They made love....
And made love and made love.
Finally they lay together, exhausted, spent, damp, still striving for breath and feeling the slowing thunder of their hearts.
She curled against him. “You were right,” she whispered. “Magic.”
He stroked her hair and lay there savoring the moment, just being there with her, lying naked together.
He turned to speak.
She was sleeping. Sweetly, at peace, her body still entwined with his.
He closed his own eyes and found the mercy of sleep himself.
* * *
Devin could hear the shower running when she woke up and realized Rocky was in there, getting ready to face the day.
She smiled, thinking she could just slip in with him....
But a glance at the bedside clock told her it was already noon. Half a day gone—and he undoubtedly had things he needed to do. If she joined him, with the steam and the soap and...
One day, she thought, she would be accustomed to him in the way all lovers inevitably became accustomed to each other. They might take showers just to get clean. They might see each other naked or dressing and not instantly feel the urgent need for sex....
One day?
Last night—or rather, early this morning—she’d walked in on the man and thrown herself at him. That didn’t mean there would be a next time or that they would ever be longtime lovers or spend enough time together to stop feeling the urgency of last night.
Would he think that she was desperate, pressuring him?
Did he do this often?
Had she ever done anything remotely like this before? No!
Suddenly she didn’t want to face him. Not here, not naked, not in his bed.
She hopped up quickly and retrieved her nightshirt, slipped it back on and hurried to the door.
Then she realized that, given the intruder last night, he would worry if she simply disappeared, so she scribbled a note and left it on the bed. It read simply “Thanks. Gone to get dressed for the day.”
She heard him turn off the water and she ran to the door, threw it open and looked out into the hall. Luckily, none of the other agents was out there. There was a housekeeper with her cart moving down the hall.
She stopped Devin just outside her door. “Miss?”
“Yes?” Devin panicked and nearly snapped out the word.
“Will you have service today?” the woman asked.
Devin smiled. “Yes, I’m sorry. Later today, I think,” she said. And then she realized that in her mad “I’m going to play out a fantasy” mode, she hadn’t brought a room key.
She looked back at the maid. “Can you open my room for me, please?” she asked.
The maid looked at her. “You have ID?”
Devin didn’t even have shoes—there were certainly no pockets in her nightgown.
“I don’t. I—I swear this is my room. I went to...to tell my friend something and forgot to take a key. Please, can you help me?”
Devin had a horrible picture of having to go down to the lobby in her nightshirt with her hair...
Messed up as it could only be after a night of sex. No, she would buck up, go back to Rocky’s room and ask him to help her.
She didn’t have to. The maid evidently decided she looked honest and took pity on her.
“You bring me ID, please, to the door when I let you in,” the woman said nervously. “This, it is against the rules.”
“Thank you, thank you, I understand. I’ll get my ID right away,” Devin promised.
The maid let her in. She rushed to get her purse and ran back to hand her identification to the maid. “And my key—see, my key. And my name. And...thank you.”
The maid smiled at her and nodded.
Devin thought that she would be leaving the woman a very nice tip when she checked out.
Once the maid was gone, Devin locked the door, sighed and hurried into the bathroom, grabbing clean clothes on the way, to hop into the shower. She hurried, seeing as the day was already half-over, drying her hair and dressing as quickly as she could. The minute she left the bathroom she stopped and stood dead still.
On the table, along with the room service menu, was a medallion attached to a silver chain.
A pentagram.
She didn’t touch it, only stared, wondering in horror if someone had put it there during the night or while she was with Rocky, and she just hadn’t noticed it till now...
Or if someone had come in and left it while she was in the shower.
* * *
Rocky called the station and found out that Brent Corbin had spent what had remained of the night before in lockup, still denying that he had even seen Barbara Benton at the bar, much less murdered her.
He was just hanging up when he heard a fierce pounding at his door. He hurried and looked through the peephole. It was Devin, and she looked as upset as she’d been last night. The minute he opened it, she burst into the room. She’d showered and dressed, and he couldn’t help but appreciate how nice she looked in jeans and a light sweater. What struck him most, though, was that her eyes were huge.
“Someone was in my room!” she gasped.
“What?” he demanded.
“Come on.” Without waiting for an answer, she rushed back into the hall.
Rocky followed quickly, letting his door lock behind him, glad his wallet was in his pocket and his Glock was in the shoulder holster beneath his jacket.
Devin unlocked her door and hurried the few feet to the table. Then she pointed. “This was here when I got out of the shower.”
Rocky stared at the pentagram necklace, then turned to her. “Where did it come from?”
“I sure as hell don’t know!”
“When?”
“I—I don’t know that, either. I didn’t even glance at the table when I...when I went to your room this morning or when I came back a little while ago. I went straight in to take a shower, then saw it when I got out. I don’t know if it was here before or if someone was in here when I was showering. Rocky, the killer might have been in here with me!”
He walked over to her and pulled her into his arms. “We’ll find out,” he said harshly. “I’ll pull every piece of video this place has—we’ll find who did this.”
She was shaking. “My house...my room. Why?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” he promised.
“But at least this means it’s not Brent, right?”
“It certainly improves his odds. Meanwhile, hopefully we can trace this.” As he spoke, he pulled his cell phone from his pocket. He called Sam first, then Jack Grail, hanging the do not disturb sign on her door while he talked.
He was supposed to be on his way to the station to take another crack at Brent Corbin, but that could wait.
Taking Devin by the hand, he headed down the hall to the elevator.
“Where are we going? What are we doing?”
“Jack and Sam are on the way to meet us. We’re going to get the hotel surveillance footage and go through it. He pointed to the camera lens aimed discreetly at the elevator. “Most hotels this size have cameras in their elevators and hallways. Not because crooks leave things in the guests’ rooms, of course, but because they take them, and because there are cases of rape and murder in even the best hotels.”
At the desk he showed the clerk his badge and, flustered, she went to retrieve the manager. He was a small man named Mr. Hogan, who listened gravely, nodding the whole while.
After that Mr. Hogan led them to a back office where there was a bank of cameras, several for each of the hotel’s five floors. An elderly security guard was at the desk watching the screens. There were, the manager assured them, always two security guards on duty. One
roamed the hotel while the other watched the office.
“So there’s someone in this room at all times?” Rocky asked.
“Yes, sir,” the manager assured him. “And if he blinks, we’re still covered, because everything’s recorded. We cover all three elevators and every hallway, along with the lobby and the entryway.”
“What about the side entry?” Rocky asked.
Hogan pointed to another screen.
“We’ll need all the footage from 4.00 a.m. till five minutes ago,” Rocky told him.
“Yes, sir,” Hogan assured him. “Bobby,” he told the guard, “set up a computer station for the agent, please.”
Bobby jumped on it, glad to show them the system. But when he went to play back the surveillance video, the screen came up empty.
Hogan was baffled and had Bobby run diagnostics that revealed every bit of the footage from 3:00 a.m. on was nonexistent.
“It’s impossible,” Hogan said.
“We’ll get the police computer expert on it,” Rocky said.
Within the hour, not only had Jack and Sam arrived, the department’s computer technicians were working, crime scene techs were at work in Devin’s room and both staff and guests were being questioned.
But despite all their efforts, they ended up with nothing. Whoever had hacked the surveillance system had known what he was doing and so far they hadn’t found a thing to lead them to him. No one remembered seeing anyone enter Devin’s room, and there were no suspicious fingerprints in the room or on the pendant. And all Bobby could tell them was that he hadn’t seen anything unusual; everyone who’d entered a room had used a key, though if their intruder was good enough to remotely erase security footage, hacking a key card was probably child’s play to him.
Rocky was frustrated, but he tried to keep his feelings in check.
“We’ll leave someone working on the computer system,” Jack told them. “Jonah Smith is the best man I’ve seen with a computer, so fingers crossed he can come up with something.”
Just then Rocky heard Devin gasp and turned to see what had upset her.
She was looking at a local late-edition newspaper, which someone had brought in earlier and left lying around.
He saw the headline that had disturbed her. The Devil’s Afoot in Massachusetts Again.
Devin picked up the paper, scanned it quickly and looked at Rocky. “Facts and just the facts with a sensational headline.”
He took the paper from her. The ridiculous headline went with a report on the fire that had been set in Devin’s yard. It mentioned that the house had belonged to Mina Lyle, a Wiccan, card reader and practicing medium in Salem from the days long before modern witchcraft had come to the city, and a woman descended from the original settlers of the town. The article went on to state that the house was now owned by Devin Lyle, author of the popular Auntie Pim series of children’s books. Police, the article read, suspected a prankster or perhaps someone frightened by the current murders into drawing parallels with the witchcraft trials.
“What does any of that have to do with the devil?” Devin asked, clearly irritated.
“Nothing, but headlines sell papers,” Rocky said.
“Freedom of the press,” Jack said. “Don’t let it frighten you, Devin.”
She turned to look at Jack. “I’m not frightened, I’m angry. It’s almost as if someone is starting a war against anyone who’s Wiccan.”
“But you’re not Wiccan,” Jack said.
“My aunt was,” she said. “And she was the most giving person I ever knew. She never did one nasty thing to anyone. I just feel she’s being maligned.”
Jack looked over at Rocky. “These attacks on Devin—if they actually are attacks and not just sick pranks of some sort—may have nothing at all to do with the murders.”
“How can that be?” Devin demanded. “I thought no one knew about the pentagrams the killer leaves on the victims’ bodies?”
“It’s not as simple as that, Devin,” Jack said. “For one thing, we don’t know that the killer works alone, For another, leaks happen. Someone could have heard about the pentagrams, someone with a grudge against you for whatever reason, and now he’s using that knowledge to freak you out.”
“But—” She started to protest, but he cut her off.
“But that said, I’m inclined—for a number of reasons—to think your friend Brent isn’t our guy, even if I can’t rule him out entirely.”
“So...what?” Rocky asked. “Do we cut him loose and just keep an eye on him?”
Jack was thoughtful for a moment, then he said, “Yeah. We cut him loose.”
Rocky nodded, but he couldn’t help asking himself, what if Brent was guilty but working with someone else?
“Task force meeting,” he suggested quietly. “I want all the crime scene techs, forensic people, everyone involved—my people, your people, everyone. There has to be something out there that we’ve missed.”
Jack nodded. “I’m heading over to Corbin’s shop now to see what the crime scene techs have found—if anything. We went over his home earlier—figured if there was anything at all, I’d wake you.”
“Thanks. And?”
“Nothing.” Jack looked at his watch. “I’ll have everyone convene in an hour at the station. Because we’ve damn well got to come up with something.” He turned to Devin. “It may not be your friend, but someone is out there killing, and I want him stopped.”
“An hour,” Rocky agreed.
* * *
Devin was grateful that Rocky had pulled strings to get her into the meeting. She sat and listened, impressed by the collected expertise gathered in one room. As a group, they were carefully analyzing every piece of information on the three recent murders in an attempt to create a trail of evidence leading to one specific person. Rocky reported on Barbara Benton’s movements on the day of her murder. Angela did the same for Carly Henderson, who had closed the salon for the day and then done some shopping on her way home. She’d purchased candles at two different Wiccan shops, and soda and cheese at a deli. But she’d never retrieved her car and never made it home. Her roommate had been out late with friends and hadn’t noticed her disappearance until the following morning.
“What all the named victims have in common, going back to Melissa Wilson,” Rocky pointed out, “is that the women were all attractive, all young—only Carly was over thirty―and had been, at some time during the day, at one of the shops in Salem that sold Wiccan supplies.
“None of the victims was sexually molested. According to the M.E., the killer was of medium to tall height, and he came up behind the women and took them by surprise. I believe they all knew or trusted their killer, which is why they had their backs to him. The throats were slit left to right, indicating a right-handed killer. After death they were placed on their backs, their arms and legs arranged, and the silver pentagrams placed on their chests.”
He paused and looked across the room at Devin. “As you know, a fire was lit in Miss Lyle’s yard last night, with accelerant poured in the shape of a pentacle. At some point after five this morning and before 1:00 p.m., someone slipped into her hotel room and placed a similar medallion on her table. Whether these were the separate actions of someone with a grudge against Miss Lyle or are related to the case, we have yet to find out. However, this person was able to hack into and erase the hotel’s video surveillance system.”
When Rocky finished, one of Jack’s men reported on the medallions that had been found on the victims. They were all similar, but the composition of the silver and artistic techniques suggested different artisans.
Jack spoke next. He stood before the group and said, “We executed search warrants on Mr. Corbin’s place of work and home this morning, but we found nothing to tie him to the murders, and the cell phone found in the pocket of his jack
et had been wiped clean of prints, making it impossible to confirm or disprove his contention that it was placed in his pocket without his knowledge in an attempt to frame him. In the absence of any new evidence, Mr. Corbin will be released later today. At this point, we have to assume we still have a killer on the streets.”
Then the lab technicians got up and began reporting on facts and figures, and Devin zoned out. She did notice when a young officer came in and approached Rocky, who listened to him gravely and nodded.
The officer left, and Devin felt Rocky’s eyes on her. She looked at him questioningly. The meeting was finishing up, and he motioned to her to join him, and then he and the rest of the Krewe adjourned to the room Jack had set aside for their use.
“They have a fingerprint,” Rocky said.
“From where?” Sam asked.
“Devin’s back door. Whoever set the fire wasn’t wearing gloves,” Rocky told them.
“Did they find a match?” Angela asked.
“No, whoever’s print it is, he’s not in the system,” Rocky said.
“So no career criminal?” Devin asked.
“No, and no one in the legal system, no one who has ever been printed for work purposes,” Rocky said.
“So...we’re nowhere,” Devin said.
“No, we’re somewhere. We just have to start collecting prints,” Rocky said.
“Is that legal?”
“It is if we do it legally,” Sam said.
“How do we do that?” Devin asked.
“We buy everyone drinks,” Angela told her. “And then we hang on to the glasses.”
“I think it’s time to host a get-together,” Rocky said.
“Where?” Devin asked.
“Your house.” Rocky looked at his watch. “Brent will be free by then. I’m going to ask Jack to expedite his release. Because he needs to be there.”
Heather Graham Krewe of Hunters Series, Volume 4 Page 50