The Witch's Ladder

by Dana Donovan

  “I can imagine, but I think you two would have made a lovely couple. I wish you had said something.”

  Leona lowered her head and blushed some.

  “Leona, you know what happened to Chris. It’s important that you remember everything so that we can catch the guy who did this to him. Won’t you try to remember?”

  She rocked her head back. “Chris walked to the patrol car and leaned into the window,” she said. “He thought the policeman was watching a movie.” She shook her head softly. “It was not a movie. It was Travis in thought form, playing out his last moments. That is when Chris looked up and saw me standing in the headlights and he realized the officer was dead.”

  The tears that had collected behind her closed eyelids found life and began rolling down her cheeks. “I tried to warn him, but he thought I did it. How could he think that? He asked me why. I wanted to warn him of the evil standing over him.”

  “What evil?”

  Leona didn’t answer.

  “Tell us, Leona.”

  Doctor Lieberman said, “This has gone far enough. I demand you stop and let this girl rest. Can’t you see what you’re doing to her?”

  “Come, Leona. Tell us now. Who stood over him?”

  “Valerie, that’s enough.” The doctor turned to me. “Detective, I’m sorry, but if you want to take Leona in for questioning, then I’m afraid you’ll just have to come back tomorrow, and that’s doctor’s orders.”

  A rustling of whispers stirred among the group. Valerie looked to Lilith for endorsement, but saw the commitment waning in her eyes. “He’s probability right, Val,” she said. “Besides, we can do this another time.”

  “Let me just say one more thing.” She leaned in to Leona, close enough that their noses almost touched. “Leona, it’s all right if you don’t tell us tonight, but I want you to remember what the killer looks like in case you’re ready to talk about it later. Will you do that for us—for Chris?”

  Leona reeled back in her seat with a horrifying gasp. She opened her eyes. I saw them. They were filled with terror. She clutched her rosary and pulled it close to her heart. Valerie and Lilith pulled back in startled reflex, letting go of the pressure points that until then held Leona under hypnosis.

  “!Por Dios!” Leona cried. “Yo se quien es el asesino!” She sprang from her chair and ran for the door, crossing the room in a blur so quickly her sandals fell off her feet.

  Without thought, I scooped them up and started after her. Doctor Lieberman shouted for me to wait up and followed in close pursuit.

  “Whoa,” said Gordon. “What the hell just happened? That wasn’t English, was it?”

  “Hardly,” said Michael. “It was Spanish.”

  “What did she say?”

  “Well, my Spanish is not that great, but I believe what Cinderella said was, ‘Oh dear God, I know who the killer is’—or something to that extent.”

  “I knew it.” Gordon slammed his fist on the table. “I tried to read Leona’s thoughts as she formed a mental picture of the killer in her mind, but I couldn’t do it. Hell, how could I have been so inept?”

  Shekina said, “Maybe it’s hereditary.”

  “Funny, Shekina, but why didn’t you read her thoughts?”

  Shekina offered only a coy smile.

  “You did, didn’t you? You know who the killer is. C`mon, Shekina. Tell us. Now.”

  The group closed in on the twins, circling and backing them into a corner. Shekina put her arms out to curb their advance. “People,” she said, taking hold of her sister’s hand. “You are not going to believe this, but Akasha saw it too. And if not for that, I wouldn’t believe it myself.”

  “What did you see?”

  “You’re not going to like it.”

  “Shekina.”

  “All right, I’ll tell you.” She took a breath and blurted out, “It’s Doctor Lieberman.”

  “Leona was thinking of Doctor Lieberman?”

  “Yes. When she said she knew who the killer is, that’s who she was thinking of.”

  “Wait,” said Michael. “Let’s not jump to conclusions. There could be lots of reasons why Leona thought of Doctor Lieberman when she said that.”

  Shekina said, “Give us one.”

  “She was frightened. Her first instinct was to run to him for comfort and protection.”

  “No.” Shekina insisted, shaking her head. “If she wanted Doctor Lieberman for comfort or protection, why did she run away from him?”

  “She was confused.”

  Lilith said, “Wait.” She pointed toward the door. “Someone shut that. We don’t need half the town hearing this debate.”

  Gordon made a quick sprint to the door and checked the hall before closing it. “It’s okay. The coast is clear.”

  “Thank you, Gordon. All right, listen up people. This is serious business. Now then, we don’t know why Leona pictured Doctor Lieberman when she said she knew the killer, but we at least have to consider the possibilities.”

  “We need evidence,” said Akasha. “We need to find the smoking gun or the bloody knife in this case. If we can find that, we have our man.”

  Gordon asked, “How do we do that? We can’t just go up and ask him where his bloody knife is.”

  “But we can.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “That is exactly how we find out. We ask him.”

  “He won’t tell us.”

  “No, but he will think it.”

  “Come back?”

  “It’s easy. We get him to start talking about the murders with us; you know, act like we’re looking for his guidance. Then one of us will say, I wonder where the killer might hide a big knife like that. Naturally, when he hears the question, his mind will automatically flash back to the last place he saw the knife. When he does that, Shekina or I will read his mind and know exactly where to find it.”

  “In theory, the plan sounds good,” said Lilith. “I see only one enormous inherent flaw to the whole scheme.”

  “And what is that?”

  “It’s your plan. No offense, but your idea sucks. Even if you can get Doctor Lieberman to picture the location of the knife, remember what Valerie said. He is a master at blocking out our attempts to read his thoughts. If he catches you trying it, he’s likely to make you his next victim.”

  Michael said, “Wait a minute. I’m not saying I think you’re right about Doctor Lieberman, but it seems to me that if you want to find something belonging to him, then you have to look where he puts his stuff.”

  “You mean his office?”

  “Exactly. Listen, four of the six murders occurred here at the Center. It stands to reason that if Doctor Lieberman is the killer, and I stress the word if, it makes sense he would need to get rid of any bloody clothing or weapons right away? In each case, the victim was last to leave the building, so there were no witnesses. Doctor Lieberman has a key to the building and he can come and go at will. Remember, he moves freely among us. Who’s to say that when he leaves here he doesn’t return to the building from another wing? If he wanted to kill somebody, he could. Afterward, he could go back inside and shower up, dispose of his bloodstained clothes in the furnace downstairs and hide the weapon in his office. He lives alone, so no one can confirm what time he gets home. When you think about it, for every night in question, he has no alibi.”

  “So does this mean you’re with us?” Gordon asked.

  Michael replied, “I guess we have nothing to lose by looking.”

  Valerie said, “Hold on, boys. We’re not there yet. Time is getting short. We still need somebody to get inside Doctor Lieberman’s office and snoop around. Do we have any volunteers?”

  “I’ll do it,” said Jean.

  “No, it’s too dangerous. Someone else should go.”

  Gordon agreed. “It should be somebody who can handle himself with Doctor Lieberman if he gets caught, somebody who can put up a good fight like Michael or me.”

  “He’s right,” said Lil
ith. “Besides, the killer is targeting group members only. It wouldn’t be wise for you to get involved. It will only draw you into his pool of potential victims.”

  “I say let her do it,” Shekina said.

  Her sister echoed her thoughts, adding, “Yes. She’s an old lady. What does she have to lose?”

  “Yes. Jean is twice our age and more. She has had a good life so far. Have you not had a good life, Jean?”

  “Shekina,” yelled Lilith. “You cold-hearted bitch. I have a mind to—”

  “No. She’s right,” said Jean. “Shekina makes a point, however crude. The truth is I don’t have much to lose, not since my Arnold passed. Besides, I’m perfect for the job. As Doctor Lieberman’s personal assistant, I can get into his office without questions from other staffers if spotted. Even if Doctor Lieberman catches me, I’m sure I can make up some excuse. None of you here can fabricate a good enough reason to be in his office without permission. No, if he catches any of you and it turns out he’s the Stalker, then you wouldn’t have a chance. He’d kill you for sure.”

  So with no more arguments, everyone agreed that Jean should search for the evidence needed to implicate Doctor Lieberman. They decided she would arrive at the Center next Sunday ahead of Doctor Lieberman, go immediately to his office and see what she could find. After the meeting, they would rendezvous at the lake behind the research center to discuss what, if anything, she found.

  Soon after solidifying their plans, Doctor Lieberman returned to the room. “We couldn’t catch her,” he said, only slightly out of breath, though a full fifteen minutes had passed since he ran from the building. “Detective Marcella put out an all-points bulletin for her. So don’t worry. I’ll get her.”

  Lilith rolled her eyes at the Freudian slip, but said nothing, and before Doctor Lieberman could catch his breath, the workshop began filing out, one behind the other.

  “I’ll see you all Sunday,” said Doctor Lieberman, as the big glass door shut tightly behind Shekina, the last to exit the building. And like the shadows of dusk, Valerie, Lilith, Michael, Gordon, Jean and the twins slipped into the moonlit night.

  Seven

  Sunday brought a seasonably cool evening to the greater New England states. A depressing drizzle fell all day, leaving the grounds around the campus soggy and mud-soaked. In a later interview with the twins, just before they went missing, I learned that Jean Bradford arrived at the Center early that night as planned. She made a quick sweep through Doctor Lieberman’s office in search of evidence supporting the group’s theory of his involvement in the murders. By the time Doctor Lieberman arrived, she had already slipped out of the building with a mysterious brown bag, ditched it in her car and returned to the workshop.

  Doctor Lieberman entered the room, surprised to see everyone already assembled around the table.

  “I think we should talk about what happened here the other night,” he said. “I know it’s difficult to talk about, but it’s clear now that for whatever reason, someone out there is interested in harming all of you.”

  “Doctor Lieberman,” said Shekina. “Can you think of any reason why somebody would want to kill us?”

  “No, Shekina. Detective Marcella and I had a long talk about that this afternoon. The only motive we came up with is Detective Marcella’s theory of divination.”

  Michael disagreed. “That doesn’t explain why Travis, Barbara and Chris lost a liver when the others didn’t.”

  “No, that’s not necessarily so. The two victims at Suffolk’s Walk lost their livers.”

  “With all due respect, sir, technically they still had them when they were found. So don’t you think that pretty much shoots the divination theory full of holes?”

  The doctor’s posture grew rigid. He crossed the room in quick strides, his rubber soles scuffing the floor with a squeak as he stopped in front of Michael’s chair. “I don’t know,” he said, a noticeably surly tone resonating in his words. “Do you have a better theory, Michael? If you do, then maybe you would like to share it with the rest of us?” He waved his hand in a broad sweep through the air. “Everybody is eager to say what the motive isn’t, but no one is willing to submit a better suggestion for what it is. Maybe there is no motive at all. Maybe the guy just does it for kicks. Is that so damn hard to believe?”

  The doctor’s sudden and uncharacteristic outbreak caught everyone off guard. By the time he finished, his voice had risen to a full shout, something few in the group had ever witnessed before.

  “My, what do you make of that, sister?” Akasha whispered to her sister.

  “Most interesting,” Shekina replied. “And look at Michael. I see he’s sending out some very powerful thought waves to Doctor Lieberman, and I don’t think they’re happy thoughts.”

  “Why do you suppose he’s doing that?”

  Before Shekina could answer, Doctor Lieberman let out a groan and began massaging his temples with his fingertips. “That’s why,” Shekina explained.

  “Oh my, but he can be a vindictive son of a bitch. Yes?”

  “Indeed, sister. And you thought tonight would be no fun.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “No, but you thought it.”

  “Yes. I did. Can you blame me, what with a room full of psychic neophytes and a witch with an attitude?”

  Shekina smiled and they both giggled. The girls continued watching with amusement as the others looked on, uncertain what to make of Doctor Lieberman’s plight. He retreated to his office, but returned quickly, seemingly free of the pain that had gripped him so tightly moments before.

  Lilith noticed first how especially preoccupied he seemed with the floor, or more so the mud on the floor. She realized immediately that he had discovered a trail of muddy footprints leading from his office, down the stairs and back up into the workshop. Although everyone had mud on his shoes, the footprints he searched for came from the person responsible for snooping around in his office.

  Because of the similarities, it didn’t take long for Doctor Lieberman to narrow the muddy prints down to just three suspects: Shekina, Akasha, and Jean. All three wore sneakers, which appeared similar in size and design, and all three had rich, black mud encrusted on the bottoms and sides. He said nothing, however, and continued his inspection openly; appearing not to care if the others knew what he had discovered. And although the intrusion appeared to anger him to the point of utter infuriation, he surprised everyone when he simply cleared his throat, took a deep breath and announced, “It’s time for all of you to go home.”

  “Excuse me?” said Lilith.

  “You heard me. Go home.”

  “We just got here.”

  “I don’t care. We’re done. Expect Doctor Lowell or his surrogate to conduct future meetings, if there are any future meetings. As far as I’m concerned the workshop is disbanded.”

  “But Doctor, we don’t understand,” said Gordon. “What did we do?”

  “What did you do? Maybe you should ask the twins, or Michael. He’ll tell you.”

  The doctor then turned and marched out of the room. Heavy footsteps echoed down the hall all the way to his office. The sound of a slamming door punctuated his retreat.

  Gordon said, “What do you make of that? I’ve never seen him like this. He’s like a different person.”

  “Exactly,” said Shekina. “Perhaps we are only now seeing the real Doctor Lieberman.”

  “What do we do?” asked Jean.

  “What do we do?” said Lilith. “We go see what’s in that bag you found in his office. That’s what we do.”

  The group charged downstairs and assembled out in the parking lot by Jean’s car. She popped the trunk and produced the mysterious brown paper bag for inspection. Valerie peeked inside first, took one look and backed away.

  “What is it?” asked Gordon, as the others took turns looking, only to back away as speechless as Valerie. Finally Gordon got his turn. He looked in and blurted out, “Bloody towels?”

  Mic
hael slapped him. “Shut up, stupid!” He gestured toward the squad car.

  “Oh, shoot. He didn’t hear me. Did he?”

  “I don’t know. Probably not, but we can’t act too suspiciously. Anyone have any ideas what we do now?”

  “I do,” said Valerie, snatching the bag and rolling it up tight. “We find out what they can tell us.”

  “I know one thing they tell us,” said Gordon. “They belong to Doctor Lieberman. I know because they’re monogrammed with his initials, P. L. Peter Lieberman.”

  “We see that, Gordon. I’m talking about something else.”

  “Psychometry?” Lilith said.

  “Yes. Psychometry may tell me exactly what transpired when blood got on these towels. Who’s with me?”

  “I am,” came the answer from everyone, including Jean, whom some would have guessed too squeamish for such things. They solidified their original plans to meet by the lake before jumping into their cars and speeding off, leaving my deputy waving to a parade of departing vehicles.

  They gathered moments later in an old wooden gazebo overlooking the lake. Valerie took up a position in the center of the gazebo. The others formed a tight circle around her. “All right,” she said. “I’m going to need everybody’s cooperation and silence as I attempt to extract the impression of events recorded on these towels.”

  “What would you like us to do?” Jean asked.

  “Just move in some. Huddle up close. You don’t really need to do anything else but stand there. This is not like a seance where we all sit around and focus our energies to summon a spirit. Psychometry only requires me to focus on the object. By forming a circle around me, you can help deflect bad or distracting energies, allowing me to concentrate totally on the task at hand.”

  Valerie reached into the bag and pulled out the first of three blood-soaked towels. Immediately, a wave of energy riffed through her body, plunging her into a deep trance-like state. She saw at once, the course of events surrounding the towel’s recent history.

  “This is Christopher Walker’s blood,” she said, rolling the towel in her hands. “I see a dark figure standing over his body. It’s the killer. I’m sure. I cannot see a face, but I sense this person is the very essence of evil. To know this individual, one cannot readily see the duplicity, cunning and deception within. I see this evil entity wrapping Chris’ liver in the towel, still warm and moist.”