“Why in the park?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” I replied. “Based on what I’ve seen so far, I’m thinking he might want to be caught, but this was more than a little brazen if you ask me.”
“From what I saw on the news,” she lent, “those restrooms were the ones in the back of the park. They’re pretty isolated.”
“I know, but still, people walk their dogs back there. That’s how the body was found. A kid walking his dog.” I told her, “Dog went nuts when they passed by the restrooms. The door was propped open, and he broke loose and ran in.”
“Poor kid,” Felicity sighed. “I doubt if he was ready for that.”
“Yeah, he was still talking to a police shrink when Ben and I left.”
“Do you think the killer knew the victim?”
“We didn’t find anything to indicate that,” I answered. “So I’d be inclined to say no, but I’m sure they’ll be checking into it.”
“Did they find anything at the scene that might help?”
“Not much,” I answered. “He hailed the towers and performed an Expiation spell again, presumably after the other ritual. He bound her wrists and ankles and gagged her with duct tape. They might get something off that. When I projected…”
I felt her tense against me, and I knew what she was thinking.
“…Don’t worry, I didn’t channel, I just projected. It wasn’t the same as with Ariel…”
She relaxed, and I gave her a reassuring squeeze.
“When I projected, I saw him pull his glove off before he reached in for her heart.” I couldn’t believe how calmly I was relaying this story. I hoped that I wasn’t becoming jaded to the atrocities I had witnessed lately. “I don’t know if they’ll get anything, but they’re going to look for latent prints on the body.”
“Maybe that will turn something up,” she said.
“Maybe. Even if it does, unless he’s on file from some previous offense or something, it won’t be much help in finding him.”
The waterbed rippled slightly, and we felt movement in the dark followed by a muted rumble growing closer by the second. Within moments, Salinger climbed onto my chest and curled up, purring interminably as Felicity scratched his ears.
“That reminds me,” I said shifting slightly, recalling Salinger’s earlier opinion of R.J. “How did the circle go for you? I noticed a little streak of dark in the residual energy when I sat down at the table.”
“It was there during the circle too,” she told me. “It really didn’t seem to come from anyone though. It was more like it was just hanging around from something else. It wasn’t terribly overwhelming or anything, so I just had everyone ground all their negative thoughts and energies. I figured it was probably their thoughts of seeking revenge and such.”
“You could be right,” I mused. “I suppose some of it could have been left hanging around. How did the cats act?”
“Nowhere to be found,” she answered. “They were probably in here asleep on the bed.”
“You know Ben really suspects R.J.,” I told her. “Especially after the time of death for Karen Barnes was placed somewhere between five-thirty and eight P.M.”
“Karen Barnes. They identified her pretty quickly.”
“Her purse was at the scene.”
“I know R.J. was late and all,” she stated. “But I think Ben is on the wrong track. I would have felt something from him if he had done it. He wouldn’t have been able to mask that while in the circle.”
“Well,” I intoned, “I tried to feel him out when he shook my hand, and he put up defenses immediately.”
“You would have done the same if someone tried to check you out,” she told me. “That doesn’t make him guilty of anything.”
“Yeah, you’re right.”
We laid wordlessly in the dark listening to the sound of the humming fan blend with the contented, throaty rumble of the lump of fur curled up on my chest.
“Is Ben going to call tomorrow?” Felicity finally asked.
“Yeah,” I answered. “In the morning. He wants me to meet with the Major Case Squad. I might end up needing those slides.”
“Then I guess I’ll have to get up early and process them, so I can get them mounted,” she stated and then gave me a light kiss. “Go to sleep dear. You have to be exhausted.”
“I am.” I patted her lightly on the rear as she rolled over. “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
I stared off into the darkness, the meter of the swirling fan blades setting up an audible, hypnotic rhythm. I was so tired I felt I could sleep forever, but at the same time, I was still coming down from the adrenalin pumping through my veins. I listened to the soft rhythm and started a mental exercise to relax. Clearing my mind, I allowed the stress of the past two days to pour out of me like water from a faucet. I closed my eyes and let the last thoughts in my head drift away.
Before long, my body was completely infused with a comfortable drifting sensation. Indigo darkness enveloped me broken only by a bright blue light in the distance. I reached for the light, and I was gone.
CHAPTER 8
Felicity allowed me to sleep in the next morning, and it was going on eight A.M. when I finally dragged myself from the bed and into the shower. I felt rested for the first time in what seemed like forever. Apparently, I had been too exhausted to have any nightmares, and about that, I wasn’t going to complain.
My wife was seated at the dining room table when I was finally dressed and prepared to meet the day. A portable light box inhabited the surface of the table, and she was huddled over it with a loupe held to her eye. A stack of freshly mounted color slides occupied the space to her right, and she was inspecting them one by one as she arranged them on the illuminated panel before her.
“How did you sleep?” she asked without looking up.
“Better than I expected.” I kissed the top of her head. “How’d the slides come out?”
“Technically, okay, though I can’t say as that I really care for the subject matter,” she returned. “But I wouldn’t quit my day job if I were you.”
“Always the critic,” I told her. “You eat yet?
“No. These haven’t exactly done wonders for my appetite.” She dealt another handful of the transparencies onto the light box. “Besides, I was waiting for you.”
“Well, isn’t that sweet.”
“Not really. It’s your turn to cook.”
“I should have known.”
I was in the kitchen quickly sauteing onions when the phone rang. I picked up the receiver and tucked it between my ear and shoulder while I whisked eggs to a medium froth in a mixing bowl. “Hello?”
“Good mornin’” came a familiar, but rough voice. “I didn’t wake you guys, did I?”
“No, we’re awake, Ben,” I told him. “I’m just now making breakfast.”
“What are we havin’?” he asked.
“What do you mean we?” I laughed. “Are you on your way or something?”
“Actually,” he replied, “I’m in the driveway.”
“In that case, you’re having a Denver omelet and hash browns.”
I hung up the phone and retrieved the carton of eggs from the refrigerator then began cracking more of them into the bowl.
“Honey?” I called out. “Could you unlock the front door? Ben’s in the driveway.”
I was folding large chunks of chopped ham, peppers, onions, and shredded cheese into a fluffy omelet when a haggard, unkempt Ben Storm ambled into my kitchen and helped himself to a cup of coffee.
“Are you sure you’re going to be able to do without doughnuts this morning?” I asked, sliding the finished omelet from the pan and preparing to make another.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he replied, seating himself at our breakfast nook. “Like I haven’t heard the cop-slash-doughnut jokes before. You get any sleep last night?”
“Uh-huh,” I grunted, pouring frothy eggs into the pan. “How about yourself?”
“Got a couple hours.” He sipped his coffee. “Didn’t get home till four this mornin’.”
“How’s Allison taking all this?” Felicity asked. She had been standing in the doorway and now took a seat opposite him.
“She’s not happy about it,” he answered. “But she’s been through it before. It goes with the job.”
“What about the little guy?” I asked, sliding plates containing omelets and hash browns before them.
“Not as good. He doesn’t understand why I’m never home.” Ben shoveled in a mouthful of food and sat chewing thoughtfully. “I think I’m gonna take a vacation when this is all over.”
“Might be good for you,” Felicity told him. “AND your family.”
I finished filling my plate and joined them at the small bar. After moving some magazines, there was just enough room for the three of us.
“So,” Ben asked between bites, “have ya’ seen this mornin’s paper?”
“I brought it in,” Felicity answered, “but I haven’t even unrolled it yet.”
“You might wanna put it in a scrapbook… or the garbage, depends on how ya’ look at it.” He gestured at me with his fork. “You’re all over the front page.”
“Me?” I stopped a forkful of food halfway to my mouth and put it down. “What am I doing on the front page?”
“Remember the asshole with the camera that jumped out in front of us last night?” Ben was up and refilling his coffee cup. “Anyone need a warmup?”
Felicity held out her cup, and he topped it off.
“Anyway,” he continued, returning to his plate, “he caught ya’ like a deer in headlights.”
By now, I had gone into the living room and returned with the rolled up newspaper. Taking my seat back at the nook, I slid off the string and unfurled it. My wife leaned over next to me in order to view the curiosity. Offset to the upper left of the front page was a large color photo of Ben, and Detective Deckert, and myself as we were walking toward the crime scene last evening. As Ben had said, the look of surprise on my face gave me the appearance of a stunned animal. Forty-eight point type below the masthead spelled out the headline, “Police Witch Hunt.” The lead of the story read, “Saturday evening, Saint Louis Major Case Squad detectives brought Rowan Gant, a self-proclaimed witch, to Thayer Park, the scene of yet another grisly cult-like murder.” The rest of the story went on to recount details of both Ariel’s and Karen Barnes’ murders and speculate about my involvement in the investigation.
“How the hell did they come up with this?” I exclaimed. “How’d they know I wasn’t just some cop?”
“Sidebar, page five,” Ben answered, placing his dishes in the sink. “Hey, you got any of those cake things left over from last night?”
Felicity directed him to the honey cakes as I rapidly flipped through the pages of the newspaper and found the accompanying article to which he had referred. Another photo of me, this time black and white, was staring back. This particular photo had been taken when I had addressed a group at a local Wiccan gathering two years ago. The article was a slightly reworked copy of the original interview I had given that reporter.
“Somebody at the paper had a good memory,” Felicity intoned, peering over my shoulder.
“Yeah,” Ben added, “I’ve already caught ten kinds of hell from the chief because of it.”
“I’m sorry, Ben,” I told him, folding the paper and tossing it disgustedly on the nearby counter. “I guess you won’t be needing me at the meeting today then.”
“Shit yes, I need you at the meetin’,” he answered and sucked down a honey cake in one bite. “I said I caught ten kinds of hell. I didn’t say he won.”
“I should have known,” I said as I gathered the rest of the dishes and started washing them.
Felicity rolled her eyes at Ben as he devoured the remaining cakes, then she grabbed a towel and began drying the freshly washed plates.
The dining room table had seemed to become our command center over the past few days, and once again, we gathered around it to look over the slides and discuss the upcoming meeting with the rest of the Major Case Squad.
“Did the coroner come up with anything last night?” I asked Ben as he looked at slides with a small illuminated viewer.
“Partial thumbprint,” he answered, “but it was pretty smudged, so we only got three points. AFIS didn’t show any hits.”
“AFIS?” Felicity asked.
“Automated Fingerprint Identification System. Ya’ see,” he retrieved a ballpoint pen from his breast pocket and made marks on his thumb, then showed it to us, “a fingerprint is made up of what they call points. These points come together to make the unique pattern of the print. You or I can have some of the same points on our prints, but when you add them all up, voila, unique as a snowflake. AFIS is an on-line database that allows us to break down the points that we obtain from a print and convert them into a number. You feed the number in, and the computer checks the database for matches or hits against anyone who has ever been arrested and printed by an AFIS participatin’ department. The quote quote magic number of points to make a positive ID is eight. With three, we have the possibility of at least narrowin’ down the field.”
“So,” she continued, “since you didn’t get any hits, that means he probably has never been arrested, right?”
“At least not by a department hooked up with AFIS.” Ben put away his pen and rubbed the ink from his thumb. “Other than the print, the M.E. came up with the fact that the size and shape of the wounds are consistent with those from Ariel Tanner. And also, there was some metallic residue left behind on her ribs.”
I replayed last evening’s vision in my head, watching carefully. I forced myself to remain detached and clinical. I didn’t want to lose my compassion, but I also wanted to keep my breakfast where it belonged.
“From the dirk,” I volunteered, “when he cut her open.”
“The M.E. said somethin’ like that,” Ben confirmed.
“Was there anything else?”
“Minor blunt trauma to the head and upper back. Looks like she put up a fight.” He read to us from his notes, “And a puncture wound on her arm, just like Ariel Tanner.”
“So what I saw was right,” I told him. “He’s drugging his victims in order to immobilize them. Do you know what he’s using yet?”
“M.E.’s still trying to identify it, but the sample from Ariel Tanner came up negative for insulin,” he answered. “You bring up an interestin’ point, though.”
“The killer knows something about drugs and how to use them?” Felicity interjected.
“Bingo,” Ben replied. “Which means the killer probably works in a hospital or something.”
“Makes sense,” I chimed.
“Guess what I found out about your lamp-swingin’ buddy?” He looked at me seriously.
“R.J.?” Felicity asked.
“Yeah, R.J.,” Ben answered. “Seems he’s an orderly at County Hospital, in the emergency room.”
“I know that might seem to fit,” Felicity stated, “but an orderly? Would he really know that much about the drugs and such?”
“Can’t say,” he told her, “but if he pays attention and reads a lot, who knows. In any event, he could have access to controlled substances at his job.”
“I don’t know, Ben,” I added. “I agree that something’s going on with R.J. that he’s not telling us, but do you really think…”
“Hey,” he interrupted. “You yourself said that Ariel Tanner thought she knew her killer. Right?”
“She thought she recognized the voice.”
“So add it up,” he continued. “Friend of Ariel Tanner. He has a key to her apartment. Access to controlled substances and a medical background of sorts.” He was counting the points off on his fingers. “Shows up out of the clear blue at the victim’s home Saturday, and finally, he shows up here an hour late last night.”
Remembering a detail from the day before, I quickly volu
nteered, “But he said he was out of town on a fishing trip with his father when Ariel was killed.”
“Yeah, I know, but I didn’t find him all that convincing.” Ben brushed away my objection. “So I already had a talk with his dad. They didn’t actually leave on that trip ‘til later that night, and ‘Pops’ had no idea where the kid was before that. Based on the approximate time of death from the coroner, he had plenty of time to do it.”
“Didn’t you upset his parents?” Felicity asked with concern. “I mean, implying that their son is involved in a murder and all…”
“Hey, I just told ‘em the truth,” he answered. “It’s just routine. If they get their shorts in a bunch then that’s their problem.”
“Why would he have lied?” I mused aloud.
“Maybe he did it.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“Okay, so who knows?” Ben shrugged. “But I intend to find out.”
“If knowing the victim is an important factor, then what about Karen Barnes?” I queried. “Is there anything to indicate that he knew her?”
“Not yet,” he shot back. “Maybe he picked her because of the color of her hair… Maybe because the opportunity was there… Shit, maybe he didn’t have to have a reason.”
“Still,” Felicity objected, “Rowan or I should have felt something from R.J. if he had killed Karen Barnes just before coming here. We’re both Witches you know.”
“What’s that got to do with it?” Ben turned to her. “Besides, why are you so attached to this kid anyway? You act like you’ve known him forever or somethin’.”
“I just have a major pet-peeve about innocent people being railroaded… And in a way, I DO know him pretty well. When I cast circle last night, he was in it.”
“So?” Ben shrugged, obviously not understanding the significance of her comment.
“So a circle is a very intense ritual in The Craft,” she explained. “You are joined with your peers, and you share energies. To be able to hide your true feelings during a circle would take more practice than I can even imagine. I don’t even know if Rowan or I could do it, and we’re both definitely more skilled than he is… No. R.J. was wide open last night. I refuse to believe he did it.”
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