For fifteen years it had kept her safe. Without it she felt naked, exposed.
“Sam!”
“Yes?” she asked.
“I need you here, right now,” Ed said.
“Sorry. I’m here,” she said, starting to look around the room. She was sure that whoever had done this hadn’t left any evidence behind for them to find.
A minute later Ed whistled and she joined him at Kyle’s desk. There, in the top drawer, was a letter from Katie.
“What do you think?” he asked.
She skimmed it. “Undying love, connection, do anything to get you back. Sounds like the kind of letter every confused girl writes to some boy who doesn’t deserve her at some point.”
“Yeah, but how many of them end up in a dead guy’s room?”
“Exactly. This letter is dated three months ago. Why is it here? Why did he hang on to it?”
“As evidence in case he needed to file a restraining order?”
“Do you really believe a jock like him would have thought it through and kept it as the top thing in his desk drawer for three months?” she asked.
He shrugged. “Trophy?”
“And he kept it where the new girlfriend could see it?”
“Maybe whoever killed him found it.”
“Left it is more likely,” she said.
He stared hard at her for several seconds. It was long enough to make her self-conscious and she reflexively reached for the cross that was no longer there.
“What’s going on with you? Usually you’re telling me not to jump to conclusions and now you’re positive that Katie didn’t do this, sure that she’s being framed. Why?”
She dropped her eyes and clenched her fists at her side. For two years Ed had trusted her with his life and yet Samantha had never been able to trust him with the truth.
She gestured to the body but kept her eyes fixed on the ground. “I know what it takes to do something like this and I know Katie doesn’t have it. But I’m willing to believe that at some point she’s met someone who does.”
There was a silence long enough that she began to squirm. It had been difficult to say the words out loud, but waiting for him to say something in response was worse.
Finally Ed cleared his throat and she glanced up at him. He wasn’t looking directly at her, but out the window behind her. “You don’t work this town without occasionally hearing things. And before we became partners I heard things about you.”
“What things?” she asked, her mouth dry.
“Things. Like you had seen… some weird stuff, up close and personal–like.”
She knew he liked to tease her about her witch-dar, and about the fact that she knew more about the weird and strange than most did. But he had never asked. He had never had to. They had never seen anything together that would warrant those kinds of questions. She turned and glanced at Kyle. That had changed the moment they walked into his room.
“I’ve seen… things.” It was as much of an admission as she could muster. It seemed like such a small thing, but admitting even that much caused a chill to dance up her spine. She stroked the spot on her neck where the cross should have been. She was right. She had lost it and now she was exposed.
Ed licked his lips. “Okay, so you’ve seen things. Are you telling me that what happened here is a… thing?”
She nodded, not trusting her voice.
“And Katie might not be able to do these types of things, but she might know who can?”
She nodded again.
“Okay, then let’s go ask Katie a few questions.”
“Yes,” Samantha said softly, heading to the door.
“Hey.”
She turned and forced herself to meet Ed’s eye. “We’re cool, you and I.”
She wasn’t sure if he was asking her or telling her. “We’re cool,” she echoed.
“Good. Now let’s get out of here before I have to vomit.”
They left the room and headed down the stairs. They didn’t speak again until they were in the car.
“Let’s hold off on telling Katie about her ex for a while,” Ed said.
“Focus her elsewhere and then spring it on her and watch her reaction?”
“That’s the theory.”
“Works for me.”
A couple of minutes later Ed pulled into the parking lot of a hamburger dive they often frequented while working. “Okay, I haven’t eaten in hours and neither have you. Swiss cheeseburger and onion rings?”
“Yes, please,” Samantha said.
“Be right back.”
She took advantage of his absence to take several deep breaths and get hold of her runaway emotions. She was feeling better, stronger, when Ed came back to the car with the food.
“So, you want to play good cop, bad cop?” he asked as he ignored his fries and snagged one of her onion rings. He unwrapped the burger and held it one-handed as he drove out of the parking lot.
Samantha rolled her eyes at him. “No matter how many times you ask, I’m always going to say no. I prefer good cop, smart cop.”
“Funny,” he said.
His cell rang and he tossed his burger at her as he reached for it. She grabbed it and resisted the urge to take a retaliatory bite out of his blue-cheese-and-bacon burger. A minute later he hung up and made a U-turn. “Katie will just have to wait a little while longer. We located the nun’s sister and we have permission from her doctor for a visit now.”
Samantha nodded as she handed back his burger and started chomping on her own, forcing herself to focus on the taste of it in her mouth and the feel of the sauce as it rolled down her fingers. It was a trick her adoptive father had taught her. Focusing on tactile impressions helped you be in the moment, not fixating on the past or worrying about the future. She listened to the sound of the car’s engine and breathed in the smell of burgers and onions and cheese. Slowly she felt herself beginning to relax.
They turned down a private road that was shaded by trees on both sides and curved around to the front of a stark white building. A small gold sign that read KENTON PSYCHIATRIC was situated next to the front door. Like anyone would mistake the hospital for something else.
“These places give me the creeps,” Ed admitted.
“I think they do that to everyone.”
“Isn’t your dad a shrink?”
“Grief counselor.”
“Like I said, shrink.”
Inside the building they were greeted by Dr. Matheson, a short, balding man in his early fifties who led them to a small room where the nun’s sister, Jane Daniels, was waiting. At the threshold Dr. Matheson turned to them.
“I’ve already told her that her sister has died and that you want to talk to her about it. I’m not sure how much good it will do, though. We had to give her a pretty strong sedative. I’m afraid it’s going to set her treatment back.”
“What’s wrong with her?” Ed asked.
“About four months ago she was abducted, apparently after one of her classes at the university. After two days she was found behind one of the lab buildings. She had been stabbed and left for dead. Campus police found her and were able to revive her while waiting for the ambulance. She’s been paranoid and delusional ever since. As soon as she was well enough to leave the hospital she was transferred here. Last I heard, the police assigned to the case still had no idea who did this to her.”
“That’s terrible,” Ed said.
“Yes, it is.”
“Was she sexually assaulted?” Ed asked.
Dr. Matheson hesitated. “The police didn’t find any such signs, but there are things that she says sometimes that make me wonder. Whatever happened to her had to have been traumatic to create such an insurmountable disconnect with reality. She had no previous history that would suggest ongoing mental illness.”
“What does she say happened to her?” Ed asked.
The doctor cleared his throat. “She claims that she was sacrificed.”
Samantha foc
used on her breathing. If what she feared was true, it was nothing short of a miracle that the young woman was still alive.
The doctor put his hand on the doorknob. “I’m going to have to ask you to not agitate her any more than is necessary by your questions.”
They walked into the room and Samantha felt a chill as she stared at the nineteen-year-old. She looked empty, somehow hollowed out. It was as though they were staring at a corpse. The shell was there, but the person was not.
Jane sat in a white gown, slippers on her feet, and stared at the wall. She had similar features to her sister, high cheekbones and large, doe eyes. Her skin was unnaturally pale and her lips were chapped. She was thin, too thin, and from the looks of the needle marks on her arms Samantha guessed that she received the majority of her food intravenously. Her pale blond hair was cut short, exaggerating her skull. Her left ear had a scar, as though something had torn the lobe. Her right ear bore the fading marks of a piercing that had sealed up from disuse.
No place for adornment in here, Samantha thought, trying not to stare at the plain white walls, but instead focus on the girl who practically blended into them.
She and Ed took seats at a table across from Jane.
“Jane, these are the police officers who want to talk with you,” Dr. Matheson said.
Slowly she turned to look at them. She stared first at Ed. Then she shifted her eyes to Samantha and she flinched. She made a whimpering sound deep in her throat that Samantha recognized as terror.
Ed, quick to notice, reached out and touched her hand, forcing her attention back to him. “Jane, I’m Detective Hofferman. I’m very sorry about what happened to your sister.”
Samantha watched as Jane took a deep breath and slowly answered. “Thank you.” Even the words seemed slightly disconnected, as though the girl herself wasn’t sure if she was saying them out loud.
“Was there anyone who would want to hurt your sister?” he asked.
Jane shook her head. “Everyone liked her. Always.”
“How about your family? Did anyone want to hurt your family?” he continued.
“No. No family, just her and me.”
Ed paused and Samantha sympathized with him. How to ask Jane any more without pushing her over the edge? In her gut she knew, though, that the only way they were going to find answers was to push. She cleared her throat slightly and Jane’s eyes swiveled back to her. The pupils dilated swiftly.
Is she afraid of all women or just me? Samantha wondered. Jane made a small motion with her hand and Samantha saw a crocheted cross in it. It was like the kind Samantha’s adoptive grandmother used to give out to friends and family every Easter for use as bookmarks. Jane was clutching hers tightly, as if her life depended on it. I can relate.
“Jane, who would want to hurt you?”
Jane tucked her legs up and wrapped her arms around them, making a keening noise in her throat. She began to rock slightly.
“I don’t think—” Dr. Matheson began, but Samantha held up a hand to cut him off.
“Jane, tell me who would want to hurt you.”
“Bad people.”
“Which bad people?”
“The ones who… who… they wanted my blood… knives… pushing into me. They sacrificed me.”
“I have to insist that you leave now,” Dr. Matheson said sternly, rising to his feet. “This is what I was trying to avoid. This girl has suffered enough and she can’t possibly know anything.”
“Let’s go, Detective,” Ed said, rising and heading to the door.
Samantha stood her ground. “Jane, look at me!”
The girl did as ordered. “I promise you that you are safe now. They can’t harm you in here. Tell me who did this to you and I will make them pay.”
“Really?” Jane asked.
“Yes, but you have to say it.”
Dr. Matheson was beginning to raise his voice and Ed grabbed her elbow, but Samantha knew she was close to the truth. She knew that even more than she needed to hear it, Jane needed to say it and to have someone believe her.
“They were witches,” Jane said, eyes locked on hers.
Samantha leaned close so that their faces were only inches apart. Jane didn’t flinch, but Samantha could feel multiple hands pulling at her.
“Jane. You are absolutely right. Witches attacked you and they will pay for what they did.”
Relief flooded Jane’s face and Samantha could tell that even through the haze of medication and self-doubt, she had gotten through to the girl. “Thank you,” Jane whispered.
“The truth shall set you free,” Samantha whispered back.
“They branded me,” Jane said, as though suddenly remembering it.
“Branded you? Where?”
Jane turned her head around as far as she could. There, on the back of her head, just at the hairline, was a white scar in the shape of an octagon. One side was jagged, in marked contrast to the almost surgical precision of the rest of it. It was as though whoever did the carving lost concentration. Or stopped suddenly.
“You want to tell me what the hell that was all about?” Ed asked once they were back in the car.
“The truth,” Samantha said.
“I doubt Dr. Matheson will let us back in for a follow-up without some sort of court order.”
“He can bite me,” Samantha said. “I don’t give a rat’s ass about him. What I care about is that girl knows exactly what happened to her. She’s never going to find any peace or get out of that damn place until she can come to terms with it.”
“Nice theory, but as long as she’s claiming she was attacked by witches, there’s no way they’re ever going to let her go. I think you just did her more harm than good.”
“That’s a matter of opinion, but the truth is always better, no matter how ugly or unexplainable it is.”
“Fine, but if we get blowback for this, you’re explaining that to the captain, not me.”
“Any time.”
A couple of minutes passed while Ed calmed down. “You were right,” he admitted finally as they turned into the parking lot for their precinct.
“I know I was.”
“Well, don’t expect a medal anytime soon. Let’s focus on cracking Katie and getting this thing solved before it gets any stranger.”
“We’re on the same page there.”
They got out of the car and walked up the station steps just as a news van pulled up. They ducked inside the building before the reporter could climb out. “I wonder why the press is here,” Ed mused.
“I don’t care as long as it has nothing to do with our case,” Samantha said. She doubted they would be so lucky as to escape the press entirely, though. Word would soon be spreading about some of the day’s events.
When they walked in, Joe was standing on the far side of the room. He held up three fingers and pointed toward the hall. He had put Katie in the third interrogation room. Samantha gave him a nod and then cleared her mind as she and Ed headed there. Once inside the room, she sat down across from Katie. The girl looked frightened but still defiant.
“I told you, I don’t know who killed Camille,” she said before they could ask her anything.
“Then maybe you can tell us a little about Sister Mary Ellen,” Ed said.
“Who’s that?” Katie asked.
“A nun at St. Vincent’s,” Samantha replied.
“I don’t know any nuns. I’m not Catholic.”
“Just because you aren’t Catholic doesn’t mean you don’t know any nuns,” Ed said. “She could be a relative, friend of the family, next-door neighbor.”
Katie shook her head. “I told you, I don’t know any nuns. Why do you think I would?”
“Because this particular nun ended up dead, just like Camille.”
Katie flinched. “What?”
“That’s right.” Ed pressed on. “Whoever killed your roommate did the same thing to a nun, right down to the pentagram on the forehead.”
“I—I wouldn�
��t know anything about that,” Katie said.
“Then why are your hands shaking?” Samantha asked.
“I’m exhausted and I haven’t eaten anything,” Katie said, her eyes on the table.
“Talk to us, Katie, and this will be over faster and we can all get something to eat,” Ed said.
“I don’t know anything.”
“But yet you claim to be a witch,” Ed said. “Shouldn’t this be right up your alley? Shouldn’t you be able to cast a spell and tell us something?”
“I… um… it doesn’t work that way.”
“Then why don’t you tell me how it does work, because clearly I must be watching too much television.”
“It’s like, a religion, you know.”
“So I’ve been told. But you didn’t claim to be a Wiccan; you claimed to be a witch. Big difference. And the symbol on two dead bodies is the same as the one under your bed. Don’t you think that’s kind of strange?”
“Lots of people use pentagrams,” Katie said, trying to sound tough.
“Katie, do you know any practitioners, any real ones?” Samantha asked quietly.
Katie stared hard at the table and didn’t say anything, but her shoulders were hunched and she folded her arms across her chest—a protective gesture.
“Katie, if you know something, you need to tell us,” Ed said.
“I don’t know who killed her. I don’t know who would want her dead.”
“Do you know who might want someone like her dead?” Samantha asked.
“No!”
Ed turned to Samantha. “I think the lady protests too much.”
“I’m not! I don’t. I don’t know who killed her.”
“But what if you had to take a wild guess? Who could have killed her?” Samantha asked.
Katie went back to staring at the table.
“Samantha, let’s go get some lunch and let Katie think about who might have done this to her roommate,” Ed said, standing casually.
“You can’t leave me in here!”
“Actually we can. Sooner or later you have to talk to us, Katie.”
The Thirteenth Sacrifice Page 4
