Soul Sucker
This Means War

John Miller’s POV

Manhattan District Courthouse

Thursday, March 23, 2023

“That will be all, Mr. Miller.”

“Thank you.” I stood, nodding to the Grand Jurors, then followed my attorney out of the room. We didn’t say anything until the doors were closed, leaving us alone. “How did I do?”

“I wish all my clients were as good on the stand as you,” he replied.

“Lots of practice.” I looked out the door to where the crowd and the press waited for us. “Probably best if you take this one.”

He smiled and led the way. He gave a brief statement about my voluntary appearance and my hope the Grand Jurors would understand better how my actions were reasonable and justified. When he finished, we piled back into the Suburban with our security. I grabbed my phone from where I’d left it in the door and turned it on.

The security system notification popped up first. “Fuck,” I said. I opened the application and went to the video archive. In the event of an alarm, all the cameras start recording until there is no motion in the room for ten minutes. “Someone broke into my apartment.”

“While we were in court?”

“Yeah.” We watched it together, but it didn’t say much. The guy wore a suit with an FBI ballcap and a disposable mask. I paused the playback. “See his hands? Surgical gloves and a lock picking gun. This guy is as FBI as you are.” I kept playing as he moved into the bedroom to check the bedside table, then the gun safe before rifling through the desk and kitchen drawers. He was out of there in minutes.

“He didn’t take anything,” the lawyer said. “You should call the cops.”

“And tell them what? We can’t identify him, and he took nothing. It’s probably a journalist looking for a story.” I didn’t believe that because I knew he was looking for the Dagger of the Lord. He wouldn’t replace it because it was in Boston with my father. “I’ll see if building security has anything more when I get home. The alarm goes to them, too.”

“You should at least file a report.”

“Fine,” I told him to get him to stop. “When do you think we’ll know?”

“Not before tomorrow night. The prosecutors will take at least a day to poke holes in your testimony before they vote. Maybe next week? It’s hard to tell. It depends on how many witnesses they want to hear from.” He looked out the window as we got closer to my apartment. “Asking them to play the surveillance video from beginning to end so you could walk them through what happened was genius. The prosecutor was having kittens, but the Grand Jury insisted. I’m pretty sure they’d only seen portions of it before then.”

“I could tell by their reactions.” We drove past the police line, and I moved quickly from the car to the building as protestors screamed from across the street. He returned to the office while I checked with our security. They didn’t help at all. The guard gave me a description, but the guy wasn’t FBI, and the camera footage was gone. Nothing was missing, but one thing bothered me.

How did he know where I kept the knife?

I texted Terry Callahan and asked if he could stop by after work and bring his bug detector. With how easily he’d gotten in, who knows what he might have left behind? I spotted and deactivated two cameras before he arrived. Terry found a third, plus a bug inside my computer. “Did the NYPD put these in?”

“No way,” he told me. “Those have to be serialized and tracked. These are high-end, burst-mode devices.” He showed me a website; they were over ten grand a pop. “They broadcast through your computer DSL line once a day, probably at night when you aren’t using your computer, so you don’t notice. It only sends the video from periods with activity in the room. Meanwhile, every communication on your computer was copied and transmitted.”

“Do we know where?”

He shrugged. “Anyone smart enough to use this equipment will hide the trail.”

I ordered takeout food from my favorite Thai place, and we talked about my case before he had to head home. As he left, I considered what I’d learned.

One. Ingrid Anderson and her people were watching everything I did.

Two. Ingrid’s people took the journal from my apartment before the cops came with the search warrant. That’s why the journal didn’t appear on the list of items seized from me.

Three. With the video and the journal, Ingrid knows who I am. She knows what the dagger can do. Thus, she knows I am the only person who can kill her.

I called Mary before bed, filling her in on my day. I didn’t say much else, preferring to wait until the girls got on here Friday after school ended. Heather hoped we could do something over Spring Break, but I couldn’t leave the state while on bail.

The Grand Jury didn’t vote before the weekend. I met the girls downstairs, grabbing a private seating area in the lobby to tell them what I’d found. “They saw me naked?”

“Maybe, Mary. The cameras were in place before I upgraded the security system last year. Terry said it would only take fifteen minutes to set them up.”

They took it in. “What do we do now?”

“We go after them,” I said. “I’ll need both of you to help.”

“How?”

“The same thing I was hoping to do with the insurance cases. Find dead people I can link to Ingrid and take it to the authorities. According to the journal, succubi feed on souls every few weeks to maintain strength and power. She leaves behind adult males who die from ‘unknown natural causes.’ Ingrid’s been cruising the Caribbean on the Street Living since the New Year. I want you guys to trace her movements.”

“And what are you going to do?”

“I’ll research autopsy reports on the various islands. Hopefully, I can make some patterns appear and convince law enforcement to investigate. To be safe, we won’t talk about Ingrid in my apartment or use my computer for research. I want to have some fun and relax.”

“I’ll be gone half the weekend with showings,” Mary said. “You guys are on your own.”

“UFC Fight Night on Saturday,” I said as Heather bounced in her chair. “Holly Holm is fighting before the main event.”

Mary let out a sigh. “May as well watch it with you. I’m a little freaked out about the cameras.”

I didn’t get laid over the weekend, between the shock of the surveillance and learning that Heather had been overhearing our lovemaking.

I had to beat this case, or I’d be beating off for a LONG time.

The good news finally came on Wednesday with a call from my lawyer. “It’s over,” he told me. “Grand Jury returned a no-bill. The District Attorney will be making a statement in about thirty minutes.”

I let out a breath. It was over. “What now?”

“We go before the judge in the morning to formally get the charges dismissed. They’ll remove your ankle monitor at the courthouse. I’ll file papers to get your seized property back. The guns might take a while, though. They tend to slow-walk returning firearms.”

“What about my Federal retired law enforcement permit?”

“We can file that paperwork as well. That might take a few weeks.”

It was better than nothing. I texted Mary, Heather, Terry, and Cathy with the news and asked them to watch the press conference. The DA did the whole ‘I have to respect the process and the decision of the Grand Jury’ while implying I was guilty of murder.

My family joined me in court as the Judge dismissed the charges. After the bailiff removed my ankle monitor, I hugged them both. “Dinner at OUR HOUSE tonight,” Heather said. “I made brownies so we can have Hot Fudge Goopies!”

“Fine. Your Freedom Party is at our place on Friday night. The pool is still covered, but the hot tub is open,” Cathy added.

“I’ll be speaking to my bosses about your job, assuming you want to return,” Terry said.

“Hell, yeah,” I replied. I patted Mary’s stomach as I pulled Heather to my side. “I’ve got a family to support.”

And a succubus to kill.