“No. I don’t run a book club here.”
“How about anyone who gave you pause? Maybe a client who told you about wanting to kill or hurt women?” Navarro asked.
“No, nothing like that. Most of my business, I do blessings for love and financial success. I also do house cleansings and revenge spells sometimes, too. There’s nothing wrong with wanting payback from the people who’ve done you wrong, as long as the revenge isn’t greater than what the person suffered. That way, the energy is clean. I supply what the customer needs, incense, candles, mojo bags, voodoo dolls, and herbs, depending on the situation. No one ever came here about wanting to kill no one. If they did, I boot their bottom to the street.”
“You keep records, Roseline?” Navarro asked.
“I’m a successful businesswoman. Of course. But I’m not going to turn them over to you.”
“Like I said, I’m not trying to jam you up. But I need you to write down a list of all the men who came to your store recently and anyone who hired you for a revenge curse or mentioned that love goddess.”
“Erzulie. Okay, I’ll do it, as long as it doesn’t hurt my business. You know a little about voodoo, Detective Navarro?”
“Honestly, no, just what I’ve been able to find out in the last few days. I grew up Catholic. You’re the expert.”
“Since you’re a nice boy, I give you a crash course. Erzulie you talk about, she’s a goddess, a loa. You find her in Haitian and New Orleans voodoo. There’s some overlap there. New Orleans, it’s intertwined with Catholicism heavy. You a good Catholic. I can tell,” Roseline said. “I see an image of the Virgin Mary prayer card and a pretty, dark-haired woman standing next to you. That lady, she passed. Her prayers been keeping you safe when you had no business being so. You’d be long dead if it weren’t for her.”
Navarro kept an even stare back at Roseline, but he rubbed his index finger over one eyebrow, a subliminal habit Julia knew Navarro did when he was uncomfortable or taken by surprise.
“In voodoo, people believe in one God and the search for a better understanding of the spiritual aspects of life. People who practice voodoo believe God is first, followed by the spirits that oversee everything on the earth. Ancestors play a heavy role, too. They’re called on for wisdom and protection. The stuff you see in the movies about devil worship, zombies, or human sacrifice, that’s not voodoo. That’s Hollywood, baby. Voodoo pure and spiritual. People capitalize on it though, and that’s wrong. Most of the voodoo dolls you can buy, they’re not real. They made in China.”
“Those books you keep of your clients, I need a copy for my eyes only. Men and women. Can you do that? Unless you’re hiding something, you won’t be in trouble, I promise,” Navarro said, and flashed Roseline a smile.
“You ask small first and then you slip in a bigger request. I see how you work. I bet that dimple in your left cheek helps you get your way every time.”
In the corner of her eye, Julia saw Prejean give a discreet eye roll.
“Sure, honey. I do that for you. I can tell you a good man, but good men sometimes do wrong things. Don’t screw me, chéri. You wouldn’t want me to be mad at you. Now come on. I told you what I can from the physical world, but let me see what I can find out from the spiritual.”
“That’s not necessary,” Julia said, but Roseline was already making a beeline to the rear of the apartment.
“Don’t worry,” Roseline said without turning around. “I don’t plan on sacrificing any goats.”
“I’m not a fan of this,” Julia whispered to Navarro and Prejean. “If she wants to talk about the case, fine. We’ll see if there’s something there. But if she starts talking about anything personal, I’m going to shut it down.”
“She’s not going to read your palm, if that’s what you’re worried about. There’s nothing to be afraid of,” Prejean said. “I can’t tell if she’s legit yet. We’re either going to get a big show from a bullshit artist, or just maybe, and I’m not betting on it, she’ll have something that can help the case. How about you, Detective? Are you spooked?”
“No. Sometimes you work a case and it leads you into some weird territory,” Navarro said, and turned his attention on Julia. “I know you don’t like this type of thing. If Roseline says anything personal that makes you feel uncomfortable, I’ll be right here.”
“Okay, Dudley Do-Right and Chicken Little, let’s go,” Prejean said. He gave a big wink to Navarro and Julia, and the trio followed Roseline’s path through a doorway that was covered with a bamboo-string makeshift curtain that thrummed with a light rattle as they passed.
Inside, Roseline sat in the middle of a round table with a row of seven lit black candles lined up in front of her.
Julia did a quick pan of the room that was unlike the other parts of the apartment she had seen. A heavy black curtain hung across the window, and one wall was filled with jars and vials of what looked like an assortment of oils and herbs, necklaces and voodoo dolls. In the corner was a lit shrine with prayer cards to the Virgin Mary and St. Peter.
“This is a place of peace and spiritual enlightenment,” Roseline said. “There is nothing to fear here. I ask the help of our ancestors and spirits to bring clarity to me as an earthly conduit.”
Roseline leaned down, blew out the first candle, and closed her eyes. She began to hum in a low, guttural tone and rocked back and forth in her chair until her eyes slowly opened.
“Mmm, mmm, mmm. Your killer, he spent some time down South. I see swampland. It’s the bayou. There’s a body of a girl in white who’s floating down there. Her eyes wide open and she’s looking straight at me. Poor baby. She was his first kill. She been dead a long time and wants to be found. College girl.”
Roseline shivered. She did the sign of the cross, blew out a second candle, and closed her eyes again. She then continued on, with what appeared to be her ritual, rocking back and forth and humming, until she opened her eyes and this time looked straight at Julia.
“I see five blue dresses. They laid out all in a row. I’m told these represent the victims he’s already killed or picked out. Two down, three to go. That’s what I hear. Two got a chance to be saved. One, I already see, her body in a trunk. She close to death.”
“Do you know their names?” Julia asked.
“It don’t work like that. No questions. I need to concentrate,” Roseline said. “The last three victims, I see a raven, a spider, and a little boy. The last one, that child, protecting you something fierce.”
“Hold on. Who’s the ‘you’ you’re talking about here?” Navarro asked.
“The lady right there,” Roseline said, and pointed her finger at Julia. “The killer, he wants things from you, Julia. A lot of things.”
“What’s his motive? Are we talking sex?” Prejean asked.
“No, that’s not what motivates this boy. He wants Julia to make him famous. But he likes her, too. A whole lot. He thinks you two are the same, but he wrong. I can see that. That boy who’s protecting you, the killer knows about him. He feelin’ like some kind of reaction you had to the boy make you just like him.”
Navarro reached over to Julia and rested his hand on the small of her back, sensing her discomfort.
“Ah. I see now. Reporter and cop. You two together. There’s a deep connection between the two of you. You’re soul mates.”
Roseline closed her eyes and blew out another candle.
“I see your pasts. You two been doing this dance together through many, many lives. This one, you finally getting close to perfecting it. You broke up when you were younger, went your separate ways, right?”
“We’re here to talk about the case. Our personal stories aren’t important,” Navarro said.
“That’s where you’re wrong. It’s all connected. The past, the present, the future. One tiny little step in the wrong direction, you throw off the whole cycle,” Roseline said. “You, handsome, wonder what your life would’ve been like if you stayed together. I see your younger selves
, a very strong love, but something happened and you parted ways. It was the right outcome. Spirits looking out for you, even back then. If you two stayed a couple, you, Detective, would’ve been dead at twenty-five. I see a little apartment. You’re sleeping alone. Your girl isn’t there. Someone came in for her, killed you instead. Same thing happened in your last life. You left that girl a widow. But you two got it right this time around. You’re going to be okay.”
“My friends here aren’t looking for a consultation from the Psychic Network,” Prejean said. “Easy pickup you did, though. The cop grabs the girl, you figure they’re a couple and make up a story. He’s a cop working a dangerous job. You make up a tall tale to distract from what you don’t know.”
“I know what I know. You, sir, I see trouble in your past right behind you. Some things you left behind in New Orleans coming back. You know it, too,” Roseline said. “What your partner say about that, boy?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve got no problems here or at home. If this is all you’ve got, I think we’re about done,” Prejean said. “What do you say, Navarro?”
“Not yet,” Roseline said, and blew out another candle. “Your last name is Gooden, right?”
“I don’t want to talk about me.”
“Maybe you don’t, but I need to. I see two children. One tied to you. The other tied to both you and your partner. The first boy, he passed. He’s glued to your side and won’t leave. His presence is very powerful for a child. In voodoo, ancestors come strong, and this boy, he come the strongest I ever seen. The boy, he’s small with black hair and he’s wearing a red shirt. He should pass to the other side, but he won’t. He’s staying here to protect you, just like he promised. But you need to set him free. This boy should’ve moved on, but he can’t. You need to give him permission to go.”
“You looked me up when Tyce called. You knew my name.”
“You’re not that important I’m going to be spending my time Googling your name on the computer. This boy standing right next to you, he came to this world with one purpose, to save you. Let him do that, and then he can move on. He’ll still look out for you after he goes. Part of him is in another boy I see. Those two boys look alike. That part is not going anywhere. This boy your brother? He die a violent death?”
“I don’t want to talk about my brother,” Julia said. She felt pinpricks move down her arms as she pictured two almost identical pictures in her mind, like two mirror images: her brother, Ben. And her son Logan.
“Thank you for your time. If the detectives have any more questions, they can stay, but I need to leave,” Julia said. She backed up quickly without looking behind her, her eyes fixed on the black candles and the thin wisps of smoke that rose from them in front of Roseline.
“Hold on, Julia,” Navarro said.
Julia continued to back out of the room and through the bamboo curtains. As she turned around, her hip clipped hard against a long wooden hallway table, knocking a stack of mail to the floor.
Julia wanted to get out of the apartment as fast as possible, but stopped when she spotted a manila envelope amidst the strewn white pieces of mail that were scattered at her feet.
“Navarro, Prejean. I see something,” Julia called out. She bent down and picked up the manila envelope. Roseline’s name was written across the front, but there was no return address or sender’s name. On the upper left-hand side of the envelope was a hand-drawn picture of a perfect circle, with two crescent moons on either side.
“What do you have?” Navarro asked.
“Triple Goddess symbol,” Prejean said. “When did you get this?”
The bamboo string curtains chimed again as Roseline came through into the hallway.
“Yesterday. All that was in my mail slot. I haven’t had a chance to go through it yet. I got no hurries. It’s usually junk mail and bills.”
“This one isn’t. Okay, from the stamp, it was mailed two days ago from somewhere in the city,” Navarro said. “It’s going to be tough to get a print on the envelope, but we may have a shot with what’s inside.”
Navarro reached into the pocket of his leather jacket and pulled out a pair of plastic gloves. He snapped them into place over his hands and extracted a folded single piece of white lined paper from inside the envelope.
“It’s to you,” Navarro said, and held the paper up so Julia could see it.
At the top of the paper was a drawn turquoise-and-red heart and then a handwritten note:
Julia,
If you found this letter, you’re as smart as I thought you were. So here’s a reward.
Mr. Dark.
901 W. Lafayette Blvd.
Julia dove her hand inside the pocket of her dress for her phone and plugged in the address.
“901 West Lafayette Boulevard, it’s a bookstore. I’ve been there before. It’s John K. King Used and Rare Books,” Julia said.
“I’ll check out the Mr. Dark reference,” Prejean said. He worked his finger across the keypad of his phone, studied the results, and then held up his cell for Navarro and Julia to see.
“I’m not sure if it’s the fit, but Mr. Dark is a character in some horror novel written by Ray Bradbury.”
“I know that book. It’s about a carnival that comes to town run by a demonic force. Something Wicked This Way Comes,” Julia said. “It has to be.”
* * *
Julia followed behind Navarro and pulled into the parking lot of John K. King Used & Rare Books, a giant, blue-gray, four-story building that was once a glove factory. It had a large picture of a hand and its pointed index finger painted along the corner of the building.
“This place looks pretty beat,” Prejean said as he got out of the car, his voice almost getting lost amidst the sound of the expressway.
“This store is classic Detroit. It’s got character,” Julia said. “The killer led us to a bookstore. We need to look beyond the occult angle. With the Alice in Wonderland mention and now the Ray Bradbury novel, the killer is tied to books somehow. Maybe he’s a writer. Or an English teacher.”
“Or a librarian. Or just a freak.”
“He could be a customer here,” Navarro said as he approached. “This is how we should play it. Prejean and I will talk to the owner. Julia, you look for the book.”
“Maybe the killer works here,” Prejean said.
“This guy’s smart. I can’t imagine he’d bring us to the place where he works,” Navarro said. “But still, you never know. Let’s go.”
John K. King Used & Rare Books was a massive space with tall, cavernously deep rows of books. The sections had paper and cardboard signs taped up on their ends, with handwritten descriptions of the genres that could be found inside the towering racks.
A skinny, short employee with a red apron and a scraggly beard poked out from behind a giant stack of books. He was having a conversation over a walkie-talkie and gave the trio a friendly wave, but lost his smile when Navarro flashed his badge.
“I need to talk to the owner,” Navarro said.
“He’s out for lunch. Can I help you?”
“I need to find a Ray Bradbury book,” Julia said in a rush. “Something Wicked This Way Comes.”
“Hmmm. I don’t think it’s in our rare book room. That’s appointment only, in our second building. But if we had it, I’d let you go right in, of course. Is this about a stolen book or something? If it is, you’re going to need to come back to talk to the owner.”
“No, it’s nothing like that,” Navarro said.
“Okay. Well, we don’t have a computerized catalogue of our books, but I manage the first floor here,” the employee said, and handed Julia a map. “On this floor, we’ve got our popular books. They sell pretty fast. We’ve got some classics. So look here first. If you don’t find your book, check the third floor. We’ve got mystery, science fiction, and fantasy up there. A couple picture books, too. Our fourth floor is mostly obscure, hard-to-find books. I doubt it will be there. Our books are al
phabetized by author, but I can help you look. I’m Jim, by the way.”
“Julia can look for the book by herself. This other gentleman here, he’s a cop, too. We want to talk to you about a possible customer who may be involved in a series of crimes.”
Julia heard Navarro’s voice trail behind her as she looked on at the daunting rows of books, dozens of deep, long, intimidating stacks that she was afraid would take hours to pore through.
She began to sprint, running by the rows of books and their hand-scribbled signs that listed travel, military, biography, metaphysical, and religion categories, anything other than what she needed, until she found a fiction section in the back.
Julia stepped on her tiptoes as she ran her fingers over the spines of the books, skimming the hodgepodge of genres. She passed by a Jackie Collins novel next to Chaucer’s The Canterbury Tales and worked her way backward, up the alphabet, until she reached a row of books whose authors’ last names began with the letter B.
The dust from the books stuck to her fingertips as she quickly traced over the titles of the works. Julia felt a nervous strum go off inside her when she found Ray Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451 right next to a well-worn paperback of Something Wicked This Way Comes.
Julia snatched the novel from the shelf and fanned through its pages until a white index card fell and landed at her feet.
Julia scooped up the card and read the handwritten message: Victim Number Three. Thirty-one. Raven’s Poe. For your eyes only for now, Julia. You write about my work after I’m done. No news stories about the information I just gave you until it’s over. You do, and I’ll slit her throat before morning.
CHAPTER 13
Julia stood her ground, parked in front of the circular cutout in the bulletproof glass partition in the reception area of the Detroit PD, waiting to get in to see the chief.
It had been radio silence from Navarro and Prejean in the past hour since the duo’s retreat back to the station following Julia’s hard-won breadcrumb of the Raven’s Poe clue. And Julia wanted in on whatever the cops had after her personal searches on the possible identity of the killer’s next victim came up short.
You Fit the Pattern Page 13