Stormrise

by Knizley, Skye

  Raven joined Levac outside next to the van, where he had confirmed that the vehicle’s driver was alive, but unconscious.

  “How did you know?” Levac asked quietly.

  “Know what?” Raven reloaded the Automag and put a round into the chamber.

  Levac looked around and gestured at the gunmen with one hand. “How did you know there was a robbery in progress? There were no overt signs of danger.”

  “I told you,” Raven said with a smile. “Women’s intuition.”

  V

  Belmont Harbor, one of the city’s busier and more prominent marinas, was home to dozens of vessels, some private pleasure crafts, but the majority commercial, either fishing or private yachts for charter.

  The two detectives arrived at the marina just before noon and, after some difficulty, located Witchcraft. The large vessel, a sixty-foot sloop, sat some distance from the dock, her sails furled and her antique hull glistening in the bright afternoon sun. The ship looked sleek, fast and beautiful, even while bobbing against its anchor.

  Raven and Levac stood staring at the ship for several long moments before Levac asked, “Does that look like a fishing boat to you, detective?”

  “Not at all,” Raven replied. “Looks more like a place to drink beer and leer at women without worrying about prying eyes. Come on, let’s see what the captain has to say about Anderson’s party.”

  Raven led the way down the wide dock to the single-story building that served as the office for the charter company. The squat structure was made of cinderblocks, with two large windows overlooking the water. The charter company’s name was painted in blue across the windows and a small, pathetic-looking windsock dangled from a pole above the door.

  The two detectives entered, causing a bell to chime above the door. A portly gentleman who reminded Raven of the skipper from an old TV show stood up from his desk and smiled, a gesture that made him look like a wizened cherub.

  “Good afternoon, folks! I’m Captain Kyle. Are you looking to charter a boat for the afternoon? The weather’s good for it today!” he said with a faint Boston accent.

  Raven smiled in spite of herself and Levac said, “No, no, thank you. Detectives Levac and Storm; we were hoping to ask you a few questions about a Witchcraft charter a few weeks ago.”

  “Witchcraft? I’m the only one who takes her out; last time was for Mr. Anderson on a party cruise,” Kyle replied. “That the one you mean?”

  “Yes, that’s the one,” Raven said. “Party cruise? Not fishing?”

  Kyle shrugged and sat back down behind his desk to shuffle through a ledger.

  “Some folks call it fishing because they have a few long poles in the water. Mostly it’s a pleasure cruise just to blow off some steam. I supply a crew, fishing gear and so on; the customer supplies their own refreshments and entertainment.”

  “Do you remember this cruise?” Levac asked. “The one with Mr. Anderson?”

  “Of course I do! Here’s the date,” Kyle said, turning the ledger so Levac could see. “Drake Anderson and guests for the afternoon, returning after sunset. There were seven or eight of them on board, plus a handful of girls they picked up somewhere and brought with them.”

  “Did anything unusual happen during the cruise?” Raven asked, opening the file she was carrying.

  “What do you mean ‘unusual’?” Kyle asked, avoiding Raven’s gaze. “We didn’t see any UFOs or anything if that’s what you mean.”

  Raven held up the photograph of Nathan King. “No, I was thinking more along the lines of an altercation between this man and someone else. Maybe an argument or fistfight?”

  The captain peered at the photograph for a moment and nodded. “Yeah, since it’s the city’s finest asking, there was an argument. Big one, if I recall correctly. That feller and another guy were having words over one of the girls they brought with them.”

  “One of the girls? Do you know her name?” Levac asked.

  Kyle shook his head. “No, I wasn’t paying that much attention. Witchcraft is a pretty big yacht and she’s an antique to boot. She requires some looking after and I’m not about to scratch her hull or cause any damage ’cause I was ogling the guests. The girl was a looker though. She reminded me of pinup girls from the fifties. Not so skinny like girls today; she had some meat on her bones.”

  “Is this the woman they were fighting over?” Raven asked, showing the skipper a photograph of Victoria the crime lab had provided.

  “That’s her,” the skipper confirmed.

  “So King and another man were arguing over Victoria,” Levac said. “Do you know who he was arguing with, sir?”

  The skipper nodded and pointed to another entry in his ledger. “He's another one who likes to take Witchcraft out on occasion. His name is Brand Symone. The kid was really upset that your boy there was hitting on his girl. I mean, really upset.”

  “Could you make a photocopy of this page, please?” Levac asked.

  The skipper shrugged and waddled over to a Xerox machine that looked like it was new during prohibition. The machine coughed and wheezed and dutifully spat out two copies of the ledger page.

  “No problem,” he said, handing them over. “Anything else I can do for you? How ’bout a special on Witchcraft for the next police outing?”

  Raven smiled and slipped the two pages into her file. “We’ll suggest it to the planning committee. Thank you for your time.”

  “Okay, so what’s next?” Levac asked, sipping cold coffee and watching the scenery outside the Shelby’s passenger window. “Do we go talk to this Brand Symone guy?”

  “He’s definitely at the top of the list,” Raven said. “We know he was arguing with the victim the night before he died, we know they were fighting over our second victim, Victoria…it sounds like a delayed crime of passion; we just need the last pieces of the puzzle to fit it all together.”

  “I hear he lives over in Kenilworth,” Levac said. “Feel like a drive to where the houses cost more than both of us will make, ever?”

  “Why not?” Raven replied with a grin. “I like to window shop.”

  VI

  The village of Kenilworth rested some twenty-five miles north of the harbor, on what was known as the North Shore of Chicago. The residents of the village were some of the most affluent in the country and it showed in the architecture, landscaping, and the cars on the streets of the half-square-mile village. There were no Honda Civics in Kenilworth.

  The Symone Estate consisted of a large, Tudor-style house surrounded by a thick copse of trees. A private road named Symone’s Rest led to the wide, curving driveway and a Mercedes limousine sat sparkling in the sun, ready for use at a moment’s notice. A Ferrari 458 sat next to the limousine, its bright red and carbon-fiber finish a stark contrast to the limousine’s reserved black paint and white-wall tires.

  Raven parked the Shelby in the driveway and the two detectives made their way down the river-rock path to the front door. Levac was just about to knock when the door opened, revealing a short, somewhat plump man in a black suit. He bowed in greeting and said, “Good afternoon, lady and gentleman. Mr. Symone is out. I am Tizio; is there something I can do for you?”

  “Detectives Storm and Levac, Chicago Police.” Raven produced her credentials and showed them to Tizio. “Is Brand Symone available? I believe that’s his Ferrari in the driveway.”

  “Indeed, it is; however, Brand is out as well,” Tizio replied. “Shall I tell him you called?”

  Raven pursed her lips and folded her arms, looking down at the shorter butler in what for most would have been an intimidating manner. “Do you know when he will be back? Perhaps we could wait for him.”

  Tizio shook his head and shrugged, spreading his hands as if he didn’t have a clue. “I'm sorry, Detective Storm. I'm not privy to such information and wouldn’t want you to waste such a beautiful day waiting indoors. Perhaps you could leave your business card with me and I'll have Mr. Symone contact you just as soon as he returns.”
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  “Are you sure?” Levac asked, looking back at the Ferrari. “It seems unlikely Mr. Symone wouldn’t take that car today. As you said, it’s a beautiful day.”

  “I’m quite certain, Detective Levac,” Tizio replied.

  Raven frowned, her keen sense of smell telling her that someone else, someone who wore expensive aftershave and Italian leather shoes, was lurking nearby. After a moment, she handed the butler one of her cards.

  “Please have Brand call me or Detective Levac as soon as he returns,” she said. “We believe he can help us with an investigation and will be back if we don’t hear from him in the next twenty-four hours.”

  The butler bowed again. “Of course, detective. As soon as the young master is in, I’ll ask him to return your call. Good day to you.”

  Raven frowned at the butler, but allowed Levac to guide her back down the path to the waiting Shelby. She leaned against the car, facing away from the house, and muttered, “Someone was listening in to our conversation.”

  Levac shaded his eyes and looked back at the large house outlined against storm clouds coming in off the lake. “You think it was our boy?”

  “I think so,” Raven replied.

  “What do you want to do? Try for a warrant?” Levac asked.

  Raven shook her head and then opened the car door. “Judge Renquist will shoot us down. We have nothing but some candles that may have been bought by Symone or his father and an argument on Witchcraft. Not enough for probable cause or even a wild guess.”

  Levac continued to look at the dark clouds on the horizon for a moment before joining Raven inside the Shelby. When he finished buckling his seatbelt, he noticed Raven reviewing a message on her phone. “What’s up?”

  Raven put the phone down and started the engine before replying, “That was a friend of mine. She may have some information on the gris-gris we found with King’s body.”

  “Let’s go then.”

  Raven eased the car down the driveway, shaking her head. “Sorry, Rupert,” she said. “I have to do this one alone. I’ll drop you back at the district and go meet with her. If it leads to anything, I’ll give you a call.”

  Levac frowned, his dark eyes staring at Raven’s right ear. “Meeting with one of your secret snitches, huh?” he asked.

  Raven glanced at Levac and smiled. “She’s hardly a snitch. But she’s a friend and she’s entitled to her privacy. She’s only looking into this because I asked her nicely and she knows my family.”

  “All right. I’ll see if we have Boone’s financial records; maybe we can come up with another connection to Symone,” Levac said.

  Raven nodded and pressed the gas, wondering what Marie had been so concerned about.

  VII

  Old Town, a place of dark shadows and discretely placed neon signs at night, was quiet and subdued by day, a lonely place visited only by bored tourists and police looking for a quiet place to have a smoke. Most of the stores closed at dawn; those that were open later were quiet and somehow brooding, as if waiting for the sun to flee below the horizon before truly coming alive. The district’s inherent gloom combined with the dark, sullen clouds on the horizon made Old Town seem even more menacing; quiet as the grave yet exuding the feeling of an unvoiced scream.

  Raven parked the Shelby in front of a somber-looking delicatessen and paused to button her jacket before making her way down the cobbled sidewalk, looking at the merchandise in the darkened windows of closed businesses as she passed.

  Marie’s was also dark; however, the message Marie had left had said to knock and the Mambo would answer. Raven rapped a knuckle on the door and waited, huddled in her jacket against the chill autumn wind. After a few moments, Marie’s face appeared in the window. She smiled and unlatched the door, allowing Raven to enter. She locked the door behind Raven and bowed, her hands folded before her.

  “Good afternoon, Fürstin,” she said. “I believe I have news regarding that gris-gris for you.”

  “Thank you for calling, Marie,” Raven replied. “What did you find out?”

  “I did some asking around,” Marie said in a soft voice. “There is a bocor named Tasker who has a small church in Bronzeville on the south side. I believe it is he who crafted the gris-gris you found.”

  “If you had a similar gris-gris, would you be able to tell what its purpose was?” Raven asked.

  “It would depend on the contents,” Marie replied. “Truly, the magic is in the belief and the power of the houngan rather than the gris-gris itself. The contents are largely to bind the gris-gris to the person receiving the enchantment.”

  Reaching into her purse, Raven pulled out the second gris-gris, the one she assumed had belonged to Victoria. “Can we open this one and see what we can find?”

  Marie took the gris-gris from Raven’s unresisting hand and held it, rubbing her thumb across the surface. She then turned and walked to one of the glass countertops, where she muttered a few words before opening the bag and pouring the contents onto the counter.

  Unlike the first gris-gris they had found, they were more suited to Victoria than Nathan King. A pair of silver earrings, a lock of hair and a scrap of cloth were mixed in with a small humanoid figure and a mixture of herbs that Raven believed were the same as she had found with King.

  Marie sorted through the materials with one finger, placing them in a circle. In the end, including the herbs, the items numbered thirteen in all.

  “Hellebore, goldenseal, ginger and fennel,” Marie said, “along with the personal belongings of a female: lipstick, earrings, a bit of fingernail, hair and so on.”

  “What do you think the purpose was?” Raven asked.

  “To make someone ill,” Marie replied. “The barer of this gris-gris would have become quite sick to their stomach.”

  “That explains all the antacids and anti-nausea pills we found,” Raven said. “Why would anyone want to make someone sick?”

  Marie stirred the contents for a moment before gathering them and placing them all back into the bag. “There could be any number of reasons,” she said, dusting off her hands. “Many times it’s for revenge, or to accomplish some goal that requires the sickened person to be out of the way for a period.”

  Marie handed the gris-gris back to Raven, who tucked it into her purse. “How close would this have to be to the victim to have any effect?”

  With a shrug, Marie turned to guide Raven back towards the front of the store. “That would depend upon the power of the bocor who made it. Perhaps inches, perhaps as much as a meter.”

  “Can you tell me how powerful the bocor was?” Raven asked.

  “No, I cannot,” Marie replied, moving behind the counter and pouring two cups of tea. “I suggest you speak with Tasker. I believe he created the gris-gris and can tell you more. Drink your tea, Fürstin,” she said.

  “Thank you, Marie.” Raven picked up the cup and sipped at the sweet brew. “What's in it?”

  "It’s a special brew, Fürstin, to protect us from any magic the bocor may use,” Marie replied, sipping at the tea herself. “I do not trust anyone who would make such a harmful gris-gris. Please be cautious in your investigation.”

  “You know me, Marie,” Raven said after another sip of tea. “If my middle name wasn’t Estrith, it would be Cautious.”

  Marie smiled and nodded around her cup. “Of course, Fürstin. And it’s a good middle name. A strong, Nordic name from the Beowulf poem, I believe.”

  “Yes. My father had a thing for it." Raven put her cup down on the counter and smiled again. “Thank you for your help, Marie. I appreciate your assistance, and it won't go unnoticed at Court. I’ll make sure of that.”

  Marie shook her head. “Fürstin, you know I assist you out of friendship, not for boon at Court.”

  “I do, Marie,” Raven replied. “But I’ll still offer what I can to show my thanks.

  Marie patted Raven’s hand by way of reply, and Raven smiled.

  “Thank you again,” she said.

&nb
sp; “Good afternoon, Fürstin,” Marie replied.

  Raven returned to the Shelby and slipped behind the wheel, pondering her next move. Someone had been making both Nathan King and Victoria Laveau ill using a potent gris-gris. Both had later turned up dead with their stomachs turned inside out and someone had hired Boone to make Victoria’s death look like a ritual, probably before they knew King’s body had been found.

  Lots of questions and the only potential suspect was Brand Symone.

  Again lamenting how much she hated the bizarre crimes she always got wrapped up in, Raven pulled her phone from her pocket and dialed Levac’s number. She was transferred to voicemail after only one ring.

  “Hey, it’s Raven,” she said after Levac’s short message. “I have a lead on that gris-gris we found in King’s car. I'm heading to the south side for a follow up. Call me.”

  Raven tossed the phone aside and started the car. Hopefully she wouldn’t need backup to visit a bocor. But something was making her skin crawl and she didn’t think it was the lingering smell of Levac’s cheeseburger. Annoyed, she pressed the Shelby’s accelerator and leaned back into the seat, trying to shake the feeling while she fought her way through traffic.

  The Bronzeville historic district was quiet in the early afternoon, and Raven found the bocor’s church with little difficulty. The small, two-story structure was nestled between two stone and clapboard houses, both of which appeared to be empty. Raven parked the Shelby on the street and made her way down the short walkway to the church’s closed doors. A small, black placard indicated that Tasker would be available for private worship between six and seven in the evening. It was just before four. Presumably the bocor would be in, perhaps preparing for the evening mass or, with Raven’s luck, choking a chicken.

  She frowned at the thought and tested the latch. Finding the door unlocked, she entered and looked around. Inside, the old Catholic church had been converted into a spiritual temple, complete with paintings of the Loa and an altar. Most of the old, stained glass windows were still intact, as was the cross located beyond the altar. A small pile of incense smoldered in a brazier on the altar, filling the room with the scent of cinnamon and cardamom.