An Affair Of Sorcerers

The tape ran out; I rewound it and played it over again twice. April went to a corner of the room and stood leaning against the wall, her hands to her temples. The third voice that had come in was totally unrecognizable. Obviously, Frank Marlowe had wired himself for his initiation ceremony, but the tiny recorder had picked up only the sounds of the group's chanting, Marlowe's own voice-and the voice of the coven leader. That voice had been amplified and distorted.

'The leader,' April said tensely. 'It sounds just like the voice on the tape that was delivered to the hospital.'

'That's right. It is the same person.'

'Robert, what does it mean?'

'It means you were wrong about Frank not being a part of Esobus' coven.' I paused and carefully started replacing the items in the shopping bag. What I was thinking was so off-the-wall that it threatened to turn the entire case inside out, blowing away a major assumption I'd been operating on up to that point. Yet the evidence offered by the two tapes appeared to point to one, inescapable conclusion. I finally put my thoughts into words, if only to hear how insane they sounded when spoken aloud. 'It also means-or seems to mean-that the person responsible for saving Kathy's life is Esobus himself.'

Taking the shopping bag with me, I got into a cab outside the Medical Center and gave the driver directions to take me to Garth's precinct station house. I got there just as Garth came hurrying out the door. I intercepted him on the way to his car.

'Hey, brother,' I said, hoisting the bag in his direction. 'Wait up. I've got something here you're definitely going to want to check out.'

'Not now, Mongo,' Garth said tensely, brushing past me. He started to slide into the car, then motioned for me to get in beside him. 'Come on. I guess you've earned the right to see this-if that's the way to put it.'

'What are you talking about?' I asked, knowing from Garth's tone that I wasn't going to like it.

'Our elusive friend Crandall got himself lost permanently. He's dead.'

Chapter 16

It was not yet noon, but the temperature had to be approaching ninety. The heat and the drugs in my system were poking at my brain, making it hard, despite my respect and feeling for this victim, to concentrate on the fact that we were on our way to a pre-luncheon meeting with Daniel's death. As if bodies weren't found, and people didn't die, on hot mornings. Then too, I may have been distracted by the pastoral surroundings-The Ramble, a heavily wooded area of Central Park notorious as a trysting place for homosexuals, but in fact freely used by lovers of all colors, creeds and sexual persuasions. Even heterosexuals.

Neither of us spoke as I followed Garth along one of the many trails cutting through woods, around ponds and across the strong spines of granite mini-cliffs that sparkled in the heavy white sunlight. We passed a number of late-rising bird-watchers, tweedy men and women with necks bowed under the weight of huge binoculars that looked powerful enough to track an ant at three hundred yards.

A uniformed cop was waiting for us a half mile or so down the trail. He led us off the main trail, up over a small outcropping of rock and along a narrow path that was incongruously marked with NYPD posting signs. We went around another outcropping. What I saw made my mind snap back into focus with such force that I involuntarily groaned and snapped my jaws shut.

Daniel's body was in a tiny clearing in the center of a secluded, dense copse of trees, surrounded by uniformed cops and police technicians. It wasn't pretty. Daniel had been stripped naked and staked spread-eagled, face up, to the ground. He'd been tortured, and a cat's head had been stuffed into his mouth as a gag. The immediate cause of death looked to be an ornate ceremonial sword that had been plunged into Daniel's heart, but he'd been expertly carved up first. Occult symbols had been scratched into the rocky soil around him: it had been a ritual torture and murder.

'It looks like Crandall finally found the people he was looking for,' Garth said softly.

I nodded slowly, but could think of nothing to say. Despite his brusque stubbornness, I'd liked Richard Crandall, and had come to respect his strange, unyielding demand for solitude. As April had said, he was, by nature of his beliefs, a loner who had to do things his own way. It occurred to me that his hunt had been a kind of spiritual exercise. The ceremonial magician was dead, and I wondered who would pray for this strange priest of the occult. I decided I would.

We waited for the police photographers to finish their business, then went back to Garth's car, where I played the tape for him. When it had finished, I turned the machine off. He didn't say anything, and I asked, 'You want to hear it again?'

Garth shook his head. 'I'll give it to the lab boys. They may be able to clean it up and raise the levels so we can try for some voice identification.' He paused, added, 'So that's Esobus. It's the same voice we heard on the hospital tape. You can tell that, even with the distortion.'

'Yep. It was Esobus, the leader of this shithead crew, who backed off and supplied the information that saved Kathy's life. Interesting, huh?'

'To say the least,' Garth replied quietly. 'There's something else that's interesting: this tape proves that the distortion on the two tapes wasn't done after the recording. Only Esobus' voice is distorted; except for poor quality, all the other voices on the tape are normal. What the hell do you think is going on?'

'It's electronic,' I said. 'You can get that effect with certain kinds of microphone and feedback setups. Obviously, Esobus masks his voice from his own coven, which could mean they don't even know who he is.'

'Christ, that's hard to believe. Wouldn't they try to find out?'

'Some weird people here, brother, which I don't have to tell you. Everyone I talk to who's ever heard of Esobus speaks of him as a legend. If Esobus wanted to keep his identity secret, even from his own coven, he just might have the muscle to get away with it. The rest of the coven might view it as some kind of ritual source of power.'

Garth stared out the side window for a few moments, then made a sharp, hissing sound of disgust. 'What the hell was that girl's father doing with this bunch of creeps? You gave me the impression you thought Marlowe was pretty straight-at least morally.'

'I still think he was. And Marlowe isn't the only one who doesn't seem to fit this picture. Bobby Weiss-Harley Davidson-wouldn't have hurt a fly, unless he accidentally dropped his ego on it. Neither of those men was a torturer nor murderer. Not only that, but I've been told over and over again that Esobus is a ceremonial magician who wouldn't form a coven with anyone but other ceremonial magicians who are almost as heavy as he is. Obviously, that isn't true.' I hesitated as a thought flitted up from some dark corner of my mind. I tried to look at it, but it ducked out of sight behind dmg-shadows of weariness and confusion. 'Maybe,' I added feebly.

'What 'maybe'?' Garth said scornfully. 'A coven has thirteen members, period. In this case, there would be Esobus and twelve others. So Marlowe and Harley Davidson turned out to be closet pussycats.'

The thought came back for a return run. This time I grabbed it and flopped it over on its back. Its face was ugly. 'Unless Marlowe and Bobby Weiss were marked as victims from day one. They only thought they were members of the coven; the real members were doing a number on them.'

Garth was still staring out the car window, idly tapping his knuckles against the glass. 'I like it,' he said at last. 'Go ahead.'

'All right, let's noodle on it together. Try this for openers: Thirteen members of the coven are heavies, and all very kinky-with Esobus himself the only question mark. They prey on vulnerable people who are sucked in and made to think they're members. The suckers are given all the sex, drugs and anything else they want; and all the while the real coven is