Harm none argi-1

by M. R. Sellars

  “When do you think you’ll be notifying the husband?” I asked.

  “We’ll be contacting him as soon as the M.E. gets to the morgue,” Deckert told me. “It shouldn’t be long. Why?”

  “Something just doesn’t feel right,” I answered.

  “You think the old man did it?” he questioned. “Like a copy cat or something, to cover it up?”

  “No, that’s not it,” I replied. “I think it was the same guy, but I’ve got a really weird feeling. The whole sex thing just doesn’t fit with what this guy seems to be up to. Maybe she and the husband got together for a fling, or maybe she’s got a boyfriend, and that’s why they split up. I just don’t believe the killer raped her.”

  “We’ll be checkin’ all of that out,” Ben agreed. “But remember, we’re dealin’ with a sicko here.”

  “You’re right,” I told him. “But it’s too much of a deviation. I think there has to be some other explanation.”

  “Hey, you two,” Felicity’s voice came from behind us. “Come over here and have a look at this.”

  My wife was still holding the camera deftly in her hands but had pulled it away from her eye and was staring at the dressing table with a puzzled expression.

  “Aye, is this fingerprint stuff supposed to do this?” she asked, pointing at the hardened puddle of white wax where a candle had once been.

  “Supposed to do what?” Ben responded to her query with one of his own.

  “Glow like that. Don’t you see it, then?”

  “See what, honey?” I asked. “All I see is what’s left of a candle.”

  “The fingerprint,” she pled in exasperation. “Right there in the wax. Open your eyes.”

  “There can’t be a fingerprint there,” Deckert asserted. “Forensics already dusted over here, and they said the candles were clean. Besides,” he contended, “an imprint on wax would be pretty obvious.”

  “It’s not an imprint on the wax,” explained Felicity. “It’s a fingerprint IN the wax. It’s like it’s inside it.” She stepped closer and thrust her index finger at the center of the small mound.

  Ben and I both leaned closer but still couldn’t see anything other than the remains of a candle. Felicity was becoming more agitated each time we told her as much.

  “It’s glowing, you guys,” she volunteered. “It’s like the person had something phosphorescent on his fingers or something.”

  Her last statement gave me the clue I needed. Though I was still unable to see what she was seeing-and neither was Ben nor Detective Deckert, I was sure-I suddenly realized what was happening. My wife was definitely seeing the fingerprint in the wax; however, she was seeing it with what a Witch calls Second Sight. This ability is not something that can always be turned on or off at will. It is the stuff of clairvoyance and psychometry-the talent to witness the future and read the energies and impressions of inanimate objects. It was the simple gift of being able to observe those things that are hidden from earthly eyes.

  “Felicity,” I posed, “could the fingerprint be on the underside of the candle? Is it possible that you’re visualizing it?”

  “Aye, I suppose it could,” she said as a look of understanding spread across her face. “Yes. Yes, I think that could be it!”

  “You’d better get your forensic guys to check the underside of that pile of wax,” I told Detective Deckert as I turned. “If they plan on collecting and bagging this stuff for evidence, they might destroy the print if they aren’t careful.”

  Deckert hurriedly left the room and soon returned with a member of the crime scene unit who had been working elsewhere in the house.

  “We already dusted this area,” he told us as he was led to the melted candle. “There’s nothing there.”

  “Just humor us,” Ben told him. “I need ya’ ta’ check the bottom of the wax.”

  “The bottom?” the evidence technician echoed.

  “Yeah, the bottom,” Ben replied.

  The young man stared at the hardened puddles with a baffled expression on his face, then shrugged. He knelt on the floor and opened a thick case he had been carrying. After rummaging briefly through its contents, his hands emerged holding a can of compressed air and a tool resembling a putty knife. Using the compressed air, he blew away the residue from the earlier dusting and cleared the area around the piles of wax.

  “The white one,” Felicity volunteered. “That’s where it is.”

  “Okay,” the forensics tech acknowledged in a humorless tone.

  After rapidly shaking the can of air, he turned it upside down and aimed it at the remains of the white candle. The propellant in the can that normally expelled as a jet of gas when held properly upright now streamed from the nozzle as a frigid mist.

  “What’re you doin’ that for?” Detective Deckert questioned.

  “If I cool it down enough,” the tech explained, “I should be able to lift it off the surface in one piece.”

  The technician quickly moved the spray back and forth across the wax for a few moments then released the trigger and set the can aside. Slowly and carefully, he slipped the thin, knife-like tool under the edge of the now somewhat frosted mass. With great patience and skill, he worked the blade gently around the edge as we watched on, until finally, the oblong heap of dull white paraffin popped loose in one complete piece. Setting the bladed tool aside, the technician gingerly turned the wax over in his gloved hands and inspected it closely.

  “Right there in the middle,” Felicity intoned, trying to peer around him.

  He remained silent, but from where I stood, I could see his face, and the expression now crossing it was one of disbelief. He placed the wax upside down on the counter then quickly retrieved a brush and small bottle of powder from his kit and began gently dusting the mass.

  The candle had been a votive type and had apparently been mass-produced in a factory as was evidenced by a thin metal plate embedded in the center. The piece of metal had been the anchor used for the wick when it was originally made, and it was the focus of the evidence technician’s scrutiny at this very moment.

  “I don’t believe it,” he muttered. “There’s a print there big as shit. It’s partial, but it’s a good one.”

  “Son-of-a-bitch,” Deckert said slowly.

  “How in hell did you know that print was there?” the forensics tech asked, turning to Felicity.

  “Lucky guess,” Ben answered for her. “I want that print lifted and run yesterday,” he continued. “And while you’re at it, check all the candles from the previous crime scenes.”

  “That might be a problem,” he replied.

  “Whaddaya mean ‘that might be a problem’?” demanded Ben.

  “There were no prints on them.” The tech visibly inched away from an angered Ben Storm. “So we just pried them up. They’re in quite a few pieces.”

  “Dammit!” Ben exclaimed, turning in place and rubbing the back of his neck in a physical display of his exasperation. Once again he faced the tech and stabbed his index finger at him purposefully. “As soon as you guys are done here, I want you checkin’ out those candles. You understand me?”

  “I’ll do what I can, Detective,” the forensics tech assured him, no longer exhibiting his earlier cockiness.

  “And you,” Ben continued, turning and hooking his arm around Felicity. “Let me know if you ever need a job.”

  A younger, but no less stone-faced desk sergeant issued Felicity and I visitor’s badges when we entered the police station where the Major Case Squad was currently headquartered. We walked down the long, familiar hallway and entered the room where the core of activity had been occurring when last we were here. At this early hour of the morning, the space was dark and still, entirely devoid of the earlier urgent bustle. Detective Deckert flipped a wall switch as we entered, bringing the stubbornly flickering fluorescent lights to life.

  “Go ahead and have a seat,” he said. “Anyone besides me interested in coffee?”

  He hung his jacket
on the back of a chair and ambled over to the coffeemaker, rolling up his sleeves as he went.

  “Me,” Ben announced.

  “Make that two,” I added.

  “Would you be havin’ any herbal tea?” Felicity queried.

  “We got a box of some kinda lemon tea or some odd thing like that,” Deckert called out.

  “Aye, that’ll work,” Felicity told him, heading over in his direction. “Here, let me give you a hand, then.”

  I took a seat at one of the long cafeteria tables that had been set up to serve as a staging and conference area. Ben stripped off his own jacket and loosened his tie then joined me. He rubbed his tightly shut eyes then the back of his neck, shoulders drooping as he let out a long sigh. His hair was unkempt and his shirt stained with sweat. He was obviously still operating on little sleep.

  “You didn’t take our advice did you?” I asked him.

  “I took it,” he answered tiredly, head tilted back and eyes closed. “I just didn’t get a chance to use it.”

  “You know, Ben, you can’t catch this guy all by yourself. Let some of the other cops do some of the work.”

  “They are, I just like to know what’s goin’ on, and there aren’t enough hours in the day to keep up.”

  “Remember how worried you were when you thought I was dying earlier?” I asked.

  “Yeah, what about it?” he replied. “That’s what bein’ a friend is.”

  “You’re right,” I told him. “And I’m starting to get worried about you.”

  He let out another heavy sigh and slowly tilted his head forward, opening his eyes as he did so. His gaze came to meet mine, and we sat there silently for a long moment.

  “I know you are. I know the little woman is too. I appreciate it, I really do,” he finally said. “Let’s just catch this asshole, then I’m takin’ a vacation. True story.”

  “Here you go,” Detective Deckert said as he slid a cup of coffee in front of Ben. “It’s still brewing, so this is a bit thick if ya’ know what I mean.”

  A similar cup appeared in front of me, placed there by my wife as she sat down. She clutched a cup of hot water and was rhythmically dipping a tea bag in it.

  “How are you feeling?” I asked her.

  “Fine, but I’m tired,” she replied and leaned against me. “And a little queasy, but I’ll be fine.”

  “Allison had morning sickness for the first six months,” Ben offered.

  “Morning sickness?” Deckert stated rhetorically. “I didn’t know you two were expecting. Congratulations. How far along?”

  “Early yet,” Felicity told him. “Six weeks.”

  “Well, it’s nice to hear some good news in the middle of all this crap,” he said and lifted his coffee cup in an informal toast.

  “I hate ta’ bring it up,” Ben interjected, “but we have to talk about the case. The way I see it, we still have an asshole out there killin’ women, and we aren’t much closer to knowin’ who it is than we were when we started. Now personally, I think R.J.’s pile of bricks is startin’ to add up on a side of the scale where he’d rather not be.”

  “You still need to talk to Devon,” I offered.

  “True.” He continued, “And his pile isn’t exactly tiltin’ the scale in a positive direction either, but the fact is, R.J. very possibly worked with the latest victim.”

  “You know,” Felicity stated thoughtfully. “It might not be either one of them.”

  “That’s true,” Deckert chimed, “but you follow the leads you have.”

  “What about that partial fingerprint?” I queried. “How soon do you expect to know anything?”

  “The lab guys should have somethin’ for us in a coupl’a hours,” Ben answered. “It’s all gonna depend on how soon they get finished at the scene and how much of the print we actually have…”

  “And if its owner is in the system,” Deckert added. “If he isn’t, then it could be weeks before we get any replies from the non-participating municipalities.”

  “We haven’t got weeks,” I told them flatly. “This psycho has killed three women in less than ONE week, two of them in as many days.”

  “You got any better ideas?” Ben asked.

  “No,” I replied candidly, “and it irritates the hell out of me.”

  “Welcome to the club,” he replied.

  They were still processing the fingerprint from the latest murder scene when Felicity and I left to go home. With Detective Deckert’s help, we convinced Ben to do the same, as repeated calls to the forensics lab had only served to frustrate him more. It was agreed that we would attack the situation anew after whatever modicum of sleep we could get. I half expected to find Ben at my door for breakfast the next morning.

  CHAPTER 13

  Felicity was feeling the effects of her first actual bout of morning sickness when the phone rang the next day. As expected, the person at the other end of the line was Ben, however, this time he was calling from the Major Case Squad headquarters instead of my driveway. His voice, though somewhat somber, sounded much less weary than it had only a few hours before.

  “So are you free to come down here?” Ben’s voice issued from the earpiece.

  “Yeah, I don’t have any client meetings today, so I can shake loose for a while,” I replied. “Felicity’s not feeling too well though.”

  “Get used to it,” he told me.

  “So what’s up?”

  “We got the kid down here,” he returned, referring to R.J. “Says he doesn’t want a lawyer, but he wants you here.”

  “Did you arrest him?”

  “No, one of the local muni’s picked ‘im up on a DUI about the time we were at the crime scene last night… this mornin’… whatever.”

  “Driving under the influence, huh,” I mused. “How’d you find out about that?”

  “Since we decided we wanted to question him,” Ben began, “and I couldn’t find ‘im yesterday, I decided to run his tags this mornin’. Sometimes crap like that pays off, and it did this time ‘cause there he was. He looks like he’s fightin’ a hell of a hangover, but other than that, he’s no worse for wear.”

  “Why does he want me there?” I queried.

  “Somethin’ to do with the whole Wiccan thing, I guess,” he replied. “When we said we wanted to ask ‘im a few questions about Ariel Tanner and Karen Barnes, he got kinda paranoid on us.”

  “You didn’t mention Ellen Gray at all?”

  “Not yet. I still have a few things to check out before I play that card.”

  “But if he’s not under arrest,” I puzzled, “can’t he just walk out?”

  “He got a bit rowdy with the officer that stopped him, so they decided to set an example,” Ben explained. “City of Andrew Heights is gonna hold ‘im over for arraignment on the DUI and a resisting charge. I just got the muni to let me have custody for a while.”

  “Okay,” I told him. “Better let me grab a shower and all that. I’ll be there in about an hour.”

  “We’re not goin’ anywhere.”

  As I was hanging up the phone, Salinger jumped up to the corner of our entertainment center and seated himself. He looked up at me with his bewhiskered face and large eyes forming a caricature of a wizened prophet then let out a doleful meow.

  “You don’t really think R.J.’s guilty, do you?” I asked him rhetorically as I scratched him behind the ears.

  He replied only by closing his eyes and purring loudly.

  “Aye, Rowan, was that Ben on the phone?” Felicity asked as she trudged slowly into the room with soda crackers in one hand and a cup of what smelled like ginger tea in the other.

  “Yeah, that was him,” I told her. “He’s at the MCS headquarters. They’ve got R.J. down there, and he’s asking for me.”

  “Did they arrest him?” she asked with a start.

  “Yes and no.” I explained, “He was arrested on a Driving-Under-the-Influence charge early this morning. Ben went looking for him again using his license pla
te number this time, and that’s how he found him. He borrowed him from the municipality that arrested him, so he could ask him a few questions.”

  “Why is he asking for you instead of an attorney, then?”

  “Who knows?” I shrugged. “Probably because I’m a Witch-at least that’s Ben’s theory. Apparently, he got pretty antsy when they told him they wanted to ask him about Ariel and Karen.”

  “Aye, wouldn’t you?” Felicity asked.

  “I suppose I would.”

  “So, how long before we have to be there? I don’t know if I’m over this nausea yet.”

  “You don’t need to go,” I told her. “You can stay here and rest for a while, and I can fill you in later.”

  “Are you sure?” she queried. “I don’t have a photo shoot scheduled until this afternoon, so I’ve got the morning free.”

  “I’m sure,” I replied. “You need to get some rest. The accent is still a little heavy.”

  “Oh, stop it, then.”

  “Seriously though, honey. I can call you if anything happens.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Okay then.”

  I left her lounging on the sofa in our living room, surrounded by three cats displaying curious concern as only they can do.

  I parked my truck behind City Hall and checked in at the desk. I was apparently becoming a familiar face, or I was anticipated, as the Sergeant had a visitor’s badge in hand as soon as he saw me. After checking in, I continued down the corridor and was met at the door by Ben and Detective Deckert.

  “How’s Firehair?” Ben inquired, calling Felicity by one of his many nicknames for her.

  “She was starting to perk up,” I told him as we continued farther into the bowels of the building. “I expect she’ll be fine.”

  “Good, good,” his voice trailed off as we descended a flight of stairs, and he fell silent.