by Unknown
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
Venemeer’s bookstore was called Books for the Spirit. The shop was bright and lined with windows that faced the street. Bookshelves littered the center and were only about five feet high. The bookshelves along the walls went from floor to ceiling. Each area of the shop was designated by a section: Reincarnation, Astronomy, Spirits & Ghosts, The Afterlife. There was even a children’s section in the back, with age-appropriate spiritual books for kids.
Astrology had an entire bookshelf dedicated to it.
Avery picked up a book. The basics were easy to follow. The zodiac represented twelve constellations that lay across the sky. At the moment of birth, each of the planets in the sky, as well as the sun, occupied a certain position, and from those basic positions came the astrological signs. Her sign, she learned, Taurus, meant that the constellation of Taurus was behind the sun when she was born, which was why she was called a Taurus.
She gave a quick skim to every sign in the book.
At Gemini, Avery stopped. The symbol for Gemini looked like the Greek numeral for the number two, but the image depicted was either two women back-to-back, or the mirror image of one woman with a star in between them.
Avery felt hot.
Planets, she thought. Cycles. The killer meant to leave a clue: the sign of Gemini. Why did he leave that sign? Was Venemeer a Gemini? Is it because Gemini depicts a woman? Did she die on some type of Gemini day? Find out, Avery told herself.
Everything in the room became clearer, sharper. She scanned the four people in attendance and the clerk on duty before she returned to the book.
She looked at every other sign. Besides Gemini, only two other women appeared as symbols. Aquarius showed a woman with a jug of water. Water, she thought. The second victim was found in the water. The sign of Virgo depicted a woman with flowers in her hair. Avery discarded it. There were no flowers at the scene. No wheat or charm bracelet could be found in the images.
She perused one more book to confirm her theory. Sure enough, the Gemini symbol was the same; the others were similar to the first book.
Avery was angry and agitated.
Why did it take days to figure this out? she fought. If I’d been on the case from the start, I would have made this connection earlier. I would have come to this bookstore on my own and talked to these people. Another death might have been avoided.
Everyone in the store became a suspect.
The man behind the cash register was in his mid-thirties: black shaggy hair, dark circles under his eyes, and dressed like he was about to sleep in a garbage can rather than engage with customers. Hunched over and suspicious-looking. Avery’s instincts told her he was no good. On drugs, she thought from his bloodshot eyes, and keeping secrets.
What else did the A7 miss? she continued to wonder. What else?
“Can I help you with something?” the clerk asked.
Avery flashed her badge.
“Detective Black,” she said. “I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
He rolled his eyes.
“If this is about Henrietta,” he complained, “I already spoke to the police.”
“I’m the lead investigator on the case,” she replied. “You’ve never spoken to me. How long have you worked here?”
“I’m new,” he lamented, completely bored. “Listen, I didn’t really like Henrietta? I’m sad she’s gone and all. We’re not really sure what to do around here, but the manager, Martha Singleton? She’s still at lunch. Maybe you’d like to wait for her.”
He kept looking away, like he expected someone else to appear. Sweat began to form on his brow. He shifted his stance.
“What’s your name?” Avery asked.
“Rick Bergen. I told you I’m new. I don’t know anything.”
“How long have you been here, Rick?”
“About four months.”
“Are you nervous? You look a little nervous.”
An angry glare met her gaze.
“Cops make me nervous,” he said.
Sweat appeared under his armpits, on his neck. His face seemed to cry in sweat.
“Are you all right?” Avery asked.
Rick snapped.
“I’ve got hyperhidrosis, all right!? I sweat a lot. It’s a thing. I take medication but it’s obviously not working. Is that what you wanted to hear? You wanna embarrass me? Fuck you, lady! I have rights too. How many cops are going to come in here and interrogate me? I haven’t done anything wrong, all right?”
People were staring.
“Don’t fucking look at me!” he demanded. “I’m going to file charges. I swear it. This is police brutality. I don’t have to take this any longer!”
“Calm down, Rick,” Avery whispered.
“You’re making me nervous!”
“What do you have to be nervous about?”
He bit his nail and looked away.
“What size shoe do you wear?” Avery asked.
“My shoes? Why?”
“Just curious.”
“Eleven. Is this a test or something? Are you going to tell me I’m an asshole because I wear size eleven shoes? I can’t take this anymore!”
“All right, I’m back now. Everything’s all right,” someone said in a soothing voice.
A very tall woman with graying hair dyed black stood beside Avery. She was older, possibly the same age as Venemeer, with immaculate jewelry and wearing a knee-length yellow dress with colored circles. Avery had seen her picture in Venemeer’s apartment.
“It’s too much,” Rick yelled. “I swear it!”
“I know, Rick. I know. This has been hard on everyone. Please, just calm down and I’ll get to the bottom of this. Can I help you with something?” she asked Avery.
“My name is Detective Black,” Avery said. “I’d like to ask some questions about Henrietta Venemeer. I know I’m not the first officer to come by, but I should be the last.”
“That’s fine, that’s fine,” she said. “Can we sit over there somewhere?”
“What’s your name?”
“I’m Martha Singleton, the manager of the shop. Henrietta was a very dear friend of mine. I still don’t quite believe it.”
Avery glanced at Rick. He seemed to have calmed down. Although his face was red, the sweat was drying. He looked anywhere but at Avery. The people in the shop had already forgotten the incident and were back to reading.
Avery made a mental note to run Rick Bergen through the system, even though she was sure that Simms or Ramirez had already done it.
Martha led her to the children’s section. She sat on a small couch and instructed Avery to sit on the windowsill so they could face each other.
“Don’t mind Rick,” she said. “He’s very superstitious, and the police have been all over him about this terrible thing that’s happened. He’s not a criminal,” she said and leaned forward to cup one side of her mouth. “It’s just the pot. He smokes a lot of pot, you see. I think he’s afraid the cops are going to bust him.”
“I’m not interested in drug abuse,” Avery said. “I’m looking for a killer.”
Martha nodded with deep empathy.
“Well, I don’t think Rick is a killer. He can barely keep the books straight.”
“I notice you have a lot of astrology books here,” Avery said. “Henrietta didn’t have any in her home, at least none that I noticed. Any idea why?”
“Oh yes,” Martha said. “She was over astrology. Henrietta went through phases, you see. This week might be doggie ghosts. Next week might be crystals. Astrology did not serve her well with her last boyfriend, so she refused to keep any in the house. We would have gotten rid of them in the shop but they’re such big sellers.”
“I believe you spoke with my partner. Daniel Ramirez?”
She thought for a moment.
“Oh yes,” she said. “A very handsome gentleman.”
“You mentioned there were a lot of people in her life that were strange or suspect in some wa
y. Can you explain?”
“Well,” she admitted, “Henrietta didn’t have the greatest sense of self. She wasn’t very confident, if you know what I mean? So anyone could express interest in her, or in the shop, and if they seemed halfway decent she allowed them into her life.”
“Do you think any of them would have wanted to murder her?” Avery asked.
“No. I don’t personally think the people I mentioned could commit murder. They were just odd, or overly aggressive at times.”
“Like John Deluca.”
“Yes.” She brightened. “Like John. He’s a perfect example. A very nice boy but strange, a little off somehow and he gets very angry.”
“Did you mention that to my partner?”
Martha became very focused in that moment.
“No,” she said, “and I regret that now. John Deluca wouldn’t have committed murder. I’m not sure any of them would have. You see, I read a lot of detective novels. I know they’re just novels,” she said at Avery’s smile, “but I consider myself a very good judge of people. I’ve been through some rough times in my life, and I think when you meet people that could commit a horrendous crime like murder, or rape,” she emphasized with a slight stare and pause, “you realize there’s something about them. It’s not money or clothing or anything like that. It’s something else. Something feels off. I’ve given this a lot of thought since I spoke with those other officers, and I realized something: Henrietta didn’t always own this store. We’ve only been here for just over two years. She worked at a bookstore for a long time, an occult bookstore in South Boston. There was someone at the store that was always bothering her. I can’t remember his name, but the store owner might. He’s been there forever. His name is Mark Guzman. The shop is called Eye of Horus Bookstore. He might be able to help you more than I can.”
“One more question,” Avery said. “Do you happen to know Henrietta’s sign? Her birth sign according to astrology?”
“Why yes,” Martha said, “she was a Gemini.”
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
Avery tried to keep her excitement in check as she left the bookstore. She had just made a startling connection between the killer and his first victim: Henrietta Venemeer was a Gemini, and she’d been left to look like the sign of Gemini on a boat. But that was all Avery had. As gratifying as it was to know, she had no idea why.
Is he killing women for their astrological signs? she wondered. What if he doesn’t know them at all? What if it’s just about their signs? No, she thought. That’s not possible. He must be familiar with them somehow.
Puzzle pieces with no form made her agitated and eager to act.
The Eye of Horus Bookstore was nearly impossible to find, a dark hole-in-the wall shop down a flight of stairs, stuffed between two large corporate buildings. On the way there, Avery had researched the owner, Mark Guzman. No record was on file.
After she parked, she made one more call to Ramirez.
The cop inside of her, the lead detective that expected her partner to be there whenever she needed, was upset that Ramirez hadn’t called her back, but a part of her realized it was more than that. He has a crush on you. He saved your life and he’s been hitting on you since the day you met and finally you returned his advances and then you gave him the cold shoulder. Too bad! she mentally snapped. Regardless of whatever personal issues we may be going through, he’s still my partner; he has to pick up.
Ramirez answered on the third ring. The typical enthusiasm and childish glee was gone from his voice, replaced with a distant monotone.
“What’s up?” he said.
“What do you mean ‘what’s up’?” she replied. “I’ve been calling you all day. Where have you been? We’ve got a lead.”
“Yeah, I got your message.”
“It’s astrology,” Avery continued. “The killer was trying to leave a message at the first body. The victim was placed that way like the sign of Gemini. The second victim might represent Aquarius. If she was a victim of our killer. One of Venemeer’s friends gave me a lead. I’m out front at the Eye of Horus Bookstore, downtown. Can you get over here? I need my partner.”
That last part hooked him in.
“I’ll be there in a few.” He sighed.
“What’s wrong?” she demanded.
Silence for a moment.
“We’ll talk soon,” he said and hung up.
First Jack and now this, Avery thought. That’s all I need. Another talk.
The bell jingled at the front door of the shop.
Inside, the bookstore was dark and tiny and cramped. There was barely enough room to walk down a single aisle. Rows of bookshelves branched off every ten feet on either side of the main pathway. Everywhere she looked, books were piled high. None of the titles appeared recent. They were old, mostly hardcover. One of the bindings read Death Spells. Avery ran her hand along another: Witches’ Brews. As soon as she entered, the man behind a counter casually glanced up. He sat on a high stool behind a glass case filled with amulets and precious stones and all kinds of labeled bottles. Older, with graying hair on the sides, he wore reading glasses that slid down his face. A hawklike gaze penetrated Avery. A book was in his hands, and at the sight of her, he slapped it closed and leaned forward.
“Let me guess,” he said. “You’re a cop.”
“How do you know?”
“The look of you.” He frowned. “The cut of your clothes. Weren’t always a cop though, were you? Probably someone of high standing. Maybe a bank manager, or a lawyer. Yeah, that’s it.” He snapped his fingers. “You were a lawyer.”
“You’re either psychic,” she said, “or you read a lot of papers.”
He threw out a limp wrist.
“I don’t read any papers,” he said. “What for? Same shit every day. Someone dies. Someone gets screwed. You want to know the real stories?” he asked. “All you have to do is look. You look at someone, gaze into their soul, see who they really are.”
“Who am I?” Avery asked. “Really?”
He shrugged and appeared to lose interest.
“Everyone’s different,” he said. “And no one wants to hear the truth. They all want happy answers to make them feel good.”
“I want the truth,” she said.
“You?” he noted. “You look desperate, and lonely. Probably out on a case, no leads, and you showed up here because you’ve got nowhere else to go. How’s that?”
Avery had to give him credit.
“Not bad,” she said and flashed her badge. “Avery Black. Homicide detective.”
A smile showed he was missing two teeth.
“I’m always right,” he said. “It’s a gift and a curse. What can I do for you?”
“Are you Mark Guzman, owner of this shop?”
“I am indeed the proprietor of this fine establishment,” he said with a bow of his head.
“How long have you been here?”
“Almost twenty years, if you can believe that. Was here long before those two buildings crushed us like a sandwich. Construction was a nightmare when they went up. I thought it would be the death of me.”
“Exactly what kind of shop is this?” Avery asked.
“You know,” he said, “typical occult fare: voodoo, witchcraft, magic, black magic, devil worship, mysticism.”
She glanced around.
“People really buy this stuff?”
“Oh yeah,” he said. “Lots of people. Not here, though. Most of them don’t come to the shop anymore. Ever since the Internet exploded, we have a great online business. People from all over the world find titles here. Rare books, translated texts, you name it.”
A person appeared in the back. He was young, dark hair, wearing jeans and an AC/DC T-shirt. He glanced at Avery for a second. Surprise registered on his face and he quickly disappeared among one of the many stacks of books.
“Who was that?” Avery asked.
“Who?”
“That kid in the back.”
“
Oh, that’s Dennis,” he said. “Don’t mind him. He’s harmless. Comes in twice, three times a week to help me tidy up and keep the titles in order.”
Something about him felt off to Avery.
“How long has he been working here?”
“About three months? Why?”
“He looked nervous.”
“I bet,” Guzman laughed. “A college kid at the tail end of puberty stuck in the stacks all day? Who knows what he does back there. Forget that. I don’t want to know.”
“I’m here because someone that used to work in your shop was recently killed. I was told you might be able to help. The victim’s name was Henrietta Venemeer.”
A hint of sadness crossed his face.
“Venemeer, huh?” he mumbled. “Too bad. Really, too bad. We weren’t friends. I’ll be honest. But it’s sad to see anyone go. The older you get, the more you realize life is about those connections you make. Once they’re gone, what do you really have?”
“How long did she work here?”
“About four, five years?”
“But you weren’t friends?”
“No, not at all,” he easily stated. “Henrietta could be a real jerk, if you want to know the truth of it. Very bossy. Always had to be her way. The reason I kept her around was because she was the best bookkeeper I ever met. Amazing with the accounts. She majored in business, I think, but she loved books. Worked at a publishing house for a while, decided she wanted something a bit more family-oriented. Savages over there in publishing. Everything is about formula. Here,” he signaled to the shop, “it’s all about the books.”
“Did she ever have problems with anyone?”
“Problems? Henrietta? She had problems with everyone.” He laughed. “Sorry.” He quickly recovered. “That’s not funny. We need to have respect for the dead. Sorry, Henrietta,” he said to the sky. “But it’s true,” he added to Avery. “She rubbed people the wrong way. It was never about the customer, it was always about the books. For example, someone would come in but they wouldn’t know anything about the title they wanted because it was a gift. Well, right then and there, Henrietta wrote them off. They weren’t book people, she’d think.”