If Wishes Were Horses (5 page)

“Here. For the college fund.”

He shook his head, pocketed  the change. “Once we give this  to the press, I’m going  to have to  deal with a hundred million details. The mayor wants to have a public  meeting to calm folks down. I was wondering if I could ask a second favor.”

“So long as  it's not looking at another dead body. I have a one per week rule.”

She mentally cursed herself at his look. “My apologies, Chief. Homicide cops tend  to develop a sick sense of humor to deal with  this shit—I mean, this type of situation.”

She had seen plenty of death serving as a  detective in Chicago. She knew how to  shut down her emotional side. She couldn't  keep what she saw from seeping into the

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If Wishes  Were  Horses

cracks of her soul and tarnishing it, but  she’d learned to make a mostly impermeable  shield with the jokes and an intent focus on getting the job done.

He grunted. “I know you're a good cop. I  wouldn't have asked you here, otherwise.  I read about that drug bust. I know you take  the job  seriously. You just took me off  guard, is all.”

Sarah pushed away the images that his words stirred on the charred battlefield of her memory. Her mind was fighting off enough disturbing images this morning.  “Maybe you should call me Sarah.”

He nodded. “Eric, then. Take a look down there.”

They had topped the knoll. Sarah looked down.

It was a different ravine. However, there were enough similarities to what she had seen last night to make the hair rise on her arms.

A black substance marked the boundary of the circle, and nine flat stones had been placed along it at even  intervals. A goblet  of water, a candle, a branch of a live oak and a censer marked four points of the circle. A pentagram had been drawn in the cleared area with the same dark powder. The remains of a  bonfire were evident inside the interior pentagram of the design, a ring of  ashes and charred wood. A drum lay on itsside inside the circle.

There were two key differences in  the scene  below. A dead cat, its throat slit, wasplaced next to the live oak branch. The dead woman was near the bonfire.

“Jesus,” Sarah murmured. “Is  that how you found her?”

Eric nodded. He stared above the crime scene, at the tops of the trees directly  acrossfrom them. “I had my guys cordon off the area.”

The naked body lay half in and out of the pentagon center of the pentagram. The victim looked as if she had been in the process of having sex with someone. Her body was spread open, her neck arched back. Her  knees and legs were drawn up, as if to absorb the thrusts of a lover. Her ankles  rested in shallow dents pounded into the ground.

Sarah absorbed all this as she made her way down into the ravine. She took her time, placing each step carefully, logging the images each change of view brought to her. Death always made her angry, in or near her jurisdiction even  more so. Death likethis in a small, quiet place where it shouldn’t happen offended her deeply,  though she knew murder could happen anywhere. She just  hoped the man she had been with last night was not part of it. She focused, pushing away the thoughts, aware of Eric Wassler two paces behind her.

“Cause of death?”

“We won't know until coroner gets here, but we're thinking exposure. She froze to

death.”

Sarah stopped, looked  back at him. “You're joking.”

“Do I look in a joking mood?” he snapped.

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Joey W. Hill

She let that pass. She'd nursed too many  rookies through their  first murder scene not to recognize the signs of stress. “What makes you think she froze to death on a night when the temperature didn’t fall below sixty?”

“Frost. She's got fucking frost on her.”

She noted multiple cop-type shoe prints  around the body, indicating the Marion force hadn’t been as careful to follow procedure as they should have been, but they had done better than she would have expected.

Even though Wassler had warned her,  the effect was startling. A frost-like substance rimmed the victim's blue lips and embossed the point of an angular shoulder, the tip of her bare breast, the insides of her  thighs. Sarah touched  the shoulder in one small spot, felt the cold. She brought the white powdery substance to her lips. Ice.

“Son of a bitch,” she murmured. “This woman was a hard user.” Sarah drew Eric's  attention to the needle tracks on the arm.  “I'm willing to bet the coroner will find the same on the backs of her knees.”

The bumpy column of  her sternum was visible between small breasts, which might have been larger if she had eaten occasionally, rather than living on whatever she had shot into her veins. Sarah  knew  the signs. This woman  would have been an ER ODstatistic within another few months.

She raised her gaze to the woman’s face.  Her emaciated, drawn countenance didn't match her glorious, healthy fall of brunette curls.

Sarah fished out her pen. She passed the  covered tip over the woman's forehead near the hairline, and inserted it between the scalp and a tight netting.

“Good quality wig,” she commented. “Expensive. Either it belonged to the perp, or  she stole it. She wouldn't have wasted good  drug money on something that cost this much.”

“Could it have been an overdose instead of murder?”

“Maybe.” Sarah pointed with the pen to the area between the woman's spread legs.  “That looks like knee prints to me. She had  company. Maybe he ran when she OD'd, or  maybe he shot the poison into her deliberately.  It's hard  to say. Coroner's report will tell  us a lot more. Do you have any occult activity around here, Chief?”

“Not really. There's a Wiccan coven in  Lilesville, which you may already know about. Justin Herne's linked up with it. He carries a lot of new age stuff in that shop of his, and he hosts a festival on his property each year.”

“Could Justin Herne be involved in this?” She made herself say it, though the words felt like jagged glass in her throat.

Eric’s reaction was not what Sarah expected. The man looked shocked to his  foundations. “Sarah, he's been part of our community for a few years. His family has  been in Lilesville for three generations.”

“The man runs a sex shop, Eric,” she pointed out, “and  while Wicca is a lovely faith  in its pure form, it does attract its share of crazies.”

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“It's not a sex shop, Sarah, not like an adult  store with glory holes in the bathrooms.  Heck, my wife loves to go there.”

Now it was her turn to be startled. He lifted a shoulder. “Justin came to town four  years ago and moved in with his  aunt. Beatrice Smartley, a good woman. He took care  of her until she passed away, then  opened his  shop just outside the corporate line in one  of the old two-story shingle farmhouses. He renovated the place, had it re-landscaped. I  think he's going to open a bed and breakfast. Nope. Instead he opens his store. It's  called ‘For Her’. He starts with high class lingerie like Victoria's Secret, only European  hand-tailored stuff. Meditation candles, perfumed soaps, all those things women like. A  few vibrators,” he cleared his throat, looked  away, “tucked away in the back. I think  yeah, women will like this place, but it won't last, there's not enough of a market  around here.”

He shifted, his attention going pointedly  to  the body, like he thought perhaps they might move  the conversation elsewhere, but Sarah stayed where she was. “So what happened?” she prodded.

“He starts holding events related to his inventory. He hosts lingerie parties forbirthdays and bachelorette shindigs, brings  in instructors to teach sensual massage for couples. Then,” a ghost of a smile crossed his face, as much as he could manage with murder so  close to them, “he draws in our  senior citizens with requests for theirhomemade herbal soaps and things like that  to go with his aromatherapy perfumes and such. He asks them to make up some of  their sweets, and now he has a little serve-yourself coffee area in  his sunroom to give  shoppers a place to relax. Donates all the proceeds from the refreshments to  the local senior citizen center.”

“So why is it classified as an adult business? Sounds more like a fancy lingerie store.”

“Well, over time, he started bringing in  more elaborate sex toys, role playing  costumes, adult books and videotapes, erotic artwork and photography. But not your  typical Deep Throat cheesy stuff. Herne caters strictly to couples and women.”

“I still think that would be a  little over the top for the  folks of Marion and  Lilesville.”

“Some of it is,” Eric admitted, “but contrary to popular opinion, people in small  towns aren't any more narrow-minded than people in the city. They just don't like someone shoving stuff in their face, making  them change faster  than it suits them. Herne seems to have a talent for getting people to look at things differently, while  respecting the way things are. By the time he added that stuff,  he was pretty well  integrated into the community around here, and there was barely  a murmur  of protest. I hear more concerns about the non-Christian new age stuff than  the sexual aids, and  even that’s been low level complaints.”

“Sounds like he would have gotten more business if he set up in one of the bigger

cities. Why'd he stay after his aunt died?”

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Joey W. Hill

“I've asked  him that. He says he likes it  here, and big cities are overrated. Doesn't  matter anyway. Guy has set up a unique operation. We've got people who drive as far  as from Miami to visit his place. It's almost a damn tourist attraction.”

“Hmm.” Sarah sat back on her heels, digested  that. She'd be the first to admit that  her radar this morning was shot to  shit. Still, she wasn’t  going  to  ignore the tingling  in  her gut. Something didn’t ring true.

“I'd like to  bring him  out here, let him  see this,” she decided. “Use him as an  informal expert witness. He might be able to  tell us what some of the things used to perform this ritual mean. I can also see how  he reacts to the situation. He  might not  have had anything to do with this, but if he’s involved in occult activity in the area, he may have an idea who our knee-print person  is. Would you mind if I go get him, bring  him out here to see what I get out of him before the coroner takes over?”

“Not as long as I'm here when you do,” Wassler said. “But I’m telling you, I’ve read up on Wicca. You know, when they first started  practicing in the area, just to make sure  they were on the up and up. A  lot of it sounds pretty crunchy granola, like a spiritual  movement stranded in the sixties.”

Sarah straightened and gave the  chief a level look, not without sympathy. “I get that you know Herne  and like him. But you asked me here for my experience, so I need to tell you that this kind of perp,  if there is  one, is more  often than  not someone who ispart of the community. It's almost never the  drifter or the guy with the biker tattoo and bad attitude. Murderers don't go around with a big 'M' on their chests.”

“And here I thought they carried business cards. Murderers, Local Chapter 106,” hesaid dryly.

“Damn unions are everywhere.” She smiled.  “You're learning the knack, Chief.”

“Let's hope I don't have  to get used to  it.” Eric frowned. “We're a small community, and a close one. Don't you think a tendency  toward  homicide  would  show  up  in  othertypes of behavior, some kind of warning?”

“Not always. But I’ve met Herne recently, and the last thing I get from him is  ‘flower child’. How about you?”

Chief Wassler looked down at the body.  An uncomfortable expression crossed his face, as if Sarah's question and the corpse were joining forces to rile  his stomach. “No, I don't get that from him, either. But there's  something about Herne. He’s protective by nature, particularly toward women. If I had to say anything about him, I'd say he'dhave made a good cop. Or a priest, odd as that sounds.”

“Well, let's give him his chance to play cop. Let's bring him here  and see what hesays.”

“I could dispatch a car.”

“No

,  Dexter  should  be  here  with  mine  by now. I'd like to see his place, and I want

to see his face when I tell him what we need from him.”

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If Wishes  Were  Horses

Plus, they needed to clear the air between  them. With the stench of death in her nostrils, accomplishing that was going to take  an aircraft wind tunnel. “I'd like to see the backpack before I go.”

She joined Eric outside the cordoned area around the  body and  waited for one of his men to bring it to him.

“So what was the other favor you needed?”

“Hunh?” He pulled his attention from the body.

“The second favor,” she prodded gently, shifting so she was in  his line of sight.  “You asked me for two.”

“Oh. Shit, yeah. Safety presentation at  one of the county middle schools Friday, the usual ten to fifteen minutes on drugs. Would you mind?”

“Not a problem, if you can give my man a  ride back to the station while I go see Herne.”

“Done deal.”

The uniform brought the backpack and Eric  passed it to  Sarah. She pawed through the contents and immediately found a small  stash of cocaine inside a makeup compact that hadn't carried face enhancements in a long time. There was no billfold,  nothing to  ID the body. There was only one thing  other than the clothes and the drugs.