The detective approached the body and looked pointedly at the assistant standing nearby as if she’d just insulted his green polyester tie. As they gathered around the table, Sarah braced herself. She detected a sweet, putrid odor, and before she could stop herself, she whirled around and vomited on the floor, barely missing Dr. Chestnut’s shoes.
“God, I am so sorry,” she said as Joe grabbed her arm to steady her.
“It’s alright,” Dr. Chestnut said and signaled for the assistant to clean up the mess. “Happens all the time.”
“You okay?” Joe said.
Embarrassed, Sarah wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Maybe I’d better wait outside.”
“I’ll be out as soon as I can,” Joe said.
It surprised her that the smell hadn’t turned his stomach as well. Joe was notorious for complaining about the odor of garbage and urine outside some of the sketchier properties they had visited over the years. Why hadn’t this affected him?
She made her way to the door, her heels clacking on the polished cement floor, and exited without looking back. The last thing she wanted was to make eye contact with Womble, who was probably gloating over the skirt with the weak stomach. Joe watched Sarah and wished he could have gone with her. He wasn’t sure he could go through with it, not without his best friend.
Lou touched his arm. “Joe, you don’t need to do this. Fingerprints and ondontology will give us what we need.”
“I want to. Out of respect.”
“Are you ready, Mr. Greene?” the detective said, his voice subdued.
“I think so.”
“I’m afraid there’s a lot of…damage.”
Dr. Chestnut pulled the sheet down as far as the shoulders, revealing a cold and pale monstrosity Joe hadn’t expected. The woman’s face was barely recognizable—covered in lacerations. The once-beautiful blonde hair was caked with brown, dried blood, slivers of glass visible among the strands. Both eyes were missing, the flesh around the sockets picked clean to the bone.
“Oh, God,” Joe said. “What… What could’ve done this?”
“Birds. Ravens, to be exact.”
“What?”
“Apparently, a huge flock of them crashed through the glass sliding door and attacked Ms. Cohen inside her apartment.”
“How do you know they were ravens?”
The coroner retrieved a plastic evidence bag and showed it to Joe, who stood there staring at the body of a huge black bird.
“We found dozens of those things inside,” Womble said. “All dead.”
Tasting bile, Joe swallowed hard and turned back to the body. Angrily, he yanked the sheet all the way off, exposing the Y-incision that had been sewn closed with heavy twine. The face, neck, and scalp were covered in slash marks and bruises. And so were her hands as, presumably, she tried warding off her attackers. Joe noticed the swollen, bloody tongue sticking out between her lips, and he could see purple swelling on her knees. Altogether, she had the appearance of a demented doll that had been hacked to pieces.
“What happened to her knees?”
“Those bruises probably occurred when she fell,” Franklin said. There were carpet fibers all over the front of her clothing. She may have been trying to crawl away.”
“How… How exactly did she die?”
Dr. Chestnut glanced at the two cops. “Blood loss. One or more of those birds punctured a carotid artery. There.” He pointed to the left side of the neck.
Joe stepped back and turned around, covering his eyes with a trembling hand. Womble seemed impatient and was about to say something.
Lou placed a hand on Joe’s shoulder. “Joe, for the record, any identifying marks you can recall?”
“We didn’t have sex, if that’s what you’re suggesting.”
Lou could tell Joe was getting upset and didn’t see any point in continuing.
“Vic, I think we’re good, don’t you?”
The assistant was about to cover up the body when Joe spoke.
“She wore a toe ring. On her left foot.”
“Yes,” Franklin said.
He walked over to a desk and retrieved a clear plastic bag. When he returned, he handed the bag to Womble. The detective peered inside at the small, silver ring decorated with black scrollwork.
“Toe ring,” the cop said. “Okay. Thanks, Mr. Greene. We’ll let you know if we have any other questions.”
Joe didn’t answer, but turned and headed for the door.
In the women’s restroom, Sarah rinsed her mouth again, cupping her hands and pouring in water, swishing it around and spitting it out. She grabbed a few paper towels and patted her mouth dry. She felt hot—especially the back of her neck—and a little light-headed. Digging into her purse, she found her Starbucks mints and popped four in. When she exited the restroom, she found Joe waiting for her.
“Well, that could’ve gone better,” she said. “Any comment from Dapper Dan?”
He came closer and kissed her cheek. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
Thankfully, Sarah and Joe had missed the breakfast crowd at The Cracked Pot. As they took their seats in a booth near the rear, Carter walked over, smiling and handing each a menu.
“Hey, Carter,” Sarah said. “How’s tricks?”
“Sarah, right? Excuse me for saying, but you don’t look so hot.”
“Nothing that a strong cup of Peruvian won’t fix.”
“Coming right up.”
“Same for me,” Joe said.
Sarah watched as the server left them, recalling the incident at the cemetery when she saw that dark presence hovering near the girl and her friends. She wanted to ask her about it, but needed to find the right opportunity.
Joe reached across the table and took Sarah’s hands. “Thanks for coming with me.”
“And?” she said.
“And for this morning. It was, well, you know.” He rubbed his eyes. “I can’t believe Gail is dead. It’s just so…odd.”
“How did she look?”
“Dead.”
“No, I mean…”
“I can’t.”
“Must have been terrible for you.”
Carter had set down the coffees when Lou walked in. Spotting them, he headed over.
“I thought I’d find you two here. Can I join you?”
“Sure,” Joe said and slid over.
“Double espresso,” Lou said to Carter as he took a seat. Then, to Sarah, “Feeling better?”
“Sorry about that, Lou.”
“Don’t be. I remember my first homicide. When I arrived at the crime scene, I heaved up everything I’d ever had, including a hot dog I’d eaten at the church fiesta when I was twelve.”
“Thanks for the visual.”
“No charge.”
Sarah raised her cup and took a sip. Heaven. “Hey, Lou? What’s with that surly detective, anyway?”
Lou held up his hand. “I know, I know. Vic has issues. Never really got along with him when we worked Homicide together. He’s a bit of an oddball, to be honest.”
“Putting it mildly. I certainly hope you didn’t dress like that back in the day.”
“Vic’s divorced. I guess he doesn’t have anyone giving him fashion tips.”
“Or lessons on manners.”
Joe had been quietly drinking his coffee. He set his cup down and looked at Lou. “Any clue as to what the hell happened? I mean, come on. Birds?”
Sarah turned to Lou. “What’s he talking about?”
“Well, I’m not supposed to discuss the case. But seeing you knew her, Joe. We got nothing. So far, we’re considering it an animal attack.”
“I don’t understand,” Sarah said.
“We think Gail Cohen was killed in her apartment by a flock of ravens.”
Sarah had been about to take another swallow of coffee, when she dropped the cup, spilling the hot liquid on the table.
“Shit.”
Getting up quickly, she stood back as a busboy ran
over with a wet cloth and wiped the table clean. A moment later, Carter appeared with a fresh cup.
“Thanks,” Sarah said, embarrassed, and sat.
“You okay?” Joe said.
“Fine.” Then, to Lou, “Why would a bunch of birds suddenly decide to go after someone? That only ever happened in a Hitchcock movie.”
“Actually, that’s not true. Crows, for example, have been known to viciously attack humans. Usually in the spring. There have been thousands of reports over the years.”
“So, Lou, how did you get involved, anyway? I mean, this is Santa Barbara police business, right?”
“True. Vic called me when he discovered Joe’s business card.”
“I seem to remember you saying Joe had written something on the back of the card.”
Joe looked down and drank his coffee. “Never mind, it was stupid.”
Sarah smiled. “Come on, what did you write?”
“‘You had me at hello,’” Lou said, almost choking on his espresso.
“Oh, no, not Jerry Maguire.”
Joe looked at her, his eyes pleading. “I told you it was stupid. And anyway, that was before—”
“Oh, before the…”
“Yeah.”
“I have no idea what you two are talking about,” Lou said. “Anyway, before calling Joe, I decided to check it out and met Vic at the crime scene.”
“I wish this was your investigation,” Joe said.
“Me, too. In a way, though, I’m glad it’s not. I mean, you’re my friend, and I wouldn’t want there to be any appearance of…”
“A bromance?” Sarah said.
Both men looked at Sarah, expressionless.
Sarah got up. “Excuse me a second.”
She walked back past the kitchen and down a long corridor toward the restrooms, the background voices in the kitchen and restaurant fading away. When she had finished, she walked out and happened to notice that the rear door was open. Carter was standing outside, alone, smoking. On an impulse, Sarah walked out and joined her.
“Taking a break?”
“Yeah. Did you need something?” the girl said.
“No, we’re fine. I’m Sarah Greene, by the way.” She extended her hand.
“I know.” The girl shook it.
“Just making it official. Hey. This is going to sound weird—and I totally get it if you think I’m nuts and should mind my own beeswax.”
“Whoa, sounds serious.”
“It is, kind of. Do you remember the other day when that TV crew was out at the cemetery?”
“Yeah…?”
“Well, I saw you there with your friends.” Sarah looked away. “And…I saw something else, too.”
Carter tensed, tossed the cigarette butt, and crushed it violently with the toe of her black high-top Converse.
“Like what?” she said.
“A dark entity. It was hovering near you. I think you saw it, too, and that’s why you left.” The girl refused to make eye contact. “I only bring it up because… Look, if you ever want to talk about it, I’ll listen. I’m in tune with those things, too. Just thought I’d offer.”
Carter was silent for a long time. Composed, she looked up at Sarah and gave her a plastic smile.
“I think what you probably saw was a shadow from the trees. I left because I was late for my shift. Speaking of which, I’d better get back inside.” Then, at the door, “You coming?”
“Yeah, sure.”
Disappointed, Sarah followed the girl into the corridor and made her way back to her table. She decided to leave her alone. But there was one thing she knew for sure. Behind the fake smile, she had detected an unmistakable fear in Carter’s eyes.
Joe was sitting alone, drinking his coffee and looking at his phone.
“Where’s Lou?” she said, taking a seat, her back to the restaurant.
“Got a call from one of his deputies.”
“Don’t tell me, Tim Whatley.”
Joe laughed. “How did you know? Anyway, he promised to keep me in the loop.”
“Joe, I’m sorry. And I didn’t mean to laugh at that thing you wrote. I thought it was sweet.”
He smiled in a way that broke Sarah’s heart, as if he were about to say goodbye.
“It’s funny. I was sort of in a fog when Lou told me over the phone. When I saw the body, that’s when it became real to me. Gail was dead. Laid out there on that table like… And you know what I thought? The very first thing?”
“No.”
“I thought, it could’ve been you. And I got scared. I wondered, what I would do? If it was you lying there, I mean. What in God’s name would I do?”
“It wasn’t me, though. Look, I’m fine.” She showed him her medal. And I’ve got St. Michael to protect me.”
A tear fell onto his hand and, embarrassed, he wiped it away. Surprised and moved, she reached over and took his free hand in hers.
“Look,” Joe said, recovering. “This isn’t some play to try to get us back together or anything. I get that we have issues, but—”
“You don’t have to say anything, Joe. Let’s leave it at I love you too. Okay?”
Suddenly, a crash. Sarah turned around to look. Carter was standing near the counter frozen, looking off somewhere. She was deathly pale, and her hands were trembling. The ceramic coffee cups she’d been carrying lay shattered on the floor in the middle of a dark brownish pool. Snapping out of it, Carter hurried out of the restaurant.
Without thinking, Sarah got up and followed. Outside, she found Carter leaning against a lamppost, looking as if she were trying to catch her breath. Sarah took the girl’s wrists in her hands and looked directly into her eyes.
“Carter, what did you see?”
“I… I didn’t see anything. It was an accident.”
“Shh. It’s okay. Tell me what you saw.”
Carter bit back her tears and looked at Sarah, her eyes imploring. The curious were passing them on the street. Sarah ignored them. Joe walked out, a concerned look on his face. Sarah waved him away. Turning back to the frightened girl, she smiled encouragingly.
“It’s okay,” Sarah said.
“It was a darkness. Something…so evil.”
“Was it moving?”
“Yes. Toward you.” Sarah bit her lip and glanced at Joe. “The thing is,” Carter said, “I’ve seen it before.”
“At the cemetery?”
“Uh-huh. It wants to hurt you, Sarah.”
“Why do you think that?”
Carter looked around her, as if afraid someone might overhear. Leaning in close, she whispered something that chilled Sarah to her soul.
“Because it spoke to me.”
Eighteen
It was after eight when the doorbell rang. Sarah had been busy in the kitchen preparing an hors d’ouevre and wiped her hands on her apron as she hurried to answer the door. Joe had asked if he could join, but Sarah had thought it better if she did this alone. Part of the reason, of course, was the fact that he was a guy and, by design, clueless. The other reason was, he didn’t understand the paranormal and would only get in the way, however good his intentions.
Sarah opened the front door and found Carter Wittgenstein standing in the faint light from the porch light, wearing an expensive jeans jacket Sarah recognized from Barneys New York over a printed T-shirt, a short black cotton skirt, and a pair of black Church’s ankle boots. For a second, she wondered how someone working in a restaurant could afford clothes like that, but decided not to pursue it.
Sarah noticed how pretty the girl was, though she felt Carter wore too much makeup and not enough jewelry. She looked shy—vulnerable—as she proffered a white cardboard box. Sarah recalled Joe had told her that Carter was in a band. She tried to imagine the girl on stage belting out grunge-era classics like “Come As You Are” and “Hunger Strike,” but couldn’t reconcile the image with the person standing before her.
“Thanks for coming,” Sarah said.
“I almo
st didn’t.”
As Sarah stepped back, Carter walked past.
“I’m finishing up in the kitchen,” Sarah said. “Follow me.”
“I brought chocolate cake from the restaurant.”
“Perfect. Would you like some wine?”
“God, yes,” Carter said, laughing.
Sarah leaned in conspiratorially. “You are twenty-one?”
Sarah motioned toward a bar stool, and the girl sat. She poured two glasses of Orvieto, chilled to fifty degrees, and handed one to her guest.
“Thanks.”
As if on cue, Gary trotted into the room, maowing. Seeing Carter, he began purring and rubbing his back against the toe of her boot.
“Hey, kitty.” She bent down and scratched the cat’s ear.
“Careful,” Sarah said. “He’ll never leave you in peace.”
“What’s his name?”
“Gary.”
“Hey, Gary.”
Carter picked the cat up and placed him on her lap. The animal began kneading his paws on her skirt, and his purr machine was cranked up to eleven.
“I love your house,” she said.
“Thanks. It’s a work-in-progress. Hey, you’re going to be covered in cat fur.”
“I don’t mind.”
Sarah poured more wine for herself and sat next to Carter. “So, this is kind of weird, right?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“Joe tells me you’re in a band. You’re the singer?”
“Was, actually.”
“Oh?”
“I quit recently. Relationship troubles.”
“I’m sorry. I’ll bet it was the bass player.”
“How’d you know?” Carter said, laughing.
“I’ve known a few ‘bass players’ in my time.” The air quotes weren’t lost on the girl.
“So, what about you and Joe?”
“Well, he’s no bass player, that’s for sure. Joe’s a sweet guy. We used to be married. Now, it’s strictly business. Well, mostly. Boy, I talk too much.”
“Can I ask what happened?”
“We wanted different things, I guess. Anyhoo.” Sarah raised her glass. “Here’s to musicians.”
The Girl in the Mirror Page 16
