Eye of the Witch (16 page)

Spinelli said, “That still doesn’t explain why Piakowski came to Karen’s funeral. If he had a hand in her death, that’s the last place I would expect to see him.”

Carlos snapped his fingers and pointed at Spinelli. “Exactly! Piakowski felt comfortable enough to go to the funeral and scope out his next victim because he knew no one would look for him there.”

“
So the question is if he’s going to kill someone, who is it?”

“
Who from the old workshop is left?”

“
Lilith,” I said, “and of course, Benjamin Rivera and Carol Kessler. And we don’t know for sure, but we can’t forget the three amigos that dropped out of the workshop early: Stinky, Lucky and Crazy.”

Carlos laughed at that. “Sounds like a nightclub act. Maybe they should go out on the road.”

“
Maybe they already have,” said Spinelli.

“
What do you mean?”

“
Connect the dots. Think about it. Instead of potential victims, maybe one of them is our suspect?”

“
We can’t rule that out,” I said.

“
I recommend we concentrate on the victims at hand,” said Carlos, “before we focus on future victims.”

“
All fine and good I suppose, but we still have one very large question to answer. If Piakowski or Rivera or both are culpable in the deaths of those women, then how did they do it?”

That silenced the table. The answer seemed as far from reach as the moon. I considered that Rivera might have manipulated the security video to wash out visual records of him shooting Bridget Dean and planting a gun in her hand. I also accepted the possibility that he or Piakowski could have forced entry into Anna Davalos’ apartment and slashed her wrists while holding her at gunpoint. But in my wildest dreams, I could not wrap my mind around the idea that one or both somehow broke into Karen Webber’s apartment, forced her to jump to her death, and then escaped the apartment undetected. I entertained, but then quickly dismissed, the possibility that the dark force of magic might have somehow played a hand in this evil affair when….

“
Mind control!” Spinelli shouted.

Carlos and I jumped so high we nearly fell out of our seats. “Come again?”

Spinelli lowered his voice. Still, his excitement had the veins on the side of his neck bulging. “Sure, think about it. What if someone got to those women, I mean, got into their heads and made them commit suicide? That would explain how the murders could occur while the women were alone and behind locked doors.”

“
Could that happen?” I asked.

“
Why not? You’ve seen stranger things,” he said. “Carlos told me all about the weird paranormal and supernatural stuff you and he witnessed last year.”

“
But we never saw total mind control.”

“
It makes sense though, doesn’t it?”

“
I guess, but…. Carlos, what do you think?”

“
I’ve seen stranger things, Tony. And you told me about that thought form thing that played out on the window that time. That was strange.”

“
Yes, but that was a manifestation of energy harnessed by collective thought. It never got into anyone’s mind.”

“
What if it wasn’t just energy, but a someone?” Spinelli asked.

“
What do you mean?”

“
I’m talking about co-possession.”

“
I don’t know what that is.”

“
I’ve read theories about it. It’s a leap of paraphysical transmigration.”

“
I still don’t follow.”

“
It’s simple. There are a lot of people that can facilitate OBE at will.”

“
You mean, out-of-body experiences,” I said. I knew that one. “Like bilocation.”

“
Exactly, but now take that one step further. What if the person bilocating could enter another person’s body and coexist there, or co-possess that body? They might, if only momentarily, overpower the body and make it do something it wouldn’t otherwise do, like kill its host. Then the energy of the OBE individual could return to his own body.”

“
That could explain the fuzzy image we saw in the reflection on the video,” I said. “If whoever showed up appeared only as an apparition, then none of the other cameras in the building would have picked up on anyone coming or going.”

Carlos, “But who can do that?”

I looked at him and scowled. “Only one person I know bilocates,” and both he and I said together, “Leona Diaz.”

Immediately Carlos said, “But that’s impossible. Leona wouldn’t hurt a fly. She’s incapable of it.”

“
Which one is Leona again?” asked Spinelli.

“
She’s the young girl the Surgeon Stalker kidnapped last year.”

“
Oh that’s right.”

Carlos leaned forward on the table, nearly spilling his iced tea. “He was gonna get her pregnant so he could eat her baby’s liver.”

“
Eww!”

“
Carlos, Please!” I elbowed him in the side, but still he wouldn’t shut up.

“
He tied up in the basement of the research center, but she kept coming to Tony as a spirit form.”

“
She wasn’t a spirit,” I said. “Spirits are dead people. Leona came to me while bilocating. She wanted to tell me something.”

Spinelli’s eyes filled with wonder. “Tell you what?”

“
It doesn’t matter. What matters is what do we do now?”

Carlos eased back in his seat, shaking his head. “We do nothing. Leona didn’t kill those women.”

“
You’re probably right,” I told him, “but we still need to make sure. I’m going to go and see her right after lunch. In the meantime, I want you to check out Piakowski’s story about where he’s been staying. Interview Rivera. See if their stories jive.”

“
Gottcha.”

“
Spinelli, get on your computer and see if you can track down Carol Kessler. We need to talk to her.”

“
No Problem.”

“
Good.”

Natalie showed up moments later with our orders. Spinelli got the turkey burger: a three-quarter pound slab of charbroiled, cheese dripping meat on a six inch bun with chips and a pickle. I got the turkey club, layered thick with lettuce and tomato and a side of potato salad. Carlos, it turned out, apparently didn’t use the restroom after all. Instead, he had pulled Natalie aside and ordered the damn Super Turkey Sampler.

“
That explains the wink you two shared earlier,” I said.

He looked at me with all the innocence he could muster. “What wink?”

I rolled my eyes and gave it up. He was still going at it when I left him and Spinelli to go see Leona Diaz.

Eight

Leona Diaz lived in a tiny efficiency on the other side of town. I had visited her only once, shortly after her release from the hospital just days after her rescue. I believed she came through her ordeal remarkably well, considering the horrors surrounding those circumstances and that through bilocation she remained aware, indeed, bared witness to crimes of unspeakable savageries. I never pressed her hard for details, though. The paranormal nature in which she witnessed those crimes would have rendered her testimony inadmissible in a court of law, anyway. My primary concern was then, and remains, her mental and physical well-being.

I walked up to Leona’s apartment and rang the bell. She seemed confused the first few moments after answering the door, but as soon as she recognized me, she threw her arms around my neck and damn near squeezed the life right out of me.

“
Detective Marcella, Oh, mi Dios! I do not believe it! Please….” She pulled me in by the hand. “Come in. You must not stand out in the cold.”

“
It’s not cold,” I started to say, but by then she had hauled me into her apartment and sat me down on an overstuffed armchair. She took a seat across from me on the sofa, so close that our knees almost met.

“
It is so good to see you again, Detective. I am in static!”

I laughed a little. “Leona, you’re English is getting better, but I think you mean, ecstatic.”

She cupped her hands to her mouth and giggled. “Did I say something much silly?”

I shook my head and dismissed it with a wave. “No, solo un poquito. Esta bien.”

“
Gracias, Detective. You are too kind.” We smiled at each other, she like a child, excited, her feet tapping on the floor wildly, and me like a proud father, disbelieving that this young flower had grown more beautiful than ever. Nineteen-years-old and she maintained the remarkably delicate features of a child, baby smooth skin like caramel mocha, a smile bright and innocent and long dark hair with eyes like big brown moons.

“
You look well,” I told her. “Are you doing fine? You working?”

“
Si. I am the optometrist’s assistant at Optic-wise Visions Center.”

“
Are you? How good for you. And you’ve learned to pronounce optometrist so well.”

She drew her hands to her mouth and giggled again. I watched her eyes peek through tiny slits, but never lose their twinkle. “I know, thank you,” she said. “I have practiced so hard.” She straightened her face and dissolved her smile. “The op*tom*e*trist will see you now, Detective Marcella. Do you like for the op*tom*e*trist to call you tomorrow? The op*tom*e*trist will return in one hour—”

I laughed, which broke her up. Then we both laughed until our cheeks turned red and sore. I would rather have gotten up and left then, remembering Leona that way forever. But the child’s eyes had seen adult atrocities before, and if ever I were to break open this case, I had to know if she had seen them yet again. I scooted my chair forward slightly until our knees touched. I felt the tremble in her legs subside. She folded her hands and placed them neatly on her lap. Her eyes grew wide and round. I watched her take a deep breath, and before letting it out, she stiffened her back and broadened her shoulders. It pained me to start, but I had no choice.

“
Leona.” My voice cracked. I cleared my throat and swallowed. “Do you know why I’m here?”

She nodded, and a thin strand of bangs fell into her eyes. I reached up and gently brushed the hairs aside. She blinked and smiled, and when she blinked again a small tear rolled from the corner of her eye.

“
Leona, last year you told the group in your workshop about the things you used to see when you had out-of-body experiences. You said you were drawn to scenes of murder. Do you remember?”

“
Si, I remember,” she said, her monotone voice nearly void of emotion now. “When I was a little girl in Honduras, I saw such things and I remembered every detail. I remembered the faces and the uniforms of the men who came.” She unclasped her hands and clutched the rosary around her neck. “They came to kill. They always kill.” Her hands slid down the front of her dress and gathered again on her lap. “They came and took people away into the jungle. I saw the color of their eyes from above the bandanas they wore. I saw them clearly, but they could not see me. The innocent could, but not the evil ones.

“
Many of the women with their pretty dresses—the men shoot them dead. Blood ran down their dresses in red like crimson wine. I learned to despise that color. Still, I do not wear red. To me, it is the color of death.”

She bowed her head, as the memories came flooding back. Her voice already barely loud enough to hear came back softer as she continued.

“
When I became older…” She reached up for the beads around her neck and clutched them once more. “I slept with the holy rosary so that I would have it with me when I traveled out-of-body. I could do nothing to help the innocent whose murders I witnessed, but when they saw me holding the beads, they would think the Holy Mother sent me. They looked at me and made the sign of the crucifix. I think it gave them peace before…” She trailed off to catch a stifled breath and began anew.

“
One night, three years ago, I went away to Puerto Castilla on holiday with my Uncle and his family. I went to sleep, but suddenly found myself in the jungles of nearby Nicaragua. It had been many months since I traveled out-of-body, so I did not sleep with my rosary. I knew right away what I would see there. But I did not expect to see my own papa. They beat him severely and dragged him into the jungle to shoot him. Papa begged for his life. I saw him look at me. I knew he saw me, but his assassins could not.

“
When they executed him…” She broke again to catch her breath. “I looked at the men who did it so that I could remember their faces. But for some reason, I could not see them. They were not wearing masks or covering their faces anymore. I simply could not see them. My brain would not allow me to. That was the last time I experienced bilocation in my sleep. That was before I came to study with Doctor Lieberman and his workshop.”

Leona turned her face away from me. Another tear skipped down her cheek. I reached for her hand and held it in mine. “Since all that happened last year, Leona, have you again experienced bilocation?”

“
Yes,” she uttered, still looking away.

“
Recently? Within the last several weeks?”

She turned her head and our eyes met. “I saw Bridget and Karen.”

“
Did you see Anna Davalos, too?”

“
Yes.”

“
Did you see who did it?” I knew she knew what I meant. I had no doubt then that Karen and the other two women committed suicide, at least in the traditional sense based on the coroner’s conclusions supported by the physical evidence. But in the non-traditional sense, as surely as if someone stuck a gun to their heads and told them to do it, I believed they were murdered. Leona understood this, too. Her answer appeared to both sadden and discourage her.