THE WITCH'S LADDER (Detective Marcella Witch's Series) Read online

  Doctor Lieberman and Jean Bradford gathered their belongings and left without goodbyes. Valerie gathered up her things, too, saying, “He’s right. Two of our dearest friends were murdered in cold blood and we sit here arguing over something as trivial as a practical joke. It’s shameful.”

  Lilith said, “So, why don’t we do something about it?”

  “What?” Shekina countered. “Bring them back from the dead? That would be a trick.”

  “No, seriously. You heard Doctor Lieberman. He said we can do anything we set our minds to. I think we can solve these murders. Why don’t we meet here tomorrow?”

  “And what?”

  “Meet here tomorrow and find out.”

  Five

  The following evening, with Doctor Lieberman’s permission, the members of both workshops gathered in the Center’s parking lot before heading in. Michael arrived first, followed by Gordon and Chris. Akasha and Shekina drove their Saturn in behind Doctor Lieberman’s Mercedes. Jean, Lilith, and Valerie followed respectively. Accounts told by surviving members after that night differed slightly, but most agreed that the events unfolded in the manner which I’m about to convey.

  The only member who did not show up was Leona Diaz. When asked, Doctor Lieberman explained that Leona had called to say she was not feeling well. Nobody seemed surprised given the episode she experienced the night before with the glossolalia affair. Once everyone else was in attendance, the group, led by Doctor Lieberman, all filed into the building.

  Upstairs, the mood remained serious and conciliatory from the onset. There were no bouts of partisan bickering, childish finger pointing or senseless name-calling. Even the twins made a special effort to work amicably with Lilith, who had arguably become the evening’s mistress of ceremony. The consensus among the group was simple: in order to start their own investigation, they would need to go back to the beginning. Lilith began.

  “People, let’s take it back to the evening Travis died. What do we know about that night?”

  Gordon volunteered. “We know it was a Sunday night, because we were all together as a full group.”

  “Okay, good. What else?”

  “The date was March 19th, if that’s important,” Michael added. “I remember, because that’s the night I broke the record with the magnet experiment. I even made a note of it in my journal.”

  “All right, we have Sunday, March 19th. What else?”

  “It was cold,” said Jean, “unusually cold for mid-March.”

  “Yes,” Valerie said. “That’s another thing. It was the first night you joined us at the workshop.”

  “That’s right, and…oh, my. How could I forget?”

  “Forget what?”

  She splayed her fingers across her mouth. “I remember I got here late; the doors downstairs were locked. Something terrible happened.” She narrowed her focus to a corner up on the ceiling and concentrated on a spot there, using it as a palette to draw on from memory. “I remember pulling on the door handle and banging on the glass for someone to let me in. That’s when I saw….”

  She gasped. Her knees grew weak. She staggered backward, putting her hand out on the wall to catch her fall. Valerie and Lilith hurried to her side, each putting an arm around her shoulder to steady her to a chair.

  “Go on, Jean. Tell us what you saw.”

  She melted into her chair and leaned her head back as if looking for the spot on the ceiling again before setting out to recall what she could about that night. “I’m not sure what it was. It took me by surprise, I can tell you that. I remember banging on the door—feeling quite agitated because I saw the lights on upstairs, but I couldn’t see any of you through the window. I stepped back and looked at the door again. That’s when I saw something: a reflection in the glass. It looked like.… I don’t know, someone wearing dark clothes and a hood or something. I turned around, but it was gone.”

  “You didn’t see anything?”

  “No, just the steam from my breath. I turned back to bang on the door again. That’s when I saw Doctor Lieberman. He opened the door and he let me in. I figured whatever I thought I saw must have been my imagination, so I brushed it off once I got inside and calmed down.”

  “Jean, why didn’t you tell this to the police?” Michael asked.

  “I didn’t think of it. I thought it was my imagination. I wouldn’t have held back something so important from the police if I remembered.”

  “Of course you wouldn’t,” said Lilith. “It’s all right. We’ll fill Detective Marcella in on the details later.”

  “Well,” said Gordon. “This could be really big news. It could mean something.”

  Chris said, “Could mean what, Gordon? I mean, face it. Jean didn’t see anything. It’s possible there wasn’t anything there to see. So how does this help us?”

  “It’s simple. If someone was out there—that is, if the killer was out there, then maybe he was waiting for someone special. Maybe he knew Jean wasn’t a member of the workshop. She wasn’t one of us.”

  “One of us?”

  “Yes. You know, psychic or telepathic. Maybe that’s why he spared her.”

  “That’s good,” said Lilith. “That could be important, maybe, or maybe not. Come on, give me something else, something more. What else do we know?”

  Valerie said, “I know both Barbara and I felt something peculiar that night, just about the time Travis was killed: a feeling of peril, of impending doom, which overwhelmed us. I actually felt a sharp pain in my stomach, like someone cut me with a knife, but it went away just as fast as it came.”

  “I remember you telling us that,” Shekina said. “And you also felt something the night Barbara was murdered. Didn’t you?”

  “I did. Again that awful feeling of doom, it completely overwhelmed me, except then it was accompanied by a sharp pain in my neck.”

  “So, perhaps it’s no coincidence. The killer snapped Barbara’s neck.”

  Gordon said, “I have to tell you, I find all this interesting. In the case of both Travis and Barbara, Valerie experienced phantom pains relating to the injuries of each. Yet in the case of the homeless men she had no foretelling sense of doom or phantom pains.”

  Lilith said, “You might have something there. We should ask ourselves, why is it that Valerie could sense danger for Travis and Barbara, but not the other two victims? Was it because she knew Travis and Barbara, or because the others were not psychic?”

  Valerie said, “I have an idea. Let’s try psychometry. Lilith, will you help me?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “What’s psychometry? Jean asked.

  Lilith looked to Doctor Lieberman. “Doctor, would you care to explain?”

  She knew he would. As the girls got ready, he explained to Jean the exotic method of prognostication with his usual flair for details. “In theory,” he began, “psychometry allows an individual to gather information about a subject by simply holding an object, which that subject either owned, or came in recent contact with. We base this theory on the belief that the human mind radiates an aura of consciousness, constantly transmitting a record of one’s existence in all directions. This record is then absorbed, or recorded in the day-to-day objects in which that person comes in contact with. Through psychometric examination, a clairvoyant such as Valerie can review or replay a record of someone’s existence in her mind, merely by concentrating on the object connected with that person.”

  Jean nodded as Doctor Lieberman enlightened her on the finer attributes of psychometry, but in her eyes, Lilith could see that her understanding of the subject remained sketchy, at best. Lieberman continued. “For this experiment, Valerie is going to first try her luck with an object that belonged to Barbara: a scarf she left behind at the workshop the night she died.”

  Before beginning the experiment, the group pulled the large oak table to the center of the room and positioned chairs around it. Next, they turned out the lights in the hallway and adjacent rooms, as well as the mai
n lights overhead in the workshop. The only remaining light then came from three lone wall sconces mounted between the windows. When all was quiet, Valerie began. She held the scarf in her hands and concentrated on it intensely. She could feel the energy in her fingers ignite as she rubbed along the length of the scarf, sensing every stitch and thread.

  “I’m starting to see something,” she said, her eyes tightly closed. “I see Barbara walking toward her car. She’s looking at something, something in the sky. It’s the moon. It’s just the moon, but it’s so big and full. It’s beautiful. There are a few clouds—not many, sweeping across the face of it. They’re moving so swiftly.” She inhaled and exhaled with a shudder. “It’s cold—so cold and lonely, but the moonlight, it’s shinning so brightly on the parking lot. The car is well illuminated. She’s walking toward it again.”

  As Valerie described the events, Jean took notes, recording the particulars on a pad of white-lined paper. Everyone else sat with folded hands, motionless and spellbound.

  “I’m in my car now,” Valerie said, vicariously living out Barbara’s last moments by assuming her identity. “I always do my pre-drive checklist just as Daddy taught me. I know it’s silly, but Daddy says it’s good practice.”

  Akasha nudged Shekina with her elbow and the two girls giggled. “Daddy says it’s good practice,” she mocked in a hushed voice. Valerie remained undistracted.

  “Let’s see. I lock the door—check, release the parking brake—check. Make sure all the light switches are off—check. Then I—”

  Gordon watched Valerie role-play through the checklist. He marveled at her ability to visualize herself in the car. Her hands, set properly on the wheel at the 10 and 2 positions, moved only to turn the knobs and switches as the checklist provided. When she reached down to where the radio might be to turn an imaginary dial, Gordon made a clicking sound with his tongue and cheek. The sound apparently met her approval, as she smiled at the accomplishment and announced, “Okay, radio is off. Now I depress the clutch, shift into neutral and start the engine.”

  She reached for the ignition key and Gordon made a noise like an automobile engine starting up. Valerie’s eyes opened wide, but she remained in full character and appeared to view her surroundings as if sitting in Barbara’s car still parked in front of the compound.

  “Okay, I check the mirror, make sure it’s…. What’s this?”

  She reached up, as if adjusting the rearview mirror. A strange curiosity molded her face. She not only sounded like Barbara then, but looked like her, as well.

  “All right slow down, Valerie,” said Doctor Lieberman.

  “She’s okay,” said Michael.

  “Maybe. But I believe we’re at a critical point, and Valerie’s state of mind may be too closely tied to Barbara to break away in a hurry if necessary.” He inched closer. “Take it easy, Valerie. Don’t move too quickly.”

  “Call her Barbara,” said Lilith. “Remember, she thinks she’s Barbara.”

  “Yes, of course, you’re right. Barbara, wait. You see something in the rearview mirror, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I do. There’s something on the back seat. I don’t know what it is.”

  “What does it look like?”

  “I don’t know, like a pile of clothes or something. Now who do you suppose put those there?”

  “I don’t know. Can you tell what kind of clothes they are? Work clothes? Dress clothes?”

  “It looks like a big old pile of black clothes. Let me turn around and see.”

  “No, wait….”

  Before he could stop her, Valerie turned back and let out a blood-curdling scream. Her body jerked violently against the back of her chair as if someone had grabbed her by her throat and pulled her back. Doctor Lieberman tried holding her down, but the harder he held her, the stronger her twisting, wrenching and convulsing became.

  “Please,” Akasha cried. “Somebody do something!”

  Michael and Gordon jumped in, and even with Doctor Lieberman’s help, the three struggled to keep Valerie from flipping out of the chair.

  Someone yelled, “Look!” Valerie’s head began twisting involuntarily, beyond the point of natural ability. Chris cupped his hands over her ears and fought to keep her head from moving, but he was no match for the unnatural force working against him.

  “I can’t stop her,” he shouted. “I’m afraid I’ll hurt her. She’s fighting too hard. I don’t know what to do!”

  Akasha said, “She’s going to break her neck. Do something!”

  “Do what?”

  Somebody else screamed. A bulb on one of the wall sconces burst in a flash of light, then another, and another. The floor heaved. A blast of wind shot like a cannon across the room and shattered a window. Overhead, a crack of thunder shook the walls and in that instant it was over. Valerie stopped convulsing, went limp and fell to the floor.

  “Oh, God,” said Chris. “Is she…dead?”

  Doctor Lieberman searched for a pulse and found it. He looked up and smiled, but before he could answer, I announced from across the room, “She’s not dead.” The others turned to see me standing in the doorway, twirling that silly piece of rope in my hand. “That was a two-knotter,” I said, and I strolled into the room as slick as smoke. “I heard the commotion on my way upstairs. I didn’t know if it would help, but I decided I better untie a couple of these knots and find out.”

  Lilith smiled at me. “So then, Detective, am I to understand that you believe in the witch’s ladder now?”

  I shrugged. “Not at all, Ms. Adams, I’m sure it was just coincidence.”

  I knew it wasn’t a coincidence.

  “It was no coincidence,” she said.

  I looked down at Valerie. She appeared to be coming around from her ordeal. “Does anyone want to explain to me what’s going on here?”

  “It’s an experiment in psychometry,” said Doctor Lieberman. “Barbara saw a mysterious bundle of clothing in the back seat of her car. We suspect the killer hid there waiting for her.”

  I assisted Doctor Lieberman in helping Valerie back onto a chair. “Yes, we did find some torn fibers in Barbara’s car and under her fingernails, fibers that don’t match anything else at the crime scene.”

  “That’s good, Detective. Does this mean you have a suspect now?”

  “No, Doctor. It doesn’t.” I found myself twirling the witch’s ladder absentmindedly. “I’m afraid the lab hasn’t provided me with a link to the fibers—yet. But they will.”

  “Yeah, right,” someone scoffed.

  I turned around to see who had mocked me, but too many misgiving eyes stared back for me to be sure. It could have been anyone, one of the twins I thought, but it didn’t matter. The one thing I knew for sure was that it was not Leona. I turned back to Doctor Lieberman. “Where’s Ms. Diaz? I still have questions for her.”

  “Questions?”

  “Yes. Like what was she doing at Suffolk’s Walk the night those men were killed.”

  “You don’t know she was there, Detective. All you have is vague witness descriptions of a young woman that looked like Leona. I’m sure it wasn’t her.”

  “No. It was her, Doctor. I’ve shown her surveillance pictures to my witnesses and they made a positive I.D.”

  “Surveillance? You have us under surveillance now?”

  “For your protection. That’s all.”

  “Yes, well, I don’t appreciate you following us around and taking pictures when you should be out there looking for a serial killer.”

  “I am, Doctor. I’m out there. I’m in here. I’m anywhere this investigation takes me, and right now it takes me looking for Leona Diaz. All I want to do is ask her what she saw at Suffolk’s Walk.”

  “Detective, if Leona had any information for you, I believe she would have told you straight away. Besides, if she was at Suffolk’s Walk at all, she wasn’t there in person. She was bilocating.”

  I rolled my eyes and laughed. “Bilocating? That’s another thing. You k
now I’m very anxious to learn more about this bilocating stuff, and maybe gain a little insight into what happened here last night when Leona became so conveniently disengaged.”

  “I’m afraid all that is going to have to wait,” said Doctor Lieberman. “Leona’s not coming to the meeting tonight. She called to say she’s not feeling well.”

  “Not well—or is she trying to avoid me?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me.”

  “Yes, and I don’t like the implications.”

  “Implications? I’m more than implying. I’m beginning to believe Leona may have staged her sudden episode of spontaneous disengagement, along with the whole glossolalia thing for the sake of escaping interrogation.”

  “Oh, so now it’s an interrogation. Since when did your interviews get so formal? You know, Detective, I think you should consider whom you’re dealing with.”

  “I know whom I’m dealing with,” I said, but then realized the truth in Doctor Lieberman’s words. I knew whom I was dealing with, and I almost forgot I was dealing with psychics.

  Someone turned the remaining lights in the room back on and that’s when I turned my attention to Valerie. “So, Ms. Spencer, tell me what you saw while you were doing your psychometry thing. Anything interesting?”

  “I don’t know, Detective. I don’t remember anything.”

  “Is that so? Maybe a trip downtown will help you remember. Or need I remind you that holding back critical information in a homicide investigation is considered—”

  “She said she doesn’t remember, Detective.” The interruption was compliments of Lilith Adams this time. “It’s just the way it works. Besides, we already told you everything we’ve learned. Barbara saw something in the back seat of her car just before the attack. She couldn’t tell what it was. We’re still no closer to knowing the answer than you are.”

  “I see.” I put my hands into the pockets of my coat and started across the room. I stopped when my toes touched the wall below the window. All eyes followed, and a hush preceded the final dull thump of my leather soul coming to rest on the wooden floorboards. I removed one hand from my pocket, and with it came Lilith’s witch’s ladder. I raised my hand to the window, extended my finger and pried open a peephole through the blinds. I could see my officer outside in the parking lot, his cruiser emitting tiny flickers of light from the portable TV he brought with him. A thin veil of fog had rolled in low to the ground, but from where I stood, I could still see him paying more attention to the TV than to his surveillance. I shook my head, and a low but audible groan lurched from the pit of my stomach.