me.”
“Yeah. Good idea,” I agreed. “But, hey, at least you’re back in the fold. That’s good news.”
“Yeah, I guess. I’m not so sure I’m all that excited about a Feeb fightin’ my battle for me though.”
“Look at it as reinforcements,” I offered.
“Yeah, sure.” He didn’t sound convinced.
I decided to maneuver away from what was obviously a sore spot. “So do they have any leads yet?”
“They’re workin’ on a couple, but I haven’t got the full run-down. Headin’ in for a briefing in about forty-five minutes.”
“What about the car? You got the license plate number, right?”
“Car was found abandoned in North County,” he replied. “No fuckin’ idea how they got that far without gettin’ popped, but they did. Both it and plates were on a hot sheet. Car got jacked in Racine, Wisconsin. Plates were off a van registered to a homeless shelter in Chicago. Both of ‘em were stolen weeks ago.”
“Great,” I offered with a healthy dose of sarcasm. “No evidence though?”
“The crime scene guys have been all over it. Found Larson’s blood in the trunk. Some hairs. Plenty of prints but still no hits on AFIS yet.” He referred to the automated fingerprint identification system. “So yeah, there’s evidence all right, but this ain’t a TV show. Evidence helps convict, not necessarily find.”
“Yeah, you’ve pointed that out before.”
“The thing that’s got ‘em worried right now is that we’re comin’ up real fast on twenty-four hours, and there hasn’t been any contact from the kidnapper yet.”
“That’s unusual I take it?”
“Yes and no. Usually if you’re gonna get a ransom demand, you get it within the first twenty-four.”
He didn’t have to tell me what it meant if no such demand was forthcoming. My own tortured imagination was taking care of that just fine.
“But there are exceptions, right?” I asked.
“Hell, there’re always exceptions,” he sighed. “But the odds do a big nosedive if ya’ know what I’m sayin’.”
“Yeah,” I replied. “I know what you mean.”
“So listen, Row, there’s another reason I called.” He proceeded to steer the conversation back onto the original path. “About the whole Tamara Linwood thing from last night.”
“Yeah, do you have something?”
“Nothin’ you’re gonna like,” he continued. “I made some calls, but it ain’t good. The real deal is I’m not tight with anybody who’s workin’ it.”
“Nobody?”
“Nope. Nobody. The case has actually aged enough with no new leads that it kinda got back-burnered for a while. There’re only a coupl’a coppers assigned to it at this point, and they’re disciples of her holiness, Bible Barb.”
“Okay, so what about the remains? Did they make an ID yet? Wouldn’t that get them rolling?”
“They’re still waiting for results,” he answered. “There wasn’t much left, so it might all come down to DNA.”
“I seem to remember DNA takes awhile,” I remarked.
“Yeah. Could be a coupl’a weeks.”
“What about dental?”
“Between you and me?”
“Sure.”
“Seriously, Row,” he pressed. “What I’m about to tell ya’ is not for public consumption.”
“I understand, Ben,” I acknowledged. “What is it? Did the killer pull her teeth or something?”
“There’s no head,” he replied succinctly.
“You mean…” I allowed my voice to trail off.
“I mean whoever killed her sawed her head off, and it didn’t get buried with the rest of the remains,” he answered.
“Gods…” I muttered.
“Yeah.”
A memory flitted through my brain, and enough of it made an immediate impression on me to spark a question. “Wasn’t there another murder similar to that awhile back?”
“Sarah Hart,” Ben answered. “Disappeared from the same parking lot. Remains turned up in a wooded area several months later. No head. That’s why that info hasn’t been released about the Linwood case yet. Not until we get a handle on it at least.”
I let out a heavy sigh. “Haven’t we had our quota of serial killers yet?”
“Guess not.” His voice held a disgusted tone. “Shit, Row, statistically there are more of ‘em out there than you imagine. The connection between crimes just doesn’t always get made right away.”
“Maybe so, but I still want to know what’s making me a magnet for their victims.”
“Yeah…” he responded, voice quiet.
I stared at the floor for a moment, listening to the silence that had swollen between us. In the edge of my vision I could see a quarter-sized pentacle resting against my chest. The five-pointed star enclosed by a circle was dangling from a chain around my neck, and I couldn’t remember the last time I had taken it off. It was a symbol of man, spirit, and the elements- a symbol of my faith. It was a constant reminder of the path I had chosen long ago and of my identity as a Witch.
At this particular moment, I wished that I could take it off and shed that identity in a bid to stave off the horrors I knew were soon to come. But, as surely as I knew they were coming, I also knew the piece of jewelry was only a physical symbol. I could not change what I was or what I was destined to do that easily. In fact, I doubted I could change it at all.
“So it all hinges on the identity of the remains right now?” I finally asked.
“Yeah,” he replied. “The general feelin’ is that it’s her. They’re workin’ on that assumption, but until it’s official, no one’s jumpin’ to any wild conclusions. Right now they’re workin’ a partial print but dunno if that is gonna go anywhere.”
“So where does that leave us for now?” I asked.
“That’s the thing, white man,” he replied. “It kinda leaves us nowhere. Pretty much me working the Larson abduction and you doin’ your thing with computers.”
“This is really going to heat up if those are in fact Tamara Linwood’s remains, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. Yeah it is.”
“So, what about the seizures?” I asked.
“What about ‘em?” he asked rhetorically. “I told ya’ the deal on that last night.”
“But what if Felicity has another one?” I pressed. “What if I have another one?”
He huffed out a sigh and then said, “There’s nothin’ I can do, Row. If there was, you know I would. So… So, maybe you two shouldn’t be doin’ any drivin’ for a while.”
CHAPTER 10:
“You know, you’ve been avoiding talking about this all day,” I said to my wife.
It was now rapidly approaching seven-thirty in the evening, and she was rushing around the house haphazardly stuffing ritual items into her nylon backpack. As usual, she was running late.
Physically, she had bounced back from the episode the previous evening much better than I had expected. In fact, on the outside, if I hadn’t been a witness to it, I wouldn’t have been able to tell anything had happened. Still, I knew something had to be going on behind those green eyes, and she wasn’t being very forthcoming. Scratch that; she was all but denying it.
I had filled her in on the conversation I’d had with Ben, but much to my dismay, she had simply taken it all in with calm detachment. I’m sure it was largely due to the seizure she had experienced, but the radical shift in her
