I loved working a scene with Dave. His mind was sharp, and he often picked out the minor things others missed. “Tell me about the body.”
“White wedding dress, white gloves, white stockings and shoes. No apparent wounds or blood showing other than a few tiny drops under the crown of thorns. The rose petals are fairly fresh, so I don’t think she’s been here long. My best guess would be late last night or early this morning.”
“So we have a Native American scene, with a Mormon and a Christian twist.”
“Jesus.” Dave scratched his head again before scribbling notes on the pad. “What’s the Mormon part?”
“They bury their females in all white.” I walked closer to her head. “He didn’t put the veil over her face, though, so I could be wrong. And I doubt many of them are actually buried in a wedding dress.”
“Why do we always get the crazies?” Dave pocketed the notepad, not waiting for an answer. It was a rhetorical question. “Your turn.”
“We have a pile of rocks that weren’t brought here in one day, so it’s pre-meditated. He or she planned this for days, or possibly weeks.” I walked around the stones, studying the body. “I think this is our murder scene.”
“Are you telling me a grown woman freely walked up that trail and didn’t try to get away?”
I nodded. “I would if I loved the person I was with and thought I was getting married.”
“You said she was a prostitute and druggie?”
I tried to disguise the pain in my voice, but it came out strained. “People can change, Dave.”
“Jesus, Kacy, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
Time heals all wounds. Whoever had said that was full of shit, because the memory of my twin brother’s murder was still a fresh wound I doubted time would ever heal. I’d given up on Kyle, believing him to be nothing more than a druggie and a criminal. I didn’t even try to save him. I wasn’t going to give up on Sicily. Maybe she had changed her life.
Voices carried from the trail, interrupting my train of thought. Humor was my antidote for situations calling for an emotional response, and I pasted on a smile as I turned toward Dave. “Don’t be a wuss. If you say Jesus one more time, I’m going to send you home.”
“Do you mean home or home?” Dave rolled his eyes toward the sky and grinned.
Matthew Sims, Myriah’s assistant, topped the hill, and I groaned. His sense of humor was raunchy, and I didn’t relish spending the next hour listening to him crack jokes. “We should spread out and see if we can find where the perp stored the rocks he used.”
Dave noticed Matthew and grunted. “Can this day get any worse?”
“It just did.”
“How the hell did you get here before we did, Kacy?” Sims shaded his eyes against the late-morning sun and chuckled. “Nice boots. Hope you didn’t take them off the body.”
I backed up to give the photographer room. “Watch out for snakes. They love to cuddle with dead bodies.”
“Thanks a lot, asshole.” Sims glared at me and pulled on his gloves as Curtis Sebastian, the station photographer, stepped gingerly between the rocks to get a close-up of the body.
“Anytime.” I nodded to Dave, and the two of us headed away from the crest and off the trail toward the surrounding forest. “How long do you think it would take to make that layout?”
“A young guy could probably do it in a couple of hours if the rocks were close.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Would have taken me a day or more.”
Something was off about the scene, and I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. “The killer goes through this elaborate ritual then places the body where he knows it will be found right away. Why?”
“We catch him, we’ll ask him.”
I scanned the forest in front of us, noting broken branches on a tree a few feet in. I headed toward the area at a fast clip, with Dave clumping along, puffing behind me. A huge fishnet was caught between two trees. Rock fragments and rose petals littered the ground below it. “Now we know how he got the rocks and flowers here. And I don’t think we’re dealing with a crazy—or at least not a normal crazy.”
Dave took a picture of the scene with his cell phone. “May not be crazy, but he’s not too smart, either. Won’t be hard at all to find out who had a helicopter out here last night. I’ll call Greg and get him started on that.”
I had a gut feeling that clue was going to meet a dead end. Our killer was too smart to make that kind of mistake. “Have him check with flower shops for anyone who ordered a ton of white roses too.” I walked around the net. “This net looks new. He should also check with local shops to see if anyone purchased one recently.”
Dave nodded and jotted down notes.
Frustration crept into my voice as I turned around. “Let’s go back to the scene and see if Sims can tell us anything. We’ll need to get forensics over here for fingerprinting.”
Dave pointed to the second group winding their way up the trail. “Looks like we’ve got a full crew now.”
Sims waved as we came into view. “Hey, you two need to see this.”
We made our way to where he had removed the crown of thorns.
“Damn,” I mumbled as my eyes took in the bright-red number two painted on her forehead.
“There’s more.” Sims pointed to the area where the forensic team had removed the stones for transport.
“God, I hope that don’t mean what I think it does.”
Dave’s voice had lowered to a whisper, and I expelled the breath I’d been holding. The stones had been turned upside down, spelling out a message that sent chills down my spine. A body a day keeps the demons away.
“I think it means exactly what you think it does.” My earlier thought, premonition, or whatever the experts would call it had been wrong. Something evil wasn’t coming—it had already arrived.
CHAPTER THREE
“Where to now?” Dave asked.
“Two choices. We can check with Sicily’s roommate or stop by the Native American Center and see if someone can enlighten us on that pile of rocks. I called Thomas Redwine earlier, and he said he’d be happy to wait for us, but he has to leave by five.”
“Then I vote for the center first.” He tossed me the keys. “You’re driving.”
The trip down the trail had gone much quicker than going up, but the emotional trauma inside me had been no less intense. I didn’t know how bad I looked, but the fact Dave was letting me drive said a lot. He hated my driving. “Did you get in touch with Greg?”
Dave nodded. “He was at the dog park with Popcorn. Should be suited up and on his way by now. Told him to check with the local airports first, then go statewide. After that, he’ll check out the flower shops, then see what he can find on the net.”
“Good call. I still think Popcorn is a stupid name for a dog.” I started the car and drove out of the lot. “It must have been drugs.”
“Greg?” Dave shot me a quizzical glance. “Because he named his dog Popcorn?”
“No, silly. I was talking about Sicily. Sims said there was no apparent physical cause of death. It must have been drugs.” Turning on the main highway, I sped up. Dave had made the right choice in making me drive. Having something to do with my hands and focusing on the highway was quickly dispersing my anxiety and clearing my mind. “I don’t think they’re going to find a second body there. As easy as he made Sicily to find and with as many hikers as there are in the area, someone would have stumbled over the body by now.”
“Got any brilliant ideas of what we’re up against?”
“Not yet.” I parked in front of the Native American Center and tossed Dave the keys. “Hopefully Mr. Redwine can enlighten us.”
Television always showed detectives running around with fast-paced action, guns blazing, and villains either giving up easy or taking a quick trip to the morgue. Nothing could have been farther from the truth. We spent as much time educating ourselves on clues as we did catching suspects. The rock formation was our bigges
t and best clue at the moment. “Let’s go.”
The door opened before we reached it, and I held up my badge. “Mr. Redwine? Detective Kacy Lang, and this is my partner, Dave Capello. Thank you for meeting us.”
“Of course, anything I can do to help. We’ll go to my office.”
Redwine was actually older than he’d sounded on the phone, and I hoped that worked in our favor. Many of the Native American customs were being lost as younger tribe members became more Westernized.
Dave and I followed him down a long hallway to a room marked Director. “Please have a seat.” He took his place behind a shiny mahogany desk. “Tell me what I can do for you?”
Retrieving my cell phone, I located the pictures I’d taken of the rock formation and Sicily’s body. “The rock formation appears to be a Native American dream catcher. We’re hoping you can give us some insight on what it means.” I watched closely as he studied the pictures.
Redwine shook his head and passed the phone back to me. “That is not a true dream catcher.” He opened his desk drawer and pulled out a small tear-shaped object. “This is a dream catcher, and each part has a different meaning. I made this one for my new grandson. If you have the time, I would be happy to tell you about it.”
“For reasons we can’t share at the moment, sir, I’m afraid time is not something we have a lot of. If it’s not a dream catcher, what is it? And why do you think our killer used it?”
“The dream catcher was sometimes referred to as a medicine wheel. Medicine wheels were constructed from stones like the one in your picture. The outer circle represents the circle of life. The spokes are placed in the four directions, which have different meanings to different people. To know why your killer used it would involve looking into the history of both the dream catcher and the medicine wheel. Clearly, your killer knows some of the history, as it is believed the dream catcher came from the Ojibwa Chippewa tribe.”
Dave fidgeted in his seat, pulled out his cell phone, and loaded up the last picture he’d taken. “What about this demon thing? I didn’t think Native Americans believed in demons.”
“All cultures have their mythical demons, Detective Capello.” Redwine glanced at the picture then sighed. “The most common demon associated with the Ojibwa’s and the Great Lakes Region would be the Baykok. Were there any wounds on the body?”
I shook my head. “None visible, but we’re waiting on the ME’s report.”
“The Baykok would often paralyze or kill its prey, then devour the liver of its victim, or in some instances, cut an opening in the chest and remove a piece of stomach without disturbing the victim.”
“Jesus,” Dave blurted out. “Did it eat that too?”
“I’m afraid I can’t answer that question. What can you tell me about the victim? Baykoks only preyed upon warriors.”
Dave snorted, and I kicked him in the shin. “I think that eliminates the Baykok as a suspect. She was a local working girl, and I doubt she could be considered a warrior.”
“Warriors come in all shapes, sizes, and genders, Detective Lang. Perhaps she was fighting for a cause you’re unaware of.”
It was food for thought, but time was passing quickly, and we still had a body to find. If the killer was true to his word, another one would appear in the morning. I stood and offered my hand. “Thank you, Mr. Redwine.”
He clasped my hand in a firm grip. “Before you leave, let me give you some literature on both the dream catcher and the medicine wheel. I don’t believe your killer is Native American, but I do believe he has studied our culture, and you may find it useful.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“You got any literature on this Baykok character?” Dave asked.
Redwine opened his desk and pulled out several brochures. “No literature on Baykok, but if you’ll stop by on Monday, I’ll see what I can find in our library.”
I took the brochures, and he walked with us to the front. His eyes hardened, and his lips thinned as he opened the door for us. “I hope you’ll keep me informed. It appears someone is attempting to point the evidence toward our people.”
“I agree, and I don’t believe our killer is Native American. If we get anything else, I’ll let you know.”
Dave was quiet as we made our way back to the car. I poked him in the side and grinned. “That demon thing is really getting to you, isn’t it?”
“Demons ain’t nothing to laugh at, Kacy. Lots of serial killers out there have sworn they don’t remember what they did. Good people who started doing crazy things. Always thought it might be demon possession.”
I coughed to choke down my laughter and curbed the urge to roll my eyes. I knew Dave was being serious, but the idea was too far-fetched for me to consider. “Half the people in prison for horrible crimes say they’re not guilty. Most of us have a good and evil side. Things happen, and sometimes we just can’t control the evil.”
“Where to now? We gonna check out the Mormon clue?” Dave unlocked the car doors and threw me the keys. “Wouldn’t mind stopping somewhere for a burger.”
“We’ll check out Sicily’s apartment. Dispatch said she had a roommate. After that, we’ll drop by Arlene’s, and you can tell me about the crown of thorns. Unless something else comes up, we can forget the Mormon connection. I think Sicily thought she was getting married. Give Greg a call and tell him to meet us at Arlene’s in an hour.”
“That would make the crown make sense.” Dave pulled out his phone, hit the speaker button, and placed the call.
“Stevens.”
“You done yet?”
“Just finishing up. No record of a helicopter flight in that area in over a week. No records of anyone ordering tons of white roses or a fishnet. You guys want me to keep checking?”
Dave glanced my way and raised an eyebrow. “Do we?”
“No, meet us at Arlene’s in an hour. We’re going to talk to the victim’s roommate. Dave’s stomach is growling again, and I think he lost a couple of pounds climbing that hill this morning.”
Stevens laughed. “See you there.”
I pulled away from the center and headed toward Fremont. Cold fingers pressed on my spine as the memory of my last visit to the apartment complex flashed through my mind. Crimson Rose was a prostitute too. “What did you mean when you said that made the crown make sense?”
“The crown was to mock Jesus as the King of Jews. In their minds, for pretending he was something he wasn’t.”
I clenched the wheel, my blood beginning to boil. We weren’t going to overlook “the hooker” this time. “So some son of a bitch convinced her he loved her and wanted to marry her, then ridiculed her for thinking she was anything more than a whore.”
Dave grabbed the door as I screeched around a corner. “You want to let off that gas pedal a notch or two?”
“No, I want to find the bastard and run him down, then back up and do it again.” I whipped in to the driveway for the parking lot, barely missing the mailboxes. “Sorry.” Slowing, I took the first space near the building and parked. “Let’s hope Sicily’s roommate knew who she was dating.”
Dave unbuckled his seat belt and opened the door. “You could stay in the car and let me do this.”
“And miss all the excitement?” I jerked on the door handle. “Forget it, Dave. I have.”
“Yeah, I can tell. ”
I didn’t bother answering. At least Sicily didn’t live on the same floor as Crimson. I punched the automatic door opener. “Elevator or stairs?”
“You can take the stairs if you want to. I’ve had enough climbing for one day.”
We stood in the center of the elevator, avoiding the walls. Smoking had been outlawed in buildings for years, but the smell still lingered.
“How would you like to run a black light in this baby?” Dave raised an eyebrow and pointed to the stained underwear lying in the back corner.
“Eww…” I moved closer to the door, anxious to exit the lift. “I’m taking the stairs down.”
Dave grunted as the doors opened, and we stepped out quickly. “The last address we have for her is apartment 206.” I turned left, glancing at the numbers. The door to 206 opened, and a tall man carried out a bag of garbage.
“Police! Stop right there.” I hurried forward, holding up my badge. “Who are you, and what are you doing here?”
He pointed to the tag on his shirt. “George Worthington, building manager, and I’m cleaning out the place for new tenants.” His eyes flicked from me to Dave. “What’s going on?”
“Did Sicily James live here?”
He nodded. “Her and another girl, Emily Greenwell. Emily moved out last week, and Sicily three days ago. Said she was getting married.”
I felt like giving Dave an “I told you so” look. “Do you know where Emily moved to?”
“Nah, these girls don’t do forwarding addresses. We’re lucky if they give notice and tell us they’re leaving.”
“Mind if we do a walk-through?” Dave asked.
“You can, but you’re not going to find anything. Had the apartment cleaned from top to bottom and repainted yesterday.” He pointed to the garbage. “Can’t get good help today. Had to come up here and clean up after the painters. They left soda cans and junk in all the trashcans.”
Dave pulled out a notepad and pen. “Give us the name of the painters and whoever cleaned the apartment. We may want to talk to them. You’ll also need to hold off on renting this place until we tell you different.”
He reeled off the two company names. “Don’t take too long. All the units on the first floor are empty due to a water break. Wish you’d tell me what this is all about.”
“Sicily James was found murdered this morning. Did you ever see the man she was dating, or did she tell you who she was marrying?”
He shook his head, a nasty sneer twisting his face. “Figured she was lying. Who marries a whore?”
I bit my tongue, spun on my heels, and headed for the stairs. There were other questions that needed to be asked and other people who needed to be interviewed, but in my current mood, I would wind up assaulting the guy.
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