Murder Casts Its Spell

by Margaret C. Morse

  "Felicia called me Sunday night mad because she thought Keegan had threatened her. I offered to come over and talk it out. When I got there, that's when she drops the bomb she planned to have the baby exorcised, and that's why Keegan got mad." Ira must have picked up a startled response because he looked at me with his brows raised. "You didn't know about her wanting to have an exorcism on Oscar?"

  "We didn't have all the details." I didn't want him to know Keegan hadn't told me.

  Ira glanced from me to Rusty. "Once she told me about the exorcism, I wasn't leaving until I made her see you can't use force to get rid of magic."

  I nodded at Ira. "What did you say?"

  "I made her see the problem up close and personal." Ira leaned toward me. "When I was a kid, my parents sent me to rehab the minute I showed empathic powers. I had the bad luck to be one of the last kids to get the knock-it-out-with-force treatment. At the rehab center, I got electric shock, extreme exercise, and isolation. They thought they had to kill the empathic power. I came back with all their violence inside me. I beat up my brothers. My dad and I fought so bad Mom called the cops. I went to jail. My parents ended up divorcing." The scales of the snake on his arm shimmered. "I also cut on myself. This is what I showed Felicia."

  He held his hand above the serpent tattoo. It lifted, a gold and green transparency, flat like a cartoon character. With a pushing gesture, he sent it toward Rusty, who let it swirl around her forearm. Red scars marked Ira's skin, checkmarks of the past. When he traced them, I could almost feel the pain he'd inflicted on himself. Rusty flicked the tattoo back to Ira. The snake settled onto his skin, some of the tattoo patterns matching the scar marks.

  Rusty rubbed a finger along the upper sleeve of her checkered blouse. "We had the same childhood. My parents sent me to one of those beat-it-outta-them camps. I cut myself where it was harder to see."

  "Seeing and touching those marks really got to Felicia," Ira said. "It made her rethink using force to remove magic powers. It worked better than any words I could say."

  I imagined Felicia grimacing as she ran her fingers along the puckered skin. "Did you believe she'd really not pursue the exorcism?"

  "I know when a woman lies." His eyes raked over me. "Felicia said she was convinced. She even asked if I thought she should drop the criminal charges."

  "What did you say?"

  "I know Keegan. He doesn't use magic to force his will on people. That's what I told her. She was scared that if Oscar turned out to have magic powers she wouldn't be able to handle him. Frightened people strike out and hurt others."

  He was good with explanations—probably something he learned in therapy. "How did your conversation end?"

  "I gave her a peaceful solution. My mother's a counselor. Her agency runs support groups for non-magic people who have wizard children."

  I wondered if Keegan had told him I'd gone to their mother for counseling. "What kind of mood was Felicia in when you left?"

  "A little nervous. She wasn't sure how her friends and family would react if she dropped the exorcism and the charges."

  I added Ira to the list of men who manipulated Felicia. "When were you with Felicia?"

  "I got there about eight, stayed a couple hours."

  "Did you ever have any problems with her?"

  "The only men who had problems with Felicia were the ones who loved her."

  He straightened. Abruptly, he circled the room. He reminded me of a wolf I'd seen at the zoo, pacing its cage with smooth steps, looking through not at the observers.

  "Do you remember what happened after you left Felicia?" I had to talk to his back.

  He stopped and opened the classroom door. "At times, I don't like being shut in. Twelve lost hours. From when I left Felicia…to?" He shrugged.

  "From ten at night to ten in the morning, you don't know where you were?"

  "When I pulled out of her complex, I blacked out mentally. I flashed back to when I was a kid at a treatment center." He turned around. "At some point, I came out of it in a strip joint on Seventh Street. I was downing a shot of Jack Daniels. After that, nothing. My mother said I showed up around ten Monday morning."

  He returned to us and pulled down the collar of his T-shirt. A stitched cut ran along the edge of his left collarbone. "That's what I did somewhere along the way. Broken glass with blood on it in the car. Blood all over my shirt."

  I shuddered at the thought of Ira slicing himself open with a jagged piece of glass. "Do you remember leaving me a message about your talk with Felicia?"

  "No." Ira slumped down on the mattress. "Sometimes it's like it's all a dream."

  When he shut his eyes, I exchanged a look with Rusty, wondering if we were losing him. "You just finished telling me what happened. It sounded real."

  "Who knows?"

  "You're sure you did actually see her?"

  "I must have talked to her. Going into a flashback puts an aura over everything." Ira rubbed his eyes then opened them, blinking slowly.

  "How can you be sure you didn't return to Felicia's during the time you were out of touch with reality?"

  He squinted at me, lines furrowing into his brow. "You mean, did I go back there and kill her?" His voice rose at the end.

  "You tell me, Ira. You could have done anything in that time."

  "It would be like me to screw up everything." His head sank on his chest.

  I thought I had wrung enough out of him. "You know, when the cops get Felicia's cell phone records, they'll want to talk to you."

  He grimaced. "From what you've said, I'm a suspect even though the cops have arrested Keegan. I'll make sure a lawyer is with me when I talk to the cops. I can use Bernie Bantcock. He does a lot of work for the circus."

  I pictured Bernie, dressed in those expensive Italian suits he fancied to tone down his pudgy, red-faced appearance. "He used to be my supervisor at the public defender's. He'll watch out for you." Bernie would have his hands full with Ira.

  Rusty and I didn't speak on the way out. Our footsteps disturbed the silence of the empty building. It had the eerie atmosphere of holding its breath, waiting for us to leave.

  In Rusty's pickup, I leaned against the headrest and shut my eyes. I fought down an impulse to talk about whether I was responsible for Ira's shape-shift going wrong because I was giving off erratic blasts of magic and instead focused on the interview. "The good news is Ira can confirm Felicia had changed her mind about pressing charges. The bad news is he confirms that Keegan knew about the exorcism and threatened Felicia. Ira's so volatile that he may change his story anytime."

  Rusty touched a new decoration in her pickup— a rosary hanging from the rearview mirror. "Ira's a performer. He wants audience reaction. That's why he talked about the aura stuff. It happened. He met with Felicia."

  Casting Ira as a suspect was a way to distance him from me. My attraction to him both stimulated and scared me. "It's tempting to wonder if Ira, in a delusional state, went back to Felicia's Monday." I belted myself in. "That stuff about cutting on himself, that was strong."

  "Cutting on yourself is hard for people to understand. Okay if we don't use the air?"

  "Sure." I rolled down the window to let the desert air cool me. "I think I understand. When you cut yourself, you let the anger out. You hurt yourself, and you feel better."

  Rusty adjusted the rearview mirror—the better to see into the past. "How old were you when you cut on yourself?"

  The skin along my inner thigh tingled. "Did you read my mind with empathic powers?"

  "No, those powers got beaten out of me. I'm an investigator. The look on your face when Ira showed us his scars and the recent cut. The way you rubbed your thigh. I bet you don't even know you made that gesture. That's a common place for girls to cut themselves. So tell me."

  I watched the crucifix on the rosary swing as she made a sharp right. "I only did it once. You don't know my origin story. I was found in a hospital bathroom on the floor wrapped in a pink towel. Made the news,
but now forgotten. When I was twelve, my mother showed me a picture pinned to the towel. I assumed it was my birth mother."

  "What did she look like?"

  I could always see that face in my mind's eye. "Black curly hair, green eyes. She glowed with a big smile."

  "Were you angry at her? Is that why you cut on yourself?"

  "I was angry at myself. That's what the therapist said."

  "And when you say you did it once, do you mean one single time or a bunch of times you count as one?"

  I realized I'd clenched my fists, just like Felicia's brother Salvador. "You sound like a lawyer."

  She pulled into the parking lot for my home. "I'll take that as a compliment. I assume from your stiff posture you're through sharing."

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  THURSDAY MORNING

  I arrived at the office ready for the day's battles, dressed in a lady lawyer's uniform—a red silk blouse and black skirt. Low heeled pumps pinched my toes together. With Shirley due to arrive in five minutes, I had no time to start a project, so I gazed out my office window through wrought iron security bars that cut up the view. Shirley parked a Ford hatchback with a battered driver's door. When she emerged from it, she paused and pressed a hand over her mouth, probably stuffing down family secrets.

  As I went to let her in, I wondered how outraged she'd be at my theory that her brother Ira had killed Felicia when he was in a flashback to his childhood trauma. Ira certainly had the ability to impersonate Keegan.

  Just off her night shift, Shirley yawned five times as she followed me to the office. She didn't want coffee but accepted a diet soda. She popped off the top with a neat click and sat on the edge of the client chair. "What do you want to ask me?"

  "Did you tell the cops about a confrontation between Keegan and Felicia Sunday night?"

  "Yeah, Felicia's neighbor had already told them. She'd seen me picking up Oscar lots of times. I said Keegan yelled something about protecting his child. I downplayed it, said he knew all kinds of lawyers who could help with custody problems." Her features pinched together. "I blame myself for telling him right away in the parking lot that she planned an exorcism on Oscar, instead of waiting till we got home."

  I needed details. "Did you use the word 'exorcism' when you talked to the cops?"

  "They told me they already knew what Felicia said to me."

  Interesting that a psychology major would fall for the old cop trick: "We know all, so you might as well talk."

  "What else did the cops talk to you about?"

  "They tried to get me to say he hated Felicia. I told them he never bad-mouthed Felicia because she was his child's mother."

  "How did you get along with Felicia?"

  "I was always businesslike." Shirley rolled her eyes. "Even when she told me about the exorcism. She never messed with me. She preferred to cultivate my brothers."

  "I knew she was friendly with Ira. What about Paul?"

  "She continued going to his salon even after she filed charges against Keegan." Shirley touched her blonde hair, which hung in lank strands. "Paul didn't like it, but he thought if he was charming to her, that would solve everything."

  "Did you know Ira was at Felicia's condo the night before she was killed?"

  She frowned and pressed her temples. "I found out when my mother texted me Monday so I could be on standby in case she needed help with him. This time, Ira snapped out of it right away and told us what happened."

  "It looks like Felicia died Monday morning. Did you see Keegan during that time?"

  "He left home about seven. That's the last time I saw him before he got arrested."

  Keegan had no alibi for Monday morning because he was alone in a parking lot on a stakeout for Bear. "Is there anything else you want to tell me?"

  "Yes. Felicia's parents have hired a lawyer to get custody of Oscar. They got an emergency hearing scheduled for tomorrow. You should be there."

  "Does your family have a lawyer?"

  "Yes, but Bernie says he doesn't normally handle those cases." She clamped on to the edge of my desk with both hands. "Think of this. Ira told me he talked her out of the exorcism. What if her parents found out she wasn't going to have Oscar exorcised? Ira said they were the ones pushing for it. They would have been really angry at Felicia."

  "It's an angle we'll pursue." When she stifled a yawn, distorting her features, I realized how tired she must be. "You've been up all night. I think I know sleep deprivation when I see it."

  "You need to meet with my aunt Mona. She can explain our family, especially Ira, to you." She jerked upright. "Oh, God, I forgot to tell Paul I was going to be late this morning. I need to call him."

  "Go ahead and use the waiting room so you can have some privacy. I need about ten minutes to check something out anyway. If you have time, I'd like to ask you a few questions about shape-shifting."

  I wanted to look at my file for this morning—a sentencing in juvenile court for a doctor's kid who had just completed a wilderness treatment program based on the premise that roughing it would teach him to give up drugs. The probation officer had emailed the report last night. She quoted the parents as amazed at the change in their son. Having to eat bugs and camp without gear will work wonders. Just as I finished, the back door of the office banged. Footsteps moved from the kitchen to the reception room then to my office.

  Bear stuck his head in. "Who's Sleeping Beauty?"

  I'd spent twenty minutes on the file. "If she has blonde hair and is wearing a UPS shirt, that's Keegan's sister. I must have kept her waiting too long. Should we wake her up?"

  "No, it's nice to have something peaceful and pretty in the reception room. Come on to my office. I'll make tea." Bear had a tea ceremony every morning.

  Lithographs of Abraham Lincoln and Theodore Roosevelt regarded me from behind his desk. Generals Lee and Grant glared at each other on the walls to the left and right.

  Bear plugged in an electric kettle on a mahogany buffet under General Lee's photo. He selected a canister labeled China and measured three spoonfuls of tea leaves into a brown ceramic pot. I knew better than to interrupt him in the ceremony.

  The only sign of his upcoming attempted murder trial was the yellow pad in the middle of his desk, a slab of reddish-brown wood. Bear said the starkness of the desk created the image that he had a clear, uncluttered mind. Precise handwriting filled each line of the pad. I had come to dread the sight of Bear approaching with it, asking me once again to listen to his opening.

  I'd known Bear longer than Chris, since high school. We had never dated but had spent nights together doing everything from studying for finals to getting drunk listening to old-time rock and roll.

  He sat behind the mahogany desk. He was a firm believer in not watching the pot. He had his usual rumpled appearance, tie loosened and sleeves half rolled up.

  I tried to figure out why he seemed different. His curly brown hair did have the crisp look of a new haircut. He rubbed his chin.

  That was it. "You shaved your goatee."

  "Juries don't trust men with facial hair."

  Over the years, he had gone from a full beard to goatees that lined his chin or jaw. Before taking the bar, he had shaved his head.

  "Are you completely crazed about your abused wife trial next week?"

  "I have some seconds of sanity left. What's going on with Keegan's case?"

  The electric kettle whistled. He poured the steaming water into the brown teapot and inserted the lid with a clink. The tea would brew five minutes.

  I leaned back and took a deep breath. "The bad press is slowing down. SOS and WAI aren't picketing because the legislature is in recess."

  "I heard a few nutty calls on talk radio this morning."

  "Mostly anti-Keegan?"

  "One caller did remind listeners that he's innocent until proven guilty. Most were vehemently on one side or the other. How's Keegan holding out?"

  "I need to run something by you."

  He put the
yellow pad away in a drawer in the credenza behind him. "What's up?"

  "I'm finding out Keegan has not been frank." A rush of anger made me shift in the chair. "He never told me about arguing with Felicia Sunday night. He denies being at her place Monday."

  "Have you confronted him?"

  "No, he's in protective custody, so I can't be sure that our conversations are private. Lauren is helping me to file a motion to improve visitation."

  Bear studied the portrait of Grant. "It's hard to represent someone with whom one has a personal relationship."

  "I think I'm pretty objective."

  Bear went to the buffet, found two brown pottery mugs, and took out the milk from the built-in refrigerator. After pouring the tea, he added milk and sugar to one mug and placed it on the desk for me on a Guinness beer coaster. For himself, he used three spoonfuls of sugar.

  I sipped the tea, a warm and sweet way to start the day. "Right now, I'm assuming Keegan is innocent. I hope I'm not delusional."

  Without looking, Bear reached back to the credenza and retrieved the legal pad, stroking it. "I do my best work when I know the client is guilty. Inspires my creativity."

  I needed to finish talking to Shirley. I wondered if he was interested in her. "Do you want to meet Sleeping Beauty?"

  He didn't answer at first. He flipped through the legal pad, smiling. We drank our tea. Silences between us rested comfortably.

  "Yes," he answered, "I'd like to meet Sleeping Beauty."

  "Come on and I'll introduce you. You can sit in while I interview her about shape-shifting."

  The nap had made Shirley's face puffy. She scowled and pointed her pink phone at me. "I can't believe it. You're trying to blame Ira for Felicia's death."

  "Look—" I began.

  She waved the phone around. "He called my aunt Mona and told her you accused him of going back to Felicia's Monday."

  "No, I didn't. I—"

  "I can't believe it." Her lower lip trembled as fat tears trickled down. "You're supposed to be helping us." She darted out of the office.

  Bear followed her, looking reproachfully at me over his shoulder.