at the Weston city hall, which also housed the small township’s police station. Since we lived nearby, the drive was short. According to my watch, it was approaching eleven when we arrived.
“I’m gonna warn ya’,” Ben said as we walked with him across the parking lot, “these guys have already seen the paper.”
“I suppose they’re expecting some kind of weirdo then,” I returned, referring to myself.
“I expect you’re gonna get some blank stares and snide remarks,” he told me. “But if ya’ keep the Twilight Zone stuff just between us, I think it’ll be okay. I’ll be there ta’ back you up.”
“Well, I appreciate that.”
Ben led us down a long, tiled hallway and signed us in with a dour-faced desk sergeant, who from all outward appearances, should have retired ten years earlier. He less than enthusiastically provided Felicity and I with visitors badges, and we proceeded on with no interruption. Ben opened the door to a conference room then motioned us in. We were greeted full force by what can only be described as an ordered chaos.
The room was a fissure of activity within an otherwise silent structure. Cafeteria tables were erected against walls, doubling as desks, copier stands, and phone banks. Chipped, blue metal folding chairs clinked as they were being set up. Some squeaked as they were propelled across polished linoleum tiles by the innumerable police officers and support staffers teaming within the confines of the room. The discord of already ringing phones mixed with the murmurs of voices to form a tumultuous racket.
“How many people have you got working on this case?” Felicity asked, taking in the riotous scene.
“Hell, I’ve lost track,” Ben answered. “Other than the core officers assigned to the MCS, all the municipalities involved are giving up whoever they can spare, and then there’s the support personnel… Hell, I don’t even try to figure it out anymore. What’s really scary is, until around midnight last night, this was an empty room.”
We advanced farther into the activity, all but ignored by the bustling members of the Major Case Squad. Making our way through the crowded space, we found a place to store the slide tray and projector we had lugged in. Continuing to follow Ben like two strangers brought to an unfamiliar party by a friend, we proceeded to a table set up with coffee and much to my chagrin, doughnuts. We had just begun filling our typical white Styrofoam cups from a large urn, Felicity lamenting about the biodegradability of them, when we were approached by someone known to Ben and me both.
“Hi, Ben. When did you get here?” Detective Carl Deckert approached us and scooped a coffee cup into his hand.
“All of about five minutes ago,” Ben replied, then turned toward us. “You remember Rowan Gant, and this is his wife Felicity.”
“Nice to meet you,” he said with a smile, lightly shaking Felicity’s hand, then taking mine firmly. “Hell of a hatchet job they did on you in the paper this morning.”
“Well…” I half stuttered, trying to choose my words carefully, “I can’t exactly sue them for libel.”
“Hell,” Deckert returned, “I pretty much figured you were some kinda psychic or something last night anyway. You were comin’ up with too many things that nobody else could see.”
“Excuse me if I seem surprised,” I asked, “but what was said in the paper doesn’t bother you?”
“The only thing that bothers me is that the media decided to sensationalize it,” he told me as we all took turns doctoring the bitter brew with packets of sugar and powdered creamer. “Truth be told, my mother used to have what she called ‘visions’. Everyone in the neighborhood used to call her a Witch, but they listened because her ‘visions’ always came true. I don’t recall her ever being involved in all the stuff you talked about in that interview, but I’ve seen stranger things. If it helps catch this asshole, I don’t really care.”
“It’s nice to know we have another friend with a badge,” I told him. “They’re pretty rare.”
“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t expect many more outta this group. Ben and I are probably it.”
As I looked about the room, I started noticing the cold stares and whispers among the members of the Major Case Squad. I was sorely afraid that what Carl Deckert had just said would soon prove to be true.
At 11:30 we accompanied Ben, as well as the rest of the officers, to an adjoining conference room. Here, the tables were lined in neat rows, and at the head of the room stood a small podium. Felicity deftly set up the slide projector and mounted the tray of transparencies, then seated herself to one side with Ben and I. There remained a dull murmur as detectives took their places at the tables and talked among themselves. Once everyone who belonged in the meeting was seated, Ben stationed himself at the podium and waited. It took only a moment for a quiet hush to fall over the group, broken only by the sharp sounds of ballpoint pens clicking and notebooks being opened to fresh pages.
“First off,” Ben began, his voice tired but clear, “for those of you who don’t know me, I’m Detective Ben Storm with the city homicide unit. I am the investigating officer on the Tanner case.
“Secondly, let me thank all of you for being here on such short notice. I realize a lot of you came in last night and haven’t slept yet. Trust me, I know how ya’ feel.”
A light, weary chuckle randomly skipped through the room.
“Everyone here should have copies of the case files on Ariel Tanner and Karen Barnes,” Ben continued. “If ya’ don’t, then let me know after the meeting and I’ll get them to ya’. I wanted to go over some of my notes with ya’ and field any questions you might have. I’d also like to compare notes on the Barnes homicide from last night.
“Look.” He paused and let out a deep sigh. “We all know there’s a psycho asshole out there, and he’s killed two women so far. It’s our job to find him and put a stop to it.”
I watched on as Ben looked down at the slanted top of the podium and opened a file folder.
“Here’s the basic run down,” he stated, looking back up at the group. “Ariel Tanner, Caucasian female, twenty-six years of age. Her body was found in ‘er apartment last Wednesday evening by her neighbor who noticed her door was propped open. There was no sign of forced entry. Her hands were bound behind her back with duct tape, her throat was cut, and her upper torso had been skinned. This latter procedure was done while she was still alive people… Just so you understand.
“Upon arriving at the scene, we found the words ‘All Is Forgiven,’ inscribed on the wall with the victim’s blood. Also drawn on the wall was a Pagan symbol referred to as a ‘Pentacle’. Finally, a wine goblet was found, containing residue of Miz Tanner’s blood. All of this leads us to believe that the murderer performed some type of ritual sacrifice.
“There were no witnesses, and the neighbor wasn’t home. Coroner’s report turned up a puncture wound that is consistent with an injection, so it appears that our bad guy is drugging his victims. Also, there was no evidence of rape. Any questions?” Ben shuffled the papers back into order as he looked out over the seated detectives.
“Did she have a boyfriend?” a voice called out from the back of the room.
“Not as far as we have been able to determine, no.”
“Had there been any cult activity in the neighborhood?” someone else asked.
“We checked that out,” Ben answered. “All we found were a few high school kids tryin’ to put a ‘hex’ on a teacher. They were harmless, and we scared the hell out of them.”
Once again, a mild chuckle rolled through the otherwise somber room.
“The report indicates,” a stone-faced detective near the front of the room spoke up, “that the first victim was involved in the occult. In particular, she was the priestess of a Witches coven. What did that turn up?”
“We have, in fact, spoken to her coven. It seems they kicked a member out a few weeks ago, so we’re lookin’ at the revenge angle, but that doesn’t seem likely now that we have a second murder. The ex-member’s name is Devon Johnston… So far, we’ve been unable to track ‘im down. I’ve got the other member’s numbers, and we can check them out…”
I was holding my breath, waiting for Ben to say something about R.J. He looked over at me for a moment, then back to the sea of faces.
“…Any more questions?” He scanned the room with a long, silent pause. “Good, then I’ll turn you over to Detective Carl Deckert.”
Ben stepped away from the podium and took a seat with us once again. Detective Deckert winked at us as he trundled by and filled the void behind the rostrum. He hitched up his pants and cleared his throat, then addressed the gathering.
Deckert’s diatribe went much as Ben’s had, including a general summation of the facts surrounding Karen Barnes’ case, followed by a short question and answer session. When he was finished, he and Ben traded places at the front of the room once more.
“Now that we have that out of the way,” Ben told everyone, “I’d like to bring up a consultant that has been
