Harm None: A Rowan Gant Investigation (4 page)

The look on his face told me that which I
needed but didn’t want to know.

“It was filled with blood wasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he replied. “We think the bastard
drank her blood.”

The two of us shared a wordless stare as we
were simultaneously bludgeoned by the revolting possibility he had
just voiced. I swallowed hard and slowly forced my eyes back down
to the permanent visual records of the abomination. Five
photographs later, it was my turn for the greyish pallor to
overtake my face. The glossy color image before me showed a bed
with the nude body of a petite young woman draped across it. Her
mouth was frozen in the oval shape of an agonized scream, her dull
eyes staring horrifically into space. The wall next to the bed was
spattered wildly with blood. Her throat had been cut, and her long,
strawberry-blonde hair was matted into the sheets, which flowed to
the floor like a crimson waterfall. From the ragged incision at her
throat to a point just below her waist, and from shoulder to
shoulder, she was nothing but bare exposed muscle. She had been
skinned.

As if that weren’t enough, there was
something else that made me hold my breath a beat longer. That
something was the fact that her face held more than just a passing
familiarity to me.

“An invocation rite,” I stated flatly,
fighting back insistent waves of nausea.

“What’s that?” Ben asked.

“A ritual used to call forth someone or
something from another plane of existence.”

“You mean like a spirit or somethin’?”

“Yeah,” I answered, “it’s the ‘or something’
that bothers me.”

“How can ya tell that’s what it is?” Ben
pressed. “All the symbols were with that Expiation thing.”

“The flaying,” I answered. “Skinning and
mutilation are considered parts of a ritual sacrifice for
invocation in some old religions. Have you gotten a report from the
coroner?”

“No, not yet...Why?”

“Whoever did this...” I caught my breath and
started again. “Whoever did this probably skinned her alive. The
sonofabitch performed two rituals. One to invoke who knows what,
and one to forgive himself for doing it.”

“Jeezus,” Ben whispered.

“I need to see this crime scene, Ben,” I told
him, still staring at the two-dimensional horror.

“I don’t know, Rowan...” he began to
protest.

“No, Ben,” I shot back, “I’m serious. I don’t
know for sure what this guy is up to yet, but you’ve already told
me that your expert can’t find his way around the block. If this
bastard is really trying to do what I think he is, then I doubt if
he’s going to stop here. If I’m physically on the scene, maybe I
can find something that will help.” Without realizing it, I had
stood up from my seat and had begun pacing. “Besides,” I stopped,
looked down at the picture for a moment and then back to Ben’s
face, “I know the victim.”

“You know ‘er?” He stared back at me
incredulously.

“Her name’s Ariel Tanner,” I stated quietly
and then turned away as if having the photographs behind me would
make them magically disappear. I took a deep breath before adding,
“She’s a... was… a Witch.”

“How did you know her?”

“I was her teacher. I instructed her in The
Craft.”

I could hear him scribbling quickly, making
notes like a good cop was supposed to do. I had started him on the
road to solving one of his mysteries, but an entirely new one was
unfolding before me. A new one that my instincts were telling me
would need to be solved very quickly.

“Shit,” Ben muttered as he made his decision.
“Okay. I’ll pick you up in the mornin’.”

“I’ll be here.”

I
didn’t have any of the nightmares Ben warned me of—of course,
you have to go to sleep in order to have nightmares. I was still
sitting at the dining room table, absently studying the pattern of
the sponge-painted walls when Felicity awoke and wandered
in.

“Aye, it’s four A.M.,” she said with a yawn
as she hooked her arm around my neck and fell into my lap. The fact
that she wasn’t fully awake was allowing a hint of her Celtic
brogue to show through. “How late were you and Ben drinking, then?”
She reached out to the table and picked up my coffee cup then took
a swallow. “Yech, needs sugar.”

I wrapped an arm about her waist and held her
close. I had never been any good at breaking bad news to people,
and I wasn’t really looking forward to doing it now. I let my head
rest against her chest and took in the sweet scent of her long
auburn curls. I felt comfortable and safe against her, and I held
her even tighter. A foreboding deep inside told me that this was
the last time I was going to feel this way for a while, so I
allowed it to linger as long as I could.

“Row,” she asked, resting her cheek against
my head. “What’s wrong?”

Her drowsy voice threw back my thin security
blanket of denial and exposed me once again to the frigid reality I
had come to accept only a few hours before. I took in a deep breath
and let it out in a slow sigh, and then reluctantly, I spoke,
“Remember Ariel Tanner?”

“Of course,” she replied. “What about her? Is
everything okay?” She pulled away, remaining in my lap, and
bringing a hand beneath my bearded chin, raised my face to meet her
concerned gaze.

“She was murdered,” I told her. “Ben is the
investigating officer.”

“Oh no...” she whispered, her voice trailing
off, and then hugged me tightly. “When did it happen? How?”

“A couple of days ago. As for the how...well,
it wasn’t pretty. It looks like it might have been a ritual
murder.”

“A ritual murder!” she gasped. “You mean as
in someone sacrificed her?”

“That’s how it appears.” I continued, “In the
crime scene pictures Ben showed me, anyway.”

Her voice suddenly took on a sharp, almost
angry tone, “Why would he show pictures to you, then? Has he lost
his mind?”

“Now don’t go off the deep end.” I helped her
gently from my lap and stood up. “He had no idea that I knew her,
and he was showing me the pictures because I offered to help. It
seems his expert wasn’t having much luck deciphering the symbols
left at the scene.” Picking up my coffee cup, I went into the
kitchen to freshen it, Felicity trailing along behind.

“I see.” She calmed and held out a cup she
had retrieved from the cabinet. She stopped me when I had filled it
just over halfway. “Were you able to figure anything out for
him?”

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.”