The man gestured in the direction of Doctor Sanders, and when he spoke, his voice was richly timbered and affected with a slight, lazy, southern drawl. “I’d say the Doc’s prob’ly right about our bad guy. We got one decent imprint out of the snow around the pool last night. Matches up to a man’s size seventeen hiking boot, so I’d have to say he’s a big boy. Best estimate, anywhere from six-six to seven foot tall.”
He paused as he again brushed imaginary crumbs from the whiskers on his upper lip and then took a moment to scratch the back of his head. “So far we haven’t had a single worthwhile print, but it’s winter and everyone is wearin’ gloves so I don’t really expect any. He’s left a different kind of Bible at each scene, all of them being of a type readily available from any bookstore. We’re runnin’ it down anyway. The spray paint he’s used to leave the symbol is just your standard commercially available stuff.” He stopped talking for a moment and shrugged. “Either way, got a sample of it off to the FBI crime lab. Couple of fibers. Poly-cotton blend, dyed black. Pretty generic stuff. Besides that we got a big fat zippo. Sorry ya’ll, but this ol’ boy ain’t givin’ us much to go on.”
Ben nodded. “You’ll let us know if ya’ come up with anything else?”
“In a heartbeat.”
“Great. Thanks, Murv.”
“No problem.”
“Okay, tox on the Miller woman showed Roofies in her system,” Ben announced to the room and looked around. “Who’s workin’ with Narc on that?”
“Over here,” a hard-edged but still feminine voice came from across the room. “Detective Baker. I’m your liaison to County Narcotics.”
“Great, Baker. Whaddaya got?”
“Unfortunately, nothing,” she returned. “We’ve worked the college campuses and all the small time dealers we can think of. Of course, we haven’t really known what we were looking for.”
“Understood,” Ben replied and gave her a nod. “I’d like for ya’ ta’ hit ‘em again and work from the basis that we’re lookin’ for an unusually tall individual. That might help.”
“Will do.”
Ben gave his notes a quick scan and without looking up from the fistful of paper, queried the room, “Computer crimes. Do we have anything on this whole Internet stalkin’ lead?”
“The Miller woman’s hard drive is clean,” a younger detective announced. “According to the system registry, the operating system was a recent install, and we found a receipt from a local repair shop. Looks like she upgraded.”
“I hate the damn things, Chuck,” Ben returned grumpily. “You mind puttin’ that in English?”
“She souped up her machine and had a new piece of hardware installed in place of the original mass storage device,” the detective answered. “I called the repair shop, and they said the drive was toast, and it went into the trash. To put it simply, as far as getting something off her system goes we’re screwed. We aren’t going to get anything from it.”
“What about her... Whaddaya call it... You know…” He rotated his hand in a circular gesture while furrowing his brow.
“ISP,” I offered. “Her service provider.”
“Small local outfit in South County” came the answer. “No weekend hours.”
“Great,” Ben sighed. “They got an alarm?”
“Probably, I dunno,” Chuck returned.
“Find out. Call the local muni and the alarm company. Get the contact list and get someone to open the doors. If that doesn’t work, go down there and throw a brick through the window or somethin’. We wanna talk to ‘em today. Got it?”
“Got it.”
“All right then, there’s another angle I want us to look into.” My friend huffed, paused for a moment then pointed over at me. “Most of ya’ are familiar with Rowan here from the last time he worked with us. As well, most of ya’ are aware that we’ve asked for his help again with this case.” His hand went up automatically as he spoke, smoothing back his hair and coming to rest on his neck. After a short pause he let out a resigned sigh. “Now, while I’ll be the first one ta’ admit that his methods seem more than just a little weird to the rest of us, I think we all know just how accurate he can be. At any rate, Row here has given us reason ta’ think maybe our bad guy might possibly be a priest. This isn’t a definite, but I’d like ta’ follow that avenue an’ see where it goes.”
“You mean like a Catholic priest?” a voice piped up.
“Yeah. Could be,” he answered. “Or Lutheran I s’pose.”
“What makes you think it’s a priest?” the detective queried again.
Ben slapped me on the arm with the sheaf of papers he held in his hand. “You wanna go ahead and take that one, Row.”
I had been expecting this when Ben asked me to be at the meeting. Now, the feeling of déjà vu that had been tittering up and down my spine forcibly seized me by the shoulders and whispered in my ear, “Be afraid. Be very afraid.”
The last time I had addressed the Major Case Squad had been a few scant months ago during the last frantic investigation. At that time I had been severely heckled, almost to the point of Ben losing his temper in an attempt to defend me. Now, however, it seemed a small legend had arisen from the final success of that case, and while there were certainly those who still thought me a crackpot, as Ben had said, a number of the officers present today were individuals I had worked with before.
I watched nervously as they shifted their glances over to me and waited just as attentively as they had for Ben.
“Quite honestly,” I began, choosing a direct approach, “it was something I saw through Sheryl Keeven’s eyes when I channeled her last moments.”
The room remained quiet, save for the muted ringing of phones and normal background noises of the offices. No laughs. No heckling. No comments of outright dismissal. As unorthodox as they may have found me, I had been accepted. I had gained their respect. In some small way, I had become one of them, and worthy of their attention.
I continued, indicating to my neck as I spoke, “What I caught a glimpse of was a black shirt with a white collar insert. Like a priest’s collar.”
“So what about a seminary student then?” Detective Baker spoke this time. “My cousin was in the seminary and he wore one of those collars.”
“Good idea, Baker,” Ben interjected then gestured to a nearby detective. “Morrow. You and Buchanan check that out. Osthoff, you and Martin ask around the local Archdiocese. Carefully.” He stressed the word. “Remember, it hasn’t been all that long since the Pope graced our fair city with his presence. There’re a lotta Catholics in this area, and they’re still ridin’ high on that. Last thing we need ta’ do is piss off over half of Saint Louis.”
“Got it,” the officers replied almost in unison.
“Okay. That’s about all I have.” Ben’s shoulders dropped noticeably as he let out a tired sigh. “Anyone got any questions?”
“Any theories on why he changes the way he kills the victim each time?” A slightly greying officer queried. “Seems a bit off for a serial killer. I thought they stuck to an established pattern.”
“I’ll leave the floor to you on that one, white man,” Ben told me.
I simply bobbed my head and began. “In this particular case it actually makes perfect sense. We’ve already established that the killer appears to be targeting members of alternative religions. In point of fact, Witches.”
A ripple of nods coupled with the warbling hum of murmured concurrence ran through the assemblage. I pushed off from the edge of the desk I was leaning against and began to pace as I ticked points off on my fingertips.
“So far, there has been one victim burned, one hung, and one drowned,” I continued. “All of these are methods of execution that were used during the time of the Inquisition. The manner of death selected back then oftentimes depended on a wide range of criteria. Anything from the pre-ordained level of the heresy committed to the way the inquisitors happened to feel at the time of passing sentence.”
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br /> “What about the first one?” another detective questioned. “The Walker woman. She was thrown out a window. Was that one of their methods?”
“Of execution, no. Of verification, yes.” I answered then paused to allow my statement to take hold. “I would postulate that the killer was applying a razor... A test if you will... He threw Miz Walker off the balcony in order to see if she would save herself by flying or levitating.”
The officer who had started us along this line spoke again, “I seem to recall reading an article in the paper recently where you yourself said you Witches don’t do that sort of thing.”
“We don’t.” I nodded in agreement. “But during the times of the Inquisition, ‘Witch Hysteria’ was rampant. All manner of accusations were made, and it is where many of the popular myths about us came from. People believed that Witches could fly. They thought we were made of wood and therefore wouldn’t sink in water. Supposedly, we didn’t need to breathe and could be deprived of oxygen and still live. That’s just to name a few.”
“So why hasn’t he been testing the other victims?” another voice asked.
“He has to an extent,” I replied. “Witches, and those accused, were tortured for a variety of reasons, the obvious one being to make them confess. Other tortures, such as the stabbing seen on these victims, also known as ‘Witch Pricking,’ were used to prove out the accusation. You should understand, of course, that the accusation was then and will always be proven out for him, no matter what.”
“Okay, so what about this whole torture thing?” A young detective waved his handout in my direction. “According to this, the first two victims were rather severely tortured, whereas numbers three and four weren’t nearly as bad. What’s up with that?”
“That’s a good question,” I agreed with a nod. “I have my own theories, and I think there are a combination of answers. The most obvious is probably the constitution of the victim combined with the amount of time he had to conduct the tortures.”
“What are the not so obvious reasons?” another voice asked. “Just out of curiosity.”
“Well, as we know, the first three victims were all members of the same coven. For the sake of argument, let us pretend that victim number four was as well, because even though we know she wasn’t, I don’t believe the killer has realized that yet. Victim five, we will leave entirely out of the equation because as Detective Storm stated, he simply appears to have been a spouse who got in the way.
“Now forgive me if this starts to sound like a college lecture, but if you would, please bear with me for a moment. What I need to do here is back up and give you some background so you understand how I came to this conclusion. For this to all make sense, what you absolutely must understand is the mentality behind the concept of ‘Witch Hysteria.’ Those accused of heresy were tortured for several reasons, not just for a confession or just for proving out the accusation. In fact, sometimes it was just because the particular inquisitor was a sadistic bastard who enjoyed inflicting pain. But more importantly, by the prescription of Church Doctrine it was specifically done in order to get an accused heretic or Witch to incriminate others.
“The first deviation in our killer’s torture pattern occurs with victim number three. While she was not put through the same rigors as the first two, she was subjected to some amount of torture. Judging from what I picked up at the crime scene, I would say she folded rather easily and didn’t require an excessive amount of torture to extract that which the killer sought.
“Then you have Christine Webster, who we are pretty sure was the wrong Kristine Webster. Throw into that mix the fact that she had a husband who lost his own life trying to protect her. Basically the husband being there knocked the killer’s entire plan off kilter. It probably forced him to rush the ritual of applying proof and confession to the judgment for the simple fear of being caught.”
I paused for a moment and took a quick sip of the bittersweet coffee I had set aside earlier. It had grown lukewarm and tasted even worse than it had before, but I desperately needed something for my rapidly drying throat.
“This is where the not so obvious comes into play. Something that I have witnessed through the various visions I have experienced while working this case is the fact that the killer passes judgment on the victims much as an inquisitor would have. He is even going so far as to actually quote a ‘Witch Hunting’ manual known as the Malleus Maleficarum.
“His last two quotations have been the same and are as follows—‘In accordance with the thirty-third question, in as much as you stand accused of the heresy of WitchCraft by another of your kind...’—This is what leads me to believe that he has been actively seeking to add heretics to his list.”
“What does he mean ‘thirty-third’ question?” a female detective with close-cropped blonde hair queried.
“The Malleus Maleficarum is laid out as a series of questions with applied criteria,” I explained. “An accused Witch or heretic would be put to these questions and convicted on the basis of the one that matched the closest. The thirty-third question for example is relative to the passing of sentence upon someone accused by another Witch who either has been, or is to be, burned at the stake. In this case, I would venture to guess that both Sheryl Keeven’s and Kristine Webster’s names were given to the murderer by Kendra Miller under the pain of torture. As you will note, her manner of execution was burning.”
“So how is it that you know about these questions?” another detective asked as he poured over his handouts. “I don’t see anything about that in the chain of evidence.”
“That’s part of why it’s not so obvious,” I answered him head on. “I saw it when I channeled the last moments of the victims lives.”
“Oh,” he returned. The look on his face told me that he wasn’t sure if he should challenge me or keep quiet. I still don’t know for sure why he elected to do the latter, but at that moment I could feel a large presence over my shoulder and knew that Ben was no longer leaning against his desk.
“So that explains the list,” a voice interjected into the quiet. “Do you think he’s just going right down the page, line by line?”
“That’s the theory,” I acknowledged. “He probably started by picking Brianna Walker because of her street moniker ‘Wicked Witch of the West End.’ She in turn gave him Kendra Miller’s name and probably several others for that matter. Kendra Miller gave him even more... Let me just add that he undoubtedly has the names of every Witch in their coven because when asked who else they know that’s a Witch, the obvious answer would be those they worship with. Of course, it is probably a safe bet that they gave him other names as well. I can’t say for a fact at this time how he might be picking each successive victim from his list... It obviously doesn’t appear to be alphabetical... But starting at the beginning and working forward seems as logical as any. Be that as it may, I’m willing to bet he has plenty of names to work from because of the tortures he put the first two young women through.
“I’d also like to add a personal theory, and this one is just based on a feeling. I think that he’s probably very overwhelmed by what he perceives as the sheer magnitude of an infestation of heretics. Every time he executes one, most likely two or more are added to his list. He’s probably just trying to get rid of them as quickly as possible. Therefore, he may no longer be as interested in extracting names from them as he was in the beginning. This might also account for the lessened amount of torture, and it would certainly explain the little spree last night.
“Still, because of the nature of what he is doing, he will continue to demand names, and the list will just keep getting longer.”
“So, whether he wants it to or not, the rolls keep growing, and in a sense the victims perpetuate the crimes by continuing to add names to the list,” the blonde detective stated matter-of-factly.
“Unfortunately, yes,” I agreed.
“You’re right, it would explain the change in his pattern and definitely the sudden escalation,”
Agent Mandalay remarked from behind me. “If he feels that he’s losing control, another spree could be just around the corner.”
“Great,” Detective Deckert muttered sarcastically then appealed, “Just how long is this crackpot’s list?”
“Depends on how many names the previous victims gave him. And like I said, it just keeps growing,” I offered the detail in answer. “Your guess is as good as anyone’s. There is quite a large Pagan community in Saint Louis whether you know it or not. Just using myself as an example, while I certainly don’t know every Witch in Saint Louis, I could probably name twenty-five without even thinking hard. If pressed, I might be able to give you a hundred. I’m sure Brianna, Kendra and Sheryl could have done the same.
“On that note, however, I would like to mention something else. I have made my case for the fact that this guy is after Witches or anyone he perceives to be one. As you know, last night, he deviated from that pattern when he killed Robert Webster. Now based on the facts at hand, I think we can all agree that Mister Webster was NOT on the list, especially since the Kristine Webster he was supposed to have gone after is unmarried. That would mean his death was purely unplanned, at least as far as the pattern has been established. Now unless I grossly misinterpreted the scene, I believe the killer is feeling some pretty heavy remorse over this.”
“Enough to make him stop killing?” a voice asked.
“I think so. Not for long, mind you,” I returned. “But, yes, I do feel that it might buy us a short reprieve. I would suggest we find him before he gets over it, however. I’m no psychologist, but I have a bad feeling that he is going to turn this guilt into anger and blame. When he does, I’m betting the blame will end up on the heads of Witches and Wiccans, and like Agent Mandalay said, another spree could be just around the corner. Maybe even worse than last night if he…”
Never Burn A Witch: A Rowan Gant Investigation Page 21