by Robert Brown
“I know,” said Cael. “You know a lot more than you’re letting on.”
Tyler approached the two gentlemen. He pulled out his vaporizer. “You better tell us everything you know, Copperfield, or you might find yourself on the wrong end of this guy’s tricks.” He took a heavy drag, blowing out a huge vapor cloud. “And today was supposed to be my day off.”
“It’s not that I didn’t tell you,” said Barker. “I just forgot.”
“Well, now’s your chance to remember,” said Tyler. “How did you know he’d strike here?”
“The Grave Dancer,” said Barker.
“Come again?”
“In Drakestone’s possessions was an entire notebook dedicated to a bizarre trick called The Grave Dancer. Actually, no, it was more than a trick. It was some kind of ritual.”
“And?”
“I don’t actually know what it entailed because it was written mostly in code but his drawings – they revealed everything you’ve seen so far … and more. Any classical magic trick that could end in death was depicted as doing so.”
“The bullet catch, sawing a woman in half, the Indian Basket and the water tank,” said Cael.
“Yes, plus much more. The Viper Pit, the Frozen in Ice illusion, the burning rope escape, the Table of Death. It was all there.”
“I don’t know what any of them are,” said Tyler, “but they sound fucked up.”
“They’re considered some of the most dangerous magic tricks of all time. A few of them have ended in injury … but death? It’s quite rare.”
“So, what’s this got to do with his end game?” asked Tyler.
Before Barker could speak, Cael interrupted.
“They’re sacrifices,” he said.
Both men turned to look at him. Tyler creased up his face. “What?”
“It’s some kind of occult rite,” Cael continued. “Rituals are very specific. He has to perform this action, in this place, on this day.” He turned to Barker. “What did the Grave Dancer ritual involve? Do you remember?”
“I don’t know. I couldn’t decipher the code in his notebook.”
“This is all well and good, buddy but it doesn’t explain how you knew we’d find a woman drowning in a tank down here.”
The three men watched their newest victim be loaded into the back of an ambulance. Two paramedics were attempting to revive her. Once again, her identity remained a mystery. She wasn’t someone whom Barker recognized.
“Epping Forest, Coldfall Wood, Rivendare Bridge. These were all locations where Drakestone did public performances.”
This was it. This was everything Cael needed to know. In a bizarre way, it made sense.
“So, this crazy magician is back,” said Tyler.
“I don’t want to jump to conclusions,” said Barker, “but I very much doubt anyone other than Drakestone himself – or anyone involved in his act – remembers that he performed in these locations in the 80s. It’s kind of forgotten knowledge.”
“So how do you remember?”
“I’m a magic historian. I remember these things.”
From across the riverbank, the shattered water tank that had held the killer’s third victim appeared even more ominous now that it was empty. Somehow, this man had erected a 10-foot glass box on a small patch of a land without anyone noticing.
“I know what you’re thinking,” said Barker. “How did he get it there, right?”
Cael remained silent.
“Well, I’ll tell you. Those things are quite easy to move around. They’re just a handful of parts that slot together. He built it behind those trees over there, then pushed it into view when night set in.”
“I don’t understand this guy at all,” said Tyler. “What the hell is he? A scorned magician? A deluded psycho? A ritualistic killer? If so, why is he targeting you?”
Finally, Cael spoke up. He ignored Tyler’s question. “Mr. Barker, where exactly was Drakestone’s workshop?”
“Camden Town.”
“Text me the address. This night isn’t over yet.”
33
In Cael’s Ford, both he and Tyler sat listening to Planet Rock Radio.
“You think he’s gone back there?” asked Tyler.
“You’re right,” said Cael.
“What?”
“You’re right. His actions don’t match his psychological profile. He’s a ritualistic killer, and not ritualistic in the sense that his actions have to match a certain fantasy. He’s quite literally performing a ritual – something incredibly specific. It makes no sense why he’d want me involved’
“My daughter does magic,” said Tyler.
Cael stared at him. “I didn’t have her down as the magic type. She’s too outgoing.”
“Not Sophie. I mean Rose. I think she’s trying to get over her shyness.”
Cael rested his head against his backseat. After a moment of silence, he reached out and turned down the radio. “Oh shit,” he said. “Of course.”
“What? Hey, those are my children you’re talking about.”
“No, not that. We’re forgetting that this guy is still a magician at heart. People take up magic because it’s a way to combat introversion. They want attention. They want to impress.”
Tyler caught on to Cael’s thought process. “And this guy still wants that.”
“Yeah. Drakestone was a very theatrical performer. He still has that fire in him. He’s performing his weird ritual and showing the world he’s a competent magician.”
“What an asshole.”
Cael’s phone vibrated. It was a text message from Raymond Barker.
“We’re on,” he said.
34
A rectangular entryway barely big enough to admit a grown adult. This was what Cael and Tyler discovered at the address Raymond Barker had sent to them.
It was blocked by a wooden door that, given the severity of its erosion, had seemingly been sealed for years.
“Stand back. This is my favorite part of the job,” said Tyler.
He took two steps back, then projected himself foot-first into the door. The doorway jolted on its hinges, not fully giving away. One more kick sealed the deal. Even though the door opened outwards, Tyler had forced it in the other direction.
“Easy.”
“I’m a private detective,” said Cael. “I’m supposed to be subtle.”
“When you’re with me, you’re just a detective.”
Midnight had just set in. Raymond Barker had sent them to the location that had been Drakestone’s workshop almost three decades ago. It was a run-down unit in the back streets of Camden. The entranceway looked as though it would lead to a small garage; however, the detectives found that the unit travelled much deeper than they thought.
They walked down a pitch-black stone staircase, holding either side of the cold walls for support. When they reached the bottom, they discovered a vast storage unit with very little natural light to guide their way. Judging by the architecture, this was a workshop from a bygone era.
Tyler pulled out his flashlight. He called out for anyone who may have been hiding in the darkness to come out. Not surprisingly, no one responded.
By the illumination of Tyler’s flashlight, the two detectives’ eyes set upon a desk as eroded as the decaying entryway. As Tyler moved his flashlight along the wooden perimeter, five small objects came into view. Cael reached out to pick one up.
“Wooden stakes,” said Tyler.
“The ones used to kill Lana Dixon.”
In his hand, Cael held a two-yard-long wooden stake that still bore remnants of flesh and blood on its tips. The stench of death was unmistakable.
“Holy shit,” said Tyler. He shone his flashlight on the other side of the room. Cael followed its direction. There, in all its bloody glory, was the machine used to end Stephanie Brady’s life. Hanging above it was the saw blade from Alcaro Interiors.
Cael approached it. Tyler shone his light across the table, revealing the dried b
lood from Stephanie Brady’s torture. Along its cold metal surface, bits of flesh and bone rested as though this was an item purposely designed for display.
“Cael, over here.”
Something had grabbed Tyler’s attention on the hideout’s far wall. Cael left the saw machine untouched and joined his partner. When his eyes fell upon the display, he joined Tyler in his astonishment.
“Holy shit.”
From ceiling to floor, the wall was filled with photographs, notes and drawings. The pictures in front of them were a combination of crime scene photographs of the recent victims, along with photographs of them taken before their deaths.
“He’s been doing this a long time,” said Cael.
“I’m calling it in. We need to examine the shit out of this place,” said Tyler. “Once we find out who this place belongs to, we’ve got our man.”
From the darkness, a voice. Both men turned around with haste.
There, standing yards away from them, was a shadowy figure.
“Don’t be so certain.”
Tyler instinctively pulled out his gun. “Don’t you dare move,” he shouted but it was too late. The figure had disappeared into the shadows.
Without hesitation, the two detectives took off in pursuit of the figure. His footsteps appeared to trail in every direction. Tyler took the stairs, while Cael ventured farther into the killer’s hideout.
“Where are you?” shouted Cael. “You can’t hide forever.”
No response. The den turned to silence.
“Tyler?”
“Up here.”
“Anything?”
“Nothing.”
“He can’t have gone far.”
On his phone, Tyler requested uniformed officers to search the surrounding Camden area.
Cael pulled out his phone and turned on the flashlight. In the center of the den, he noticed a broken mannequin lying on the floor.
He approached it. He realized what had happened.
“He’s long gone,” said Cael.
“What?”
“Look. The mannequin. He made us think that was him. He stood at the top of the stairs, spoke out to us, and then ran. We thought the mannequin was him.”
“Fuck’s sake.”
“Still, he’s somewhere in Camden right now. The only problem is, we still have no idea what this guy looks like.”
Cael returned to the wall full of photographs. At the bottom right corner, one photograph appeared to portray something other than a crime scene or a dead body. It was a building. Cael plucked it from the wall.
“What the hell is this?”
35
At the London Met headquarters, Cael, Tyler and Andrea Randall grouped in the war room.
“Explain,” said Andrea.
“He’s performing a ritual. Not the kind of ritual we see in lust murderers but an actual occult ritual. These notes – and boy, were there a shit ton of them – explain his entire plan in detail.”
“What exactly is he trying to achieve?” asked Andrea.
“He wants to live forever,” said Cael.
“Excuse me?”
“It’s not uncommon. The Zodiac Killer believed that killing people on earth would make them his slaves in the afterlife. Elizabeth Bathory thought that bathing in the blood of virgins would reverse the aging process. The delusion of achieving some kind of eternal life is very possible.”
“And how would he go about this?”
“In 1982 a manuscript entitled Inferna Saltator was published by an occult scholar. It told of a ritual for granting the user eternal life. The ritual itself literally translates to The Grave Dancer.
“And our killer got a hold of this book?”
“Yes, it looks like it. From my research, it looks like the manuscript was picked up by a number of cults and Luciferian groups around the world but it’s since been regarded as nonsense – like most occult stuff.”
“But it seems our killer has become deluded by his skills as a magician. At some point, he began to believe in his own magical powers,” added Tyler.
“Exactly. Now, I know it might sound unbelievable but this happens a lot in the mentalism and psychic community. People begin to genuinely believe they can talk to the dead when they’re simply using trickery. It’s a strange phenomenon but there’s no reason it wouldn’t translate to magicians too.”
“You gotta be pretty fucked up to believe that,” said Andrea.
“Amen, sister,” said Tyler.
“What’s his ritual involve?” asked Andrea.
Cael pulled a handful of drawings from the office wall. He lined them up in a row. In total, there were 13 drawings, each depicting a horrific ordeal.
“The Grave Dancer ritual in the original book states that a person needs 13 human sacrifices over 30 years. Our guy is at twelve.”
“Twelve victims? What the hell?”
“Chief, Tech pulled up every case relating to accidental deaths since 1989. There were nine of them.”
“Look.” Cael pointed to the first drawing. “This depicts the sawing-in-half trick that ‘went wrong’ in 1989. Second, here’s the bullet-catch victim you investigated in 1991.”
Andrea studied the drawings. She had no words.
“Then a girl was discovered frozen in a block of ice, then another was impaled on a sword. It goes on and on, one victim every two years or so, until we eventually come to Stephanie Brady.”
“So, he’s killing under the guise of magic tricks going wrong.”
“Exactly. If they happen gradually, suspicion is alleviated.”
“I hate to say it but this guy is good.”
“I’m surprised at his organization and planning. But there are still a few things I don’t know. For example, I don’t know if Drakestone’s wife’s accident was planned or whether he became drawn to occult activity following her death. He may have been traumatized and simply ‘used’ the death to his advantage.”
“And the newest victim?” asked Andrea.
“Alive,” said Tyler. “At the moment, that’s all we can ask for.”
“We’re heading out to interview her when she’s in stable condition,” said Cael. “Hopefully, she can point us in the direction of where she met this guy, what he looks like, everything.”
“If he’s a famous magician, shouldn’t we know exactly what he looks like?”
“Chief, this guy hasn’t been seen in 30 years. He could look completely different by now. Back in the day, he was a handsome guy with slick black hair and a perfectly-groomed moustache. I doubt that’s still the case.”
“Fair enough,” said Andrea. She scanned the bizarre child-like drawings on the table in front of her. Her eyes rested on the final one – the ultimate trick. “What’s this one?” she asked.
“The most dangerous trick of all,” said Cael. “Being buried alive.”
36
She looked very similar to the others. Young, alluring and incredibly attractive. Even in her hospital bed, she retained the natural charm that made her so appealing.
There was one question Cael knew never to ask someone recovering from a traumatic ordeal: How are you coping?
The question was unnecessary. It would simply bring back memories the victim didn’t want to re-live. Instead, Cael took the humor route.
“I need to thank you,” he said.
She turned her head toward him. She had waist-length brown hair, ocean-blue eyes and a disarming smile.
“What for?” she asked.
“For being so good-looking. For once in my life, performing mouth-to-mouth wasn’t a chore.”
It was a risk but it paid off. The girl who had been fated to be the killer’s twelfth victim laughed.
“You’re welcome. You’re not so bad yourself. I’ve always wanted to have my life saved by a handsome older gentleman.”
“I heard 40 was young.”
“Well, you don’t look a day over thirty-eight,” said the girl.
Cael placed a b
ox of Milk Tray chocolates at her bedside. “That’s to aid your recovery. I was going to get you flowers but no one really wants flowers, do they? Let’s be honest.”
“It’s nice to meet someone who knows what women really want.”
“Chocolate and resuscitation. The basics.”
“Thank you,” she said. “And thank you for saving my life.”
“It wasn’t just me – my partner played a big part. It was a joint effort. He did the macho work. I just sexually assaulted you.”
She laughed again, then reached out for the chocolates Cael had brought. This girl wasted no time.
“Would you be able to tell me a few things that might help us catch this guy?” asked Cael.
“I’d love to,” she said.
“I won’t take up too much of your time. I promise I’ll be gone before you finish that first layer.”
“Better hurry up then.”
“First of all, can you tell me about yourself?”
“I’m Jayne Carter but most people know me as Candy Carter. I’m a model, magician’s assistant, actress, and showgirl – anything that involves coasting through life on my looks.” She laughed.
“If I could do it, I would,” said Cael. “Can you explain the circumstances of how you met your abductor? I understand you applied for a job with him, right?”
“Yeah, more or less. I use a bunch of websites to get modelling work. This guy was asking for a magician’s assistant to practice some stupid trick with. He said he’d pay me 200 notes for two hours, then another 500 if I performed it onstage with him a few times. It was a pretty good rate, so I agreed.”
“Where did you meet him?”
“We met in central London, near Camden. I always meet my clients in a public location. He handed the money over, no problem. He seemed like a genuine guy. He told me exactly what he needed and how we’d perform it. I’d actually done the trick before so I knew what it was.”
“What trick?”
“The water tank trick. He’d lock me in there, I’d escape. It’s simple. There’s no real danger to it. A hidden oxygen tank is usually in the box; I just connect it to my mouth and nose with a skin-colored tube.”