She sighed. “Fine.” Sitting back, she let Mandy poke at her. “Seriously, Strickland, tell him to leave.”
“I can’t. You need to hear what he has to say.” Her partner cut a look over his shoulder at Croft. “Tell her.”
Croft cleared his throat and stood, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Like he said, Jemma Barrows was tracking solar activity leading up to the summer solstice.”
Croft paused. There they were again, those words: summer solstice. “So?” she said, half encouragement, half menacing shove.
“So, ancient Greeks called the summer solstice men’s door. They believed it to be a weakening of the veil between our world and the gods. If a mortal was strong enough, collected enough power in the week prior to the solstice, he could push through. He could make himself a god.”
FIFTY-SEVEN
Sabrina jerked away from Mandy’s prodding and stood. “That’s it, right? That’s what this is all about? He wants to push through the veil. Thinks these killings will give him the juice to do it. When is the solstice?” She bounced a look between Croft and Strickland, willing one of them to answer.
Strickland cleared his throat. “June twenty-first. I Googled it,” he said, adding the last as if to excuse himself for knowing something like that so off-handedly.
Seven days from today. Nine days since she received the first note. First Bethany Edwards and now Jemma Barrows—two muses in two days. “He’s planning on one kill a day until the solstice and then … ” And then what?
It dawned on her how hard this case had been on all of them, not just her. She looked around at the faces aimed her way. They were all grim. All looking to her for answers. Even Croft looked worn down by the events of the past few days. As much as she hated to, Sabrina needed to keep pushing them. To do that, she needed to reassure them that she was intact. That she could handle it. None of them seemed at all confident that she could keep it together, which made the doubt unanimous.
Sabrina turned to Mandy and tried to give her what she hoped was an encouraging smile. “I’m okay, really, I am.” She nodded her head as if it would help convince her. “It’s been a pretty heavy morning … I guess it all just kinda caught me all at once. I’m okay now.”
Mandy looked over her shoulder to where Strickland stood behind her, looking for help in whether or not to believe her. He must’ve nodded, because Mandy gave her a flat smile. “Alright. Okay … back to work then,” she said, tucking a few stray strands of hair behind her ear.
She had no idea she was holding her breath until she let it out in a relieved rush. “I need to know everything you found in, on, or around Jemma Barrows,” she said to Mandy. “What was the same compared to Bethany Edwards, what was different … everything.”
Mandy shot another look at Strickland, this one too muddled to read. Something was wrong. She stood, walking over to where she’d tossed a clean white sheet over the Barrows girl and uncovered her. The tray of rose petals she’d been extracting sat next to the gurney on top of a rollaway cart. “The same … I did a rape kit on both girls. While there were no signs of penetration, the anterior vaginal area of both victims bore abrasions consistent with sexual assault. There was some sort of organic fluid—we took vaginal swabs and sent them for testing. It smelled like rosewater but I won’t know for sure until I get the results back. The writing on her skin is Greek for Urania, the name of another muse. The coins on her eyes, use of props. The brand on her left shoulder is the Greek symbol for beta.” She looked down at the girl on her table. “I pulled eight hundred and eighty-eight rose petals out of her chest. The exact number Dean pulled from Bethany Edwards.”
Eight hundred eighty-eight …
“That’s got to mean something, right?” She divided a look between Mandy and Strickland, careful to ignore Croft completely.
Strickland scoffed. “I’m sure it does, but it’s all riddles and rituals with this guy. Nothing makes sense to anyone but him.”
Sabrina looked at Croft, who seemed poised, waiting for her to wake up. To see what was right in front of her.
One moment she was still, the next she was scrambling across the room, scattering paper and folders across the counter. A pen, she needed a pen … finding one, she snatched it up and wrote on the first blank scrap of paper she found.
8 8 8
“Look, eight hundred eighty-eight.” She shoved it at Strickland who gave it a glance before giving her a frustrated shrug. “Now look at it,” she said, turning the paper on its side.
Strickland’s face was blank for a moment before recognition took root. He bounced an anxious look up at her, snatching the paper from her. “This is what he wrote on the first note, right? This same symbol.”
“The infinity symbol. It means forever,” she said. She could feel Croft watching her from the corner, waiting. She aimed a look at Mandy. “What else?”
Mandy looked down at the table. “He took her heart, just like Bethany’s, but … ” She stalled out, grappling for words. “He left something else in its place.”
“What?” She turned to Strickland when Mandy didn’t answer. He in turn looked at Croft.
“That’s originally why I called him,” he said, nodding his head in the other man’s direction. “Let him explain it, weird shit is not my thing.”
Sabrina forced herself to look at Croft. “Tell me.”
“Ancient Greeks were into the mystical pretty deep—magic, charms, spells … but dark magic was condemned by the gods because they believed it gave mortals too much power. Still, some practiced in secret, evoking the goddess Hekate to help destroy their enemies.” Croft shifted from foot to foot and looked away from her like he was embarrassed by what he was about to say. “One way to do that is to make a sort of voodoo doll called a kolossoi.”
Sabrina turned back to Mandy. “Show me.”
Without speaking, Mandy uncovered something on the tray beside her. Under the cloth, in a clear evidence bag was what looked to be a pair of crudely fashioned dolls, one with its legs splayed wide, the other wedged between them with a proportionally large phallus protruding from its lower half. Each was no bigger than her index finger but she could clearly see the letters carved into their legs. Across the leg of the female was a smear of dark brown. “Is that blood?”
Mandy nodded. “It tested positive for human antibodies. I’ve sent in a sample for testing against the sample the department has on file.”
She didn’t have to elaborate, Sabrina knew what she meant by department sample. Mandy was talking about the blood sample she’d given when she joined the department nearly a decade ago. Her blood … he’d used her blood.
“Where did he get my blood?” She looked at Strickland as if he had answers even though she knew he didn’t. None of them did. She looked past the blood, at the carving in the female figurine’s leg. “What do they say?” she said without looking at Croft.
“One—the woman—says Calliope. The other says Ares.” The way his mouth shaped the word had her aiming a look in his direction.
“Ares? Who is … ” But then she remembered what Croft had told her yesterday. “The god of war.” For some reason, she immediately thought of Michael.
“Calliope was said to be the lover of both Ares and Apollo. Conflicting stories had her bearing both of them sons,” Croft said, his discomfort obvious. “They were said to be rivals. Some accounts even have Ares preceding Apollo as sun god. Given his obsession with the muses and obvious hatred for Ares, I’d say he views himself as some sort of Apollo-in-waiting.”
Strickland gave a low whistle. “So, that’s who this nutbar thinks he’s going to become if he kills enough girls by the solstice?”
“Not girls. Muses. His muses … And I guarantee he’s already got his next victim lined up.”
He loves them … what was more powerful than sacrificing what you love most? She looked at the figurine
s on the table. “He’s cherry-picking his mythology. Using whatever bits and pieces best feed his delusions.”
“But who is this guy he thinks is Ares?” Mandy said. “Shouldn’t we warn him?”
She opened her mouth, ready to lie, but Strickland saved her with a less damaging version of the truth. “This guy is a fucking whack-job. It could be anyone.” Strickland looked at Croft. “You. Me. The guy who delivers our Chinese at the station. Anyone she’s had contact with.” He shrugged. “For all we know, he doesn’t even exist outside this guy’s fucked-up imagination,” he said. Even though his tone was convincing, she knew he didn’t buy his own story for a second. He glossed over it with a shrug. “So, he lures you to the Tenderloin, kills a hooker, abducts Jemma Barrows … and then he decides to curse you with homemade sex dolls? That doesn’t make sense. If he wanted you dead, why didn’t he just do it in the alley?”
“Because this was never part of the plan,” Croft said, joining in on the conversation. “He went off script for some reason.” He looked at her. “You did something to make him angry, and you did it after he killed that hooker in the alley.”
She was suddenly sure that Strickland wasn’t the only one who didn’t buy the shit he’d just shoveled.
FIFTY-EIGHT
For a second, Sabrina didn’t say a word, just held Croft’s glare with one of her own, his accusation hanging between them. His meaning was clear, if only to her. Whatever she’d done, it hadn’t only been after she’d found Sheila, it’d also been after he’d issued his ultimatum and thirty-six hour deadline.
“I do have a way of pissing people off, don’t I?” Sabrina looked at her watch. It was nearly noon. Both victims had been taken in the late afternoon. She didn’t have much time left.
She looked at Strickland, opening her mouth to ask him whether or not he’d had a chance to question Jemma Barrows’s mother when her phone buzzed against her hip. She glanced at the caller ID. Local number, not one she recognized. Everyone was staring at her, waiting for her to answer it.
“Hello?” she said, still looking at Strickland.
“Inspector Vaughn? This is the lab. You requested a blood analysis on a sample given to one of our couriers.” The lab. No name given. Anonymous. Right.
“Yes, I remember,” she said into the phone, giving Strickland a small shake of her head as she turned away from him to let him know it wasn’t their guy.
“Very good. Your results are in. The blood sample tested positive for human DNA from multiple sources.”
“Multiple sources?” She thought about the rusty brown ink used to write to her. Blood. From more than one person …
The voice cleared its throat. “Yes. There were several blood types within the specimen. Nine to be exact. We isolated each donor and ran them through the full spectrum of our database but we were only able to make one positive identification.”
She knew. Somehow she knew but she asked anyway … “Mine?”
The voice cleared its throat again. “Yes. The blood sample we were able to pull out and match was positively identified as belonging to you.”
She mumbled a thank you into the phone and hung up. Her hands were shaking. She curled them into fists and jammed them into her pockets, along with her phone.
“Care to share with the rest of the class?” Strickland said behind her.
She turned, landing a harsh look on Croft. “Not while he’s here.”
“What’s with the sudden one-eighty, Vaughn? Yesterday you browbeat me into letting him onto the crime scene. Today you—”
“He leaves or I leave.”
Strickland gave her one last what the hell look before he cocked his chin at Croft. “See you around.”
Croft took a few steps away from the table without turning. “Yeah, see you around,” he said, looking directly at her, letting her know he wasn’t going to just go away. He left, the door to suite D swinging closed behind him on his way out.
“What’s going on?” Strickland said, pouncing on her the second the door clicked closed.
She looked at Mandy, chewing on her lip, worrying about how much she could say in front of her without endangering her.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Mandy told her, crossing her arms over her scrub-clad chest. “You want to talk in private; the door is right over there.”
Sabrina sighed. “That was an independent lab,” she said in a rush, holding up her hand to silence Strickland’s questions and protests. “I contracted them to run some tests on one of the letters I received. I did a field test last night on the ink, and it tested positive for blood. Anyway, the results came back positive for human DNA.” She swallowed hard, cleared her throat. “Multiple donors—nine of them. They ran them through every known database and the only one that popped is mine. He wrote to me in my own blood.”
Not just yours darlin’ …
They both stared at her for a second, each looking as if she’d just spoken to them in some strange language they’d never heard before. “He—he made ink out of blood? And wrote to you in it?” Strickland passed a rough hand over his face and took a quick glance at Mandy. “Is that even possible?”
Mandy shrugged, her green eyes shining sharp and bright from her pale face. “Yes. An anti-coagulant would need to be added to stop it from thickening, but it’s possible.”
“The lab said nine different donors.” She reached into the breast pocket of her jacket and produced two red cards sealed in evidence bags. “Can you test these against Bethany Edwards and Jemma Barrows?” Even as she said it, she was sure that their blood had been in the convoluted mix used to write those letters—but what would proving it do to help find his next victim?
Before she could take them back, Mandy swiped them from her hand. “It’s Saturday and the lab is closed,” she said with a smile. “Which means I’ll have it all to myself. I’ll get to work on it right away.”
“Thanks,” she said. If anything it would keep Mandy busy and safe inside the lab. She looked at Strickland. “Walk me out?” There were things she needed to tell him that she couldn’t say in front of Mandy.
“Yeah, sure.” He looked at Mandy. “You gonna be okay here alone?”
Mandy rolled her eyes. “I’ll be locked in a lab with security codes and cameras everywhere. I’ll be fine. Besides, Dean is here. Don’t let the eyeliner fool you, he’s pretty tough.”
“I’ll take your word on that,” Strickland said as they headed for the door. “But if you need anything, even if it’s someone to walk you to your car, call one of us, understand?”
“Completely.” Mandy snapped off her gloves and waved them out the door, Sabrina’s notes in her hand.
They made their way down the hall at half speed, Strickland shuffling along beside her as if walking at a snail’s pace had been his idea. “You could’ve called me last night, ya know.” He gave her a sidelong glance. “I was mad but not so mad that I wouldn’t have backed you up if you needed it.”
Sabrina stopped walking. “You’re kidding, right? I did call you—about a hundred times,” she said, conveniently leaving out that she hadn’t called him until after she’d found Sheila.
Strickland continued walking, his voice drifting behind him. “My phone never rang. Next time, try leaving a voicemail,” he said, his tone making it obvious that he didn’t believe a word she was saying.
“Am I being Punk’d? I did leave—”
“Wait!”
They both turned to see Mandy flying down the hall, stained white coat flapping behind her, long blond ponytail swinging wildly. She skidded to a stop in front of them, a bunch of papers clenched in her hand. “They must’ve sent over the results last night. I hadn’t had a chance to sit, let alone check my email.” She thrust them at Sabrina “Here. Look.”
Sabrina took the papers. Test results. “What am I looking at? What is this?”
“What are those? Some kind of flowers?” Strickland said, drawing Mandy’s attention, and she nodded.
“The first is yellow jasmine,” Mandy said. “Given the lower levels found in her blood, I’d say that’s one he gave her first. The second one is daffodil. You’d be surprised how many flowers are actually poisonous. Daffodils are a known paralytic.”
“He killed her with flowers?” Strickland looked at her like she was crazy.
“No, he killed her by cutting her heart out of her chest while it was still beating,” Mandy said. “He incapacitated her with a very refined, very controlled dose of plant extracts.”
Nolan’s words came back to her. My best guess is whoever sent them to you is into horticulture. “Would a horticulturist know which plants were poisonous?”
Mandy shrugged. “Sure … but so would anyone else with an Internet connection.”
“What about how to make plant extracts? Administer and control dosage?” Sabrina said.
It was a wild question, one that screwed Mandy’s face up with doubt. “Horticulture is just one piece of the puzzle … he’d also have to know chemistry, not to mention a background in medicine. Given the steady hand used to remove the organs, I’d say you’re looking for someone who attended med school.”
“A surgery-performing botanist with a knack for chemistry.” Strickland’s shoulders slumped. “Piece of cake.”
Sabrina held the papers out to Mandy. “Could you email these to me so I can—”
“You didn’t look at the rest,” Mandy said, taking the stack and flipping through it. She found the page she wanted and thrust it back into Sabrina’s hands.
This one was much easier to understand and with each word, Sabrina felt the skin stretched over her face and scalp grow tighter and tighter. Her eyes popped off the page and found Strickland watching her. “Bethany Edwards was nine-weeks pregnant.”
Sacrificial Muse (A Sabrina Vaughn Novel) Page 22
