Sins of the Father (Bloody Marytown Book 1)

by Mansell, Lucie J.

  Olivia shrugged. ‘I can’t answer that. But I can tell you what he was trying to summon and what I think likely killed him?’

  ‘Go on,’ he urged.

  ‘I believe, going off some of the symbols that I could identify, that he summoned a demon.’ She crossed her arms protectively across her chest. ‘A real nasty one too.’

  ‘Oh…’ was about all that Parker could muster in response to that. He had never been religious, never believed in God or in heaven and therefore The Devil or in Hell. By proxy, he did not think that he had ever believed in demons. Monsters, fiends, ghosts – he believed in a lot because he had seen them with his own eyes. Anything else was a possibility. But he needed more than possibility, more than conjecture. He believed in what he could see. Little else.

  ‘I know what you’re thinking,’ Olivia stated. ‘Demons, really?’

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘We’ve been doing this shit for so long now, it still amazes me what throws you for a loop. It really does.’ She paused, smiling coyly. ‘Plus I think it’s rather cute, seeing you ruffled.’

  ‘I’m flattered,’ he replied, dryly. ‘What would make a person summon a demon?’

  ‘Greed, a personal grudge, simply being a sick fuck who messes around with shit they shouldn’t? Why do people do anything evil? There’s something wrong with them and sadly there are very dark sections of the occult that cater to every kind.’ After a long moment, she softly said, ‘I’m sorry to be the bearer of such bad news. I know how much this must mean to you.’

  ‘I just want it to be over,’ he admitted. ‘They’re good people. They don’t deserve this.’

  Olivia smiled, wryly. ‘Not what I meant.’

  ‘I’m not talking about that,’ Parker retorted. ‘Especially not with you.’

  ‘Spoilsport,’ she commented. ‘But to assuage your other statement, there are a couple of things we can do, both of them risky and the reason that I hate you this morning.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Well, I could try and break through the warding so that I can then fix the mess that your victim left behind. It’s risky because I don’t know what or who exactly warded it and going off my theory alone, it could open me up to a counterattack.’

  ‘What’s the other?’

  ‘We go right to the source of the problem,’ she said, very succinctly although she was not happy about it. ‘Summon whatever evil nasty demon that the victim did and eliminate it.’

  Parker took a deep breath and let all of the information run through his mind. If he were to believe Olivia’s theory, then what came through that summoning circle was not only bad but the worst of all the bad things he had ever even heard of. He’d brought real-life human people to justice for using magic to hurt another real-life human person. Putting unhappy, violent spirits to rest, he had seen that happen. Assisted the process, even. Olivia was right in saying that over the years he had worked at MPIA he had seen so much and done so much. Could he do this?

  Raising his eyes, he asked her, ‘So, how do you kill a demon?’

  ‘Exorcism,’ a voice spoke from the doorway, making both of their attentions shoot in that direction and the woman that was standing there, arms folded across her chest. ‘Stabbing them in the throat also works too, I guess, but that depends on what kind of demon it is.’

  ‘Martha?’

  ‘Martha,’ Olivia repeated, in a tone that was half jovial greeting, half sardonic taunting.

  ‘Last time I checked,’ the visitor said, not missing a beat. ‘I came to tell you that I’ve cleared the house because I wasn’t comfortable with my family staying there. Amanda is with Walsh and my mother is being taken care of. I have spare keys if you need access.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Parker said in response. ‘That was… sensible.’

  Olivia turned towards the door, earnestly saying, ‘Sorry, I should have suggested that.’

  Martha shrugged. ‘You didn’t know at the time.’

  An implication hung in the air, that while it was true that Olivia had been working on little information, the other woman had known to get her family somewhere safe, where there wasn’t a summoning circle that had already been used once to bring death into their lives. He couldn’t blame her actions in the cold, light of morning but he was worried about what had led her to her conclusion because even though she had changed into more casual clothing, she held herself as if she were exhausted and appeared to have injured her cheek, which was bruised and cut along the cheekbone. Resisting the urge to ask her what happened was a battle hard fought and marginally won but it could wait. Again, there were more important questions.

  Like how she knew how to kill a demon. What the hell was that about?

  Before he could ask, Martha started talking to Olivia directly, ‘I’m sure that you know by now that my sister saw the circle in one of her visions. I believe that her father took the drawings and researched it. There were books in his study that caught my eye last night but there wasn’t chance to look through them. You might find something in there that can help you narrow things down further before we try anything as drastic as exorcism.’

  ‘Thanks,’ the other women sounded genuinely surprised. ‘I’ll do that.’

  ‘Also, I don’t know if it occurred to you or not but the man who made that circle was a null, magically. He shouldn’t have been able to access magic power at all let alone conjure up enough to get something like that to work. I’m no expert so please forgive me if I’m not getting this right but doesn’t somebody of limited ability usually need some kind of focus for the power they are conjuring? I think I read that somewhere.’

  ‘You’re absolutely right.’ The pagan nodded enthusiastically. ‘They would need a charm, most likely some form of talisman or amulet, even a trinket. It wouldn’t need to be much, just something that’s been blessed by someone with real power that they can use by proxy.’

  ‘What about a necklace?’ Parker asked, staring at the board across the room.

  ‘Yeah. A necklace would suffice.’ Following his eye line, she enquired, ‘What?’

  He crossed the room to the bulletin board that held the police reports and images from the crime scene and pointed out what had caught his eye. Pointing at an image of the dead man, in his ultimate position on the driveway, he said, ‘Something like that?’

  Olivia came to stand next to him, bisecting the space between him and Martha, who was still standing by the doorway. She scrutinised the photograph before nodding, ‘Oh, that’s it.’

  ‘I’ll put a call in and see if it’s still being kept in evidence,’ Parker stated. Turning his attention to the other woman, he added, ‘I assume that you think we might need it.’

  She shrugged. ‘Not my area of expertise. I just thought I’d raise the question.’

  ‘And again, you are probably right,’ Olivia nodded. ‘I’m not sure having it will give us any clues as to what kind of demon this charming fellow actually summoned but if we can find out where it came from then maybe it’ll help me understand the magic that was used.’

  ‘During their investigation the police gathered a list of Mr. Ford’s known business associates,’ Parker suggested, crossing the room again, returning to his desk. ‘I’d say there’s a pretty good chance that he used somebody he knew to buy the necklace… amulet?’

  ‘Amulets are used predominantly for protection,’ Olivia stated, matter of fact. ‘I doubt that he had the sense to ask for protective spells, even if the practitioner who blessed it for him threw them in for free. It was used to, by proxy, give him enough magical power to create the summoning circle. If you want an appropriate name for it talisman is probably better.’

  ‘Talisman,’ he repeated. ‘It looks antique so it’s safe to assume he came by it through one of his contacts. We find out who then they might be able to tell us something more. Might even be the same person that blessed it for him.’

  ‘Anything’s possible.’

  Parker found the fil
e that he had been looking for. The list was long and extensive, a fact that equally depressed and invigorated him. While he liked it when an investigation opened up, he could see that it was going to be another long day. The moment he looked up from the list, directly into a pair of copper eyes that he knew far, far too well, he forgot any hesitancy he might have been feeling. If Martha could, with all of her personal attachments and traumatic history, put her emotions aside and focus on getting her sister the answers she sought, he could too.

  Holding out her hand, she asked, ‘May I see?’

  ‘Sure,’ he responded, handing it over though he wasn’t sure what she was going to make of the names on it. Surely her sister would be the best person to show the list to, simply for the fact that she had been there, living in the same house as the victim. She would know better than anyone who he had had recent dealings with. However Martha seemed to spot something that struck a chord because she nodded and said, ‘I know where we should start.’

  ‘Alright then,’ he conceded. ‘Olivia?’

  ‘I want to go and take another look at the summoning circle,’ the blonde pagan stated. ‘If I’m going to end up trying to crack it, I need to understand the magic better. Get the feel of it. It would be great if you can find the practitioner who blessed the talisman but if you can’t then I’m going to need every bit of information I can get before we proceed.’

  ‘Call Walsh and have him go in with you. He’s not going to want to get involved but I’m not having you work in the place alone and he’s the only other person I know who is powerful enough to counter anything mystical if something goes wrong. Tell him he can sit in the hallway if he wants to and if he has a problem with it, he can take it up with me.’

  Even though she rolled her eyes and made a small, unhappy noise, she conceded, ‘Fine,’ and then walked out of the room, departing with a fanciful, ‘Have fun, you two.’

  Once again, he felt like a pressure he had not known was there eased from his chest. It was ridiculous and because he knew that it couldn’t keep happening, he said, ‘Go ahead. Ask.’

  ‘Hmm?’ the woman who had remained in the room replied, seemingly disinterested as she continued to scan through the names on the printed off list in her hand.

  ‘Olivia.’

  ‘What?’ She raised her eyes to meet his. ‘Did I just step on her toes or something?’

  ‘No,’ he answered, perhaps a little too quickly. ‘No, she’s used to taking orders and while we do, more often work together than not, it’s not like she doesn’t prefer to do things her way.’

  ‘Then what’s the problem?’

  ‘You really don’t..?’ He shook his head, silently admonished himself for assuming that she had any recognition of, or particularly strong feelings about, the underlying tension that had made the two previous meetings feel awkward to him. With flustered resignation, he stated, ‘I guess it doesn’t matter. I just thought we might need to talk.’

  Martha shrugged, turned her eyes back down to the page in her hands. ‘We already did.’

  ‘And that’s all,’ he concluded.

  ‘That’s all,’ she agreed.

  Parker couldn’t deny that that outcome did not make him feel even remotely happy but if that was what she wanted, then that was how it would be. He wouldn’t push a conversation that she was not prepared to have and risk causing an argument. Not when they had work to do.

  He didn’t know if working alongside Martha was going to be healthy, professionally or otherwise but she seemed to have some really good insights and her instincts were as sharp as they had ever been. Besides, she seemed to have asserted herself into the investigation and he wasn’t about to tell her that she wasn’t welcome, recalling his young psychic friend’s warning that she had already displayed some pretty scary signs of anger in the past twelve hours since he had left her with her sister. Martha was determined to fix the mess that her father had left behind in the wake of his death and woe betide anybody who got in her way, Parker was not prepared to put himself in that spot. They needed all the help they could get.

  ‘So then,’ he said, getting back on track. ‘Where are we going first?’

  Chapter 21

  Parking his black, MPIA emblazoned Honda Civic in the car park that lay alongside the Art Gallery, Parker frowned. He knew that William Ford had pretty stringent ties to the art and culture industry in Marytown but did not know why they had gone there first. He did not ask however, determining that it was probably wise to simply follow Martha’s lead and see where they ended up. Her determination was admirable and she saw things in ways that he could not. He’d trust that she knew what she was doing and step in only if he felt it necessary.

  Inside the entrance foyer, they were immediately approached by a young greeter who seemed to recognise his companion and smiled warmly, saying, ‘Welcome back, Miss Ford. Your sister isn’t here today. Is this a recreational visit?’

  ‘No, I’m afraid not,’ she responded. ‘Is your curator here?’

  ‘Yes, Mr White is in today. He is in his office. I could show you up, if you like?’

  ‘Please. And it’s Valentine, by the way. Martha Valentine.’

  The greeter walked out of the room and through the next, longer exhibition hall with an enthusiastic stride that befit his apparently genuine cheerful nature. They followed him, neither of them seeming to care much about the art that surrounded them. Parker understood Martha’s disdain; it surely reminded her of the man whose death he was investigating and the horrendous childhood she had suffered at his hands. For Parker himself, he had simply never been bitten by the creative bug. Growing up he had preferred subjects that he could find logic in and preferred physical activity to creative pursuits. He could see that the things that had been collected and then displayed within this gallery were remarkable, he simply did not care much about them.

  Henry White’s office was on the second floor, up a narrow spiral staircase at the back of the main gallery which led up to a balconied walkway. The young greeter knocked on the door and then stuck his head in, announcing Martha’s presence. Parker was not as surprised as he should have been that they were immediately shown inside. The man that Martha had chosen to start her investigation with was apparently eager to see her. His smile alone when they entered the office was evidence of that. There is a certain way that a man looks at women when they find her attractive and the curator of the Marytown Art Gallery was evidently of the assumption that Martha Valentine was quite the alluring woman. Which was, of course, utterly true. Time had only made her even more beautiful, the hard years turning her from a very striking teenage girl to a woman who knew who she was and had flourished in spite of her tragedies. Parker was simply thrown that the two of them had met already. She’d only been back in Marytown for a day.

  ‘Hello again,’ the man greeted, speaking directly to her alone. ‘It’s nice of you to come by. Amanda called me last night to say that she would be taking some time off. I assume that I have you to thank for that. She certainly wouldn’t hear it from anybody else.’

  ‘Yeah, stubbornness is a family trait, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Well you can tell her from me that she can take as much time as she needs. She’s an asset to the gallery. The place wouldn’t be the same without her.’

  ‘I’m sure she’ll be happy to hear that.’ She turned slightly to acknowledge Parker, who was standing behind her, watching the interaction. ‘This is Michael Parker. He works for the Marytown Paranormal Investigation Agency. My sister asked him to take a deeper look into her father’s death and we have come across some information that might help the investigation.’

  He frowned for a long moment. ‘I thought that his death was ruled an accident.’

  ‘That’s what is being debated,’ Parker responded, taking one of the chairs that the curator indicated that he would be happy for them to take on the opposite side of his large desk.

  Martha interestingly refused to sit, instead decided to wander around t
he office, which was as large and as spacious as Peter Maxwell, the director at MPIA’s, but thrice as cluttered. Bookcases that had been crammed with ancient tomes, antiques and artworks filled every inch of wall with the exception of the space behind the man’s desk where an old painting of Marytown hung, showing the town from an aerial view before it was modernised.

  ‘How well did you know William Ford?’ Parker asked as the man took his own chair.

  ‘We ran in the same circles.’

  ‘You were friends?’

  ‘More like acquaintances,’ he elaborated. Parker noticed that his eyes seemed to be following Martha around the room. ‘I only met him a handful of times, at events that were held here at the gallery. He came to a showing of some of Amanda’s earliest work that she did with us and seemed to be very proud of her.’

  ‘Did you ever do business with him?’

  ‘I bought some things from him once.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Antiques.’

  He pushed, ‘What kind of antiques?’

  The curator responded, ‘The old kind.’

  Parker wondered why the man was answering with such clipped responses. In his pretty extensive experience, people only tended to keep information simple when they had something to hide and he wasn’t sure if that was what was happening or if it was that the man was still so very distracted by the other person in the room, who was just as distracted by his books.

  Trying to keep his annoyance under wraps, Parker persisted, ‘We believe that Mr. Ford acquired an amulet before he died.’ He took a close-up picture of the antique in question from the file in his hand and put it on the desk in front of the man, a little more heavy-handed than perhaps necessary but it finally got his attention. ‘Do you recognise it?’

  ‘No,’ the man stated, staring down at it. ‘I’ve never seen that before.’

  ‘Do you have any idea where Mr Ford might have acquired it?’

  ‘It’s strange. I can’t even date it.’ The man stared down at the image for a bit longer in a way that reminded Parker of how Olivia had scrutinised the summoning circle on Mr. Ford’s floor. More than interest, it showed passion for their subject. As fascinating as he had found the beautiful woman in his office, Henry White definitely liked old, pretty things more.