by Ally Shields
“Distracted? That’s putting it mildly.” He raked a hand through his hair. “Geez, Maggie. I suppose this isn’t the right moment…” He turned to eye her. “But it has to be soon.”
“I know. And not just about this trip. But I can’t do it now.” Relieved he seemed to accept this, Maggie poured her coffee and leaned on the counter. Even if he explained this rush to Boston, how did that change the other fears that were driving them apart? She switched to a topic free of emotional landmines. “How much did Jenson tell you about last night?”
“That you interrupted some kind of satanic ritual, got caught in a burning building and shot for your trouble.”
“The bullet barely broke the skin.” Despite his skeptical look, she forged ahead, starting with the ghosts taking her to the abandoned building, the horrific ritual she’d interrupted, and then backtracking to the ballistics report and the consolidation of the cases which had kept her late at work.
“All that in one day. But damn, an entire coven of serial killers?” Josh said. “That might explain the various methods of murder. Each one could have been committed by a different member.”
“I’ve heard of serial partners but never a group. Do they fit the profile for serials? It’s closer to a gang war with one coven trying to take over another. Oh, I forgot to mention—our surviving victim in the hospital is Stephanie Michaels.”
He frowned. “Why do I know that name?”
“She’s the spokesperson I talked to at the Witching Hour Society.”
“Well, that is interesting,” he said thoughtfully. “Satanists versus Wiccans?”
“Weird, huh? And, why? Is this just a fight over territory? The gang wars are usually to corner the market on drugs or prostitution or whatever. What are the Satanists after?” She set down her coffee cup and glanced at the kitchen wall clock. “If Michaels is awake, let’s see if she can tell us.”
The morning nurse at the hospital’s ICU admitted she hadn’t seen Maggie’s card. It explained why Stephanie Michaels had been awake an hour without Maggie being notified. At least hospital security was still monitoring visitors.
Josh knocked on the patient’s door, and they entered Michaels’s room. The mid-fifties brunette victim and the silver-haired man with her looked up. Michaels’s arms were wrapped in loose bandages, her expression strained. Her husband frowned at the intrusion.
“Detective York, NOPD, and my partner, Detective Brandt.” Maggie held up her badge. “How are you this morning, Mrs. Michaels?”
“You’re the one who saved me.” The woman’s face smoothed out. “I recognize your voice. I can’t thank y—” She stopped, her parched lips trembling.
Her husband covered for her, holding out his hand to shake Maggie’s. “Dennis Michaels. We’re deeply in your debt.”
“No need. I’m glad I could help.” Her gaze returned to the victim, and she repeated her question. “How are you?”
Michaels lifted her arms and grimaced. “They hurt, and I have some bruises and bumps. I was tossed around, even kicked. But I’ll recover, and I wouldn’t be here, if not for you. They…they tried to burn me.” She blinked tears from the corners of her eyes.
Her husband placed a hand on her shoulder, and Maggie waited until Michaels regained her composure. “Do you know who did this?”
“That’s just it. I don’t.” Her voice rose, revealing a spark of anger.
“It’s OK. It doesn’t matter right now. We’ll figure it out.” Maggie strove for a calm, matter-of-fact tone. If the patient got too upset, her nurse would come running with another sedative, and the interview would be over. “Can you go back to the beginning and tell us how it started?”
Michaels nodded and wet her dry lips with her tongue. “I got off work at five, stopped for groceries, and reached home around six, six fifteen. I had to park on the street behind the house, but that’s normal. I grabbed the grocery bags, cut down the neighbor’s drive, and had nearly reached our back door when I heard something behind me. I started to turn, but somebody threw a burlap bag over my head and pulled it tight against my throat, choking me. I guess I dropped the bags because I know I clawed and kicked to get free. But they tied my hands and tossed me in a vehicle, a van or truck.”
“Could you tell how many? Or whether they were men or women?” Maggie asked.
“Two or three. Could be more. The only voice was a man, who told me to shut up.”
“Did he sound young or old? Anything distinctive?”
She wrinkled her face in thought. “Harsh, raspy. He only said those two words, so I can’t tell you much more.”
“That’s fine. What happened next?”
“After driving a while, they took me to the warehouse where you found me. I heard more voices, whispering or talking so low I couldn’t understand them. I was forced to kneel on a hard, cold surface, like concrete. Then I heard scraping noises, smelled grass or weeds, and then the odor of gasoline. I was so terrified from that point on…” She stopped again and squeezed her husband’s arm in a death grip. It must have hurt, but he didn’t flinch.
“Take your time,” Maggie said. “We’re in no hurry.”
Lifting her chin, Michaels went on. “I can’t identify much else except the creepy chanting.”
“Tell me about that,” Maggie interrupted. “I thought they were saying ‘repent.’”
“Were they? I don’t remember. I suppose that fits if this was all about renouncing my witchcraft practices.” She looked at Maggie. “Whatever their intentions, when you shouted ‘police,’ it was the most wonderful word I’d ever heard. I thought I was safe until the flames crackled and smoke seeped through the bag. I began praying it would be over quick.”
“My Lord, Stephanie.” Dennis Michaels paled and leaned over her, closing his eyes. “What you went through…” Clearly this was the first time he’d heard the full story.
When the husband straightened, Josh probed his side of events. “When did you realize your wife was missing?”
“I’m sorry to say, not for hours.” Mr. Michaels’s neck reddened as he made the admission. “I had bypass surgery a year ago and do cardio at the gym every night, usually getting home around seven. We don’t eat until eight, so sometimes Steph runs errands that late. I didn’t get worried until eight-thirty. I tried calling her. When she didn’t answer, and I found her car parked on a back street, I panicked. I searched the neighborhood and called her close friends. I was on the phone with police when the hospital called.”
“What about the groceries?” Maggie asked. “Weren’t they scattered on the ground?”
“In the garbage bin,” the husband said. “Someone had cleaned up. When I looked around this morning, a couple of small items lay next to the house. I missed them in the dark.”
Stephanie Michaels was visibly tiring, the pain lines deepening around her eyes, and they hadn’t yet talked about the Witching Hour Society. One question couldn’t wait.
“I know this is exhausting,” Maggie said. “Just one more thing before we go. This attack may be connected to the Witching Hour. Have you or the Society been threatened by anyone?”
“Nothing like that.” Michaels’s eyelids closed in apparent pain. “I’m sorry, the pain killers are wearing off.” She buzzed the nurse before continuing. “I’ve heard conspiracy theories of secret meetings, an alleged infiltration by those with different beliefs, but no open disputes or threats.” She grimaced, looked at the door again, and gingerly rested the uninjured wrist of one arm against her forehead. “No one in the Society would do this. I’m sorry I can’t think clearly right now.”
The nurse came in with a pill cup. “It’s time for meds and rest.”
Maggie frowned. She still had a lot of questions, but Michaels seemed pretty shook up and reluctant to talk about the Society. But maybe that was the meds or the pain. She gave the patient an encouraging smile and moved toward the door while Josh and the husband exchanged business cards. “You take care, and we’ll be back to fini
sh this.”
As they turned toward the door, her husband followed and stopped them, speaking in a lowered voice. “I saw security outside. Is my wife still in danger?”
“We don’t know, because we don’t understand what’s going on,” Ari said. “But it’s possible someone could try again. I’ll ask the captain to assign an officer. With cutbacks and all, I can’t guarantee it’ll happen, but hospital security has agreed to keep an eye on her.”
He drew in a long breath and nodded. “So will I.”
They stepped into the hall, stopping in surprise at the raised voices. The security guard was arguing with a small, wiry man in blue jeans and a loose, short-sleeved shirt. In a loud whisper, the hall nurse attempted to quiet them both.
Maggie had seen the man before—outside the Preston house. “What’s the trouble?” she asked, reaching them in quick strides.
“This reporter was just leaving,” the nurse said, her expression reinforcing her words. “He’s been asking questions about our patient.”
The guy turned toward Maggie eagerly and held out a mini-recorder. “You’re Detective York, aren’t you? Can you describe the scene at the warehouse? Is it true this was a blood sacrifice?”
“You don’t belong here,” Maggie said, ignoring his questions. “Or snooping around the Preston house. Mrs. Goodbody said you were bothering her too.”
“Just doing my job. I’m a legitimate member of the press.” He lifted his chin, his pugnacious attitude tempting Maggie to get out her cuffs.
“What’s your name?” Josh asked. “Show me your credentials.”
“Duncan Brice, freelancer.” He handed Josh a card. “I’m doing a piece for Incredible Crimes. You’ve no right to prevent me from going after a big story like this.”
Maggie winced. Incredible Crimes was a notorious rag with no regard for the truth.
“This is nothing but a business card,” Josh said. “Anyone can have a hundred printed for a few dollars. Let’s see a driver’s license, something official.”
“My wallet’s in the car.”
“Uh-huh. Even if you are some kind of reporter, you can’t trespass or break hospital rules.” He pointed toward the elevator. “You’ve been asked to leave. Do it.”
“And stay away from Mrs. Goodbody,” Maggie added. “In fact, you need to keep your nose out of police business.”
Brice rolled his eyes, but the security guard stepped in front of Michaels’s door, emphasizing it was off-limits and would remain so, even after Maggie and Josh left. Brice snorted in disgust but walked away.
“We’ll keep him out.” The floor nurse watched him get on the elevator. “No one will get near her room again.”
CHAPTER TEN
“What did you think of Michaels’s story?” Josh asked as they rode down the hospital elevator after the confrontation with Brice. “I got the feeling she knew more than she told us.”
Maggie darted him a swift glance. “I wondered too. I suspect she does, but I’m not yet sure she knows it.”
“What do you mean?”
“She may not have put the pieces together. But think about it. She’s the spokesperson for the Witching Hour Society—our only common denominator—and now she’s the latest victim. She has to know something.” Maggie was disappointed their time with Michaels had been cut short. It might take time and patience to win her confidence. Michaels would be leery of revealing anything about a secret society—no matter how grateful she was. Not unless she had a very good reason. Maggie intended to show her one.
“Did you notice the odd word choice?” Josh asked. “An ‘infiltration.’ What’s happening inside that organization is bothering someone. She denied there’d been any direct threats, but I got the impression she felt threatened by someone or something.”
“Nice observation, Brandt. I sensed her conflict too. If only we had an insider willing to help us sort it out. We might have convinced Michaels to work with us, but her injuries will keep her out of Society activities for a while. We need someone else. I have a few more names to contact, and I’ll make those calls as soon as we get to the precinct.”
“Not until you’ve dealt with Captain Jenson,” he reminded her.
Maggie screwed up her face. “I’d almost forgotten.”
But when she reported to the captain’s office shortly after lunch, he returned her SIG Sauer without much comment except a reminder to call in backup more quickly in the future. The rest of the conversation centered on the occult aspects of the case rather than how she’d stumbled across the ritual.
“The media is sniffing around,” Jenson grumbled. “When the story breaks, publicity is sure to be over the top with everyone screaming for immediate arrests. We’ll be knee-deep in voodoo, hoodoo, vampires, and witches. So what can you tell me? Is this a Satanic cult? Devil-worshiping, human sacrifice, the whole bit?” He scowled, as if willing her to say no.
“It looks like a black magic coven. The black robes, the satanic symbols. And an apparent human sacrifice. I can’t say whether that was in the name of the Devil or just their own twisted minds. But there may be three prior victims.”
“So the office scuttlebutt is true.” He shook his head. “A cult of killers. How are they choosing their victims?”
“Not clear yet. But every incident is linked to the Witching Hour Society or their annual Halloween ball.”
Jenson groaned and loosened his tie. “More witches. More local color. This just gets worse. I can’t even hint at any of this in a statement to the press. So what do I say?”
“Can’t help you, Captain. Why not hand this one off to Public Relations?” But they both knew a story like this would catch the attention of the higher brass…and eventually the mayor. PR would pass it right back to Jenson.
“There’s another issue,” Maggie began. “Michaels may still be at risk. The hospital’s a pretty open building—”
“Please, don’t ask,” Jenson interrupted. “You want police protection. If it was my case, I’d ask for it too, but we just don’t have the man-power.” He shook his head. “We’re stretched thin as it is. Less money, fewer officers, more crime.” He continued to list the drains on the department. “Maybe by the weekend. I already checked and patrol has a couple of officers getting back from vacation. I’ll try to snag one of them for you. The best I can do for now is keep a car in the area to respond quickly if needed.”
“I was afraid of that. Hospital security is filling in, and they have Josh’s and my phone numbers.”
He nodded in approval. “I’ll make a personal call to thank them. I hate relying on other agencies to cover our butt. Let’s hope it stays quiet.” He finished venting and dismissed her to return to work. “Now I don’t feel so bad for ordering Brandt back from Boston. Get this solved, Detective. It’s the only way we’ll get it off the front page…and me out of the hot seat.”
Ordering? The early morning return from Boston hadn’t been Josh’s idea? Maggie kept the chagrin off her face. Thank God she hadn’t invited Josh into her bed this morning. Oh, she didn’t think he’d faked his concern, but if the choice had been his, would he have come home to her or stayed with Ellie?
Josh looked up as she came out of Jenson’s office. “Well, how’d it go?”
She dropped into her desk chair, forced a smile, and shoved her doubts about Josh to the back of her mind for dissection later. “Not bad, but no protection for Michaels until the weekend. He’s so uptight about media coverage that he didn’t question how I got to the crime scene.” Maggie picked up her list of calls to make. “He’s feeling the pressure and wants this solved before all hell breaks loose.”
Josh studied her face as if sensing a change in mood. “OK. For starters, how’s this latest incident affect Sutter? Is he just the grieving neighbor or still our prime suspect?”
“I hate to give him up. He works in so many ways for the Preston case. Let’s poke around for ties to the other victims or any occult practices. Even anti-occult groups. If we
don’t find anything, we can move him down the list.” She checked the time on her computer screen. “The Witching Hour Society holds the key, but I doubt if we can talk with Michaels again today. While we wait, I’ll keep searching for a Society member who’ll talk to us.” She turned away from Josh’s penetrating eyes and took a quick breath, grateful for an excuse to work alone, regain perspective, and reinforce those walls that had nearly crumbled.
When the afternoon was over, Maggie tensed as Josh walked her out of the building. She wasn’t sure what he expected, but this morning’s kiss hadn’t changed things for her, not without discussing…everything, namely Ellie.
“Josh, I—”
“How about—”
“Go on,” she said.
“No, you first.”
“I just wanted to say I’m glad you’re back.” Would he tell her now it was Jenson’s idea?
“Me too.” Josh gave her that easy smile. “I was thinking about dinner. Nothing complicated, just a chance to unwind.” When she hesitated, he added, “The Cajun Diner?”
“Not fair. You know I can’t resist their shrimp sauce.” The small cafe on the bank of the Mississippi was one of Maggie’s favorite places. The food was as authentic as it got, the wine list selective, and a stroll along the river made the perfect dessert. But no stroll tonight. Not unless…what? Was there a way to fix the gulf between them? She still wanted to try.
Maggie left her car in the secure police lot and rode with Josh. They ordered drinks while waiting for dinner, and Maggie sipped her Chardonnay wondering what to talk about. She wanted to ask about Ellie, but he’d said “nothing complicated,” hadn’t he? They didn’t need such a volatile conversation or the fallout of a bad breakup in the middle of a case…and certainly not in a public restaurant.
A safe topic popped into her head. “Why haven’t I seen the ghost of Big Roy Bunjer?”