EYE OF THE WITCH (Detective Marcella Witch's Series)

by Dana Donovan

  “You’re welcome. More tea?” She poured us another round and we both helped ourselves to the sugar with our fingers. “Why do you ask about Benny Rivera, Detective? Is he tangled up in your little mystery?”

  “I don’t know yet. At the very least, I fear he’s in danger.”

  “Sorry to hear that. He really wasn’t such a bad kid, and I do mean kid. I never thought Doctor Lowell should have let someone so young into the studies. You put a boy into a group of adults like that and you’re bound to have problems.”

  “How so?”

  “Well, forget about the rumors of little Benny being someone’s boy toy, but just the way everyone teased him about his stuttering.”

  “You mean like you?”

  “Please, Detective, give me a little more credit than that. I say what’s on my mind at the expense of grown-ups, but I respect the little people. No, I’m talking about most everyone else. Poor Benny got an earful from people that should have known better. And I include Karen Webber among them.”

  “She teased Benny, too?”

  “She was the worst. I suppose it was the boredom, really. People think we were rewriting the laws of physics in those early studies. Most of the time we just sat around for hours, as Doctor Lowell worked one-on-one with someone trying to move a pencil across the table with just thought waves. If not that, then we spent days watching someone else sit, guessing what shape ink spot lay on a card face down in a pile of other ink-spotted cards.”

  “Sounds exciting.”

  “To some, maybe, but I can see how the boredom might lead others into mischief. All that aside, how did you know Benny and me were in Doctor Lowell’s workshop together?”

  “Didn’t really. It’s something he said to me. We were talking. Leona’s name came up, and he said he was like her.”

  “You mean he likes her.”

  “No. That’s what I thought I heard, too. He said that he was like Leona.”

  “Benny—like Leona? I don’t see how. The two are about as far apart as fire and water.”

  “When he said that, I assumed he meant that he was special like her, and that maybe they met in the workshops. That’s when I thought of coming to you.”

  Lilith shook her head. “No, that’s impossible. Benny went to those workshops like eight or nine years ago. Leona came much later. Back then, she was still just a young girl in Honduras or Nicaragua, or whatever the hell banana republic she’s from.”

  “So, Benny didn’t attend the workshops for very long?”

  “Maybe a month or two. I don’t know how he got into the studies to begin with, but it didn’t take Doctor Lowell long to figure out he wasn’t psychic, just a high-functioning autistic savant with a stuttering problem.”

  “He’s not retarded?”

  “Please, Detective, tomāto—to`mäto, I’m not going to split hairs.”

  “Your sensitivity slays me, Lilith.”

  “Yeah, but you agree. Deep down you know you do. That’s the only reason we connect. The difference is that I don’t try to hide it.”

  I wanted to disagree with her, and fundamentally I did. But what she said about me connecting with her rang bits of truth. In another time and in another world, perhaps, and if decades did not so obviously define our age, then she and I might have found common grounds for more than a platonic relationship. “Lilith,” I said, “let me run another couple of names by you and tell me what you think.”

  She sipped her tea and readied herself by pulling her foot up on her chair and sitting on her ankle. “Okay. Shoot.”

  “I’ll start in no particular order of importance: Anna Davalos, Ricardo Rivera, Gregory Piakowski, Bridget Dean, Mallory Edwards, Courtney Lusk. Do these names mean anything to you?”

  “Some. Why do you ask?”

  “These people all worked for or have a connection to the Hartman, Pierce and Petruzelli firm downtown.”

  “Is that where Benny Rivera works?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, that figures then. That’s how Benny knows Leona, isn’t it?”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because Leona knew Bridget Dean through Karen Webber. Bridget took Leona under her wing after that whole Surgeon Stalker thing. That’s something you would have known had you followed up on the girl’s welfare a little after the headlines died down.”

  “Hey, my life didn’t revolve strictly around that case. I had other priorities once it concluded.”

  “So good for you. Only it hasn’t really concluded, has it?”

  “What’s that supposed—”

  “You know what it means.”

  I caught her gaze and held it like a viper’s grip. Of course, I knew what it meant. And I knew she had been in there again, fishing around in my mind, trolling my thoughts like a Great White in search of gobbet and chum. She had gotten better at it, so much so that I couldn’t know for sure if she were not in there all along. I blinked, and the connection between us broke, or she let go, I don’t know which. I sat back and felt a sense of calm, and I realized then that she owned me since the moment that thin chill ran up my spine outside in the car.

  “Are you done?” I asked.

  I thought now she would ask me what that was supposed to mean, but she didn’t. She turned her head and wet her lips before taking a shallow sip of tea. Then she set her cup down on the table and folded her hands with interlocking fingers as if peace had found her, too. “Yes,” she answered. “I’m done.”

  “Then may I ask you?”

  “The other names? Of course. I know Bridget Dean the same way Karen Webber knew Bridget Dean, which is also how we both knew Anna Davalos, Benny Rivera and Carol Kessler. We all attended early versions of Doctor Lowell’s paranormal workshops.”

  “I never asked you about Carol Kessler.”

  “Come, Detective. Would you rather I hold out until you ask? We could be here all day.”

  “Fine. You’ve been in my head. Tell me what else I want to know. Tell me what I want to know even if I don’t know yet that I want to know it. Who don’t I know about that I should? Anyone else from those early workshops I failed to ask about?”

  “I don’t know. Let’s see. I remember Stinky Pete something or another. He dropped out after the first week. I don’t think I need to tell you why. Then we had Lucky Lenny from Southie. He had that name even before he won the lottery—three times. Ha, and Doctor L didn’t think he had any psychic abilities.”

  “Maybe he was just lucky like his nickname suggests.”

  “Yeah, Detective, I’m sure that’s it. And maybe monkeys will fly out of my butt.”

  “Anyone else?”

  “Well, we can’t forget about Crazy Eddy, now can we?”

  “Who’s he?”

  “Crazy Eddy? I’m sorry I don’t remember his last name, but as the name implies, the guy was a real whacko. He wasn’t there long, but he made one hell of an impression on us.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “I don’t know. Some say he moved away. Others say he died. Wouldn’t surprise me. Between that workshop and Doctor Lieberman's second phase workshops, nearly everybody’s dead now.”

  “And that doesn’t strike you as odd?”

  “Should it?”

  “Well, you know the reason I’m here asking all these questions is because in addition to Karen Webber’s death this month Bridget Dean and Anna Davalos also committed suicide.”

  “I know that. What a shame.”

  “You know that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, what if I told you we suspect that Dean and Davalos were murdered, too?”

  “Then I’d say you have your hands full.”

  “But it doesn’t worry you?”

  “Again, should it?”

  “I think so. Don’t you see the relevance here? From what you’re telling me, the Hartman, Pierce and Petruzelli connection is not the only thread tying these deaths together, but there’s also the Doctors Lowell and Lieb
erman psychic workshops connection.”

  She drew her hand to her mouth in an exaggerated gasp. “Ooh! You mean someone is killing off members of the psychic workshop for no apparent reason?”

  “Exactly!”

  “Wow, Detective. I bet this is like déjà vu for you, huh? How do you stand it?”

  “That’s it!” I threw my hands in the air, kicked my chair out and started for the door. “You know, Lilith, if ever I thought you could take anything serious, I must have been out of my mind.”

  “Oh, don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll let you know when that happens.”

  I stormed out of her house and (I’m not proud of this) kicked the shit out of one of her stupid little gnomes peeking out from behind the windmill. He had it coming, though. I swear the little bastard gave me the finger.

  Spinelli needed no invitation. He started the car and dropped it into gear even before I climbed in and shut the door. We left rubber halfway down the block and neither of us said a word until we made it back to the box.

  Seven

  Spinelli and I ran into Carlos in the lobby of the justice center. He had just raided the vending machine of newly stocked Snickers bars and was heading back to his workstation. I called to him to wait up, which he did, but only after stashing his booty of confection in his pockets. We filtered through the tiers of security and assembled around his desk.

  “So where did you go?” he asked, directing the question at Spinelli, probably assuming the field trip left him with goose bumps all over.

  “To Lilith’s,” I said, after realizing the cat had Spinelli’s tongue.

  “Lilith’s! What were you doing there?”

  “Getting a whole new perspective on the case. Did you know that Karen Webber once attended Doctor Lowell’s workshops?”

  “Sure.” He stuck his hands in his pockets to avoid fidgeting. He does that when he gets nervous. The fidgeting used to give him away. He still hasn’t figured out that putting his hands in his pockets does the same thing.

  “Really? And you didn’t think that was pertinent?”

  “To what?”

  “Geesus, Carlos! After what we went through last year, somebody from one of the workshops dies suspiciously, and you don’t think that’s pertinent to the case?”

  “No.”

  I shook my head and uttered something totally unprofessional under my breath. I think Carlos and Spinelli heard it, but both knew better than to question it.

  Carlos said, “Tony. Karen Webber hadn’t gone to one of those workshops since before Doctor Lieberman took over. I’m sorry, but I didn’t see the big deal.” He pulled his hands from his pockets as he spoke, and three Snickers bars jumped out. He gathered them off the floor and held one out for Spinelli and me. “Snickers?”

  We each took one, much to his disappointment, I’m sure.

  “Carlos, under ordinary circumstances, I don’t suppose it would have been a big deal. But after what we dealt with last year, and seeing that Karen’s brother was one of the Stalker’s victims, you should have said something.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  I peeled the wrapper off the candy bar and took a small bite. “You’re forgiven,” I said, suddenly realizing why Carlos kept buying so many of them. The damn things were good! I lifted it like a toast, and the three of us munched down.

  “So,” said Carlos, a small piece of nougat stuck to the side of his lip. “Really, what were you guys doing at Lilith’s?”

  “Praying she wouldn’t kill us.” Spinelli said.

  “Huh?”

  “Stop,” I told him. “We went there to check out a hunch.”

  “What? That she wouldn’t turn you into an alley cat if you didn’t give her the witch’s ladder?”

  “Funny. No, I had a hunch about Benjamin Rivera.”

  “You thought he was faking his retardation.”

  “Close, but no. He’s not retarded. He’s what you call a high-functioning autistic savant. You remember he told us that he was like Leona Diaz. I suspected he meant that he had paranormal or supernatural attributes. Apparently someone else thought so, too, and enrolled him in one of Doctor Lowell’s workshops.”

  Carlos popped the last of his candy bar into his mouth, and with his cheeks completely full, sputtered the word, “Interesting.” Only it came out, “Inawhusdin.”

  “Isn’t it?” I said. “But get this. That comment Benjamin made got me thinking, and I remembered something Spinelli said about Anna Davalos and Bridget Dean.”

  “Me?” Spinelli pointed to himself. “What did I tell you?”

  “Plenty. About Bridget Dean, you said her boss felt she had a sort of ‘sixth sense’ that won her cases in court. And in describing Anna Davalos, you said she had a knack for anticipating her customer’s needs, and that her coworkers thought it seemed uncanny how she could read them so boldly.”

  “I remember.”

  “That got me thinking. I asked Lilith about them and she told me that, indeed, Anna Davalos and Bridget Dean and Benjamin Rivera were all members of Doctor Lowell’s workgroup.”

  “Whaaa?”

  “Carlos. Swallow please.”

  He hurried up chewing and swallowed hard. Spinelli and I waited patiently as we watched his tongue rake across his teeth behind closed mouth. He swallowed again, smacked his lips and took a shallow breath. He didn’t really need to say it again, but I wanted to hear it anyway.

  “What?”

  I smiled, such sweet victory. “Now you know why I got so upset not knowing about Karen Webber’s involvement in Doctor Lowell’s studies. We have a new pattern here, Gentlemen. Karen Webber, Bridget Dean and Anna Davalos were all members of the workshop, and now they’re all dead.”

  “It’s coincidence,” Spinelli suggested.

  “Really? What about Carol Kessler, the fifth Beatle? Is it a coincidence that she also attended Doctor Lowell’s workshop with Karen, Bridget, Anna and Benjamin, and now she shows up as a player in our little mystery tour.”

  Spinelli shook his head clear. “Come again?”

  “It’s a 60’s reference,” said Carlos. “Don’t worry. You’ll get used to it.”

  I said to Spinelli, “I suppose it’s also a coincidence that Karen had an appointment to meet with Kessler on the day she died.”

  He raised his shoulders and dropped them without debate. I just kept rolling over him. “Coincidence, no I don’t think any of this is coincidence. I think Karen believed Carol was in immediate danger and wanted to get her out of town.”

  Carlos pointed to me. “You might have something there, Tony. While you were gone, I followed up on Kessler. I don’t know where she is, but I know she got there in a hurry. Her coworkers tell me she left work Friday afternoon around one. Kessler’s neighbors reported seeing her at her house shortly thereafter. She packed her car up with some clothes and a few other things and then tore out of there quickly.”

  “Sounds like she’s not buying into the idea of coincidences either.”

  “Maybe no one mentioned it to her.”

  “Speaking of mentioning, have I mentioned the names Stinky Pete, Lucky Lenny and Crazy Eddy?”

  “Who?”

  “They may be the other players in this game. Lilith told me about them. They’re all former members of Doctor Lowell’s first workshop. If any one of them is involved in this, then boy, have we got troubles.”

  “So where does that leave us?” Carlos asked. “Do we have another serial killer targeting former members of Doctor Lowell’s workshop?”

  “Or,” said Spinelli, “did Rivera kill these people, not knowing about the connection they all had to one another.”

  “Maybe it’s exactly what it looks like to everyone else but us,” I said, “and it’s simply a case of three suicides in three weeks.”

  Carlos, “So, what can we do?”

  Spinelli, “We can haul Ricardo Rivera in for more questioning.”

  I shook my head. “Not without cause.”

 
“How `bout we find one of them guys Lilith told you about and question him?”

  “No good. Lilith couldn’t remember any last names. We can’t very well go to E.I.N.I. and type in Stinky Pete, Lucky Lenny or Crazy Eddy.”

  “Can we bring Piakowski in?” this from Spinelli. “Chances are we’ll find him in violation of some parole stip or another.”

  “Probably would,” I said. “If only we knew where to look. The guy’s a chameleon.”

  Carlos, “So, where does one look for a chameleon?”

  “Right under one’s nose,” Spinelli joked.

  We all laughed at that. I said, “Yeah, you can probably bury that idea. Piakowski is the kind of guy you don’t find if he doesn’t want you to.”

  “My, God!” cried Carlos.

  “What?”

  “You said, bury.”

  “Yes.”

  “Karen’s funeral is this morning!” He looked at his watch. “We have to leave now!”

  Spinelli and I checked the clock on the wall. I don’t know why. We could have bet on Carlos’ punctuality. There are just two things in life that he never misses: meals and funerals. We grabbed our coats and scuttled for the door.

  There’s a small cemetery just outside the city, founded back in the days of the American Revolution. New Castle was barely a township when they lay the first soul to rest there: a Mister J. Quincy Stone, of Boston proper. It’s a nice place where the hills roll gently from a high point overlooking the Church steeple and beyond, halfway to Gloucester, down to the creek that feeds the old textile mill and empties into the marsh behind the Minute Man motel. There are many trees there, too, deciduous mostly: maple, elm, ash and hickory, a lot of them planted by mourners as everlasting tributes to their departed.

  There is also a stone wall around two-thirds of the cemetery, knee-high and loosely stacked. The remaining third came down in the 20’s to allow expansion for growing demand. Carlos likes to point out that the cemetery is so popular that people are just dying to get in. I ask him not to tell that old joke at funerals, but inevitably, he does. It’s in that expanded part of the cemetery where we found the Webber party. Is that what you call it? The word party seems too celebratory if you ask me, although I don’t suppose the Donnor party had much to celebrate either. God, I hate funerals.