Killer Witch in Westerham

by Dionne Lister

  “Who let her in? Jesus. Get her out before I call the police.” Jeremy lifted his hands, and the warmth of someone using magic prickled my scalp. I wasn’t sure whether to be excited I was getting all this on camera or if I should be worried someone was about to get hurt.

  “But I love you!” The woman—no one had bothered to introduce her, but if she knew she wasn’t going to be welcome, no wonder she hadn’t said anything—ran towards Jeremy.

  Click, click, click. Ooh, action shots. She launched herself at him, arms wide. Jeremy mumbled something, and the air in front of him shimmered. The woman slammed into an invisible barrier. She screamed, and blood gushed out of her nose. On some level, I knew this was horrible, but I kept snapping away. Well, no one had told me to stop….

  The woman ugly cried. Her red-smeared hands hung uselessly at her sides while her nose bled all over Marcia’s floor. Jeremy’s mother looked at him. “What’s going on?”

  “She’s a stalker. I worked with her on a show ten years ago. Can someone please get her out of here?” The fear in his eyes was genuine.

  “But you said you loved me! What about when we got married? You can’t treat me like this. I’m your wife.” Everyone was looking from Jeremy to the woman and back again. It was more drama-filled than a Wimbledon final or an episode of the Kardashians.

  “What?!” his mother screamed. “You’re married?”

  His brow wrinkled as he scowled. “No. Of course not. We got married in the TV show we were in. For God’s sake, what’s wrong with all of you? If you don’t get her out of here in one minute, I’m leaving.”

  Marcia stepped up to the woman. “I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to insist you leave.”

  “But we’re married,” she wailed. She turned to Jeremy, her forlorn expression turning to anger. “Isn’t it bad enough you tortured me by dating those hos. Haven’t you put me through enough?”

  Jeremy shook his head. His mouth set in a hard line, he turned and disappeared through a doorway. Hmm, where had he gone? Sympathy welled up for him. Yes, he was famous, rich, and gorgeous—what more could you want out of life—but he didn’t deserve to be stalked by crazies. He was just a guy doing a job.

  Catherine put her hands on her hips. “See? This is why I’m protective of my son. When will you people listen?”

  Marcia glared at the stranger. “Leave now, or I’m calling the PIB.”

  My scalp prickled so much it itched. Catherine was mumbling something. Uh-oh.

  The scorned woman glared at Catherine and growled before stepping through her doorway and disappearing—just in time, if you asked me. The itching stopped. I took a deep breath, relief freeing up my chest.

  This wasn’t the eightieth birthday I’d expected, and by the way Marcia rubbed her temples, it wasn’t the one she’d expected either. Her gaze moved to me. “Lily, I give up. I think maybe you should come back tonight, for the dinner and cake cutting. I think we all need a break. See you here at seven?”

  “Okay, Marcia. I’ll see you back here then.” I quickly scanned the room for my tripod, which was on the kitchen island. I gathered everything and went to the front door.

  “Oh, and when you come back, feel free to use the reception room. Here are the coordinates.” A piece of paper materialised in her hand, and she gave it to me.

  “Thanks.” I stepped out the door and into chaos. Crap.

  How were these photographers allowed on private property? Why didn’t Marcia call the police and have these people removed? Men shouted, “Who are you?” “Did you see Jeremy?” “What’s going on in there?” “What’s your name? Tell us your name, love.” Shutters clicked over, and over, and over. I instinctively put my hand in front of my face, and adrenaline pumped through my body. Aggression crackled in the air as they shouted, stood in my way, and shoved cameras towards me. Someone shoved me, and I tripped sideways to collide with a snarling, balding guy with a diamond stud in one earlobe. Oh, the joy.

  “Are you his new girlfriend? Is he getting married? Is that why you’re here—to take the photos?” For God’s sake. Bunch of morons.

  “Come on, love. Give us a scoop.”

  I stopped. The pack halted. I looked around at them and took two steps forward. The idiotic sea of photographers did the same, and I almost laughed. It was like some comedy routine. Might as well have fun with it. I stepped two steps to the right, and my entourage followed. I stepped two steps forward, then two steps back. Oh my God! They did it too. I laughed. Totally absurd.

  “I’ve got a scoop for you.” The little voice in my head, the one that spoke sense and was rarely listened to, was saying something, but I couldn’t hear over the naughty voice. I drew a tiny bit of magic and called into the void. I smirked. “You’re standing in dog poo.”

  Everyone looked down. I’d managed to bring in enough dog poo to fit under four of the photographers’ shoes. A few of them wrinkled their noses, and one said, “Oh, gawd. They’re me best sneakers.”

  “Enjoy your day,” I said as I pushed a space through them.

  My shoulder aching from lugging my equipment around, I jogged to the car, dug my keys out of my pocket, and pushed the beep-beep button. The paps had started yelling questions at me again. Did they ever give up? How many scoops of poo did they want? I supposed I could find some more somewhere.

  As I placed my bag in the boot, Marcia’s angry voice came from the house. “Get out of here, you lot. I’ve just called the police. They’ll be here shortly.” Confirming her threat, sirens pealed in the distance. Finally.

  I turned towards the driver’s door and had to push one guy out of the way to get into the car. They moved quickly, these feral paps. They really were a smear on society. Just like poo. Once safely in the car, I locked the doors and started the engine. The sooner I got home, the better.

  Funny how sometimes I could be so, so wrong.

  Chapter 4

  When I got home, I downloaded all the photos from the morning onto a hard drive, then wiped my camera card. I’d just started going through everything when my mobile pinged with a message from James. Call me when you get home. It’s urgent.

  Did he already have information on that woman I photographed? That was quick. I called him. “Hey, it’s me.”

  “I thought you were working all day. Are you home already?”

  “Yeah. Things got a bit crazy. I have to go back there tonight though.”

  “Okay. Hang on.” There was mumbling in the background for a bit; then he came back on. “Can you meet with Angelica and me in her office in thirty minutes?”

  “Yep. Is this about the photos I sent earlier?” Best to confirm because what if it was about Will or Dana or the snake group?

  “Yes, but don’t talk about it with anyone. You haven’t mentioned anything to the house owners, have you?”

  “No, of course not. My talent is a secret. Remember?”

  “Yeah, just making sure. Oh, and if there are any other photos, email them before you come. See you soon.”

  “Bye.”

  The first thing I did when I went back to my computer was send the remaining photos to James, as requested. I fought rising nausea as I attached the images to an email and pressed Send. Then, not wanting to dwell on the poor dead woman, I picked out a handful of nice pictures—the ones of the kids and dog before the day went pear-shaped—and started editing. I’d just do basic editing; then Marcia could pick the pictures she wanted, and I’d clean them up a bit more. As I worked, I had to wrestle my thoughts from the horror of the faceless woman a few times. My mind was like a petulant horse that didn’t want to go where I tried to steer it. Stupid brain.

  Who was she, and why had someone killed her? And even worse: Was the killer still out there doing his thing? And, yes, I’d assumed it was a man. How often did women do this sort of thing? Not often, if all the TV specials on serial killers were anything to go by.

  I checked my phone. I was due at the PIB in five minutes. Time to leave. I made my doorwa
y and stepped through into the sterile reception room. My old friend Gus answered when I buzzed. I chuckled to myself. What gross conversation was he going to make me suffer through today?

  “Hey, Gus. How are you?”

  “Great, Miss Lily. How are you?”

  “Fine, thanks.” Conversation starters to avoid: pets, food, work. What the hell was left? Traditionally, weather was universally considered a safe topic. Phew. “Quite a cool morning today, but at least it’s not raining.” I grinned, proud of myself.

  “Yes, but that’s what you get in autumn. I tell you what, though, the dog hates going outside to do his business, and after this morning, the misses threatened to get rid of him.”

  I was sure this demanded my horror and a follow-up question, but I didn’t want to be dragged in that direction. I could see where it was going, and I wanted to cry. My voice was strangled when I replied, “Oh, no. That’s not good.” He couldn’t make me ask, but I bet he didn’t need the invitation to expand.

  Sometimes, I hated when I was right.

  He laughed. “No, not good at all. Lucky for me, he’d pooed as I was leaving for work, so I didn’t have to clean it up. But it was on the carpet, and the smell.” He waved his hand in front of his face. I wouldn’t begrudge his wife if the dog was gone by the time Gus got home.

  “Oh, look, here we are!” I turned to him and hoped my smile didn’t look like a grimace. “Always great chatting. Have a wonderful day.”

  “Bye, Miss Lily.” He opened Angelica’s door and gestured for me to enter.

  I walked through her unmanned reception area and into her office. “Hey.”

  “Hi, Lily. Thanks for joining us.” Ma’am, as I usually thought of her at work, sat behind her huge desk, and James sat in front of it. I took the seat next to him.

  “Hey, sis.”

  “This is caj. Why didn’t we do this in the conference room?”

  Ma’am leant back in her chair. “There’s only three of us. We fit quite well here. There’s no need to complicate things, dear.”

  “I’m okay with it.” I smiled but then sobered. “I take it you discovered something about the woman I saw this morning?”

  Ma’am nodded. “James can explain everything.”

  He turned in his chair to look at me. “The body you photographed was a young woman called Amanda Thomas. She was murdered ten years ago, her body discovered one morning in a forest five miles from where you took that photo. She grew up in Westerham, had an older sister, and was known to be a studious girl with a tight-knit group of friends. She was only eighteen.” He fixed serious eyes on me. “The killer was never caught, and there have been two other similar murders since then, within a twenty-mile radius. The last one was seven years ago. No one’s ever been arrested, and from the evidence, all the murders were done by the same person, but they left no DNA, no clues as to who they were. The only thing we have to go on is the personality profile done by an expert after the second body was found. We were never called in, so it’s impossible to say whether there were traces of magic. If there were any, they’d be long gone now.” A few sheets of paper, stapled together, appeared in James’s hand. He gave me the bundle. “Give that a read, and let me know your thoughts.”

  What wasn’t he saying? Both he and Ma’am watched me, faces unreadable except for the weight of assessment. So, what was I supposed to find? I started reading.

  All murders happened within a three-year period. The women were between eighteen and twenty-two. As far as looks were concerned, there were two brunettes, and one blonde, all white skinned, two born in Westerham and one from “unknown.” She’d had no ID and didn’t match any reported missing persons.

  I got to the crime-scene photos and gagged. They’d all had their faces and hearts removed. I shut my eyes and took a deep breath before continuing. Without a clear head, I wasn’t going to be able to help. Think, Lily, think.

  I opened my eyes and studied the police picture of Amanda. Oh. She was lying somewhere different in this picture from where I’d seen her. There weren’t many trees. She was lying on grass, a stone church dominating the background. I furrowed my brow and looked up at James. “Whoever did this moved the body?”

  “It looks that way. And there’s no mention of dirt found on the body. Where you photographed her was full of leaf litter and mud. Surely that would have gotten into her hair, on her clothes, but the body was meticulously clean. We could sneak down there and take some samples, but any evidence would likely be long gone, unless there was jewellery or something. Or….” His gaze became tentative.

  “Unless I go and ask the universe for more specific images?” My stomach dropped. My talent asked a lot of me sometimes. Looking at dead people and crime scenes was not my favourite way to spend the day. But these poor women needed justice, and what use was my talent if I couldn’t help people?

  “Before you answer, Lily, keep reading. You haven’t reached the good part yet.” Ma’am raised a brow and gave a nod.

  “Ah, okay.” The rest of the information was about boyfriends, friends, where they’d all been in the month leading up to the murders. My eyes widened. Oh, wow.

  Two of the women had contact with Jeremy, movie star extraordinaire, although he hadn’t been as famous back then. Considering where I’d seen that body, should I really be surprised? But was he a murderer? He was a little vain, but did that make him a killer? I shook my head. I didn’t know him at all—having about thirty minutes of conversation hardly gave me insight into who he really was.

  He’d briefly dated the woman I’d seen this morning. They’d recently broken up when her body was found. The police had interviewed him, considering links with the other two women. One of the others was a make-up artist who had done his make-up on a TV show he’d made a guest appearance in. Who the other one was, was anybody’s guess. I sighed at the unfairness of it all.

  The police had also questioned his mother. Yep, you’d be mad not to with her anger-management issues. They’d discounted her as a suspect after that. Apparently she’d been the one to encourage their relationship—she had liked Amanda and was hoping she and her son would settle down together. She’d also had an alibi for the few days between Amanda going missing and her body being found—a sewing convention in Spain. Her alibi had been confirmed by other attendees. But being a witch, she could have travelled home and back without anyone noticing. Oh, it said she’d been sharing a room with another woman, and she confirmed Catherine had been with her pretty much the whole time.

  So, there was a link with at least two of the bodies, but where was the motive, unless he was killing for the thrill of it? “Okay, so it’s either Jeremy or someone who wants it to look like him. A disgruntled fan or adversary?”

  Ma’am cleared her throat. “In between murders, Jeremy had ventured overseas, but he was always here when they occurred.”

  “He’s a witch. Couldn’t he just pop in and out whenever he wanted?” Dealing with witches was so much more complicated.

  “True, dear.”

  “So, now what? I’m due back there tonight. I had to leave because this morning, another witch turned up claiming to love him. Apparently she’s a stalker, and he told her to leave; then he disappeared to get away from her. After threats from Marcia—Jeremy’s grandmother—she made a doorway and left. No one did anything violent, except when the woman tried to hug Jeremy, he made an invisible barrier, and she broke her nose on it. He didn’t look like he was happy about it. I’m just not sure if he’d be the killing-for-fun type.”

  “But would he kill for peace and quiet?” James asked.

  “If peace and quiet were that important to a person, why would they get into acting?” My brother was smart, but sometimes he said some really dumb things.

  “Maybe he enjoys acting and got successful before he realised what it really meant.”

  I tilted my head down and raised my brow to look up at James with an “are you kidding me?” look. “Yeah, nah.”

  �
��Well, smarty-pants, can you get to know him a bit better tonight? Pay close attention to what he says, try and engage him in conversation.”

  Ma’am giggled. We both stared at her—she wasn’t exactly known for giggling. She smirked. “Smarty-pants? Don’t you mean smarty-boots?”

  James and I exchanged a “what the hell” look and laughed. “Are you having us on?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “That’s what the more refined of us say. You Australians have no class.” She soothed the sting of her words with a wink.

  “You’re just a bunch of weirdos. Smarty-boots….” I grinned and shook my head. “But to answer your question, James, yes, I can. I honestly don’t get the killer vibe from him—he seems okay.”

  “Do you just think that because he’s famous and attractive?” James raised his brows.

  I considered it because I didn’t want to be blinded by all that—as much as fame didn’t impress me, he was gorgeous. “Nope. Even if someone’s good-looking, I would still pick up on roughly who they were. At least, I think so.” Or maybe not. Was I fooling myself? How many people had been killed by people they trusted, people they never thought were capable of such a thing? And wasn’t that how some serial killers managed to stay free for so long—no one saw it in them? Psychopaths were master manipulators.

  “Just get what information you can, dear.”

  “Yes, Ma’am.” Despite my initial feelings, I would be hypervigilant.

  No psychopath was going to fool me. Nah ah. Now I just had to believe it.

  Chapter 5

  I returned to Marcia’s home via my doorway. As much as I hated having my talent indicate someone was going to die soon, I again didn’t switch it off. As horrible as it sounded, I didn’t care if anyone here died, at least not in the grand scheme of things, and accidentally stumbling upon information could mean the difference between solving the murders and not. Besides, seeing Angelica and Beren as ghosts through my camera had been up there with the worst moments of my life, and no one in this house could top that. Perspective was a beautiful thing.