I followed him into the apartment, fully expecting to be set upon by latent feelings of arousal mixed with fear, just as I had been before. Instead, I was slapped full in the face by the psychic residue of blind anger. I felt my face flush as the emotion corkscrewed its way into my head, coursing out through my body and making my skin prickle with a sudden wave of gooseflesh.
This was new, and definitely not what I had foreseen.
I stopped a few steps through the doorway and looked around the room. True to what Ben had been told, the beige carpet was stained with bloody footprints, the shape of which was obviously made by a pair of women’s high-heeled shoes. While they radiated out in various directions, the majority of them were clustered around a far more solid stain, upon which the victim’s body was currently resting.
Someone had placed an open body bag over the top of the remains. I assumed that party to have been someone from the coroner’s office since one of their official vehicles was in the parking lot. Why they had simply covered him and not transported him from the scene, I wasn’t certain. In any case, he was still here, and I couldn’t help but stare.
The rubberized bag covered his face and torso, but his arms and legs were still exposed. The one wrist I could plainly see was shackled into a wide leather cuff, which appeared to be snugged so tightly as to be biting into his flesh. If that weren’t enough, it was attached to what looked to be a metal bar that ran beneath his back. I assumed it ended in a like manner at the unseen hand. A similar apparatus had been used on his ankles, rendering him more or less immobile. She definitely hadn’t wanted him to get loose.
Two of the fingers on his exposed hand were bent up at an odd angle, visibly broken. A number of ragged holes were torn in the back of the hand as well as his forearm. His legs hadn’t faired any better as they were covered in long gashes that were now crusting over. His knees appeared to be buckled backwards, hyperextended to the point of shattering the joints.
As I stared, the rage continued spreading through me, punctuated by twinges of satisfaction. I knew in that moment, there had been nothing at all sexual about this kill for Annalise. There was no arousal or gratification on the physical level. It was purely emotional.
This had been all about revenge.
I heard a new voice and looked up from the horrific tableau. A man around Ben’s age was entering the room from a doorway near the back. “Yeah, bag that but get pictures of the whole thing first.”
He turned toward us after completing the statement, and a look of mild surprise flitted across his features. Continuing into the room, he looked over at Ben and said, “Hey, Storm.”
“Martin,” my friend replied.
The detective glanced over at me with an odd look on his face then said, “Hey, Rowan. How are you doing?”
“Hello, Mike,” I replied. “Getting by. And you?”
“Better than the stiff I guess,” he grunted then looked back over to Ben. “Storm… Can I see you back here for a minute?”
“Yeah,” Ben returned then looked over at me as he followed him deeper into the apartment. “Wait here, Row.”
I answered with a quick nod.
Detective Martin was one of a handful of cops on the Major Case Squad who actually took me seriously, so I hadn’t actually expected to be getting the “what’s he doing here?” treatment. However, that was exactly the look he had on his face, and I knew it probably had quite a bit to do with the fact that I had been banned from the investigation by the powers that be. My reception told me that Ben was going further out on this figurative limb than I wanted, but there was nothing I could do. I was already here, so the damage had been done.
After a handful of minutes, the two of them came back into the main room, Detective Martin trailing along behind my friend. He didn’t look particularly excited, but at least he didn’t look angry either. I didn’t know what was actually discussed while they were out of earshot, but it wasn’t hard to guess.
Ben asked, “So, you got anything new?”
“Not much,” Martin began, gesturing toward the covered corpse. “We’re pretty sure the victim is Lewis, but we don’t have a positive ID just yet and probably won’t until the M.E. gets done.”
“That bad?” Ben asked.
“Not much of his face left,” he offered. “Not to mention the missing part you already know about. Rest of ‘im isn’t much better. If you think what you can see is bad… Well, trust me, you don’t really want to look under the bag. I don’t think she stopped working him over for a while, even after he was dead.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” Ben grunted. “They gonna transport the body soon?”
Martin nodded. “Yeah. The restraints he’s wearing are attached with padlocks, so they went to get some bolt cutters. Until they get those off ‘im, he won’t fit in the bag.”
“Lovely,” Ben replied. “So, what about the rest of the apartment? Anything helpful?”
“Well, not really.” Martin pointed toward the floor, indicating several points in succession. “As you can see, we have a fairly clear trail to follow. It pretty much gives us an idea everywhere the killer went inside the apartment. Residue in the tub indicates she might have showered or bathed after she killed him. Hell, it looks like she might have even had herself a late night snack.”
“Why do ya’ think that?” my friend asked.
“There was a gallon jug of milk sitting on the back of the toilet. What little was left of it anyway.”
“She didn’t drink it,” I offered. “She added it to her bath water.”
“What makes you say that?” Martin asked, looking over at me.
“Voodoo. Given her religious leanings, bastardized as they are, it’s something she would do for purification,” I explained.
Ben grunted, “Ain’t nothin’ pure about this bitch except that she’s evil.”
“True, but she would have wanted to cleanse herself after this murder.”
“I don’t remember there being anything like that at any of the other crime scenes,” Martin added. “Why this one?”
“There was no need in those cases,” I said. “This is different. She didn’t kill him for the sexual high like she has with her past victims. She was exacting vengeance, and the ritual bath would be her way of ridding herself of any leftover emotions.”
He nodded. “Okay. So, what was she getting revenge for?”
“I’m not sure.”
“She sent his tongue to your wife, or at least we think it’s his. Do you think it has something to do with her?”
“Possibly.”
“Why his tongue, though?”
“That’s hard to say. My best guess would be that since the tongue is associated with speech, the obvious answer is retribution for something he said or she feared he was going to say.”
“Okay, but why send it to your wife?”
I shrugged. “To frighten her maybe. Again, I’m not really sure. I’m just telling you what I’m seeing and feeling.”
“So this is coming from one of your gut instincts?” he asked.
“Some of it. The rest is pretty much just a hypothetical application of what I’ve studied about Voodoo and hoodoo.”
“Okay, well since we’re on that particular subject, Storm said the real reason you came here is to have a look at what we found in there,” Martin said, as he nodded toward the half wall that divided the main room of the apartment.
We followed him as he stepped around the tented evidence markers that were lined across the floor and headed in the direction of the small kitchen. It was no big surprise that a fading trail of bloody shoe prints marked the path we followed.
Detective Martin guided us through the doorway then pointed toward the counter near the sink. “Don’t touch anything,” he instructed. “The techs haven’t gotten to this yet.”
“No problem,” I replied, an absent tone in my voice as I scanned the area where he indicated.
Whole cloves were scattered across the flo
or where they had fallen from a large pile on the countertop. Next to the pile itself was a plastic container lying on its side, the dried flower buds spilling from the open mouth in a dark brown spread. The sharp aroma of the spice was even thicker here in the small room.
I edged around the mess on the floor and leaned forward to peer closely at the other remnants of magick occupying the space near the sink. A slag of red wax with a small piece of blackened wick sat to one side. Near it was a pattern of drips, which at first glance also appeared to be wax but was black and had a much glossier sheen. Upon closer inspection, I could tell they had come from a very different type of candle besides simply the color. Next to these sat a bowl, which contained a rusted red substance that had the distinctive look of slowly coagulating blood. Drops of the dried liquid formed a trail across the surface of the counter. I followed it with my eyes until it ended at a roughly circular spot that was devoid of the scattered cloves.
“Have the evidence technicians removed anything in here?” I asked.
“No,” Martin replied. “Like I said, they haven’t made it this far except to set markers and take a few pictures.”
“Something is missing,” I muttered.
“What did you say?” Ben asked.
“Something is missing,” I said louder, as I pointed to the clear spot. “Whatever she did, it involved a bottle or a jar maybe. See this round spot here that doesn’t have any cloves on it?”
“Yeah,” he grunted. “So what’d she do?”
“I can’t tell.”
“Whaddaya mean ya’ can’t tell?”
“I mean I can’t tell,” I repeated. “I’ve never seen this exact type of magickal working before. The basic components of a lust spell are here with the red candle and the cloves. But, by the same token, you also have blood, which I’m betting once belonged to Lewis. And, see these black droplets here? That’s sealing wax.”
“You mean like the stuff they put on the back of fancy envelopes?” Martin asked.
“Exactly. Whatever she did, she sealed it in a bottle or jar.”
“So it’s some kind of Voodoo?” Martin asked.
“Hoodoo, maybe. Even more likely, it’s some manner of old folk magick,” I told him.
“Okay, well I hate to be a skeptic, Rowan, but what bearing does it really have on this investigation?”
“For the police, probably nothing more than evidence that she was here.”
“So it’s nothing,” he replied.
“No, it’s something. I just don’t know what because it doesn’t make sense.”
“Which part?” Ben asked.
“The outward appearance of the spell in general. I don’t get why she would be doing some kind of convoluted sex magick because she killed him out of anger, not for the thrill.”
“Do you think maybe you could be wrong about that part?” Martin asked.
“I could be wrong about all kinds of things,” I replied. “But, I can guarantee you that I don’t feel any sexual energy emanating from this apartment, and that has always been the predominant psychic feature of all the others.”
“Okay, so then what do you think the bottle or jar was for?”
“Like I said, to contain whatever magick she performed, so that in itself creates another mystery. Sealing a magickal working into a bottle isn’t unusual, but it can be done for just about any type of spell, so it really doesn’t give us any clue as to exactly what she did.”
“But, if I’m followin’ ya’, you’re sayin’ maybe she made ‘erself some lust in a bottle,” Ben interjected.
“On the surface that’s what it looks like, but we’re talking about blood magick here, so I’m seriously out of my element. Even so, since the container isn’t here, I’d be willing to bet she either has it with her or she buried it somewhere.”
“And that means what?” Ben asked.
I dipped my head and gave him a half shrug. “Unfortunately, it means we aren’t going to find out what it is until it does whatever it’s supposed to do.”
CHAPTER 31:
“So what do we do now,” I asked.
Ben and I had signed out of the crime scene shortly after Detective Martin had showed us the mysterious bit of magick Annalise had worked in the kitchen. My headache still hadn’t really subsided at this point, but a good amount of the tension had finally ebbed. The most important thing for me at the moment, however, was that my skin was no longer prickling with the unbridled anger that had been so prevalent throughout the apartment.
“Whaddaya mean?” Ben returned. “It’s simple. We go back to your place, pick up Firehair and your luggage, then I take you two ta’ my place.”
“I know that,” I said. “I meant, what do we do about stopping Annalise?”
“Gotta find ‘er first, so unless you got some kinda Twilight Zone thing tellin’ us where ta’ look, it’s just gonna take police work and a bit of luck.”
“Define police work.”
“We ask around and hope somebody saw somethin’.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s where the luck comes in,” he grunted. “If we’re lucky, someone did and will be willin’ ta’ talk to us about it.”
“That doesn’t sound terribly promising.”
“Welcome to the real world, Row. The majority of the time, that’s how criminals get caught,” he said with a shake of his head. “That crap on TV is e’zactly that. Crap. Ain’t nobody gonna stick a piece of hair under a microscope and suddenly say, ‘Bingo! She’s standin’ at the corner of Fourth and Broadway, go get ‘er.’ When it comes to this kinda crime, real police work is three parts paperwork, one part luck. Truth is, right now Devereaux is really just a suspect. Until we catch up to ‘er and compare the DNA and all that shit… Well, you got the idea.”
“It’s her. Believe me.”
“I do. We just gotta make sure the evidence supports it.”
“Okay, so what if nobody saw anything?”
“Then we hope she uses a credit card or somethin’, and we get a hit.”
“And if that doesn’t happen.”
“Awfully goddamned negative today, aren’t ya’?”
“I’m just worried.”
“Yeah… I can tell…”
“So? If she doesn’t use a credit card or something?”
“Okay, I’ll play. If she keeps ‘er head down, doesn’t use one of the credit cards we’re trackin’, nobody saw anything, and nobody calls with a decent tip, then we’re kinda fucked until she makes some other move.”
“Like coming after me or Felicity?”
“Or killin’ some other poor bastard, yeah, that’s pretty much about it.”
“That doesn’t make me feel any better, Ben.”
“Hey, you were the one playin’ devil’s advocate, not me,” he replied as he turned the van onto Laclede and accelerated with the flow of traffic. “Who knows, maybe she’ll see the error of her ways and turn herself in.”
“Yeah, right.”
“It’s happened before.”
“I wouldn’t count on it this time.”
“Didn’t say I was countin’ on it,” he grunted. “Either way, look at the bright side. Ya’ played with your doll, and now the ghost bitch is leavin’ Felicity alone.”
“Yeah,” I answered with a tired sigh. “There is that.”
“Look, Row, it’s all gonna be good,” my friend offered. “We get you two outta sight so you’re safe, and Major Case’ll do the rest.”
“I guess you’re right.”
“Jeez, mark it on the calendar,” he half chuckled. “The injun gets ta’ be right for a change.”
We rode along in relative silence for a few moments while I digested everything he had just said. I wasn’t overly excited about hiding out. I had no reason to believe that doing so this time would end as badly as it had the last, but it still didn’t do anything for my anxiety level. I suppose the old idiom, “once bitten, twice shy,” was a good description of how I felt ab
out the idea.
Finally, out of idle curiosity, I turned to Ben and asked, “By the way, I’m sure I can probably guess, but what did Mike have to say when you two went in the back?”
“Not much.”
“I know better. It had something to do with me being there, didn’t it?”
“Yeah, well he just wanted ta’ remind me that you weren’t s’posed ta’ be,” he grunted.
“What did you tell him?”
“That I already knew that.”
“Do you think he’ll say anything?”
“Martin?” He shook his head. “Prob’ly not. I wish he would, but it really doesn’t matter. Your name is on the log, so it’ll come ta’ somebody’s attention soon enough.”
“What do you mean, you wish he would?”
He simply shrugged in answer.
“Well, how much trouble are you going to be in over this?” I asked.
He shrugged again. “Dunno just yet.”
“Could you lose your job?”
“Not very likely. But if I’m lucky I’ll get at least a two week suspension.”
“At least?”
“It’d be even better if it was a thirty day.”
“Better? You aren’t making sense.”
“Yeah I am. You just don’t know it.”
“Dammit, Ben, you shouldn’t have taken me there.”
“I keep tellin’ ya’, White Man, don’t worry about it.”
“How can I not? All that came from this was me standing there saying, ‘I don’t know.’”
“Yeah, but whether ya’ realize it or not, now ya’ actually do know more than ya’ did before, even if ya’ don’t know exactly what she’s up to… If that makes any kind of sense. Either way, it’s a start.”
“Not enough for you to risk your career.”
“Yeah, well, those’re the breaks. Besides, I told ya’ I ain’t gonna lose my job.”
“But you might get suspended, and I’m going to feel guilty about that.”
“Don’t. A suspension for somethin’ like this really ain’t that big a deal.”
“You’re being awfully calm about this,” I remarked, unable to keep the confusion out of my voice.
“Uh-huh.”
The End Of Desire: A Rowan Gant Investigation Page 22