Leigh walked back to the autopsy table. The dark handle of a knife was clearly visible in the bright examination lights, the hilt protruding from the corpse mid-chest. God, I hope she was dead long before the fire did this.
The hilt of the knife was smooth, but just above the pommel was a symbol, mostly obscured by blackened flesh. “Have you taken pictures of the weapon in place?”
“Yes, all external photos are done.” Rowe circled the table to join her.
Leigh leaned in to examine the knife more closely, but the strong scent of roasted flesh drove her backward, nearly choking on a gag. She turned her face away in hopes of clearer air, inhaling through clenched teeth. “There’s a symbol on the base of the blade.” Her words came out half strangled, so she cleared her throat and tried again. “It may help identify who owned it.”
“Let me remove it so you can get a better look.” Rowe grasped the handle of the knife in one large hand. Carefully and slowly, he pulled it from the corpse; it came loose with a soft sucking sound. He held it flat across both palms for her to see.
Although heavily coated with soot and charred bits of tissue, the hilt of the knife was made of smooth black stone that ended in a pointed, textured silver tip. An upturned crescent moon cradled a five-pointed star enclosed in a circle at the base of the four-inch blade.
Paul leaned in from one side. “Is that a pentagram? We’ve got a devil worshipper on our hands?”
After pulling on a pair of latex gloves, Leigh took the knife. She held it under the exam lights, turning it back and forth. “It’s actually a pentacle. A pentagram is the star if it’s missing the circle. I know some Satanists use pentacles pointed down and superimposed with the head of a goat, but those in the Craft would tell you an upside-down pentacle is simply that: upside-down. This is a sacred Witchcraft faith symbol. And the weapon is an athame, a double-bladed ceremonial knife and one of the four elemental tools in the Craft—athame, wand, pentacle and chalice.”
There was a moment of stunned silence. “And you know this how?” Matt finally asked.
“Because I was a cop’s kid in Salem. Other kids rebelled by smoking, drinking or doing drugs. A cop’s kid knows they’re basically under surveillance by every other cop in the district 24/7. If I pulled some stunt, my father would have known about it from his cronies before I was even brought down to the station. So my teenage rebellion phase consisted of dabbling in Witchcraft. They don’t call us ‘The Witch City’ for nothing.” She looked up to find everyone staring at her with varying expressions of surprise. “What?”
Matt let out a small laugh. “I would have never pegged you for that. The robes and the hat and the spells?”
“See, that’s where outsiders have ideas about Witches that are completely wrong. Anyone who’s been to Salem has seen Witches. Robes are optional. Most dress just like you do, so I guarantee you’ve passed them on the street. They live and work and worship, just like anyone else.”
“I’m sure they do,” Matt clarified. “I’m not making fun. It’s just that you seem too down to earth for that.”
“And maybe that’s why it didn’t stick. But I can still do a mean tarot reading to tell you your past, present and possibly your future.”
Matt crossed his arms over his chest. “Really?”
She gave him a pointed look. “Maybe we could circle back to the evidence now?”
“Do Witches use knives in their ceremonies?” Paul stared at the blackened blade, suspicion darkening his face.
“It’s never used as a cutting tool. It represents fire and is used to channel psychic energy.”
Matt let out a half laugh he abruptly tried to stifle.
Leigh fixed him with a dark stare that had him coloring slightly. “I know this isn’t going to be your thing. You’re too grounded and far too based in science to accept their beliefs, but respect them for what they are.”
Looking chastened, Matt gave a short nod.
“It’s used for casting ritual circles, charging water in the chalice or inscribing candles,” she continued. “Another tool—a curved sickle called a boline—is used for cutting twine and herbs. But they’re never used as weapons. If any ceremonial blade comes into contact with human blood, even from an accidental cut while handling, its power dissipates and it can’t be used in any further rituals. It would be discarded immediately.”
“This knife could lead us straight to the murderer,” Kiko said. “I’ve seen these knives in the Witch shops; they come in every design imaginable. If you can find out who owned this specific one, it should be a solid starting point.”
“It might not be that simple,” Leigh said. “It could be the murderer’s, but it could also be the victim’s, or someone else’s entirely.” Leigh carefully sealed the athame in an evidence bag and handed it to Matt to examine. “I’ll start surveying Witch shops this afternoon to see if anyone recognizes it. Is there anything else we need to know from the virtual autopsy? What about the skull damage? Could you tell if that injury happened before or after the fire?”
“I can’t tell that yet,” Matt said. “We’ll deflesh and examine any bone if either the virtual or hands-on autopsy shows a traumatic mark. So far, it appears that only the head, thorax and pelvis are affected. At this point, I’d chalk the pelvic injuries up to the wardrobe collapsing, but I need to substantiate that. We’ll leave that discussion until we can get the bone under the scanning electron microscope and show you the results. It’ll be easier to explain that way.”
“And the animal? You’re sure it’s a dog?”
“Ninety percent of the bones that come into an ME’s office are actually animal bones. Forensic anthropologists are trained to identify one from the other as that’s a lot of what we do. Once I have the skeleton to work with, I’ll know for sure. I won’t be able to guarantee a specific breed, but I should be able to ballpark a few that might match.”
Leigh indicated the knife in Matt’s hands. “What about trauma?”
“There are no signs of a knife wound. But from the X-rays, it looks like someone went to town on that dog. The skull was completely shattered, which I suspect happened before the fire started.”
Leigh glanced back toward the dark nightmare huddled on the table. She knew she was stalling but she simply couldn’t help herself. “Okay, so for the human victim we’ve got a start on age and sex. But what about an ID? Are we going to be able to use dental in this case?”
“I had a cursory look while we were doing photos,” Rowe said. “There is definitely damage to the teeth, but I got a glimpse of some melted dental work that looks relatively intact. We have X-rays, so once we have a better idea of who we’re looking at, I should be able to use dentition to back it up. If not, there’s always DNA.”
Leigh looked up sharply. “You’d still be able to run DNA on tissue like that? It’s not destroyed?”
“A lot of it certainly is, but if we sample far enough into the body, we’ll avoid thermal damage. There might be blood left in the cardiac chamber. If not there, then deep quadriceps muscle should do.”
Matt touched Leigh’s arm. “Same deal as last time? Duplicate samples—one to Boston University and one to the state lab?”
Leigh nodded. “That worked well. I still don’t have the state lab results back from the Bradford case, but you guys had it to me inside of a week.” She turned back to Rowe. “Any identifying marks on the victim’s body you could see that might help in going through missing-person reports?”
“Any dermal markings would be obliterated by now. There was no jewelry found on the body, but both hands were disarticulated around the remains. If there were any rings, they would have been scattered with the bones.”
“We went around the victim, thoroughly screening and sieving everything,” Matt said. “We recovered all the disarticulated carpals and tarsals and phalanges, but there was no sign of any jewelry.”
“Maybe the murderer removed them?” Juka said.
Leigh slowly turned around. As he so often d
id, Juka stood a step back from the group, always watchful, but often silent. “You’re thinking burglary?”
Juka shook his head. “If burglary was the motive, there was jewelry mingled in the debris that was likely more valuable. But if the murderer burned the victim to hide her identity, he wouldn’t want to leave any unique pieces, like a ring or a watch, on the body. So perhaps he removed them before setting the fire.”
“I agree. Also, this killing says ‘premeditated’ to me. The design of that knife is modern so it’s unlikely it would have been for sale in the antique shop. I’ll check that with the owner, but if not, then the murderer brought it to the scene.”
“Do Witches carry an athame at all times?” Paul asked. “Could it have been a heat-of-the-moment kind of killing?”
Leigh shook her head. “No, an athame is a ceremonial dagger only. Most Witches leave it on their altar when it’s not in use. It’s a message. Someone is either telling us something or was telling the victim.”
“Are we ready to start, then?” Matt gave her a rueful smile.
Apparently, her stall tactics hadn’t fooled him. Leigh stifled a sigh and gave a curt nod. Let’s get this over with.
Matt pulled a surgical gown from a hook on the wall, slipped it on and tied it closed. He gloved up, and then he and Rowe both donned safety glasses and masks.
Leigh stepped back to stay out of splash range and Matt’s students gathered around her. Kiko’s lips were pinched together and she was breathing too quickly through her nose. Both Paul and Juka stood stock still, but Paul’s gaze occasionally strayed toward the door as if longing for escape.
“You guys are doing great,” Leigh said, sotto voce so Rowe couldn’t hear them. These kids were used to bones, but in the last few weeks they’d dealt with mutilated, bloody and burned corpses. They’d impressed her with their staunch staying power, even through the worst of it all.
Matt and Rowe carefully rolled the victim onto her back, allowing Rowe access to the thoracic cavity. Beside Leigh, Paul made a strangled sound, his eyes locked on the corpse. Lying on its back, the body seemed even more contorted, arms curled in to protect itself, legs frozen in midair, spine arched as if on a scream of agony.
Leigh closed her eyes, but the vision followed her into the dark. So she opened them and watched Rowe start to cut into the charred flesh, praying her stomach wouldn’t betray her distress.
CHAPTER FIVE: GRIMOIRE
* * *
Grimoire: information about rituals and the magical properties of natural objects collected in book form for a Witch’s reference. Also called the Book of Shadows.
Monday, 3:20 p.m.
Draw Down the Moon Witch Shoppe
Salem, Massachusetts
The moment Leigh stepped into the shop, she felt herself drawn back to earlier times. The complex mixture of smells—incense, scented candles, bags of herbs and oils—and the gentle notes of the pan flute hanging almost motionless in the air evoked a rush of memories from her teen years. Her eyelids slid closed as she drew in a breath full of magic and familiarity, her lips curving in a smile. They’d been good times, and even though she hadn’t remained in the coven, she’d never forgotten the lessons about community, tolerance and outward giving.
She opened her eyes, her shifting gaze touching briefly on familiar objects. The shop was filled to overflowing, but didn’t seem cluttered. Colorful hand-decorated potion bottles sat under bright lights in a glass display cabinet. Nearby, shelves of tiny vials of golden oils waited to be mixed into custom potions. Pentacles and crystals hung from heavy cords, dangling in a shining row from a long wooden dowel suspended from the ceiling. Baskets of spell kits—containing a candle, mixed herbs, an amulet and instructions—promised help in love, a career, glamour or empowerment.
Leigh spotted the shopkeeper standing behind the counter, deep in conversation with a couple, the only customers in the store. Of the half dozen Witchcraft shops in Salem, this was the oldest and largest. She had high hopes of getting answers here and not having to spend her day running all over town.
“—crystals are conductors of energy,” the tall, graceful Witch behind the counter told the couple as Leigh approached. “Or wear them on your body to direct energy and healing to that location. You can plant them in your garden to encourage a fruitful growing season. I keep crystals in the four corners of my house for protection.”
The Witch was dressed in a draping black blouse and a long flowing black peasant skirt, the bottom embossed with crescent moons and Celtic knots that fluttered and swayed as she moved.
Leigh stood patiently while the couple purchased a selection of crystals. Then the Witch turned to Leigh. “Can I help you?”
Leigh held up her badge. “I’m Trooper Leigh Abbott of the Massachusetts State Police. I’m looking for some assistance on a case.”
The woman cocked her head slightly, her dark hair rolling off her shoulder to tumble down her back. “Elanthia Wakefield. I’m not sure how I can be of assistance in a police investigation.”
Leigh glanced back to make sure the shop was now empty. “I have a piece of evidence I’d like you to look at.” She laid her messenger bag on the glass counter, under which silver jewelry sparkled.
“Do you mind if I ask what kind of investigation this is?”
“Not at all. It’s a murder investigation.” Shock flared in Elanthia’s eyes for a brief moment before the Witch quickly composed herself. Leigh opened her bag and pulled out the knife, charred and blackened, still sealed in the evidence bag that bore her notes and initials. “This was found at a murder scene. I recognized the symbol of Hecate immediately. I was wondering if you carried an athame like it or recognized the design.”
Elanthia took the knife, and studied it closely. “You’re familiar with our Craft?” Her gaze flicked to Leigh before dropping back to the blade in her hands.
Leigh’s face heated. “I . . . was involved in my teen years. But . . .”
“No need to be embarrassed. If you were once a part of us, then you know that we don’t judge. If the Craft is right for you, then you’ll return to us when the time is right. We’ll still be here.” She turned the knife over in her long, slender hands, running the pad of her index finger over the hilt of the knife. “I recognize this blade. It was a beautiful piece.”
“We believe it’s the murder weapon.”
One brow arched gracefully. “I may be able to help you. If it’s the athame I think it is, it’s one of a kind.” She set the knife on the counter. “I need to check my sales book to be sure. I’ll be a few minutes. Feel free to browse the shop.” Elanthia disappeared into a back room.
Leigh tucked the knife safely back into her bag, then slowly wandered through the store, idly picking up an item here or there and finally stopping in front of the shop altar. It was set up under a lace-draped window, and a beam of dappled sunlight fell over the midnight-blue altar cloth, highlighting the Tree of Life at its center, stitched in gold. She flashed back to the altar that once graced her bedroom—black cauldron, athame, white and black candles, silver chalice, a small brass bell, several quartz crystals, and her wand. She ran her fingertips along the edge of the brass pentacle tile that lay in the middle of the altar. The metal was warm beneath her touch, lit by the beam of sunlight.
“You miss it.”
Leigh whirled to find Elanthia beside her, a black book folded against her breasts. “What?”
“You may no longer be a member of the Craft, but a part of you misses it.”
“I haven’t thought about it for over ten years. But when I look back . . .” She trailed off, frowning. When Elanthia stayed silent, Leigh glanced over, sensing the question in the other woman’s patient gaze. “When I look back I realize how much being part of the community helped me through my teen years. I went from being without a mother to having countless mothers to guide and comfort me. It was . . . a family, of sorts, a sisterhood when all I had was my father. Kind of makes me wish I had that now.” S
he laughed uncomfortably. “I have no idea why I’m telling you this.”
“The heart knows who it can trust. You picked a difficult career path. There must not be many women in your department.”
“I’m it.”
“Really. And your father?”
“He died in the line of duty four years ago.”
Sympathy shadowed Elanthia’s face. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
Leigh pulled herself ramrod straight. “That’s the way life goes, isn’t it?” she said, struggling to contain the dogged grief that never seemed to fully heal. “Did you find something?”
“I did.” Elanthia led the way back to the counter, where she opened the book. “That knife is indeed a unique item. It was commissioned by one of my customers nearly a year ago from a local metalsmith who does custom work with gemstone handles.”
“Sounds expensive.”
“It was. But Moira could afford it.”
“A woman ordered it? You’re certain?”
“Yes.” Elanthia suddenly went absolutely still. “Your victim is a woman.” It was a flat statement, not a question.
“I’m afraid I can’t reveal that at this point in the investigation.”
The Witch considered her for a moment before slowly turning back to the book. She ran an index finger down the ledger until she came to the entry she was looking for. “Moira Simpson commissioned that knife last January. It was delivered to her in March.” She picked up the blade again, peering through the plastic. “High-chromium stainless-steel blade with a handle of midnight stone. Personalized with the sign of Hecate.”
“High-chromium stainless steel? That seems unusual for such a traditional piece.”
“It was unusual and very expensive. A custom piece. But all Moira’s orders were custom.”
Leigh studied the other woman, noting the disapproving set of her mouth and the restless drum of her fingers against the ledger. “You didn’t like her.”
“I’m not saying that.”
“Your body language is.”
A Flame in the Wind of Death Page 5