natural.”
CHAPTER 18
Darla Anne Radcliffe,” Carl Deckert was telling me as we stood in the bedroom of the Westview area apartment. “Twenty-five years old, flight attendant.” He was reading mechanically from his small notebook. His grey hair was disheveled, angling up in the back where his head had only recently been in contact with a pillow. “The redhead out front is her roommate. They both work for the same airline, and she just got in from a flight at two A.M.” He motioned to the scene before us. “When she got home, this is what was waiting for her.”
“Door propped open?” I queried as I knelt to inspect the gory spectacle.
“Yeah,” he answered tiredly. “It was open.”
The other victims, Ariel, Karen, and Ellen had been splayed out like rag dolls, little care taken as to their appearance once the ritual was complete. This was different. The young woman before me lay like an adornment. Her nude body stretched out upon the bed as if she were a decoration. As if she were being offered.
Her shoulder length brown hair fanned out in a silky halo around her head, perfectly arranged. Her arms were at her sides, unbound, palms upward. Glassy, green eyes stared unblinking from a slackened face, forever intent upon the textured ceiling above.
A Pentagram was carefully excised from the skin of her chest and stomach, even more precisely than it had been in the case of Ellen Gray. The pentagon created by the convergence of the lines at the center of the symbol was positioned centrally and just below her ribcage. At this point, muscle and flesh had been removed to leave a gaping five-sided hole. Reaching out, I held my glove-encased fist above the opening, making a visual measurement.
“That’s where he pulled her heart out,” I ventured bluntly. “Directly through the center of the Pentagram.” I hated the fact that I had become so clinically detached from these horrors. It was beginning to make me feel almost inhuman.
“You think this might be some kind of copycat deal or something?” Deckert asked. “This one’s not bound up like the other three.”
“No,” I expressed positively. “It’s the same guy. The pattern of flaying is too much like it was on Ellen Gray. That detail never made it to the media, so it wouldn’t be able to be copied.”
Deckert grunted agreement. I could tell that he hadn’t really believed we were dealing with an imposter, but someone had to ask the question.
“Does it smell different in here to you?” Ben asked. He had been quietly scrutinizing the scene ever since we arrived. “Sweeter than before. Kinda reminds me of some opium I took off a dealer I popped a couple’a years back.”
“That’s exactly what it is,” I answered, still kneeling next to the corpse. “Hallucinogenics were sometimes used by ritual magicians in days gone by. I expect you’ll find that some was added to the incense he burned.”
“I still don’t get why she isn’t restrained like the others,” Deckert asserted. “Shit, she looks like she just laid there and let him do it. No fight, no struggle.”
“She probably couldn’t,” a new but familiar voice issued from behind us.
I turned to see Doctor Sanders peering over the rim of her glasses at us. She looked back down at the clipboard she was holding and finished signing whatever document was attached to its face and then handed it to her assistant.
“You mind expanding on that a bit, Doc?” Ben asked.
“D-Tubocurarine chloride,” she stated matter-of-factly as she stepped past him.
“Dee Tube of what?” Deckert voiced in a confused tone.
“D-Tubocurarine chloride,” she repeated. “It’s a curarine derivative.”
“English,” Ben urged.
“Curare,” she returned seeming somewhat annoyed. “You know, poison darts, all that jazz. Tubocurarine is commonly used as a paralytic agent for patients experiencing violent and uncontrollable seizures. The tox reports came back on the Tanner and Barnes cases. They both had it in their systems. I’m willing to bet we’ll find it in the Gray case, and this one as well.”
“Would the individual still be able to feel pain?” I asked.
“Absolutely,” she answered with a nod, “The patient would remain conscious and fully aware. Totally capable of feeling pain, just unable to move. The effects are usually short lived but drastic.”
“That would fit with what this S.O.B. is trying to accomplish.” I offered.
“But that still doesn’t explain why the other three victims were restrained, and this one isn’t,” Deckert observed. “If he shot the others up, why didn’t they just lay there too?”
“I can shed some light on that for you. May I?” Doctor Sanders looked at me and motioned to the body.
I stood and moved back as she leaned over and turned the young woman’s lifeless arm slightly to allow a better view. Expertly, she ran the index finger of her gloved hand across the cooling skin and brought it to rest. “Right here,” she announced. “He injected her intravenously. The other three were intramuscularly.” She left her finger where it was until we had all inspected the puncture wound then gently rolled the arm back against the body. “Tubocurarine chloride is some pretty wicked stuff, but it’s unpredictable when injected into muscle. Dosages are pretty tricky as well because just a little too much can cause respiratory arrest.”
“So it’s possible that the other victims weren’t completely paralyzed,” I thought aloud.
“Precisely,” Doctor Sanders affirmed. “Based on the differing amounts between the Tanner and Barnes cases, I’d venture to say that the killer was experimenting. It can also depend on how long it was in their system because it can metabolize in as little as thirty minutes.”
“What about the fact that the killer ingested blood from the victims?” I queried. “Wouldn’t the drug affect him then?”
“Doubtful.” She shook her head. “He would have to ingest much more than he has for it to have an effect on him, and even then it’s unlikely.”
I continued to stare quietly at the lifeless body so neatly arranged upon the bed. The killer had been more precise with his movements, more exacting. Nothing was wasted. After a few moments, I realized I was holding my breath. I let it out in a long sigh. The cloying odor of the opium made my nostrils tingle as I drew in a fresh breath. Something was rattling around in the back of my brain. Something recent. Something I should know.
“I guess this clears the kid,” Deckert was speaking to Ben. “Maybe,” Ben answered, “maybe not. His fingerprint was still on that candle. Maybe there’s an accomplice. Like a cult thing or somethin’.”
“No,” I volunteered over my shoulder without taking my eyes off the corpse. “There’s only one killer. I would have felt it if there were more.”
“Hey, Doc.” Ben turned his attention to Doctor Sanders. “Have you established a time of death yet?”
“I’d place it around eleven last night, give or take an hour,” she replied. “I can be more specific once I get a liver temp, but between ten and midnight is your ballpark.”
The sigh that Ben Storm let out was barely audible. I suppose I heard it simply because I could also feel the tension as it drained from him. I could sense him relaxing as if an unbearable weight had just been lifted from his shoulders. I felt all this because I had been aware of his thoughts. I had known what he was thinking ever since I had climbed into his van less than an hour ago.
“Feel better now,” I asked without turning.
“Huh?” he grunted.
“Do you feel better now that you know I didn’t commit this murder?” I turned to face my friend.
“How did…” His voice trailed off as he looked at me, obviously both surprised and embarrassed.
“What are you talking about?” Deckert inserted, genuinely befuddled.
“I had a vision tonight,” I explained. “Something of a nightmare I suppose. In it I saw that this murder had occurred, so I called Ben and told him.” I didn’t go into the details of his not believing me. “Of course, being the good cop that he is, when the body was found, he immediately considered me a suspect. That is, until the doctor here established that it probably all happened while he and I were sitting in his living room drinking a beer.”
“Rowan… Look, I’m sorry man… I…” Ben stuttered.
