“Whoever it was probably pulled her address down from a newsgroup or something,” I offered. “That would also explain why the person knew her religion. There are several discussion groups about Paganism, Wicca and The Craft. All she had to do was post a message to one of them and her e-mail address became public knowledge.”
“Lovely,” Ben huffed as he scribbled in his notebook.
Turning back to Starr, I asked, “Do you happen to know who her provider was?”
“Not offhand.” She shook her head. “I have her e-mail address, if that would help?”
“Yes. I would appreciate getting that from you later.”
Ben and Carl both shot me curious looks.
“If her internet service provider was filtering the e-mail for her in order to bounce or trap the offensive messages,” I outlined for their benefit, “we might be able to get a domain designation from them.”
They continued to look at me expectantly.
“Kind of like tracing a phone call.” I simplified my explanation. “If we’re lucky, we might be able to determine the origin of the message, the account it was sent from, and maybe even the person who owns the account.”
The expectant looks turned into amazed stares.
“Remember, I make my living with computers. WitchCraft is a part of my belief system. It’s not my profession.”
“I’ll get one of our gurus on that,” Ben assented with an oh yeah, now I remember expression on his face and penned himself a quick reminder.
Carl looked back to the young woman and continued the line of questions. “Did anyone else in your group get any of these e-mails or junk mail?”
“I don’t think so.” She pursed her lips and canted her head to the side then stared off thoughtfully for a moment. “No. I can’t remember anyone mentioning any, although… Brianna did say she had been getting quite a few prank phone calls. Hang-ups mostly, but she did seem a little disturbed by them.”
“Brianna?” Ben looked up from his notepad, shot a glance at Carl then me and finally back to Starr.
“Yes,” she answered. “Brianna Walker. She is a member of our Coven. I can give you her number if you’d like, though she may be out of town. I haven’t been able to reach her this past week.”
“Brianna LOUISE Walker?” Ben ventured again. “Also known as Mistress Bree?”
“Yes, Detective Storm,” she returned. “Please don’t tell me you arrested her while working vice or something. At a time like this, I hardly see why something like that should…”
“Miz Winston,” Carl interrupted as Starr began to defend her friend and fellow sister of The Craft. “I don’t quite know how to tell you this…”
“Tell me what? What’s wrong?”
“Brianna Walker appears to have been the killer’s first victim,” Ben detailed concisely. “Her name hasn’t been released yet because we’ve been unable to contact her next of kin.”
She looked at Ben incredulously, then to Detective Deckert, then brought her eyes to meet mine and shook her head. Her lips parted slightly as she mouthed a silent “No.”
The blunt hammer of emotional pain that descended upon her secured itself a two-for-one deal as she remained supernaturally connected to me through our locked gaze. For a fleeting moment, I felt a hard lump rise in my throat and a caustic burn flood through my sinuses as my own eyes began to water.
I glanced away to break the ethereal union then stared off into space and uttered the only words that came to my clouded mind, “I’m so very sorry.”
“Miz Winston,” Ben ventured calmly but firmly as she started to tremble. “In light of this information, I think it’d be prudent for you to give us a list of your Coven members and their phone numbers. For their own safety…”
CHAPTER 10
“Well sure I could be wrong… I hope like hell I am if you wanna know the truth.” Ben was forcing himself to speak in hushed tones.
Earlier, he had sequestered himself outside the entrance of the room in the narrow hall in order to jumpstart the Major Case Squad with the latest information. He had then proceeded to contact the local police department trying to obtain protection for Karyl and Starr. While he made a seemingly endless series of calls, one leading to the next, Carl Deckert and I remained in the sitting room with the grieving young attorney. She was holding up amazingly well under the circumstances, even considering her connection with The Craft. I suppose her profession had taught her how to remain calm and detached. Still, her distress was visible.
“Look, I’d just rather be wrong on the side of caution instead of endin’ up with another body.” He continued, “Can you understand that?”
Both Carl and I could still hear Ben’s voice and with only a little effort were able to make out everything he was saying. Starr, on the other hand, was too distraught to notice much of what was going on around her. Considering the subject matter of his conversations, doubtless that was for the best.
There was a short pause while, I assume, he was listening to the person on the other end of the cell phone. I almost didn’t need my heightened senses to feel his impatience-it was simply that palpable.
“I don’t get this! Am I just not makin’ myself clear to you or somethin’? Do ya’ want me to say it slower, is that it?” he spat sarcastically into the phone. “Listen close. A prominent member of your quiet little community here just might be the target of a serial killer. What I want is for you to get a uniform over here and give ‘er some protection! It’s that simple! Uh-huh… Yeah… Well tell ya’ what then, why don’tcha put someone on the line who can help me.”
While we waited, Starr went upstairs to check in on Karyl. She returned briefly, having elected not to inform her of Brianna’s death as yet, and told us that the young woman was resting peacefully in the bedroom. Earlier, she admitted, the help of a recently prescribed sedative had been necessary to calm the overwrought blonde, and now it seemed senseless and cruel to wake her only to give her another dose of heartbreaking news. I was inclined to agree.
“Is there someone you’d like us to call for you?” Carl asked in a soothing voice. “A relative? A friend maybe?”
“No. No one, Detective.” She shook her head. “Thank you for offering.”
“Can we get you anything?” I queried and shrugged. “A glass of water? Coffee? Aspirin?”
“No… Yes… Yes, Mister Gant, you could.” She pointed across the room. “There is some brandy in that cupboard.”
At Starr’s request I poured her a stiff ration of the liquor from the heirloom cabinet bar in the corner. Judging from the label on the bottle and the cork that sealed it, the brandy was in reality a rather pricey cognac. She sipped it eagerly, almost gulping at first. Remembering my recent and similar actions with a bottle of bourbon, I urged her to slow down. She nodded, realizing through her distress that I was correct, and set the crystal snifter aside with at least a small amount of the expensive spirits left in it.
Momentarily, she rummaged about in the drawer of an end table then withdrew a small rectangular box and opened it.
“I have to keep them hidden,” she told us with a small, sorrowful laugh as she placed a cigarette between her lips, “Karyl thinks I quit… But I’m sure she knows.”
Carl and I simply nodded mutely and watched her light it with trembling hands.
“Well frankly I don’t give two shits about your goddamned contract!” Ben’s voice echoed into the room as he tersely erupted out in the corridor, “Right now I’ve got two bodies down at the morgue. One of ‘em was thrown off a balcony and the other one was… No, YOU wait just a minute!” his voice rose in pitch again. One thing you never did to Ben Storm was to interrupt him.
His tone lowered to a simmering “I mean business” tenor and he continued, “Look, number one-both of these women were tortured before they were killed. Number two-we have reason to believe the killer is targeting persons with alternative religions. And finally, number three-both of them were members of the same small religious group- the same one that two of your local residents are members of. Now for me, that sets off some alarms. What about
