I leaned against the counter and took a sip of hot java. “Well, whoever committed the crime performed a ritual flaying, I would assume in order to invoke something. What’s interesting though, is that there were also blatant signs of what I’m pretty sure was supposed to be an Expiation spell.”
“Expiation spell,” she repeated while stirring sugar into her cup. “So do you think that the killer felt remorse and was trying to get rid of the guilt then?”
I nodded. “That’s my best guess for now. I’ll know more in a few hours.”
“What happens in a few hours?” she queried, her bright, green eyes peering at me over the rim of her cup as she took a drink.
“I’m going to look at the crime scene with Ben.”
“You’re what?!” Her eyes grew large and she nearly dropped her mug. “What in the name of the Mother Goddess are you doing that for?”
“Calm down, sweetheart.” I held up my hand defensively. “You know as well as I do that if this creep is for real, he’s likely to do something like this again sooner or later. Probably sooner.”
“Aye, so let the police handle it,” she shot back. “It’s their job, not yours.”
“I intend to,” I told her. “But you also know that if he’s leaving behind blatant occult symbology, the media and the cops will end up on a real ‘Witch’ hunt. If they knew what they were looking at to begin with, then Ben wouldn’t have asked for my advice.”
“Well.” She calmed significantly as the logic took hold. “You’re right about that.”
“I just want to make sure they get the real bad guy and not pin it on some poor unsuspecting kid just because he has long hair and a copy of Buckland’s Complete Book of WitchCraft on his bookshelf.”
“I agree,” she surrendered.
“Besides,” I said, turning and attempting to look out into the darkness through the sliding doors but seeing only my ragged reflection staring back at me, “if this cretin actually has a background in The Craft…”
“…It’s going to take a Witch to catch a Witch gone bad,” Felicity finished the sentence for me. “And that Witch is going to be you.”
“It might have to be,” I told her.
“Aye, that’s what scares me,” she replied.
I convinced Felicity to go ahead on her planned outing with her nature photography club but only after promising to call her if something of consequence happened. She made a great show of placing her cell phone prominently in a pocket of her photo vest and reminding me of the number before loading her equipment and setting out. I had showered and tied my long brown hair back in a ponytail after she left and was making a futile attempt to relax on the front porch swing when Ben pulled into the driveway.
“Hey, paleface,” he greeted me as he climbed the stairs.
I held up my hand in a classic TV Indian greeting. “How, Tonto.”
“However I can get it.” He motioned to the coffee cup in my hand. “Got any more of that? I’m havin’ a hell of a time wakin’ up this mornin’.”
“Yeah, sure,” I replied, getting up and opening the door. “Same here. It’s the only thing standing between me and sleep right now.”
Ben took a seat in the living room and was promptly accosted by a large, green-eyed, black cat that elected to take up residence in his lap. Dickens, as we called him, loved having visitors, especially men, and was quick to claim them for his own. I headed for the kitchen while he settled in, then quickly returned with a steaming cup of black coffee and handed it to Ben.
“I gotta be honest with ya’, Rowan,” he began, scratching the purring lump of fur beneath its chin. “I was thinkin’ on the way over, and I’m not so sure about you goin’ to the scene and all.”
“What’s the problem?” I asked. “Is it because I’m a civilian?”
“No, not at all,” he answered. “Civilian consultants ain’t that unusual. What I’m worried about is the fact that you knew the victim.”
“I see,” I nodded. “So you think I might be too close to this whole thing.”
“It crossed my mind,” he answered and then took a sip from his cup.
I had seated myself across from him in my favorite chair, an antique rocker. Gazing thoughtfully into space, I gently nudged it into motion. I had been told more than once by my parents that as a child, whenever I was lost in thought, I would rock, rocking chair or not. I still did.
“I’m not going to lie to you Ben,” I finally said. “It does get to me that Ariel is the victim, and yes, she was a good friend even though we hadn’t seen one another for over a year.” I stopped the chair and leaned forward. “On the other hand, I have knowledge that might help to catch whoever did this. I think I demonstrated that last night.”
“I’ll give ya’ that,” he replied. “But what do you think you’re gonna find at the scene that wasn’t in the photos?”
“Hopefully something that will tell me if this guy is for real or just trying to make it look that way.”
“And that somethin’ would be?”
“I won’t know until I see it…or feel it,” I explained. “What I’m looking for might not be visible to the naked eye.”
“You mean like some kinda psychic thing? You know I don’t believe in that stuff.”
“I know, but I do, and if it gives you a solid lead, what does it matter?”
“Okay, tell me this.” He skipped past answering my question and proceeded into another of his own. “You ain’t lookin’ for revenge or somethin’ are you?”
“No. Not at all,” I answered with unabashed honesty. “There’s no need. What goes around comes around. He’ll get what’s coming to him whether I help you or not…Eventually.”
“Yeah, well that’s a pretty idealistic sentiment.”
“It comes with the religion.”
Ben grunted and stared thoughtfully into the depths of the mug held between his large hands. After a short period of suggestive silence, he looked up at me with deadly serious eyes. “Mind if I ask where ya’ were Wednesday evenin’?”
I was taken aback by the question and what it implied. At first I was hurt and then angry. It took less than a second for the anger to be replaced by understanding. I knew the victim, and I knew The Craft. The symbols and words in the pictures were no great mysteries to me. I was sure that Ben didn’t truly suspect me of the crime, but if he was going to bring me into this investigation, someone was bound to ask the question. He was correct to assume that I would prefer it came from him.
“Felicity and I had dinner with my dad,” I answered. “We went over to his place around four-thirty and left from there.”
“Where’d you eat?”
“Union Station,” I told him. “There’s a restaurant down there with a fantastic mixed grill. Before you ask,” I added, “we got home around nine-thirty.”
“Your old man can verify this, right?”
“The phone’s right there.” I pointed at the bookshelves. “His number is on the speed dial. I’m sure the receipt is upstairs if you want a copy of that too.”
“I’m sorry, man.” He looked back down at his drink. “You know I had ta’ ask…”
“…Or somebody else would,” I finished the sentence for him. “It’s all right. I was a little miffed at first, but I understand.”
“Okay,” he answered, then drained the coffee from his cup and set it on the table before him. “Let’s go do this.”
Ariel Tanner had lived on the first floor of a four-family flat on a street called Shenandoah within the city limits of Saint Louis. From my house in the suburbs, it took the better part of thirty minutes to reach it even though the Saturday morning traffic was light. The morning sun was already climbing in the sky when we rolled into the alleyway behind the flat and Ben pulled the Chevy into something resembling a parking space.
