by R. L. King
“Of course.” Stone knew all about keeping ‘the kooks’ under his hat. Especially since, unlike Detective Johnny Cheng, he was well aware that many of them weren’t kooks at all. Himself included.
Cheng looked mollified. He flipped the catches on his briefcase and opened it, revealing a neat stack of folders. He removed one and placed it, still closed, on the edge of Stone’s desk. “There was a murder last week, in south San Jose. And the department has reason to believe that the murderer—or murderers—has some connection to the occult world. Perhaps a cult member, someone mentally ill and obsessed with the supernatural, or even just some goth who went off the deep end. Whatever it is, it’s one of the more—uh—unusual crimes we’ve seen.”
“‘Unusual’ can cover a lot of ground, Detective. Care to give me some specifics?” Stone studied the man. He was either hiding something, spooked about something, or both. That was easy to see even without magical sight.
Cheng glanced down at the folder, studying it for a moment as if trying to make up his mind. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way, Dr. Stone. It’s completely up to you.”
“What’s that mean?” It almost sounded like a threat. Stone leaned forward.
“It’s—well, I could describe the crime scene to you, or I could let you see the photos for yourself. But I need to warn you—they’re…uh…pretty gruesome.”
“I see.” Stone watched Cheng pluck at the corner of the folder. “Well, if you want my help with any sort of occult paraphernalia or symbols or whatnot, then having you describe them would probably be worse than useless. Fortunately, I’ve a strong stomach.”
“Okay. Remember, I warned you.” Cheng slid the folder across the desk. “Take a look and let me know what you think—if you recognize anything, or if you’ve heard of anything like this happening before.”
Stone took it, aware of the detective’s scrutiny of his every expression, and opened it.
Cheng hadn’t been exaggerating: the photo on top of the stack, a full-color 8x10 glossy, depicted what looked like the kitchen of typical middle-class tract house. In the harsh overhead glow of fluorescent lights, dismembered human body parts were strewn around with no apparent thought: a leg lay across the kitchen counter, an arm hung from a pot rack, a hand peeped out of a kettle on the stove. Someone had opened the refrigerator, and a man’s severed head, its eyes wide open and glazed, peered out at nothing from one of the shelves.
Stone stared at the first photo for a long time. “How many victims?”
“Just the one,” Cheng said. “We haven’t released his name or the details of the crime yet.”
“Yes, I think I’d have remembered seeing something like this in the papers,” Stone said dryly. He returned his attention to the photo. All of the body parts except the head and the hand looked odd—darker than they should, and strangely shiny. He frowned. “He was…skinned?”
“Yeah. Also, we think he was bled out like a slaughterhouse cow. There wasn’t close to enough blood at the scene to fit.”
Stone still hadn’t moved to the next photo. “No sign of the blood at the scene?”
“We checked the drains, and the area around the house, but no, nothing.”
“And the skin?”
“That’s gone too.”
Stone nodded, only half-listening. “Where’s the torso?”
“Next photo. That’s what really made me think some occult nut did this.”
Stone slid the first photo to the back of the stack and looked at the second. It was an overhead shot, centering on the middle of the kitchen floor. The skinned torso of a man lay there, its dark red muscles glistening, its lower half severed at mid-abdomen. Stone barely glanced at the tangle of viscera erupting out of the body cavity—his focus was on what had been arrayed around the torso.
“What do you think?” Cheng asked.
Stone didn’t answer right away. Whatever it was, it wasn’t a typical circle—at least not a type he’d ever seen before. Several sigils had been drawn on the floor in what looked like blood, and arrayed around them were other objects. It was hard to identify them in the photo, but they appeared to be bits of bone, hair, plant material, and small piles of what looked like dirt.
He set the photo aside and looked at the rest of the stack. There were five more: one showed the lower half of the man’s torso, and the other four were detail shots of the objects around the torso. Still paying no attention to Cheng, he spread these four out along with the one of the torso, and set the others aside.
“Dr. Stone?”
“Hm?” He glanced up, forcing himself to keep his expression neutral as the little hairs stood up on the back of his neck.
“What do you think?” Cheng nodded toward the photos. “Is there occult involvement?”
“Oh, most certainly.”
“What makes you think so?”
Stone indicated sections of the photos with a pen tip as he spoke. “See the writing there? And the—bits? That’s a classic sort of primitive ritual setup.”
“Ritual?” Cheng frowned. “What kind of ritual?”
“Well, let’s remember—we’re not dealing with real magic here, of course. I can’t tell you too much without seeing the actual crime scene—that’s not possible, I assume?”
“Sorry, no. I’m going out on a limb a little just contacting you in the first place.”
Stone nodded—he’d expected that. Most cops didn’t want his kind contaminating their crime scenes with their supernatural hoodoo. “May I keep the photos for a few days? I think I have some books that might prove useful, but I’ll need some time to do the research. Fortunately I’ve got a light class load this summer.”
Cheng looked uncomfortable. “Are you sure you need them? If those get out to the press—”
“You have my word, Detective—I’ll keep them to myself. But you did ask for my help. I might be able to help you learn a bit more about your murderer, if you let me do what I’m good at.”
There was a long pause, but finally the detective sighed and snapped his briefcase shut. “Yeah, okay, fine. I’ll come back for them at the end of the week. Can you give me anything to go on right now?”
“Well…” Stone said slowly. “You’re likely looking at someone who fancies himself a demon, or someone who communes with demons.”
“A Satanist, you mean?”
“Probably not. Satanists aren’t this primitive. Somebody’s been doing his research—this, whatever it is, is old.”
Cheng took that in, obviously not believing much of it. “Okay,” he said, and then winced. “Oh. Damn—one other thing I forgot to mention. The guy’s liver was missing.”
Bloody hell, Stone thought. Not the best thing to forget.
Cheng must have spotted something in his expression. “Is that part of the ritual too?”
“No idea. Might be some sort of weird cannibalism thing, but I doubt it. Cannibals wouldn’t leave that much usable meat.” Stone’s mind went back to a situation he’d dealt with many years ago, soon after he arrived in the Bay Area, but unless another group of ghouls had shown up in the area in the meantime, this didn’t look like their methods. And anyway, most ghouls were scavengers, not killers.
Cheng’s eyes narrowed and his expression sharpened—once again, he looked like he was trying to figure out if Stone was serious or messing with him. Finally, he settled for standing. “Okay, well—thanks, Dr. Stone. Like I said, I’ll call you in a few days to get the photos back and see if you’ve come up with anything.”
Stone nodded. As the detective shook his hand and prepared to leave, he said, “Oh—one other thing, Detective.”
“Yes?”
“Have there been any other similar crimes that you’re aware of?”
“You mean around here?”
“I mean anywhere. Specifically the skinning and the missing
body parts.”
“Not that I’ve heard of, but like I said, this is fairly recent. I’ll do a little research and see if I can turn up anything. You think there’s some kind of occult serial killer loose? Or there’s gonna be more of these?”
Stone shrugged. “No idea. Just speculating. It would be a useful bit of information to have.”
Cheng looked troubled, but nodded. “Yeah, okay. I hope this is just a loony, and not the start of something worse. Anyway, thanks.”
Stone watched him go, then looked back down at the photos on his desk.
Whatever this was, it wasn’t good. He was glad he didn’t have much to do this summer, as he’d bet a fair amount of money that this wasn’t the only—or the last—such crime to occur.
Chapter Two
Detective Cheng hadn’t been gone for five minutes when there was another knock on Stone’s door. He glanced up from the photos, then hastily gathered them into a stack when he spotted Dr. Edwina Mortenson in the doorway. “Edwina. Did you need something?” He opened his desk drawer and swept the photos into it.
Her narrow-eyed gaze followed his action. “Who was that?” she asked. “The man who was just here?”
Stone hardly thought it was any of Mortenson’s business, but it wasn’t prudent to come right out and say so. “Why?” he asked, keeping his voice noncommittal as he checked to make sure he’d gotten all the photos in his sweep.
“Laura said a police detective was here,” she said. “You’re not in some kind of trouble, are you?”
It was a fair question. Though no one had ever managed to pin anything on him, Stone’s involvement in various supernatural activities over the last few years had made for some odd interactions at work. Only a few months ago, Mortenson had been convinced he was dealing with some kind of drug addiction issue due to his perpetual exhaustion and odd actions. The truth would have been far more difficult to explain. “No, no. No trouble.”
“May I come in?”
He couldn’t very well stop her; technically she was the head of the Occult Studies department, though that meant very little in their three-person outfit. He waved her to the same chair Cheng had occupied a few minutes ago.
She sat down, arranging her flowing skirts around her. Today she wore deep blue, accented with her usual overabundance of tasteful silver jewelry—necklaces, bangle bracelets, and rings. Her long, iron-gray hair was pulled back into a bun that made her look like something halfway between a stern grandmother and a prison matron. “So if you’re not in trouble, why was a police detective in your office?”
Stone sighed. Mortenson was out of line with the question, but she knew as well as he did that not answering it would be worse than just telling her what she wanted to know. Normally, he’d relish a little verbal sparring with her, but today all he wanted was to get away from here and home to his books so he could research the odd symbols around the body in the photos. “He wanted my expert opinion on something.”
“Oh?” Her carefully sketched eyebrows went up.
“They’ve got a crime they think has some occult involvement, so he wanted to see if I had any thoughts.”
“I…see.”
If Stone didn’t have to work with Mortenson every day, and if she didn’t have the power to make his professional life difficult, her reaction would have amused him. Or, rather, he’d have allowed his amusement to show. He could almost see the gears turning behind her high forehead as she tried to work out why the detective hadn’t consulted her, as the senior member of the department, first.
She knew full well why, of course—and she knew Stone knew too—which was why she wasn’t saying anything else. As long as she didn’t acknowledge the elephant in the room, she could pretend it didn’t exist, crouching there behind Stone’s file cabinet with a manila folder perched jauntily on its head.
“Indeed,” she said. “Is there—anything I might assist with?”
It really wasn’t kind, letting her curiosity bubble up until it threatened to pop the top of her head off, but there was no helping it. He waved her off. “Thanks, it’s appreciated, but I’ve got it under control.” He couldn’t suppress a cheery smile. “Don’t worry—I’ll deal with it on my own time. I know how busy we are ’round here.”
Her expression sharpened. She made a hrmph sort of noise and rose from the chair, but otherwise kept her expression neutral. “Well, if there’s anything I can do to help, please let me know.”
“I will absolutely do that,” Stone said. “Thank you, Edwina.”
She paused as if trying to decide if she wanted to say anything else, then nodded curtly and stalked toward the door.
Chapter Three
Stone spent the next couple nights doing research, but didn’t come to any definitive conclusions. He knew of several rituals requiring body parts—hell, some of those in the grimoire he’d destroyed a few months back did—and a few reasons why a mage or other magically talented entity might want human skin (usually to make some kind of leather) but none of the books he had on hand included information about any rituals that required body parts, human skin, and draining the victim of blood.
Did the killer drink the blood? That could explain why very little was found at the crime scene. He studied the photos again, searching for any hidden clues or anything that might trigger a memory, but nothing did.
Further—and more maddening—the scrawled figures around the body weren’t in any language he recognized. Bits of it looked familiar, but not enough that he could make any sense out of it. All he knew for sure was that it was old—very old. Whatever he was dealing with here was either hundreds or thousands of years old, or something that wanted to give the impression of it. It wasn’t some garden-variety serial killer with a particular sadistic streak, that much he was certain of. Even if the killer himself wasn’t magically talented, he was being directed by someone who was.
He wished Stefan Kolinsky were around to consult. This sort of thing was right up his black-mage associate’s alley, and would no doubt intrigue him enough that he might not even require much of a favor in return to look into it. But Stefan had been away for several weeks—no doubt seeking out new bits of knowledge to add to his web-like information network. The man didn’t travel often, but when he did, he tended to be away for months.
Stone closed his book and ran a hand through his hair. This wasn’t getting him anywhere. At this rate, he wouldn’t have anything to give to Cheng when he came back later in the week. What he really needed to get anything definitive was access to the crime scene.
Too bad there wasn’t any easy way to find it, nor to access it without potentially getting into trouble. He wasn’t that worried about getting in trouble, but usually he liked to wait until a little later in the process before he started doing things that would annoy law enforcement. At least until he had something more solid than he had now.
He was about to give it up for the night when another thought occurred to him. He glanced at the clock: nine p.m., certainly not too late. If magical research wasn’t getting him far yet, maybe mundane research might be more useful. He picked up the phone and punched in a number.
It rang several times unanswered; he was sure he’d have to leave a message when it was snatched up. “Yeah, hello?”
“Jason. How are you?”
“Oh, hi, Al.” Jason Thayer sounded breathless, like he’d been running. “How’s it going?”
Following the events a few months ago, Stone had been making an extra effort not to lose touch with Jason and his sister Verity since they’d moved back to southern California. He’d been down to visit them twice, and they’d come up for a weekend just last month. He missed his friend and his apprentice, but by all accounts both were doing well, and he could hardly begrudge them doing what was necessary to pursue their careers. “Fine, fine,” he said. “How’s the PI business?”
“Busy as hell. But
good. Not moving as fast as I want it to, but that’s just because I’m impatient.” He paused. “You don’t make social calls, Al. Something up?”
“As it happens, there is. I need a favor.”
“Uh…sure. If I can. What’s up?”
Stone gave him the quick explanation of Detective Cheng’s visit, and described the murder in general terms. “What I need to know is whether there’ve been any other similar murders recently.”
There was a pause. “That’s pretty creepy.” Another pause. “You’re thinking more than creepy, aren’t you?”
“I wouldn’t be calling if I weren’t,” Stone replied. “Normal murders, even gruesome ones, don’t particularly interest me. But it seems someone thinks I might be a good resource for this one. Must remember to ask the detective who recommended me.”
“I’ll look into it, but it might take me a few days. I’ve barely had time to sit down in the last couple weeks. Okay if I ask Stan? He’d probably have a better chance of finding out anyway.”
Good point. Stan Lopez, of the Ventura County Police Department, was one of the few others who knew about Stone’s magical abilities. He was surprised he hadn’t thought of him first. “Excellent idea. Let me know what you find out, or have him call me.” He grimaced. “I’ve got one of those mobile phone things now, so you can call that if you get anything. I might even answer, if I remember to bring the damn thing with me and don’t forget to charge it up.”
“Holy crap, who are you and what did you do with Al?” Jason’s grin came through in his tone.
“Sod off,” Stone said. He gave him the number. “And say hello to Verity for me if you see her before I do.”
“You got it.”
Stone settled back in his chair. As he reached out to shut off the desk lamp, he glanced at the photos again. He wished he could shake the nagging feeling that the weird symbols around the murder victim’s torso looked familiar, or at least remember why the hell he thought so.