The Witch's Key (15 page)

I shrank back in my seat, feeling remarkably stupid
and vulnerable. “Well, since you put it like that,” I said. “I
don’t suppose you
need
to use witchcraft.”

“You’re damn right I don’t. And what makes you think
if we had sex that any spell on earth would make you forget it? Am
I
that
ordinary?”

“No, of course not! You are extraordinary. A thousand
spells wouldn’t make me forget it. It would be the single most
unforgettable moment in my life.”

That softened her considerably. “Really?” I held my
breath until she sat back down. “Then why would you think that
about me?”

I shrugged, undeniably confused. “Because, I awoke in
your bed this morning, completely naked. And then I came out here
and you were so nice, making me coffee and breakfast.”

“I was hungry. You think I’m going to cook and not
make any for you?”

“You let me peek down your shirt,” I said, grinning.
“You’ve never done that before.”

She picked up a wadded napkin and threw it at me. “I
didn’t let you! You stole that peek, you little perv.”

“You’re wearing my tee shirt.”

“I found it mixed in the laundry with my stuff.”

“Then, you didn’t…”

She shook her head.

“And we didn’t….”

“No, we definitely did not.”

“Oh,” I said, suddenly feeling very thankful, yet
sad—relieved, yet disappointed. I looked at Lilith, who I’m sure
could read it all in my face, and I told her I was sorry.

“Don’t sweat it,” she said. “I suppose I didn’t do
anything to keep you from jumping to that conclusion. And for that,
I’m sorry, too.”

I accepted her apology, and after working the better
half of my coffee I asked, “So, just how did I fall asleep in your
bed last night?”

She gave me a quirky look. “You really don’t
remember?”

“No.”

“Carlos brought you home in a taxi and helped you to
the door. It was all I could do to put you in your bed and get your
shoes off. Sometime in the middle of the night, I rolled over in my
bed and there you were, sleeping next to me, naked as a jaybird. I
couldn’t wake you, so I moved into your room and went back to sleep
there.”

“Ooh,” I said, adding embarrassment to my potpourri
of emotions, especially when I remembered that Lilith likes to
sleep in the buff. “Well, I hope you can forgive me for that. I
promise it will never happen again.”

“Oh,” she said, smiling slyly. “That’s okay. Really,
I didn’t mind.”

I would not have thought I could feel any more
awkward around Lilith, and I probably would have shrunk to the
floor in abashment if not for the saving bell from the front door.
“I’ll get it,” I said, willing to accept even a Jehovah Witness as
a diversion. Better for me, it was Carlos.

“Tony!” he said, slightly out of breath. “Sorry I
overslept, man.”

I waved him in unceremoniously. “Have a seat, Carlos.
Maybe Lilith will fix you some coffee while I finish getting
dressed.”

“Yes, do come in, Detective,” Lilith called. “Tony’s
going to need some time to shake the bear out of his breeches after
last night.”

I headed for my room. “Be nice, Lilith.”

“A little hung over?” Carlos asked. By then I was far
enough down the hall to pretend I didn’t hear him. I took a quick
shower after raiding the medicine cabinet for some aspirins, and
before the steam dried on the mirror, I was heading back to the
kitchen, fully dressed but with shoes in hand. I stopped just
before turning the corner when I heard my name, followed by the two
of them laughing.

“He was naked?” I heard Carlos say.

Lilith answered, “Au naturel and standing at
attention, if you know what I mean.”

“So, whatcha do?”

“What do you think? I did what any self-respecting
girl in my position would do. I….”

Her replied trailed off in a whisper, to which both
responded by breaking out in robust laughter again.

“You didn’t!” he said.

“I did,” she answered, and they laughed still harder.
I turned the corner, ripe for fight and boiling mad. But I did not
want them to know it, so I smiled at their red faces and laughed a
little with them.

“What’s so funny?” I asked, directing the question to
Carlos because I knew he would have the hardest time making
something up.

“Oh, just telling jokes,” he said.

“Really? Let’s hear it.”

Lilith came back, “It’s an old one. Probably just
bore you.”

“Yeah,” said Carlos. “It’d bore you stiff.”

Oh, how that brought down the house. I put my shoes
on while they fell over laughing on the floor. Then, without
waiting for them to stop, I told Carlos, “Meet me outside when you
think you’re done.” And I walked out, slamming the door with
substantial satisfaction.

Carlos came out right behind me, but not before I
made it to the car and took a seat on the passenger side. He
climbed in behind the wheel, still smirking, and started the
engine. I waited until we were well on our way before asking him
what Lilith said.

“About what?” he asked.

“You know.”

“No?”

“Carlos, I heard you two talking. I was right around
the corner the entire time. What did she say happened in bed?”

He cringed, clearly uncomfortable about the matter.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“All right, fine. Then let’s drop it. But you better
not utter a word about this to Spinelli.”

He turned to me abruptly. “Oh, that reminds me.
Spinelli.”

“What?”

“He called this morning. Another transient kissed a
train last night.”

“Suicide?”

He shrugged. “That’s what they’re saying.”

“Who is saying?”

“Dell, over at the First. It happened in his
precinct.”

“Can we check it out?”

“Not until later. I talked to him after hanging up
with Spinelli. He asked if we could wait till he finished his
prelim. Protocol, you know.”

I turned my head and gazed out the side window at the
passing scenery. “Yes, I know. I don’t suppose I would want him
nosing around if it were our investigation.”

“You sound disappointed.”

“I am. He thinks it’s a suicide. He’s not going to
treat the scene with the same reverence as he would a
homicide.”

“He’s supposed to.”

“I know he’s supposed to, but he’ll have his men
trampling all over the place. You watch. There’s no telling what
evidence they’ll destroy.”

“You want me to call him?”

I shook my head. “Nah, leave it. He’s liable to find
something and then not share it with us. Let’s just carry on with
what we’re doing. Where do we go first?”

“Crook’s Blind,” he said. “That’s where Peter Corey
killed himself. I figured we should start with the latest and work
backwards. The evidence trail might be fresher.”

I gestured with a simple nod. “Let’s do it.”

We had to park on the side of the road and slip down
a wooded incline on foot to reach the spot where Peter Corey died.
I remembered reading about him to Lilith. His encounter with a
train made front page when the train’s engineer admitted to
drinking on the job, but claimed that his drinking had nothing to
do with the incident. I scoffed at that notion then, but seeing the
condition of the tracks, I conceded that maybe he was right. The
wooded embankment curved in a natural bowl shape, creating a blind
bend in the tracks that would scarcely allow a train’s operator
more than a dozen yards visibility beyond his window, especially at
night. Anyone determined to
kiss a train
, as Carlos put it,
could hardly pick a better spot.

A recent rain had washed away most of what remained
of Peter Corey after the coroner’s office removed the body parts
from the scene. Spray paint on the ground, ties and tracks gave us
a good idea of where impact occurred. Further up the line, an X
indicated where the train’s engine had come to a complete stop.
Everything in-between seemed perfectly ordinary, except for a
stitch of clothing or two, diced into little squares by the train’s
wheels. I had Carlos collect them in the unlikely case that they
held any sort of clues as to what really happened there. All
assumptions, however, suggested they didn’t.

After working the scene for only a few minutes, I
turned to Carlos, already disappointed, “I’m getting nothing. How
`bout you?”

He shook his head. “Same here. You know it seems like
this spot is off the beaten path for transients, doesn’t it?”

I looked around the earthen bowl in broad sweeps.
“Yes, it does. It seems to me that if Gypsy was able to make this
guy want to step in front on a moving locomotive, she would likely
have been close by.”

Then that Carlos spotted something. “There,” he said,
pointing. “That’s a clearing, isn’t it?”

I followed his aim. On the hillside, surrounded by a
natural wall of branches and foliage, I saw a small opening in the
brush giving way to bare ground and open sky. We investigated the
site and found evidence of a recent campfire with spent cigarette
butts and empty liquor bottles. I turned and looked out over the
train tracks below.

“Check it out,” I said. “Anyone hanging out here the
night Cory killed himself, would have had a balcony view to the
show.”

“You think we should collect some of these cigarette
butts for evidence?”

I shook my head. “Don’t bother. She doesn’t
smoke.”

“Gypsy?”

“Yes.”

“Why, because Lilith doesn’t smoke?”

“Yes…no. I mean, I don’t know. I just don’t think she
does.”

Carlos came up beside me and wrapped his arm around
my shoulder. “Tony, it’s not Lilith.”

“You don’t know that,” I said, and I shrugged his arm
off me. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Wait!”

“Forget it, Carlos. I’m not—”

“No. Look.” He pointed at the rocks surrounding the
fire pit. “Look at how those rocks are arranged.”

I stepped back to gather a full view of the rocks,
the fire pit and the charred pieces of wood scattered about. What
seemed at first like a hastily extinguished fire with some of the
border stones knocked out of the circle, appeared now like a
loosely shaped skull with the charred branches making up the cross
bones below it. Upon closer inspection, we noticed that someone had
carved a capital letter ‘G’ in the center of the pit.

“That’s the sign!” I said. “That’s Gypsy’s sign!”

“I know! I see it. She’s been here. Did you bring
your camera?”

“No. Did you?”

He smiled like a cocky fool. “Yes,” and then pulled a
disposal 35mm from a small tote he carried. “This is going to cost
you lunch, though.”

I punched him square on the arm. “Just take the
picture.”

He snapped a few shots of the fire pit, getting my
shoe in one of the shots for scale. Then, just to make him happy,
we collected some of the cigarette butts and packed them into a
plastic bag. After stashing his camera and his bag o` butts into
his tote, he asked excitedly, “You ready for the next stop?”

“Is it close?”

“Just the other side of the yard.” He pointed up the
tracks. “That’s where Terrence Forman, AKA, Texas Terry, bought it.
He made it easy for the coroner. Laid his neck on the outside rail
and waited.” Carlos made a quick slicing motion across his neck.
“They found his head about a hundred yards up the tracks...what was
left of it.”

The mere thought made me want to chuck my breakfast.
“Please, Carlos. Spare me the details from now on. Will you?”

“Ah, what’s the matter?” He came around and patted me
on the back. “Still hung over?”

“Yes.” I elbowed him in the gut and he folded like a
rag doll. “Now let’s move it.”

The spot where Terrence Forman
bought it
differed greatly from where Peter Corey died. The tracks there ran
straight and clean for the first couple of miles after leaving the
yard. In Forman’s case, speed was likely the deadly factor. All he
had to do was wait until the train got close enough before laying
his neck down on the tracks and kissing his ass goodbye (so to
speak). In my mind, I could picture the engineer hitting the brakes
and then bracing for a collision that he could not have possibly
felt.

As in Corey’s case, bright orange spray paint marked
the point of impact for old Texas Terry. About a football field
away, we found another blotch of orange paint where his head had
stopped rolling. Somewhere in-between, we found another one of
Gypsy’s calling cards. This one came in the form of a serrated lid
from a tuna can left by the side of the tracks. On it, she had
crudely carved her signature cross bone and skull with the letter G
in the center where the nose hole would be.

“How could they have missed this?” Carlos asked,
speaking of Captain Dell’s investigators, whose precinct held
primary jurisdiction over this case as well.

“For starters,” I said, “they weren’t looking for
clues to a murder. Secondly, maybe the lid had flipped over in the
breeze of a passing train. You should cut them some slack.”

He agreed, reluctantly, before taking out his camera
and snapping a few pictures. He then collected the tuna lid,
handling it by its edges and dropping it into its own plastic
evidence bag.

“That’s two-for-two,” he said. “You want to go for a
trifecta?”

“I made a sweeping backhand motion along the tracks,
presenting the way forward. “After you, my friend.”

He hiked his thumb up over his shoulder and nodded
vaguely in the other direction. “Um, actually we’re going this
way.” I knew then, it was going to be a long morning.

Our next stop took us to the bloodiest scene we
investigated so far. George Wagner, AKA, Georgie Boy, Vagabond
George, G-man, Wagman and (this one is my favorite) George of the
jungle.