her, she thought wryly.

The woman measured her with her eyes for a moment before replying. "Senorita Diana I must tell you that I do not personally know anyone of the kind you wish to speak to."

"But you know someone who knows someone?" Di hazarded.

Marguerita shrugged. "So they claim. I have never seen the need for witchery but there are those who believe. And those who believe are something shy of speaking to strangers. So I must send you through the maze; to my daughter-in-law, who has a friend, who so I am told knows a bruja."

Di nodded. "I understand," she said. "And I know it's going to take time. This kind of thing always does."

For the first time the woman smiled. "Less, perhaps, than you might think," she said. "I am not known for my patience."

Marguerita took Di in tow, a slender yacht being bossed out of the harbor by a very expert tug.

They traveled to her home, just on the edge of an area near where Athena lived. They went by bus a form of transportation Di was becoming depressingly familiar with. Once at Marguerita's home, a place scoured so fanatically clean that Di suspected her of Dutch blood rather than Spanish-American, there was coffee and, at length, a phone call and again after a wait, an introduction to the daughter -in-law, Consuela.

Consuela was another, younger version of Marguerita. There was more coffee, and questions by Marguerita while Consuela listened and pa.s.sed a silent judgment. Eventually some signal pa.s.sed between the two women, for Consuela became friendlier, and took her across the street to her own apartment.

There was more coffee (Di was rather glad she had a very high tolerance for caffeine) and another phone call, and at long last Di was pa.s.sed into the hands of Maria Angelita Rosario.

This was not the end; like a pair of Inquisitors, both women plied her with questions, some of which seemed to have little or nothing to do with the problem she faced or the bruja. Di curbed her impatience, held her tongue, and answered them as clearly and with as much politeness as she could manage.

Finally the two women nodded to each other, rose from the table almost as one, and motioned to her to follow.

A walk of several blocks brought them all to the home of the bruja, a young widow, Theresa Montenegro. There the other two left her, after spending some time in a whispered discussion with the object of Di's search.

The widow was a tired-looking, faded slip of a woman, somewhat washed out by the black dress she wore. "You will come in, please, Miss Tregarde," she said, reluctantly, her voice as faded and tired as the rest of her. "I do not know that I can help you, but I will listen."

"Thank you," Di replied, preceding the bruja into the apartment, and finding herself in a room that had been intended as a living room and now was serving as a kind of place of worship.

Dominating one wall was an altar, thick with candles and statues of various saints, and surmounted by a statue of the Virgin. Despite the heat, every candle on the altar was lit, and the light reflecting from the gilded statues was a little dazzling. Beneath the altar was a padded kneeler, well worn.

There were a couple of benches at the end of the room opposite the altar; Theresa took a seat on one, and Di on the other.

Well, she's not as high-powered as Athena was, Di thought, after taking stock of the atmosphere, But she knows what she's doing, and she's got the gift. She took a moment to a.n.a.lyze the emotions emanating from the bruja, and was less pleased. She's afraid. Dammit, I was hoping to avoid that. Is it me?

She delved a little deeper, while the bruja appeared to be taking the same time to study her.

No, she decided. It isn't me. But she is afraid. She doesn't want to talk to an outsider at all. There's some threat she perceives, and she thinks talking to me will draw its attention to her.

"Senora Montenegro," she said, breaking the silence when it became apparent that the bruja would not do so, "I come to you in most urgent need of information. I have reason to believe that there is an evil brujo, a man of power, making blood-magic to give him strength. I think that only the power of brujiera or the knowledge held by the brujas will reveal him to me. I believe that it is he who has committed the murders that have the police so confused."

"You are working with the police, si?" the bruja asked in a thin voice.

"I am, yes," Di replied. "I am working with them as a favor to a friend, who is the nephew of the friend of Marguerita Valdoza and is himself a policeman."

"Ah." The bruja studied her for another moment. "I have no love for the police," she said, finally.

"Senora, it is not a matter of whether one loves the police," Di replied patiently. "It is a matter of whether or not one will allow this evil brujo to continue to kill. The police are only the means to remove him. It may become necessary to use other means, but for now, the police must be my means."

"Ah," the woman said again, and studied her worn, work-roughened hands. "I do not know, Miss Tregarde. I do not know that I can help you."

Subst.i.tute "can" for "will," and we're a lot closer to the truth, Di thought, curbing her anger at the woman's reluctance. If I stay much longer I am going to lose my temper; I know it. d.a.m.n. All right, I know where she lives maybe I can find some leverage to use on her later.

"I must go," she said, rising, the woman's eyes following her. "Whether or not you can help me, I must do what I can."

"I " the woman began, then shut her lips firmly on whatever she was going to say, and led the way to the door.

"Will you just promise me this, Senora Montenegro?" Di asked as she paused halfway into the outer hall. "Will you promise me to think about what I have asked?"

The bruja bowed her head, as if taking on a heavy burden. "Si," she whispered. "That, I will promise."

Pablo had picked up the trail of the gringo witch as she pa.s.sed near the barrio. He was elated that she had come to him; it would have been far more difficult to find her in her own territory.

Even better, she was taking the bus; that made it possible for him to follow her closely if she had been traveling about with the man, in his car, Pablo would have had to borrow or steal a vehicle, and might well have been far more obvious. As it was, he was just one more Mestizo boy on the bus; a little quieter, more well-behaved than most, but just a face in the crowd.

He would have thought she would stand out in that crowd, but somehow she seemed to blur into it.

He decided finally that it was because of her magic; she was blending in like the chameleons on a branch. That made him wary; he knew it took Burning Water a great effort and much power to keep their sacrifices hidden, yet this witch was casually hiding herself as if the effort was nothing. He understood the G.o.d's caution now in dealing with her; until Burning Water came into his complete power at the Great Sacrifice, it would be well to beware even of such a negligible thing as this witch.

Especially when it appeared that she was not insignificant at all.

But the witch seemed preoccupied, buried deeply within her own thoughts, as she sat hunched on her little sliver of bus bench. Her chin was tucked down into her jacket, and her collar up around her ears; her dark eyes stared ahead of her without truly seeing much of what was going on about her.

It came to Pablo then that she might well be working some of her magic; a thing not at all unlikely, now that he came to think about it.

His own magic was all borrowed, and he used it gingerly, as he would use an unfamiliar weapon. He feared to trigger something by coming too close, and so eased his borrowed magic only near enough to test the very edges of hers.

He recoiled at once, sensing powerful defenses, and alarms and traps behind the defenses.

So she was working magics. Best to leave her alone, then.

It was then, turning his vision from within to without that Pablo saw the strange blond man.

He certainly stood out on this bus, with his golden blond hair and his sunburned face. And there was no magic hiding his presence. Strangely enough the gringo witch did not seem aware of him but he was certainly aware of her. He pretended to read a paper, but he never turned the pages, and Pablo knew within moments that this man was, as was Pablo, following the witch.

And that made Pablo very happy.