Demon Inhibitions: Caitlin Diggs Series #3

by Gary Starta

  “I’m afraid we’re out of time. We can’t drag our heels on this any longer. Our one suspect has airtight alibis. No DNA evidence was left at the crime scenes, not to mention a weapon of any kind. Not that a weapon was used.”

  My eyes begged for an explanation.

  “The coroner says all the victims died from aneurysms; but they weren’t just your garden variety aneurysms. You see, all of the women died from something the coroner described as a brain hemorrhage or rupture of the hypothalamus.”

  I hoped the shocked look on my face wouldn’t prompt an inquisition. As soon as I heard the words ‘rupture’ and ‘hypothalamus’ I froze. My eyes glazed over and I nearly lost the grip on a pen and pad of paper I had been holding.

  “Ms. Diggs? Did I upset you? I know talk about exploding brains isn’t pleasant. Or is there something else…?”

  “I’m sorry, Captain. I skipped breakfast this morning; must be a blood-sugar thing.”

  He laughed. “For a moment, I thought you were having one of those psychic visions.”

  I feigned a weak smile. My mind cast me back to the Arrowhead murder investigation. While the killer wore the crystal, he could literally siphon serotonin from his victims. The result: severe ruptures to the brain. I would seriously have to consider a paranormal explanation from here on out. But I was not going to share this revelation with Captain Halsey. Based on his silent but derogatory inference to witches, I doubted he believed in my psychic powers. Suffice it to say any theories which centered around a monster--albeit one capable of sucking the life force out of his vics without leaving any tangible evidence---wasn’t going to take the edge off Halsey’s gruff exterior today.

  Now I began to wonder if Mr. Manners was indeed innocent. Sure he had a motive. But if no evidence was left behind, it either meant Manners was one tidy realtor or more likely a real “monster” had--in Halsey’s word--”exploded” the women’s brains.

  Leaning over the desk as if he was about to offer some intimate tidbit about the investigation, Halsey’s tone softened when he asked if I would like to hear about his interview with Mr. Manners.

  Of course Halsey knew an investigator would have no choice but to accept so I nodded. He smiled. I hated the sense of satisfaction plastered all over his weather-beaten face. But in a few minutes my hatred segued into pity. I forced my mouth to keep shut as Halsey began.

  “I asked Manners point blank if he was afraid for his life. I didn’t feel a need to explain further but I did, just to see if he squirmed.” Halsey immersed himself in his storytelling, spinning his hands and arching his eyebrows at just the right moments to add emphasis.

  “Manners said he didn’t. I said ‘why not? You’re a realtor aren’t you? Five other realtors just died suspicious deaths.’ His reply: ‘they were all women.’ So I figure if Manners did this, he’s one cold calculating son of a bitch. His eyes showed me nothing when he said this. No regret, no empathy, no emotion of any kind. His believed his logic was infallible. He’s suggesting the deaths were the work of a serial. I looked back at him.” Halsey stopped to point two fingers at his face. “With cop eyes… devoid of emotion but filled with judgment just to let him know I didn’t buy his theory. And I’ll tell you why Ms. Diggs. There’s not enough gore. The kills were way too fastidious for a serial. A serial needs a tactile kill--often he takes a body part with him--or he needs to leave his mark visually to brag about his work. I investigated all the crime scenes and I wasn’t able to bag or tag the work of a nut job. What I processed was nice neat crime scenes which told me a cold calculating killer was at work, someone who had a very good motive to kill. I hope that answers your earlier question, Ms. Diggs. Yeah, I still think Manners is good for all of them. Yet, despite my instincts, I have to base my decisions on facts. The coroner finds the manners of death to be coincidental--death by natural causes. That’s why we’re closing the cases. Besides, the townspeople will be able to sleep better. They’ll come to realize there’s no bogeyman at work. Unfortunately, I’ll have to live with that decision.”

  I didn’t really agree with Halsey’s assessment. Would Salem residents really believe the deaths to be natural--five coincidental aneurysms? The lore of the town was enough to convince me otherwise. People once believed demons lived here. And belief can fan the flames of fear. If I were correct and townsfolk were capable of considering a supernatural cause, their fears would only grow, because now they would have cause to fear something without shape or form--in other words a supercharged bogeyman capable of disappearing into thin air. But I refrained from sharing this theory with Halsey. I sensed an air of defeat about him. I had felt it once or twice myself. It’s the point in the case where you concede the bad guy is going to get away with murder.

  I thanked Halsey and headed for the door. He stopped me halfway through.

  “You know, it’s a funny thing, Ms. Diggs. Although the public fears for their own safety, none of them, as far as I can tell, feel the deaths of the realtors were any great loss.”

  I told him many people see real estate agents in league with lawyers, used car salesmen and politicians. But before I walked out the door, I let Captain Halsey know I wasn’t one of those people. The scowl returned to his face. For a moment, I believed Halsey entertained a slight hope of friendship. But he would have to seek a kindred spirit elsewhere, most likely in a backwater town where people foster the “us against them” mentality. Although I may not like every used car salesman or lawyer I come across, I still try to judge the individual and not the group. I’m sure the very concept of this notion would set Halsey’s arms in motion--or at the very least make him pine for the days when witches could either be hanged or burned.

  I did agree with Halsey on one thing, though. I didn’t believe the manner of death was natural. I once investigated a case where three men died of heart failure. They had all stayed in the same hotel. But while the cause of their deaths was indeed heart failure, the manner of their deaths turned out to be homicide. Their hearts failed because they had been poisoned with strychnine by a deranged chef. My instinct ruled out coincidence then and it was ruling it out now. As I drove home, I realized my job had just gotten harder. I could no longer consider Justin Manners as the lone suspect. Yet, I couldn’t very well start hunting down preternatural beings--at least not without a vision. Speaking of visions, I could sure use one right about now concerning Mr. Manners. But how could I approach him without raising suspicion?

  Half an hour later, my sister Tara solved that for me.

  “Sis, I can’t believe this! Your prime suspect is the cat judge.”

  I let Tara explain. Tara’s explanations could conceivably go on for days. Worse, I didn’t agree with many of Tara’s “explanations”. For that reason, I put the call on speakerphone and settled down on my nice comfy recliner. At least my body wouldn’t have to suffer along with my mind. But halfway through Tara’s ramblings, I realized my little sister was on to something. I initially scoffed at Tara’s theory. True, Justin Manners worked as realtor, but he also moonlighted as a cat judge. Tara had entered Celeste into a cat show in New Jersey earlier in the year. She came back despondent from the outing because Celeste failed to garner any ribbons. I had chalked up it up as another failed scheme. Tara lived to invent new ways of making easy money, but more often than not her ideas only managed to lighten my wallet. But this time, I truly sensed sadness in Tara, a genuine emotion that didn’t revolve around dollar bills. She had returned home upset because the way a certain cat judge treated our favorite Tonk. Tara recognized his name immediately.

  “That’s him all right.” Tara had taken note of Manners’s name, vowing to never enter Celeste into another show where he’s a judge. “He did something to Celeste. He made her snarl. I’ve never seen Celeste bare fangs at anyone since. If you ask me, I think he’s evil. So it looks like your first case is open and shut. He’s guilty, Caitlin.”

  I thanked Tara for her insight and reminded her cases aren’t solved solely by intuition
. She sighed and hung up. Well, I do agree Tara’s methodology would save a huge chunk of time. But police work demands evidence. Suffice it to say, Tara--The Queen of Cutting Corners--wouldn’t be donning a badge anytime soon.

  Tara’s revelation gave me several ideas. I now might be able reconsider Manners as my prime suspect if he fit the criteria of “monster.” Maybe he wasn’t what he seemed to be. If so, that would explain Celeste’s violent reaction to him. Could someone be a real estate broker and a monster at the same time? Hopefully, I would find out soon.

  I bundled Celeste into a carrier and placed her in the backseat of my green Pontiac G6. By the time we hit town, her cries of confinement had turned to purrs. I reminded her several times about how I was suffering in the sweltering eighty-degree heat for her comfort. I did not turn on the A/C, daring only to roll down the windows. Tara had once smugly apprised me Tonkinese are very susceptible to cold. Well if Celeste is indeed susceptible to things like cold temperatures and suspicious cat judges, maybe she would provide a good litmus test for me.

  Manners lived in a luxury three-home on Washington Square East, giving him a splendid view of Salem Commons. I hadn’t even rung his bell and already I hated him. I grabbed Celeste tight and rung the buzzer. I had to be prepared in case my sensitive feline decided to bolt upon the sight of Mr. Manners.

  As I waited for him to answer, I noticed a strange letter hung over his doorway. Shaped like both the letters ‘M’ and ‘X’ it fascinated me. Manners opened the door as I stared hypnotically. Before I could speak or Celeste could snarl, Manners explained. “Ah, I see you’re into runes. It’s Mannaz. It means human man.”

  Geoffrey had explained what runes were but I had tuned him out. On several occasions he attempted to engage me in a conversation about the significance of the runes on Led Zeppelin’s fourth album. But the homeless looking man on the cover looked like the stuff of nightmares. I blocked out Geoffrey’s ramblings fearing whatever runes were would somehow conjure this being into existence. So what if I believed in superstitions or cowered from horror movies, I had put some real human evil into jail cells. I defended myself with this line of reasoning each and every time Geoffrey taunted me.

  “Watch out for the bogeyman.” Yes, a full-grown FBI agent had teased me in this fashion, reciting the most childish line of horror to me. But as I look back I wonder if he had been kidding? Was there really a bogeyman to fear?

  I shuddered, my shoulder blades tingling from involuntary spasm as I stood before my suspect/demon. He was not a tall man. His face was not a kind one. His eyebrows were thick and black. His lips were nearly transparent. I suspected a harelip. To round out his devilishly cliché’ make up, his piercing black-as-coal eyes seemed to stare right through me.

  My voice wavered. “Hi, I hope I’m not intruding.” I tried to smile but nearly coughed from dry mouth. “My name is Kathy Hawthorne.” Oh no. Speaking of cliché’s, what a name to choose considering this was Salem. Next time I would prepare a better name. Next time I hoped I wouldn’t have to lie. I hated deceit. But it was my only way to interview Manners up close and personal. I half expected a black cloud of doom to swallow me whole if Judge Manners found out I was an investigator.

  I explained that I was considering entering Celeste in a cat show. Only I didn’t call her Celeste. He might recognize her from the cat show. I changed her name to Mistress Quickly. No reason not to let her share in some of the guilt. He cocked his head and reached into his shirt pocket. I nearly jumped back a foot. “Don’t worry, Miss. I just need my spectacles.”

  My heart palpitated. Maybe he’d recognize Celeste. And then he’d know I was an investigator prying for information to use against him.

  I spoke again for distraction. “The folks at the coffee shop said you’d be happy to give me an assessment since you’re a cat judge. If you could tell me if she’s show quality, I would be most appreciative.”

  A minute nearly elapsed. I didn’t know if Manners was assessing Celeste or me. But in that time, Manner’s face softened. He began to mewl something to Celeste. “She looks like a champion. But you never know. Judges are fickle. Some are very quick to judge.”

  I hated how he emphasized quick as if he was on to us, but wouldn’t admit it straight out.

  When he reached to stroke Celeste’s face, hell began to break loose. At least it felt that way. My two very physically challenged arms tried their best to contain Celeste. She could squirm and thrash with the best of cats. Do they give ribbons for that? I pulled back a few feet and she began to settle. An errant claw had nicked my chin.

  “Aw, let me get that,’’ Manners said offering a handkerchief.

  I grabbed it gladly, hoping maybe some forensic evidence might be taken from it. Better yet, maybe it would conjure a vision. I dabbed my chin and stuffed the hanky into a shirt pocket. “I’ll clean it and return it to you.”

  Manners managed a smile. “Don’t worry about it.” His thin lips curled, his bushy black eyebrows creased and his already pale complexion lightened another shade. I turned for my car, attempting to wave and contain Celeste all at the same time. This may not sound hard. But believe me, it is equivalent to harnessing the Big Bang.

  I drove home, confused more than ever. Through it all, I couldn’t read him, like I couldn’t read Briana. Nevertheless, I clung to hope. I had made contact and contact usually gave me a vision.

  I treated Celeste to a can of salmon upon returning home and settled in front of my computer to conduct an Internet background check. I found Manners’s name had originally been Mannaz – the same as the rune. Originally from Scotland, Manners became a citizen as a teen. He changed his name to Manners at age 21. I thought about the definition he provided: Human Man. Redundant, unless there were other species of ‘man’ out there. Ultimately, Manners was what he said he was-at least on paper. I still had no concrete evidence to prove he was a murderer or monster.

  I checked my answering machine to find Briana had invited me over for supper.

  My stomach growled in response. I would accept. I changed into orange shorts and a lime green halter-top to beat the heat. However, I would be quite unprepared for what was waiting for me in the McFadden residence.

  Three

  When she found I had visited Manners, Briana began scurrying about her house, scooping up a pair of scissors and a red candle. Before I could speak further, she came at me. I backed away from her in fright. Her placid face revealed nothing malevolent. But the shears were headed right for me. I tried to dive away from the contradiction. Who was the real Briana? The sweet woman who made cookies for me--or her shears wielding maniac counterpart now standing before me? She screamed not to worry. I heard a snip. I felt a strange sensation. Not pain. But something was no longer attached to me. It was a piece of my hair. She caught the floating lock in her hands as if it were a runaway feather.

  “It is very important we get to work, Caitlin.” Too stunned to process the weird moment, I could barely utter a groan.

  Then she explained how she must protect me. “He’ll surely make a visitation now that he has met you.”

  I tried to explain it was a good thing. I would probably get a vision of him and then I could determine his part in the slayings.

  She interrupted. “A visitation is what he’ll do to you. I don’t know how to break this to you but the cat judge is an incubus. He’ll surely come to you in your dreams. And in case he is our murderer, you’ll need a protection spell, pronto.”

  I reminded her I carried a firearm. I had worked in the FBI.

  “No earthbound weapons can harm the judge once he joins with you. An incubus enters your dream world.”

  “How do you know this?” My tone grew edgy. She had obviously withheld knowledge of Manners. Maybe the two were friends or even lovers. And she just admitted an incubus could have committed these crimes without fear of being harmed or caught.

  “I know things because I’m a witch, Caitlin. That explanation will have to suffice for now.
”

  “If you’re truly a witch, Briana, you must know he’s our best suspect.”

  “I do not wish to make sentence of him, yet. He could very well be innocent, even though he is not human. You must not be quick to judge. Don’t forget you now have paranormal abilities. You wouldn’t want to be labeled guilty just because of who you are.”

  She had me there.

  I settled in for the spell.

  “I will create a mind shield for you, Caitlin Diggs.”

  She began to chant, inviting me to join her.

  “I call upon the helpful powers of my ancestors. Please protect and shield me from harm. By the ancient ancestral power, blessed be!”

  Briana played soft Celtic music for me as we waited for the spell to take effect. I tried to distract myself with the lovely dulcet tones of harps and violins. It almost worked until my stomach rumbled--again. We never had supper. Briana was too intent on saving my ass. For what seemed hours we held hands waiting for the candle to burn down. I had plenty of time to drink in the ambience of the McFadden household. Floral print furniture and lacy doilies surrounded me. But most disturbing, a poster of Cher depicting the actress as a witch in the film Witches of Eastwick, hung right before my eyes. When the candle finally expired I yawned and thanked Briana.

  “Don’t thank me yet. The night is now upon us. We must return to your house if we hope to engage the judge.”

  “Won’t your presence discourage Manners from coming?”

  “No.” She paused to smile. “You could have twenty police armed to the hilt and he’d still come. Nothing from the waking world can harm him.”

  I muttered something unintelligible even to me.