THE WITCH'S LADDER (Detective Marcella Witch's Series) Page 4

  Michael said, “Lilith, no one’s saying you had anything to do with this. I personally don’t believe the occult, pagan or otherwise, is responsible for these murders. But even if it’s so, it doesn’t mean any of us suspect your involvement just because you’re a witch.”

  She settled back. Her posture softened, but her eyes continued to pan the room with distrust, searching for those who agreed with Michael and those who did not.

  Doctor Lieberman, perhaps fearful of the escalating tensions, intervened. “All right, people, enough. I think it’s in everyone’s best interest if we call it a night. Okay, everybody has agreed to continue the workshops; however, I believe we should still take a few weeks off before we meet again so that we might collect our thoughts and our nerves. These have been difficult times for all. We should comfort, not turn against one another.”

  The collective bobbing of heads told Doctor Lieberman that someone had finally said something in which they all could agree. With no further discussions, they packed up their belongings, said goodbye and made their way home.

  Four

  In the following weeks, two more murders occurred on the south side of town in the industrial district of Suffolk’s Walk. The papers reported the murders with as much sensation as the two at the research center. In the new cases, the attacker surprised the victims from behind, striking one over the head with a baseball bat and stabbing the other in the back with a large knife. The obvious differences between the two latest killings and the ones at the Center were the victims themselves. The latest were homeless men, winos, with livers probably already scarred with end-stage cirrhosis. However, that didn’t stop the killer from meticulously cutting the livers out of their bodies. Only this time he didn’t take them.

  The press declared it official. The town had a bona fide serial killer in its midst. They dubbed him the Surgeon Stalker. An unofficial statement released by a department insider warned everyone to stay inside at night and to lock all doors and windows. Fanatic cult or not, the statement read, it appears no one is immune from attacks now. I’m still trying to find the source of that release.

  In the meantime, I had grown increasingly frustrated with the lack of physical evidence at the crime scenes. With few exceptions, I had little to go on. I found some fortune in the case of the first homeless victim where the murder weapon, a thirty-two-ounce Louisville Slugger, turned up within yards of the body. Unfortunately, we found no fingerprints on the bat. Other potentially interesting informational tidbits came to me in the form of eyewitness accounts who described seeing a young woman; attractive, dark-skinned (probably Hispanic), with long black hair, stalking Suffolk’s Walk prior to each murder. Several witnesses placed her there at about the right time, and all were consistent in their general description of her. Coincidentally or not, the description perfectly fit a young woman I had met only a few weeks earlier, Leona Diaz, the shy one in Doctor Lieberman’s psychic workshop.

  Several nights after the second murder at Suffolk’s Walk, the workshop reconvened and the immediate topic of conversation, naturally, centered on the two killings. The group was still debating the relevance of the homicides to the murders of Travis and Barbara when I walked in. Their conversations surrendered to an immediate hush. Doctor Lieberman greeted me with a handshake.

  “Good evening, Detective. Come in. Join us. Make yourself comfortable. We have fresh coffee over there on the table if you’d like to help yourself.”

  “And a good evening to you all,” I said. I offered a fleeting wave to the group and made my way to the coffee and donuts. “Please don’t let me stop you, people. Go on and continue with whatever you were talking about. Pretend I’m not here.”

  “Actually, Detective, we were discussing the murders at Suffolk’s Walk,” said Valerie.

  “Yes. I’m not surprised. I can hardly expect you to discuss anything else, now can I?”

  “Hardly,” someone replied from the far corner of the room. Lilith Adams sat perched atop a three-drawer filing cabinet, kicking her legs out alternately and allowing her heels to smack against the drawer fronts. She held in her hand another piece of rope, into which she had tied several flawlessly spaced square knots. “You know, Detective,” her sarcasm rang like nails on a chalkboard, “as much as we all enjoy your company, this is a workshop for members only. If you have questions, I’d suggest you ask them and get back to your business of solving homicides, because you won’t find what you’re looking for in a plate of donuts.”

  My back still faced the room, but Lilith saw me hesitate, as if acknowledging the nuisance but not giving recognition to its source. I set my coffee down on the table, turned around and trooped up to her, stopping inches from the filing cabinet where she sat.

  “Ms. Adams,” I said, my teeth gritting. “Normally, I’m a patient man, but my patience is beginning to wear thin. So why don’t you tell me what you think I’m looking for here?”

  “Well, Detective, I guess you’re looking for a killer. That’s what you do, isn’t it? Or are you just here for the free hand outs?”

  Someone in the group giggled—one of the twins I supposed—but my irritation remained fixed on Lilith. I smiled thinly, sighed and then turned toward the window. I gazed at the blackness in the night sky. In the reflection on the glass, I saw all the members of the workshop watching me. “Yes, Ms. Adams,” I said, still concentrating on the reflection. “That is what I do. I look for killers wherever I can find them. However, that’s not all I do. I also look for information, and I observe. In fact, that’s what a good detective does mostly, you know. He observes things and people, places and dates...that sort of thing.”

  “Yes, I suppose that’s all very interesting. So tell me. What are you observing now? Is there anything outside of interest to you?”

  “No, Ms. Adams. There isn’t. Actually, what’s inside is what interests me most. I’m observing your colleagues behind me through the reflection in the window. That I find interesting. Don’t you think? I mean the fact I can stand here and observe two worlds at the same time, the world outside the window and the one behind me in this room. Surely, you must know what that’s like, Ms. Adams, what with you being a psychic and all. That must come in handy for you at times.”

  Lilith set her sights on the window. She too could see the faces of her classmates in its reflection. “Yeah, sure,” she said. “I suppose you’re right. Sometimes it comes in handy.”

  “Of course it does. But you see I can’t always look at reflections in order to see two worlds. I have to rely on information I gather before I can see the whole picture. Not being psychic, I can’t just put myself into the killer’s mind to see where he is, go there and arrest him. Does that make sense to you at all?”

  “I guess what you’re saying is that you wish you were psychic like us, so that you could do your job much easier. You could be a super dick, like Batman or something.”

  I laughed. “No, no chance of that. Please, I have enough crosses to bear, thank you. Hell, I know you all consider your psychic abilities a gift, just as I consider my detective skills a gift. But I wouldn’t trade one for the other in a million years. All I’m saying is that I need to gather information, plain and simple. I need to be free to pick and sift through whatever debris blows my way. That’s why I’m here tonight. All I ask is that you indulge me so that I might ask a few questions and observe a few moments here with your distinguished group. Then, having filled my little notebook with notes and observations, I can leave you in peace, return to my bat cave, if you will, and try to sort it all out.”

  Lilith turned from the window and found my eyes locked on to hers with desperate intensity. She smiled, and I could feel her reeling me in on a thread of mistrust. “You know, Detective. You can ask all the questions you want. But trust me. If any of us knew anything about who killed our friends, we would have told you by now. Don’t you think?”

  “Yes, perhaps. I suppose you would. That’s if any of you knew that you knew something.”
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  “Excuse me?”

  “Tell me, Ms. Adams. Are you familiar with the term divination?”

  The question hit her like a slap on the cheek. She pitched back on her perch and I could tell that her heart skipped a measured beat. She swallowed hard and cleared her throat. “Sure,” she said confidently, and I knew that the others had not detected her initial misstep. “Of course I know the meaning of divination. I’m a witch, you know. And in case you’re wondering, I do practice the art.”

  I thanked her for answering truthfully, and then looked around the room, imagining that some in the group had no idea what we were talking about. Michael took the opportunity to interpret the silent survey as an invitation to ask.

  “Excuse me, Detective. Would you explain to the rest of us what divination is?”

  I looked again at Lilith. “Ms. Adams. Would you care to take this one?”

  Lilith looked down at the rope in her hands, which then had fifteen perfectly spaced knots. She held it up to me and pulled tightly on each end as hard as she could, and cinched the knots firmly in place. “My pleasure,” she said, and then hissed like an alley cat, soft and low. I felt sure she meant it as a playful jest, but it came out sounding sexy as hell.

  I backed away from the filing cabinet and let her down. She turned to the curious group, threw her hair back over her shoulder and exhaled deeply. “Sure, Michael, I’ll tell you what divination is. Simply put, it’s a means of communicating with the supernatural, mostly for foretelling the future. It’s extremely ancient, with roots going back to the earliest civilizations. Today you see it practiced mostly in paganism, witchcraft and voodoo. For the most part, it’s harmless, and the majority of people consider it superstitious at best.”

  Michael nodded, seemingly satisfied with the explanation, but I was not.

  “Oh, come now, Ms. Adams. Don’t stop there. Tell them how some people practice this art.”

  Lilith stiffened her back and took another deep breath through her nose. She squinted low in scorn, rolling her lips inward and forming a narrow horizontal sneer. The corners of her mouth pinched, dimpling her cheeks, and for just a moment, I believed I could actually feel the rumbling of her anger in the floor beneath my feet. Nonetheless, she remained composed.

  “For some, Michael, foretelling the future is as simple as making an observation of natural everyday occurrences, such as cloud formations, or interpreting the way a wave breaks over a sandbar. Others prefer to toss rice or grain into the air and then read the patterns they make in the sand after they fall. As for me, I prefer to pour oil into a pan of hot water to observe the formation of bubbles and rings.”

  At that point, you could hear a pin drop. For three years, Lilith participated in the workshop and no one in the group had known as much about her. Chris seemed particularly amazed at the revelation, while Gordon seemed the most intrigued. The twins appeared skeptical, even suspicious, perhaps believing Lilith much too audacious to practice such a benign form of divination as she described.

  “That’s incredible,” said Gordon. “You can actually foretell the future by reading oil droplets in water?”

  “Of course, Gordon, but that’s not all. Do you want to know the best part?”

  “What?”

  “The best part is that the spaghetti won’t stick to the pan.”

  A spontaneous laughter erupted; the likes of which I believed surprised even Lilith. It was loud and robust and it went a long way in easing tensions in the room. I found it difficult after that to turn the tables to the serious side once again, but I was making a point, and I had to complete what I started.

  “That’s all very entertaining,” I said, and the clamoring ended almost as abruptly as it started. “But there’s another form of divination, Ms. Adams, isn’t there?”

  Lilith folded her arms to her chest and shot me a look of pure disdain. “Yes, of course there is, Detective. Thank you for mentioning it. You’re such a dear.”

  I gestured by crimping the brim of my hat, but not actually tipping it. She reached up and gave the brim a flick with her finger before folding her arms at her chest again. It happened so quickly, I barely had time to flinch, and the look of surprise on my face made her smile with satisfaction.

  “I believe what Detective Marcella is referring to is an ancient form of divination called hepatoscopy.”

  The word meant nothing to most everyone in the room, save for Doctor Lieberman, who I caught gulping down a grape-sized lump in his throat.

  “Hepatoscopy is the examination or inspection of the liver of sacrificial animals for the purpose of foretelling the future.”

  Lilith stepped back, reeling in the shock wave that rippled through the room like falling dominos.

  “My God! Is that what’s been happening here?” Valerie Spencer asked, her hand covering her mouth in revulsion. “Some lunatic is killing us in order to tell the future by reading livers? What kind of barbarian does such things?”

  “Yes,” said Michael, slamming the heel of his fist on the table. “Why haven’t you said anything about this before? This is totally unacceptable.”

  “It’s insane. Absolutely disgusting.” an equally disturbed Chris Walker declared.

  Soon, the entire room ignited in chaos and disorder, with everyone yelling at everyone else and no one at all. Even the twins, who usually preferred to communicate via telepathy, were yelling at the men, the women, and at each other. Except for me, Leona Diaz was the only other person in the room not engaged in the ruckus. While I tried to decipher the accusations and innuendoes flying around the room in hopes of hearing something worth noting, Leona remained unwilling or unable to get involved. She sat alone in the corner, biting her nails and watching as wrinkles crowded her forehead.

  The commotion continued unabated until Doctor Lieberman finally stepped in. “All right, everybody simmer down,” he ordered. “I need everybody to please take a seat and remain calm, everybody. Now!”

  It took a few more pleas of persuasion, but eventually things died down to a restless murmur. Everyone took a seat, if not reluctantly, when Michael’s hand came down hard on the table once more. “Lilith, I ask you again. Why haven’t you mentioned anything about this before? Do you know anybody who might practice this hideous form of divination?”

  “Do I know anybody?” she said. “Hmm… You know I’m sure you just took the words right out of Detective Marcella’s mouth. The answer is no. I don’t. But do you want to know why I haven’t mentioned this before? I haven’t mentioned it because I don’t know anything. Why is it you all assume I would, because I’m a witch? Is that it? Just ask the crazy witch, right? She’ll know. Witches know everything about everyone who ever practiced hepatoscopy. Well, bullshit. I don’t. You asked me before if I thought Detective Marcella was right about the pagan-ritual theory, and I told you I didn’t believe it. Did any of you listen to me? No. Detective Marcella has been doing his job for over forty years, so you all figure he knows what he’s talking about. Yet none of you bothered to ask him how many cases like this he’s investigated in all those years? If you had, then you’d probably find the answer is none. Am I right, Detective?”

  I looked at her and shrugged ambiguously.

  “So is this the other agenda you mentioned earlier,” Valerie asked. “The agenda you thought the killer might have for wanting the livers, if not for the pagan sacrifices?”

  “Yes, Valerie. Divination is one of them. I suppose there are many possible reasons why some sick bastard would do this. I just didn’t believe it was for human sacrifice to Pagan gods.”

  Several nodded as though they understood, but Lilith appeared to find little comfort in that. Suspicions still ran high. Even I could sense it. When Shekina and Akasha turned to each other in a conspicuous attempt to discuss telepathically what they wished not to share with the others, Lilith blasted them.

  “And you. You little twerps,” she boomed. “Have you no courtesy? Do you think this is a game? If you two have someth
ing to say, why don’t you share it with the rest of us? Everyone’s trying to communicate out in the open so that we can all get this off our chests. I think it would be nice if you verbalized for the benefit of the telepathically challenged in the room so that we’re all on the same page here. Is that too much to ask?”

  Doctor Lieberman cleared his throat, but did not speak. Lilith acknowledged the doctor’s signal and backed down without protest. Akasha stood, faced Lilith directly and laid it all out on the table.

  “Fine, I’ll tell you what we’re thinking,” she said. “Shekina and I noticed that you seem to know an awful lot about divination. You told us you don’t know who would do this, but you didn’t answer Michael’s question. Why didn’t you mention your theory about hepatoscopy before? Is it because you were afraid we would suspect you in the murders?”

  “Akasha,” said Lilith, “let me explain something. Witches employ many techniques for peering into the future. Divination for the purpose of clairvoyance is just one form of the technique, which is also called scrying. In theory, a skillful witch might engage whatever method of scrying she believes will produce the best results, regardless of ethics, morality or consequence. For gypsies, it’s the crystal ball. For true magicians, shamans and witches, it could likely be shiny objects and stones that they concentrate on, or mirrors reflecting moonlight. Of course, in some rare cases, it could even be the reading of livers and entrails of sacrificial animals, including humans. Now then, I have many ways of seeing into the future. As a diviner, a psychic and a damn good witch, there are plenty of reliable tools at my disposal for scrying, and all are just as effective as the other. I have no need to cause bodily harm to innocent people or animals when these tools are so abundant and free.”