by Jon F. Merz
He paused and took another sip of his coffee. “That being said, the two are vastly different languages. Akkadian adopted Sumerian cuneiform and pretty much made it into something else.”
“Like what?” I asked.
Newby shrugged. “Think of it this way: Sumerian is what we might call an agglutinative language. That just means that phonetically unchanging words and particles get joined together to create sentences with basic or complex meanings.” He pointed his coffee mug at me. “Now the Akkadians? They took that concept and then complicated things considerably. It’s ‘inflectional,’ meaning they started playing around with this concept of roots that could be modified in any number of ways to change them into related words with all sorts of different meanings. A specific example would be the triconsonantal root, which is the basis for Semitic languages. Three consonants that represent the most basic yet abstract form of the word. To these they would add vowels between the consonants, append prefixes and suffixes and stuff like that. At the root, you have three consonants, but once you start adding shit, you get hundred of thousands of possibilities, all of them with different meanings. It’s really the fascinating start of civilization becoming more adept at expression. Fascinating stuff.”
“I’m sure it is,” said Letourneau. “But we’re mostly interested in being able to understand what these symbols mean. Can you help with that?”
Newby sighed. “Just trying to educate your ass, dude. But while it’s not all entirely clear, let me see what I can do here.” He turned back to the screen and moved closer to it, running his finger along certain sections as if tracing the sigils he saw.
“This right here that looks like a weird cross with inverted arrows is the phonetic symbol which relates to the syllable ‘an.’ The problem is determining exactly what it could mean in this context. In some logograms it would be followed with other symbols that could mean anything from ‘powerful,’ to ‘heaven,’ or even the name of a god itself.”
“Which god?” I asked.
Newby chuckled. “Yeah, well that would be a big problem looking at these pictures. There’s not much here. It’s almost as if everything was written out and then washed over in blood to obscure it. But bear in mind the Akkadians had a polytheistic society with something on the order of 2,100 different gods they worshipped. Trying to figure out exactly which one this refers to would be a monstrous problem.” He eyed Letourneau. “I don’t suppose you have access to the scene still, do you?”
“For another 24 hours, maybe,” said Letourneau. “As you can imagine, the developers want to get in their and get the joint repainted.”
“Can you get me in there?” asked Newby.
“Sure. Why, though? I took pictures of everything.”
“There’s a chance,” said Newby, “that I can take some of the blood off and maybe see what’s written underneath the smears. It would be important to help prove what this might be.”“And what do you think it is?” I asked.
Newby looked at me. “If I had to guess based on what I see here? It’s an invocation. A spell.”
“For what?” asked Letourneau.
“For the summoning of a demon.”
23
Letourneau laughed. “Give me a break, would ya?”
Newby stood there staring at him first and then looked at me. I hadn’t said anything. God knows, I’d seen enough shit like this in my past and I forgot to momentarily pretend that I was as surprised at that pronouncement as Letourneau was.
“What about you, Lawson? You a non-believer, too?”
I tried to smirk it off, but the truth was, I hadn’t been fast enough, so rather than try to lie, I only shrugged. “I don’t know where I fall with that stuff.”
“You didn’t dismiss it out of hand.”
“No,” I said. “I’ve been around some pretty crazy crap in my time.”
Newby nodded and then pointed at me while he looked at Letourneau. “Hang around with this guy. You might actually learn some shit.”
“He’s a spy for crying out loud,” said Letourneau. “Of course he believes in demons. He works with them on a daily basis.”
I smiled. “Interesting perspective you have on intelligence gathering. I’m almost afraid to ask how you developed that one.”
“I’ve known your type before. You guys are basically the devil incarnate when it comes to getting any help out of you. Well, not you, but those like you. I needed some help one time before and I got screwed for my time and effort. Needless to say, I’m not exactly a huge fan of your brothers and sisters.”
“I’m surprised you’re working with me then,” I said.
“Are we working together? As far as I can tell, we’re just keeping each other informed of what we happen to find out as it relates to a certain case we both appear to be working on. Nothing formal, just two guys trying to find out who the sick pup is that likes to go around killing guys and using their organs to…well, summon demons apparently.”
Newby sighed. “Look, I need to get my ass over to that crime scene and check it out. That is, if you guys want me to do my best to decipher everything that I can.”
“The sigils would be covered in blood,” I said. “How are you going to uncover them?”
“If they were written and then dried before more blood was applied over them to mask them, then maybe there’s a chance I can dissolve some of it to reveal what was underneath. It’s the same sort of technique that they use when they find a painting over another painting. There’s no guarantee that it will work, but I’d rather try and fail than just stay here and give my best guess to you. Especially if it helps save another life.”
“You’re serious about that demon shit?” asked Letourneau. “I mean, I thought you were just fucking around with us.”
Newby shook his head. “You ought to know I don’t joke when it comes to my work. And yes, I was serious. Demonology is a very real thing. I don’t know if I would go so far as to suggest that they could be whipped up to appear just anywhere, but demonology itself is as old as human civilization. Perhaps even older than that. It appears in every culture in every time in every belief system. And if you have a killer who is well-versed in such old languages as we can see here, then I’d be willing to bet they have some pretty arcane know-how. The existence of such know-how is a bit scary, I’m not gonna lie. I don’t like the idea that people think they can summon a demon at will, because who knows? Maybe they can.”
Letourneau looked at me. “There goes my restful night of sleep. I’m gonna need to keep the lights on, for sure.”
“Your wife will love that,” I said. “You going to tell her why you need the night light?”
“Sure. Demons. How could that not possibly be acceptable?” Letourneau eyed Newby. “We can take my car and drive over. It’s across the river and down by the World Trade Center.”
“I’ll need a few minutes to gather my gear,” said Newby. “I’ll meet you outside.”
Letourneau nodded to me and we walked out of the office. As we did so, Newby started singing again and it gave a stark juxtapose to the fact that we were talking about summoning demons on one hand and listening to some well-sung R&B on the other.
“My life has gotten way too weird lately,” said Letourneau as he punched the elevator button.
We stepped inside the elevator and waited for the doors to close before he turned to me. “Were you serious back there?”
“About what?”
“About the demons, dude. I mean, Newby is brilliant at what he does, but are you really ready to embrace the idea that this killer is actually performing some type of ancient magic ritual as cause for the killings?”
“You have a better theory?”
“Yeah,” said Letourneau. “She’s bat shit crazy and thinks that she’s doing magic when, in fact, nothing is happening which results in her feeling like she’s doing something wrong and therefore needs to keep killing. Otherwise, if she was doing it right and something actually did happen, why keep
on doing it?”
“Maybe you’re only looking at it from one perspective: that of needing a spell to achieve a single objective. But what if it’s something else? What if the ritual is designed to work to produce a continuing series of events?”
Letourneau sighed. “I never thought I’d be having a discussion at MIT in an elevator with a spy about demons. I mean, I just crossed off a whole shitload of stuff from my bucket list, you know?”
“Yeah, great. Do me a favor and keep your voice down about the spy stuff, would you? I don’t need that fact advertised.”
“Sorry. It’s just I think it’s cool what you do, is all.”
“It’s not all it’s cracked up to be,” I said. “By and large it’s just the accumulation of information from people who feel comfortable selling out their secrets or country for a variety of incentives ranging from sexual favors to money and drugs.”
“You must see the best of humanity.”
I sniffed. “Probably about the same caliber as you do.”
The doors slid back and we walked out into the lobby. I wanted to bounce Newby’s ideas off of Wirek as soon as possible, but I couldn’t just bolt at the moment. And part of me wanted to hang around and see if Newby was going to be successful with his attempts to get under the layers of blood and reveal the remainder of the sigils or whatever they were.
Outside of the building, the sun had turned the cold morning into a crisp afternoon with bright sunny skies that reflected off the Charles River across the street. In a few months, the water would be filled with boats as people emerged from the hibernation and once again reclaimed the outdoors.
“We can ride over in my car,” said Letourneau. “I don’t mind giving you a lift back here when we’re done. I’d have to drop Newby off anyway.”
“Sounds good,” I said. “You think Cambridge PD will ticket me if I keep it parked here?”
“It just so happens I have an official police business placard you can slip on your dashboard that should be enough to keep them from writing you up.” Letourneau reached his car first and rifled through his glove box until he came up with it and gave it to me.
“Thanks.” I walked over to my car and opened the passenger side door, leaned in, and slid the placard over on the driver’s side. It didn’t really matter if they did ticket me, the Council would pay for it. But I had to keep up appearances.
I saw Newby emerge from the building carrying two bags that gave him the appearance of being on his way to hockey practice. Letourneau and I walked over to help him with them.
“What the hell are you carrying in here, anyway?” he asked as he opened up his trunk and slid his bag inside.
“Whatever it is,” I said, “it weighs a bit more than I expected.”
“I thought I might need a ladder,” said Newby. “So I brought one that folds up and can extend to make sure I can reach the ceiling if I need to. The other implements are a variety of tools, cleansers, and brushes for carefully removing the various layers. I have to be careful I don’t put too much solvent on the first layer or it will completely corrupt the underlying symbols resulting in a big failure for us all. And we definitely wouldn’t want that.”
I put Newby’s bag into the car and looked at him. “All of this just to see if the killer is really summoning a demon. Amazing.”
“Well, as I said before downstairs, the languages are difficult to fully fathom without being able to see the entire portion of it. There could be symbols on either side that lend a different meaning to what I thought. Still, the meaning won’t be that far away from the root of the word. Either way, it’s going to prove quite fascinating to see what we can accomplish. Plus, lunch is on me.”
“I like the sound of that,” said Letourneau. “I always operate better on a full stomach.”
“Let’s get going,” said Newby. “There’s a place down by the waterfront I’ve been dying to try. I’ve heard some good things about their kalbi.”
“What the hell is kalbi?” asked Letourneau.
“Korean short ribs,” I said. “If they’re done right, the meat falls off of the bone.”
Newby grinned. “Yeah, you right. A man who knows his food. Dig it.”
In retrospect, I heard the rev of the car engine before I realized I did. It sounded out of place with the normal rhythm of our environment. And Letourneau heard it too, with both of us acting on our instincts before Newby even knew what was happening.
We tackled him to the ground as the first gunshots rang out. Automatic fire plastered Letourneau’s car, shattering the windows and riddling the chassis with a ton of lead as the car streaked by.
It was over in mere seconds, but as we rolled onto the grass, listening to the rounds make an awful racket as they impacted the car, my only thought was to come up with my gun out, ready to return fire. But I couldn’t just stand up since that would make me a huge target if the gunner was still aiming at us.
Letourneau got the first shots off as he immediately crawled between the car and mine and poked the barrel of his gun around and started firing. I came up in a semi-crouch and tried putting a few rounds into the driver’s side in the hopes of killing whoever was behind the wheel. But the car was already further down Memorial Drive. It swerved as our return fire tried to find its mark, already gaining distance to put it out of range of our bullets.
I lowered my gun and in my peripheral vision saw Letourneau do the same. He looked at me. “What the fuck was that about?”
“Not sure.” I shook my head. “But, I don’t think it was a demon.”
He stopped and then cracked a grin. “Jesus Christ…”
We gathered Newby up off the grass and checked him over for any injuries. It was a miracle none of us had taken rounds. Our cars were a lot less fortunate. Letourneau’s looked like Swiss cheese and mine had a number of holes punched into it. My tires were also completely shot out.
“Wonderful,” said Letourneau. “There goes my perfect record with the car pool.”
Newby whistled. “Damn…looks like we’re going to need to take my car, huh?”
24
It felt weird returning to the Luxe to see the crime scene. I didn’t see the sales rep anywhere as Letourneau guided us in past the security guard and up to the floor where the ritual had taken place. Newby hummed another song to himself over and over again and I couldn’t tell if it was a new one he was working on or not, but it had a pretty good melody.
At the door, bright yellow police tape had been festooned across the door jamb. I was sure the developers must have been shitting themselves at the thought of this tape being so prominently displayed in one of their luxury high rise buildings.
Letourneau pulled it off the door jamb and looked at us. “I’m wondering why no one has even really brought up the fact that we were all almost gunned down back at MIT.”
Newby shrugged. “That’s police shit. Figured you guys would take care of it.”
“You have any students who want to see you dead?”
Newby looked at him like he had three heads. “Are you kidding me? My students love me, bro. What’s not to love? Look at me.”
Letourneau smirked and glanced at me. “I was hoping he might have a jilted lover or something. Looks like we’re doing something to stir up a hornets nest.”
“You know the Cambridge cop who took our statements?”
Letourneau nodded. “Yeah, we’ve worked together enough. He’ll check the surveillance camera footage and see if he can get a plate.”
I shook my head. “Car was moving too fast and it was in the furthest lane. I don’t think the cameras would see it. The shooter was the driver, after all. Not someone riding shotgun.”
“I know,” said Letourneau. “But I gotta give those guys something to do otherwise, they’ll start asking too many questions. And we needed to get here so Newby can get his work done.”
We stepped inside and there was still a light scent of blood on the air. I don’t know if Letourneau and Newby could
smell it, but I did. My mouth watered slightly even though it was old.
Newby set his bags and gear down and surveyed the scene. “Wow.”
“You’ve been to crime scenes before, right?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Not really. I mean, it’s not like this is awful. There are no bodies here, nothing too gruesome. But I can imagine what it must have been like when this was going down.” He shook his head. “It’s a lot of blood, huh?”
“Yes,” said Letourneau. “Tell us what you need us to do.”
Newby wandered around, looking at the walls as he pulled on latex gloves. He ran his hand over certain sections of the bloodied walls and glanced around from time to time. I had no idea what he was doing. I glanced at Letourneau who merely shrugged.
“I’m looking for a starting point,” said Newby. “In a ritual like this where there is writing on the walls, there will be a place where they begin. It’s not simply tossed up haphazardly. There’s always a method to it. If I can find that. Or the end point, for that matter. Then I will be able to either start properly or simply work my way back and unravel it.”
I walked the apartment and thought about the volume of blood that the killer must have had to produce the sort of coverage that seemed to be here. We had figured that the majority of blood had been spilled at the sites of the murders themselves. And yet, to this point, I hadn’t considered that she may have had some means of containing it and bringing it with her. Looking at the walls now, it was clear that any residual blood in the organs would not have produced the volume necessary to coat the walls as they were.