The Empty Cradle

by Jill Nojack

  With Maureen gone, Junior no longer had a reason to refuse a dinner invitation from Zelda. She wasn’t the cook that Maureen had been, but if it was a choice between trying to find something in his own fridge that didn’t come in a six pack or having to sit down for half an hour with Zelda, he’d be stupid to go for the first one.

  And she sure did lay on a good drinks menu. Maureen had always given him one lousy beer with dinner, and he almost had to beg for that. Zelda didn’t care. She set the bottles close so that he could get what he wanted when he wanted it. Not judgmental. Nope. Not good ‘ol Zelda.

  He was feeling pretty fuzzy about the time she asked him if he wanted to watch TV after dinner. Somehow she managed to trick him onto her big, soft sofa where a man couldn’t help but sink in for a while.

  And the booze kept coming.

  He forgot about his plan to eat and run until she tried to maneuver him close to her big, soft body. He’d sunk pretty far into the sofa, but he wasn’t sinking into that, too. There weren’t enough drinks to make that possible. If he hadn’t let her trick him into it the last time, he’d still be with Maureen.

  He shoved Zelda off hard, his words slurring now, but having the right effect. “Sheesh, woman, does a body have to kill ya before ya git the point? Not int’rested.”

  She backed off, her bottom lip trembling like she was going to pull tears on him as he extricated himself from the pull of the couch. He grabbed his bottle from the end table and let himself out.

  It took him a minute to find the car keys. Too many pockets. And longer than that to get it in the ignition. It was a ways to his apartment, and he knew better than to risk going out on a main road. But he’d be fine to get to his little hangout in Corey Woods.

  Other than knocking over a garbage can that somebody placed way too close to the street, he made it to the turn-off into the woods without incident. After he parked at the side of the old slump block building, he checked to make sure the van was hidden completely. Yeah, it was good. He was covered for the night.

  As he unlocked the chain on the big metal door and flipped the light on, he called out, “Daddy’s home!”

  ***

  Jenny didn’t know why she even packed it. Just because her mother had owned it so long, maybe. Because the black robe had been such an important part of her mother’s life.

  A robe should have been a part of Jenny’s, too. But she had wanted Butch in her life more. Butch. Who hated what she was. Who made her hide it. No one had ever made choices as badly as she had.

  She cried as she pulled the robe on and tied it around her waist. It smelled like her mom. Like baking bread and rose-scented moisturizer. She buried her nose in a sleeve and took a deep breath, the hood falling over her head, making her invisible beneath it.

  She went outside, taking her invisibility with her, to stand just outside the door and breathe in the night. In her mother’s robe, she felt like a part of it. It was a good feeling being part of something bigger instead of always being reminded you are small and different.

  Small and different; like Dahlia. She was sure she heard her then, crying in the night, and her heart skipped a beat. She stood to follow the sound.

  But no, it was just one of the girls inside expressing her dissatisfaction. That was all. Still, her eyes made one more sweep of the dark line of trees before she moved back into the light.

  7

  “Got everything?” Natalie asked, as Marcus rinsed his breakfast dishes and put them beside the sink. “Do you need lunch money? Pencils? Anything like that?”

  “I’m good. Made my lunch last night.” He grabbed a brown bag out of the fridge and picked up the backpack that sat next to his chair. “Don’t forget that I’ve got that college prep thing at school tonight. I won’t be home for dinner, so you’ll have to make your own.” He swayed toward her slightly, looking like he might peck her on the cheek, and she swayed backward as her ingrained discomfort with displays of affection rejected him before she could stop herself.

  He didn’t take it badly, he just turned and headed for the door. “See ya Gram.”

  Boil me in butter! she thought. What in the world is wrong with me? She’d grown to truly care for the boy, and he was more than worthy of motherly affection. She sighed; she just didn’t know how.

  Well, if she didn’t know how, then someone else was going to have to fill that need. She got dressed for the day in her father’s plaid wool hunting knickers that buttoned at the knee, and the worn, matching coat and wool hat. She left the earflaps up because the weather was only slightly cool. She needed to keep Marcus close now that he knew there was a very real magical world all around him, but what could she do about his need for mothering? His own mother wasn’t an option. Her addictions prevented her from taking care of the boy properly.

  It was just another puzzle for her to put together. But knowing her own temperament as well as she did, she knew it would be ten times easier for her to find a killer by tramping randomly through the woods than it would be for her to provide for the boy’s emotional needs.

  She pulled on her big waterproof boots and shoved aside a stack of hanging coats so that she could access the back corner of the closet. From the collection of canes, umbrellas, and other objects that leaned in a jumble in the corner, she grabbed a tree branch about three feet in length that split into two branches to form a Y at one end. The barkless twin handles were worn smooth. It was exactly what she needed.

  But yes, the boy had given her something to think about when there were less urgent matters on her plate. But today, her schedule was full. She had an infant to find.

  ***

  Denton would have preferred to complete a follow up interview with Jenny at the station, but the mayor had managed to talk him into doing it at the Sanders place. He’d said the girl was having a rough time and it would help if he could go to her instead of the other way around. It wasn’t that much of an inconvenience, but he couldn’t help but think the mayor was letting his girlfriend wear the pants; Robert wouldn’t ask for a favor like this without his partner pushing for it. Until he and Gillian started living together, Robert had never made suggestions about how the department should conduct its business.

  For a place that looked so grand on the outside, he didn’t think much of the Sanders place on the inside until he found out that the two-bedroom suite Jenny and her daughters occupied had been the servant’s quarters. That explained its plain and functional feel.

  Despite that, the suite was bigger than his own apartment, and it was better laid out, too. As a bachelor, he didn’t need much space, and he didn’t have time to keep up a house. Still…nice location. Quiet.

  He’d asked Bailey along as an afterthought, just in case the girl got emotional. With a child missing and her husband a suspect for the murder of her mother, Jenny Holgerson wasn’t his ideal interviewee. He’d rather get spit on than cried on; he had an aversion to strong emotion. It distracted from more concrete concerns.

  He could almost feel Bill hovering behind him while he probed the girl’s recollection of the events as gently as he could. Too gently and he risked forgetting that she was still a suspect. Too harshly and he risked forgetting she was probably a victim.

  Blast it. Whatever the situation was, he had to ask the questions he was going to ask, and even Bill’s hovering presence couldn’t keep him from barreling into the proverbial china shop in his push for truth. Dishes get broken; sometimes there’s no avoiding it.

  He’d never felt anyone hover like Bailey could hover, though. The man had an aura, for lack of a better word. He looked gentle and unprepossessing, a real “Leave It to Beaver” throwback, but you always knew when he was in the room. There was something about the man.

  Jenny Holgerson obviously felt it too. Even though Denton asked the questions, her eyes were trained past his left shoulder when she answered, passing over him in favor of Bailey.

  “I’m having trouble understanding how your husband got knocked out and tied
up after you found him standing over the victim,” Denton said.

  Her eyes dropped to the floor. It was a sudden move for the young woman who, until that moment, had been moving slowly, like the air around her fought her every move. “I don’t know how it happened.”

  “Was there someone else in the house with you?”

  “No. I don’t think so. I don’t know.”

  “Did you see anyone other than your husband after you found your mother?” Denton asked, his voice gaining volume as his frustration grew.

  “No.” She continued to address the floor.

  He leaned back and crossed his feet at the ankles and his arms across his chest. “See, here’s the problem I have with that. You told me that you woke up to find your husband bending over your mother’s body. After that, your husband somehow ends up unconscious and tied up, and you don’t remember how that happened.”

  She shook her head slowly as she said, “I couldn’t think about anything else except my mother. I don’t remember anything until the police arrived.”

  “The way you tell it, you’re the only one who could have done to Butch what was done to him. The only one in the room, you see, that’s the problem.” He looked her up and down the length of her five foot one inch frame. “You, a tiny little bit of nothin’ up against the only all-star high-school quarterback the town of Giles ever produced. I can’t see it.” He leaned forward suddenly, resting his hands on his knees, removing the barrier his crossed arms and legs had created, his eyes intense. “You’re covering for someone.”

  “Why would I do that? Of course I’m not. I just can’t…” Her eyes filled with tears, and she blinked, brushing them away as they escaped.

  “I can think of a few reasons.” He pressed toward her again, inching forward in the chair. “Say you know the attacker, you have a relationship of some kind, and your mother comes in to find you together. Or arranging to sell one of the kids—overwhelmed new parents have done worse things.” He noted Jenny’s shocked expression, but he didn’t let it affect him. “She tried to stop you and this other person decides to get rid of the problem…”

  “It didn’t happen like that.” Tears spilled down her cheeks now. “There was no one else there.”

  “I didn’t finish. So Butch comes in, and sees your mother in danger and intervenes. Gets himself knocked out. Maybe Butch isn’t a suspect after all. Maybe he’s a hero. Maybe he was trying to save your mother and your child.”

  She sobbed the words between tortured gasps, “I didn’t see anyone else. I don’t know what happened to Butch. And I would never, ever even think about harming my own child! My own mother! You’re making me look guilty when I’m not…” She took a deep breath. “Oh…I…it’s the same thing I did to Butch.” She hung her head, sobbing. “Maybe he didn’t do it…maybe he didn’t…”

  Denton stood and motioned to Bailey to follow him into the kitchen. “Calm her down and see if you can get anything sensible out of her. I’ve run out of any goodwill I might have had, so I’ll take off.”

  “That’s probably best at this point,” Bill agreed.

  “But if she didn’t see who attacked her husband, the rest of her story makes no sense, can’t she see that? She’s got to fill in that blank spot. And now she’s questioning whether or not he did it.” He sucked at a tooth as he processed this. “I’ll have no cause to hold him when he comes to. And I want a reason to hold him; he’s been trouble since he was a boy.”

  ***

  “Merry meandering moonpies! What’s this about my not being allowed access to the coroner’s findings in the case of Maureen Oliver?”

  “And good day to you, too, Nat. How’ve you been?” Robert’s eyes flicked up and down to take in the full effect of her top-to-toe woolen plaid and woods-worthy rubber boots. “Interesting outfit. Will Elmer Fudd be joining us today?” he asked, leaning back in his old wooden desk chair until it creaked in protest. He motioned to her to take a seat across from him on the other side of his equally old-fashioned wooden desk.

  “Very droll,” she replied as her eyes narrowed and the left one twitched. She didn’t take the offered seat. “Now that we’ve exchanged the obligatory pleasantries, why am I being kept away from the coroner’s report?”

  “You know why,” he said. “Just because you’re high priestess doesn’t mean that you have clearance into the workings of the city. First, I need compelling proof that this case has a magical element. Otherwise it’s Denton’s business, not yours. The doc has instructions not to share any information until I say so.” He pulled his chair forward and rested his forearms on the desk, the fingers of one hand drumming lightly. “And since a little bird already told me you broke into the crime scene last night, that evidence better be pretty convincing. You don’t get to do as you please just because we’re friends. Not if it interferes with the city’s investigation.”

  “Pah! William has been in your ear, has he?”

  “And he was right to be. You know that. You believe in the separation of coven and state every bit as much as I do.”

  “I didn’t have time to ask permission. I needed to get in as quickly as possible. You know the traces left by witchery decay quickly, particularly when worked by a skilled practitioner. And the remnants I found were strong, centered on the cradle of the missing child. There’s certainly magic involved here. I haven’t felt this signature before, but I can’t shake the feeling that it’s part of some surprise left for us by Anat.”

  “Anat’s out of the picture.” He leaned forward forcefully, accompanied by another protest from his chair. The reflection of the overhead lights on the top of his smooth scalp skipped toward the back, skimming over the age spots. One eyebrow lifted and his voice lowered as he asked, “What’s happened that makes you think she’s still an actor in this?”

  She shook her head. “Nothing. Nothing concrete, at least. Just witch’s intuition.”

  “PTSD more likely. We all went through a lot last summer. I understand why you might have lingering unease. Gillian still has nightmares about it.”

  “Don’t you dare discount my intuition,” she said, shaking a finger toward him. “This is not nightmares or my imagination running away with me; I’m not some young recruit to the craft. And I didn’t say I know for sure. But I have to pursue it; there’s a child missing whose mother was the recipient of a demon-involved fertility ritual. And even if there were no magical component at all, you need as many people out there working the angles as you can get. The child’s been gone for almost 24 hours now; nothing, particularly politics, is more important than finding her.”

  His mouth dipped at the corners. “I see your point, even if I think you’re fencing with shadows. Go talk to Don. Maybe you’ll see something in the results that he didn’t. I’ll call down to let him know.”

  He picked up the phone and dialed. “Doc? Nat Taylor is on her way over. Go ahead and answer her questions.”

  ***

  The drawer slid out with a distinctive metallic grinding sound caused by a stainless steel tray rolling on stainless steel wheels. The mortal remains of one Maureen Oliver, that’s what the drawer contained. Doc Don’s eyes flicked to Natalie’s from above his blue paper mask. “Are you sure you want to see this?”

  Natalie’s face behind her own mask was impassive. “I was a nurse, remember? Dead bodies don’t disturb me.”

  “I’m not usually disturbed by them, either. But I don’t know what to think about this one.” He unzipped the white plastic body bag and pulled it to the side, revealing the corpse’s left shoulder. “You’ll probably need to step over here to get a good look. I could use another set of eyes on this anyway. Tell me what you think that looks like.”

  Natalie moved around the drawer to get a better view of the four wide slashes that started low on the right side of Maureen’s neck and traveled downward, ending just past her center chest. The marks were about an inch apart, each of them cutting deep.

  “I never saw a wound like this
one in all my years of nursing,” she said.

  “My first thought was Freddie Krueger.”

  “Freddie who?”

  The doctor’s mouth moved up at one edge in a half smile. “Movie. Eighties. He had long knives on each finger. Just trying to lighten things up with a little gallows humor…” The corner of his mouth drooped again when Natalie’s eyes narrowed. “…which apparently wasn’t funny. So, if you look at the wound closely, it’s as much a rip as a cut at the end, so the weapon was something sharp but not razor or scalpel sharp. It went in at the neck with the first thrust and then was dragged across the chest, where the marks aren’t as deep. It’s the only mark on her, but it was certainly enough.”

  “Carotid?” she asked.

  “Yes. She didn’t have much time to realize what was happening to her before she bled out.”

  Natalie nodded. That Maureen hadn’t had time to suffer was almost a bright spot in this dark business. She reached out toward the gashes and the coroner cautioned, “No touching.”

  “Who said I was touching?” She just needed to get close to see if she could detect the presence of magic near the wounds. But there was nothing. Dead end.

  Natalie’s fingers beat a rhythm on the metal tray where Maureen lay as she thought about the findings. Then she stopped and looked down at her hand, curling her fingers inward. She looked up and sought the coroner’s eyes. “What about an animal of some sort?”

  “I considered that, but it would have to be one heck of a big cat.”

  “Bobcat maybe? I’ve seen a few out in the woods in my time, but it’s unlikely they’d come that far into town.”

  “Thought of it. Their paws are too small to make those marks. Now, a Canadian lynx has large paws, but no one’s reported seeing one around here for years. Still, if I was going to go with a cat of some sort, that would be the one.”

  “Black bear? They spotted one near Salem a couple years ago.”