by Mary Burton
Just after 3 p.m., the homicide team assembled in the windowless conference room on the third floor of police headquarters. The room was decorated in pale beiges that looked closer to brown than white and furniture that was at least a decade old. A large white board hung behind the head of the table, and on the credenza under it, a coffeemaker spat out its third pot for the afternoon.
Rokov had been on the homicide team two years now and he had worked his share of murders not only with Sinclair but with each of the three other detectives.
“So what do we have?” Garrison said, settling. He shrugged broad shoulders as if working out the stiffness.
“Sinclair and I have spent the better part of the night trying to piece together Diane Young’s last days. Audrey dug through her computer. No suspicious e-mails or calls so far, but she gave us Beyond’s client list, and we are going to dig through that.”
Malcolm Kier pulled a pen from his breast pocket and laid it beside his notebook on the table. “How many on the client list?”
“One hundred and six. We have identified the top ten users of Beyond. These folks have the highest billing rates of last month. And six of those made the top ten for the last three months. One woman paid out four thousand dollars to Beyond in September.”
Kier shook his head. “You telling me there was a woman who paid four grand to have her stars and cards read?”
Rokov nodded. “Her name is Sandy Tennyson, age fifty-seven. We spoke to her first thing late this morning.” He flipped through the pages of his notebook. “She has bone cancer, and according to her, the doctors had not given her more than six months. She did a random purchase with Beyond four months ago. Diane said that all her troubles would be vanquished by the end of this year.”
“Did Young know Tennyson had cancer?” Kier said.
“Tennyson swears no,” Sinclair interjected. “But to hear her speak, it wouldn’t take a psychic to figure out she is sick.”
Garrison tapped his thumb on his yellow notepad.
“Is that what Young did? Did she string this woman along and make her believe there was hope?”
Rokov shook his head. “I don’t know. Only Young could answer that. But she collected a lot of money from Tennyson.”
“Would piss me off if someone gave me hope and then snatched it away,” Kier said.
“Even if Tennyson figured out this was a scam, she doesn’t have the strength to drown a woman, even one as small as Young, and then drag her up to that abandoned warehouse,” Rokov said.
“And she does have an alibi,” Sinclair interjected.
“As do her two sons, both in their early twenties. She and her husband are divorced, and there seems to be no other relatives.” Rokov scanned his notes. “The other top five clients have similar stories. Illness, job loss, one even has a missing child.”
Garrison’s expression turned grim. “Who has the missing child?”
“Her name is Abby Powers. She was the other client we saw today. Her daughter Bia went missing in the early eighties. The kid vanished from their apartment in the middle of the night.”
“I remember that case,” Garrison said. “My dad worked it.” Garrison’s father had been a thirty-year veteran of the department and still remained a resource on old or cold cases. “Tell me she did not give this woman hope.”
“According to Ms. Powers, Diane believed Bia was alive. Ms. Powers agrees with Young and was working with Young to find out who took the child.”
“Any leads?” Kier said.
“Ms. Powers said that Ms. Young never was able to give her anything, but that didn’t stop her from asking.”
“Or stop Young from billing her.” Kier’s words dripped with disgust.
Rokov nodded. “Young made a good living mostly on the worries and fears of others.”
“Makes for a lot of enemies,” Kier said.
“Powers has no relatives. She lives a hermit’s life in Arlington. We are still checking alibis from the other top clients. It’s going to take a while.” He checked his notes. “There is another guy in Leesburg. Paul Stanford. He plays the horses and consulted Diane for guidance. He’s next on our to-be-visited list.”
“What did Audrey tell us about Young’s last few days?” Garrison said.
Rokov rose and went to the white board. “We know that the last day she logged on to her computer was Friday, October fifteenth, at six in the morning, and she remained on her computer until four in the afternoon. We have records of the e-mails she sent to clients as well as the website copy she was writing for her November forecasts, which she planned to post in a couple of weeks. She appears to have shut down her computer for good that same afternoon.”
“Her body was found on Tuesday. When does the medical examiner estimate the time of death?” Garrison said.
“Liver temperature suggests that she died on Monday just after midnight,” Sinclair added.
“So what happened to her between Friday afternoon and Monday?” Kier said.
“Surveillance cameras at her apartment building show her leaving the building just after six on Friday evening. She gets in her car and credit card receipts show that she gassed up fifteen minutes later on Route 7.”
“We have footage of her filling up her car and then safely driving off. She was headed west toward Bailey’s Crossroads.”
“And?” Deacon said.
“And then she stopped by her branch bank and withdrew five hundred dollars from her bank account, which she seems to do regularly each month.” Rokov moved to the television and turned on the DVD disk. “The bank’s ATM camera does show a man walking up to her.” They all watched as a man wearing a hoodie approached her. The man’s face and race were obscured, but it was clear he had a medium build and was about six feet. Diane grinned up at him when he knocked on her window. She unlocked her door and he climbed into the front seat of her car. Then they drove off. “And that is the last she’s seen,” Rokov said.
“Until she shows up dead in the abandoned building,” Kier said.
“Exactly.”
“We showed the tape to her sister, Suzanne Young. She does not recognize the man, but did mention that her sister had been in great spirits lately.”
“Any mention of a man?” Kier said.
“Sister thought Diane might have a guy but they’d had no real discussion,” Rokov said.
“Are there any other cameras that pick this guy up near the bank?”
“There is a pizza place next door, and we see him arrive on foot. He crosses the lot directly in front of the camera, but again he’s careful to hide his face. It was as if he had planned this moment down to the last detail.”
Garrison rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. “What else did the medical examiner say?”
Rokov opened his file and read Dr. Henson’s clinical words that detailed the trauma. “The victim was sexually assaulted several times, both vaginally and anally. She has ligature marks on her wrists and ankles and there is bruising on her arms. The real kicker is the water in her lungs.”
“He drowned her?” Kier said.
“Her ribs were cracked and her heart was damaged as if it had stopped and been restarted several times. We think he drowned her and then revived her.”
The words washed over everyone and settled a heavy weight on their shoulders.
Rokov posted pictures taken at the crime scene of the salt circle as well as the pentagram. “Read your witch trial history, and you’ll find that it wasn’t uncommon to elicit confessions by trying to drown the victims.”
Kier leaned forward. “You mean to tell me that the killer is some kind of witch hunter?”
“Right now, all I know is that there are signs of the occult at the murder scene, my victim told fortunes, and my victim was drowned repeatedly.”
Garrison hooked his thumbs in his belt. “How much does the media have?”
“Only that police are investigating the murder of a young woman. We were going to release her picture
today and identify her. My hope is that someone might have seen her and her killer in that bank parking lot.”
Garrison nodded. “Do you realize this kind of story is going to pull the crazies out of the woodwork? I don’t even want to consider the tips that will come in on the tip line.”
“October and witches,” Kier said. “Doesn’t get any more entertaining than that for the press.”
Garrison rubbed his neck. “Identify her and let the media know what she did for a living. But let’s still hold off any crime scene details.”
“Will do,” Rokov said. “Sinclair and I could use you both. The sooner we track down clients and neighbors, the better.”
“Whatever you need, Rokov,” Garrison said.
Charlotte pulled up in front of the New Age shop located on Washington Street in Old Town. The brick town house wasn’t old like the buildings near the river, but had been designed to mimic the old world colonial style. This was a busy street, and the shop looked like it would see a good bit of traffic. Points to Sooner for choosing the spot.
She set the parking break on her BMW as her mind drifted back to the call she’d just ended. Levi had not been thrilled about Samantha turning down his plea bargain.
“If she thinks I’ll make a better deal, she can forget it.” Levi’s voice had been ripe with tension.
“She doesn’t want a better deal.”
“She’s a fool. The jury is going to come back with a guilty verdict.”
“I don’t agree.”
“When she is taken away from her kids for the next twenty years, this will be on you, Charlotte.”
Charlotte carefully slid on her sunglasses and scanned the busy street for Sooner’s tall frame and dark hair in the sea of passersby. Seconds and then minutes passed, and there was no sign of Sooner. Charlotte checked her watch. The girl was twenty minutes late.
Tamping down irritation, she considered bagging this entire venture and leaving. Time was money, literally for Charlotte, and she could not waste either now.
Who are you kidding? You’ll wait as long as it takes.
Her BlackBerry buzzed, and she checked the number. Angie. Charlotte hit send. “Angie. What can I do for you?”
“I wanted to remind you that I have a fund-raising meeting this afternoon. We’ve got about a week to go before the big event, and there are too many details to wrap up.”
More lost time and revenue. “Angie, remind me why I let you give away so many billable hours?”
Angie chuckled. “Because you like me and because your heart is not as black as the world might think.”
A hint of a smile tipped the edge of her lips. “Don’t bet on it. I’m evil to the bone.”
“You’ve a core of marshmallow. But don’t worry, I won’t tell.”
“You’re fired if you do.”
“Hey, have you gotten your costume yet?”
Horns blared as a car screeched to a halt at the intersection down the block. The driver yelled obscenities and Charlotte’s gaze tracked the direction of the driver’s raging fist. Sooner hurried across the street, her short red skirt, black sweater, leggings, and long dark boots hugging every inch of her frame. Dark hair flowed behind her as she glanced toward the driver and gave him the finger.
The driver studied Sooner a long moment then shook his head.
Charlotte cringed. “My what?”
“Costume. You need to wear a costume to this event.”
Sooner reached the corner and shouldered her way through a group of tourists. “You never told me I had to wear a costume.”
“I did. Twice. But I suspect, like now, you were half listening. Where are you anyway?”
Charlotte turned from Sooner and refocused her attention on Angie. “It’s a long story. I’ll fill you in later.”
“I meant to ask you about Grady Tate. He was the one profiled in the paper on Sunday. He runs that carnival.”
Tension slithered up her back and coiled around her throat. “He is the one.”
“Think he’d help us out with the Halloween event? Maybe send us a couple of clowns or something?”
“Angie, don’t ask Grady for any favors. When he gives a little, he takes a lot.”
“I’m a big girl. I think I could handle him.”
Sooner spotted Charlotte and raised her hand in greeting. She moved with a confidence few girls her age possessed. Charlotte certainly hadn’t had that kind of panache at eighteen. She’d woven the threads of her confidence together by studying other women she admired. “Believe me, you can’t. You play by the rules. Grady does not. Do us both a favor and stay away from him.”
“One day you’re going to tell me why.”
“Not likely.” They said their good-byes and Charlotte hung up just as Sooner reached her. “You’re late.”
“Ten minutes. I know. We had a last-minute meeting at the carnival. Grady was giving a big speech about putting on great shows this week.”
“He still does that?”
“He’s obsessed with creating a magical illusion at the carnival.” She brushed a strand of hair from her face, giving Charlotte a glimpse of a star tattoo on the underside of her wrist.
“It’s why he’s been in business so long.”
Sooner rested a fist on her narrow hip. “Sounds like you’re defending the guy.”
“Not in the least. But I learned a lot from him. When it came to running a business, he is smart and he knows how to work a crowd.”
“He’s a pain in the ass. He is driving me crazy.” Sooner huffed as if that was something done by a grown-up, exasperated woman. However, the sound reminded Charlotte more of a girl pretending to be a woman.
A question that had been festering since yesterday begged to be asked. “Was Grady good to you growing up?”
“He was okay, I guess.”
“What does that mean?”
“He didn’t beat me or anything. But he was a hard ass about dating and me having any kind of freedom.”
“He said you were homeschooled.”
“If you can call it that. I knew more than the teachers.”
Two men approached Sooner from behind and cast appreciative glances at her backside. Charlotte’s gaze narrowed as she glared at them. They spotted Charlotte and both had the good sense to look away.
Sooner chuckled. “Were you just doing the maiden aunt thing for me?”
Charlotte frowned. “Not at all.”
Her denial amused Sooner. “Oh, but you so were. You scared those dudes shitless.”
“I did not.” She had and took a perverse pleasure from it. “Ready to have a look at your new space?”
“Yes. I really want to show it to someone who can tell me if I’m full of shit or not.”
“You don’t need to curse.”
Sooner laughed. “Why? They’re just words.”
“They leave a lasting impression. Ask yourself if you want statements taken seriously or dismissed.”
Sooner laughed. “So who died and left you in charge of me?”
“Nobody. Just friendly advice.” She could have critiqued the girl’s outfit as well. Tone it down. You don’t need to grab attention all the time. But she’d said enough. Sooner was right, no one had died and left her in charge of anyone. “Let’s see the space?”
“Yes.” Sooner crossed the sidewalk to the front door of Ageless. The sound of New Age music mingling with the scents of incense greeted them. With even greater confidence, Sooner called out, “Mark!”
Charlotte glanced around the shop and with a critical eye assessed walls covered with shelves stocked with crystals, books, incense, and any other talisman or superstitious gizmo anyone would want to own. Charlotte lifted a “magical” crystal on the checkout counter and inspected it. Lovely the way it caught the light, but the stone was about as magical as a strip of asphalt or a brick.
“Mark!” Sooner glanced at her. “He must be in the back. I’ll find him.”
Charlotte set the crystal down and pi
cked up an angel pendant much like the one Mariah wore. She held the angel up to the light and watched as the afternoon sun made the fake gold sparkle.
Her mind tripped back to when Mariah and she were in their mid-teens. Sooner was just weeks away from birth.
“So who gave you that?” Grace stood at the stove and opened a can of tomato soup, which she poured into a stainless steel pot.
Mariah fingered the angel necklace. “It’s just a present.”
“I can see that. But from who?”
“You are so nosy.”
Grace set the stove on warm and, grabbing a wooden spoon, slowly stirred the soup. “Maybe I have to be to learn anything from you. Lately, you’ve got too many secrets.”
That coaxed a smile. “Mama always said a woman needed secrets if she was gonna keep her man interested.”
“You think that’s working so well for you?”
Mariah stuck up her nose. “It ain’t like you’re a virgin.”
“It was just the one time.”
Mariah laughed. “You’ll get wrinkles and look old before your time if you keep frowning.” She pushed up out of the chair and stretched. “I can’t wait to have this kid out so we can get on with our lives.”
“You don’t mean that, do you?” She wasn’t anxious for the child’s birth.
“I sure do. I want us to run around like we used to.”
Grace dropped her gaze to the soup, which had started to simmer. They’d been a team since day one. But not so much anymore. “I don’t think we’ll ever get back to where we were.”
“The baby won’t change things.”
“The baby changes it all.”
“Charlotte,” Sooner called out. “I’d like you to meet Mark Rogers. He owns Ageless.”
Charlotte set down the angel and looked toward the sound of Sooner’s voice. She found the young woman standing next to a reed-thin guy who was a few inches taller than Sooner. He wore a black T-shirt, faded jeans, white high-top tennis shoes, and long hair tied at the nape of his neck. An endless menagerie of tattoos formed sleeves up and down each arm, and on the side of his neck was the image of devil’s horns. His left earlobe sported ten stud earrings.