THE WITCH'S LADDER (Detective Marcella Witch's Series)

by Dana Donovan

  She shrugged. “Hmm, I suppose.” She looked back at the kitchen table and seemed to point to it with just the arching of a brow. “Why don’t you have a seat? I’ll brew us up a nice hot cup of herbal tea. I think you’ll enjoy it. I grow the herbs myself you know, right outside in my garden.”

  “Tea sounds nice. Thank you.” I removed my hat and placed it on the table next to a dandelion centerpiece. “You know, Ms. Adams, before we get started, I feel I should tell you something.”

  “Oh?”

  “It’s about Gordon Walsh. We’re holding him downtown at the station.”

  I watched for Lilith’s reaction, but she made no effort to turn around. She continued filling the teakettle with water. When she spoke, her remark came casually over her shoulder. “Gordon Walsh, you say. And why are you holding him?”

  “We’re holding him on charges that he conspired to kill Doctor Lieberman.”

  Lilith finished filling the kettle. She set it on the stove and lit the gas burner, all the while humming softly. The unnatural indifference in her attitude struck me as a sign of her uncanny ability to block people out of her thoughts—something she apparently practiced routinely even though she knew I could not read them anyway.

  “Conspired to kill Doctor Lieberman?” she said. “That would imply a conspiracy, would it not?”

  “Yes, Ms. Adams. It would.”

  “I see. I suppose that’s why you’re here this morning. You want to know if I’m a part of that conspiracy.”

  “I’m just here to ask a few questions. That’s all. Of course, you’re not obligated to answer if you prefer not to. But I would appreciate anything you can tell me.”

  “Sure,” she said, and she turned her head in my direction to offer a wink. “Ask me anything you like. I’ll tell you whatever I can.”

  “Whatever you can? Or whatever you know?”

  “Hum… Well that depends on your questions, doesn’t it?”

  She turned back and continued preparing the herbal tea. I took the opportunity to sneak my hand into my pocket and pull out the witch’s ladder. I gently loosened one of the knots on the line, keeping it carefully out of sight under the table.

  “I reviewed Officer Burke’s report from the other night,” I told her. “He was the officer on duty at the Center the night Doctor Lieberman was killed?”

  Lilith didn’t comment; she continued chopping up her homegrown array of dried herbs and packing them into a tea strainer. The water on the stove was beginning to steam.

  “Anyway, the report says you all left the building the other night, that you gathered around Jean’s car and that she took something out to show you. He mentioned that it looked like a brown bag and that everyone seemed pretty excited to look inside.”

  My tone remained calm and direct, and except for the throat clearing, I felt sure I controlled the pace of the interview without letting on how uncomfortable it made me. I watched carefully for even the subtlest of signs that my words might knock Lilith off balance, but she remained unflappable. Meanwhile, under the table, my hands were still busily working the first knot on the witch’s ladder. With a final tug, the knot broke loose. I pulled the ends apart and fired off the next question.

  “So tell me, Lilith. What exactly was in the bag?”

  The words barely left my lips when a flash as brilliant and blinding as the sun struck the back of my eyes like a bolt of white lightning. I snapped to attention and a powerful vision streaked through my brain, gripping my senses and numbing my body. It came as a memory, or a flashback of sorts, only not a flashback of mine, but of Lilith’s. I knew immediately that having asked the question so suddenly, Lilith could not help but picture the contents of the bag in her mind. She had to think about the contents in order to concentrate on deliberately giving me a wrong answer. The amazing part came not in knowing that Lilith would conclude a mental image, but that the witch’s ladder really worked.

  The moment came as an epiphany and solidified my belief in the powers of the supernatural. I had focused my attention on reading Lilith’s thoughts at the precise moment in which she formed the mental image of the bag, and surprisingly, with the help of the witch’s ladder I could see that image. So even as Lilith searched for a suitable lie, unaware I had breached her defenses, I possessed a clear picture of the bloody monogrammed towels and the reaction of everyone who saw them in the parking lot that night.

  Officer Burke’s report stated that he thought the bag contained cookies, and so I tried hard to concentrate on the same thing, hoping to solicit a similar response from Lilith. Time seemed to screech to a halt. At first I feared Lilith would catch on to my game, but I kept a straight face and a steady nerve, and as the image of the bloody towels faded and thoughts of cookies took its place, Lilith at last turned back to face me.

  “Oh, that,” she said, brushing her hair off the top of her shoulder. “That was just a silly bag of…cookies.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. Jean baked them that afternoon.”

  “Really?” I said, nodding. “That’s what Officer Burke thought it was.”

  Lilith smiled and turned back to her work, never suspecting my use of the witch’s ladder. She continued preparing the herbal tea, satisfied with her performance, and me, satisfied with mine.

  “Did I mention we found the murder weapon used on Doctor Lieberman?” I asked.

  “Did you?” She sounded surprised. “You found the saw?”

  Finally, the slip-up I had waited for. “Yes, but how did you know it was a saw? We didn’t release that information to the press.”

  She stood frozen, guilt-riddled and speechless, surprised for slipping up so carelessly. She laid her knife down on the counter, took a deep breath and let it out softly. “Of course not, Detective,” she said without turning. “I didn’t hear it in the news. I got it from you. Don’t you remember? I’m psychic.”

  I smiled confidently behind her back. It felt good having managed to knock her off guard and set her up for the next question. With my hands still below the table, I loosened the next knot on the ladder and untied it with ease.

  “You know there’s one thing about the handsaw I just cannot seem to picture in my mind, Ms. Adams. Do you know what that is?”

  “Hardly, Detective.” I could hear the frustration building in her voice. “Why don’t you tell me?”

  “It’s Gordon. I just can’t picture him using the saw to cut Doctor Lieberman’s head off. Can you picture that?”

  Immediately, her mind flashed back to the night of the murder. Visions of Michael came streaming into my head via hers. I saw him bending over Doctor Lieberman’s inverted body as it swung precariously from the tree limb by Gordon’s jumper cables. The flashback continued with Michael using the rusty handsaw to hack through Doctor Lieberman’s neck, causing blood to spurt and spew like a Texas oilrig onto his shirt, shoes and pants. Visualizing the gruesome imagery, I recoiled sharply and gasped, and in the process unintentionally revealed to Lilith my underhanded maneuver.

  “So, it’s Michael,” I said, fearing nothing to lose by my allegations. “Come clean, Lilith. Tell me everything you know about Doctor Lieberman’s murder.”

  Lilith turned on her heels, clutching the knife she used to chop tealeaves so harmlessly just moments before firmly in her white-knuckled fist. She stood stiffly, simmering with anger. The look of betrayal grew cold on her face. Her eyes flared wickedly from ebony to fiery red, searing everything within her gaze.

  The walls began to rumble. The floorboards groaned and splintered before buckling beneath my feet. Dishes danced nervously in the cupboards, rattling on shelves precariously hanging on their pins.

  “You would be wise to leave now, Detective,” she murmured through clinched teeth, displaying amazing restraint for retribution.

  I stumbled to my feet, wasting no time in accepting her offer and exercising as much courage as I could muster. I put my hat on and walked briskly for the door, resisting the urge to run like hell
. I stepped outside and heard the door slam behind me. Following that, a thunderous commotion of breaking glass and furniture raised a hellish ruckus from every room in the house simultaneously. I imagined a cyclone had formed from within, wreaking havoc upon havoc, blowing out windows and sending debris flying out into the street. I feared for Lilith’s safety, yet somehow I knew that she stood in no greater danger than I.

  Bits of glass whistled past me, pelting the little garden gnomes as I retreated to my car. I hopped into the front seat just as one of the gnomes took a conical projectile through the heart. I started the car and threw it in reverse when Lilith’s front door flew open wide. To my utter astonishment, I witnessed a tiny white kitten darting from the house and into the neighboring woods. I rolled down my window and only then realized that the devastating sounds of destruction coming from the house had mysteriously stopped. As quickly as it began, the fury had ceased. I sat back in my seat and laughed to myself.

  So much for that, I thought. Witches today have no sense of humor.

  One of the garden gnomes that had escaped the wrath of flying debris peeked out curiously from behind a windmill and watched as I pulled out of the driveway and headed back to the station. It had been a most interesting afternoon, one I knew that no one would ever believe. Yet that didn’t matter, not as long as I believed, and I did. I believed in Lilith’s powers as a witch; a witch’s power over nature, and the power of the witch’s ladder over both. With that in mind, I reached for my coat pocket to make sure I still had the witch’s ladder in my possession. A smile of reassurance settled over my lips when I felt it still there.

  Fifteen

  After leaving Lilith’s, I headed back to the police station to tell Carlos what happened there. I found him back in the corner by my desk. He looked unhappy to see me, but I get that from him sometimes.

  “Carlos. You’re not going to believe what just happened to me. It’s the most amazing thing. I just came back from the Adam’s place and—”

  “He’s dead.”

  I stopped and blinked back the moment. “What?”

  “The Walsh kid.” He handed me the report. “We found him this morning. He hung himself in his cell.”

  My jaw went slack. I took Carlos’ report, but did not look at it. The sounds of a busy precinct bustled all around me, yet only Carlos’ words rang in my ears over and over. ‘He’s dead. Dead. Dead…’

  Carlos stood quietly, his loss for words no doubt filling him with a sense of awkwardness. I walked back to my desk and dropped into the chair, my distant stare fixed forward, though focused on nothing in particular.

  “I’m sorry, Tony,” he offered, knowing how I would blame myself for the tragedy. “I should have had a suicide watch on him.”

  “No, it’s not your fault. He wasn’t your collar. It wasn’t up to you to place a watch on him. It was up to me. Damn it!” I pounded the desk with my fist. “I failed him, Carlos. He was just a kid.”

  Carlos neither agreed nor disagreed. A response either way would not have been the right one. Instead, he gazed impassively at the floor, nudging the desk leg with his toe and giving me room to vent. But I wouldn’t have it. I screwed up and I knew it. Venting wouldn’t change a thing, and it certainly wouldn’t help Gordon. If I needed to, I thought, I could beat myself up over it later. I tucked my anger up my sleeve and cleared my throat.

  “Does his kin know?” I asked.

  “His kin?”

  “His father, mother, family.”

  “Tony, he has no kin.”

  “What?”

  “I thought you knew. I mean—”

  “Never mind. Call Father John at Saint Andrews. Tell him to start planning a funeral. Have him bill me for whatever expenses the church incurs.”

  “What about you? You okay?”

  “Yeah, I just need time to let it sink in. How about getting us some coffee while I look over this report?”

  “You got it, Tony.” He walked away and came back later with some hot coffee from the machine in the lounge. He handed me a cup. “Tell me what you were about to say earlier. Something about me not believing what happened to you?”

  “What happened to me?”

  “You said something amazing happened.”

  “I did?”

  “When you walked in.”

  “That’s right. I started to tell you. Carlos, the most amazing thing happened to me at Lilith Adams’ place.” I pulled him in closer, assuring his undivided attention. “I read her thoughts.” I said, bubbling with exhilaration. “I asked her a question and as she thought about the answer, I read it.”

  Carlos shook his head and laughed guardedly. “I know you’re putting me on.” He looked over his shoulder. Several of our fellow officers glanced discreetly in our direction, some smiling. “The guys are listening, Tony, so I’ll give you a chance to retract your statement before the entire department labels you a loon.”

  “A loon? Why? Because I’ve got an open mind? Because I’ve seen things my brain can’t explain? The truth is out there, Carlos, and I’ve seen it.”

  “Tony, if you’ve seen things your brain can’t explain, then maybe it’s because your brain has been influenced by the mystique of what goes on in that workshop.”

  “No. You’re wrong. I read her mind.”

  “Did you?” Carlos reached up and broke free of the grip I had on his lapels. “Tony. Is it possible that you asked Lilith a question to which you already knew the response? Then when she answered as you predicted, you simply thought you read her mind?”

  “No, Carlos. That’s not it at all, my friend. Although she did answer exactly as I predicted, the image I saw while reading her mind was another thing altogether.”

  “That doesn’t make sense.”

  “It makes perfect sense. I asked Lilith about the contents of a bag, which Burke reported he saw the group holding the night Doctor Lieberman was murdered. Lilith told me the bag contained cookies, but what I picked up from her in a flashback was that it contained bloody towels.”

  “Oh, you picked that up from her did you?”

  “That’s right. I picked it up as a memory flash back. That’s what she was really thinking when she answered. You see, she said one thing, but thought another. People do it all the time, you know.”

  “Maybe you experienced a fluke or something. I mean sometimes when I’m interviewing a suspect, I get strong vibrations and I imagine—”

  I shook my head. “No, no, no, Carlos. I’m telling you. What I saw was more than just vibrations, although I certainly felt those, too. No. I saw bloody towels and Michael Dietrich killing Doctor Lieberman.”

  “You saw what?”

  “You heard me. Michael Dietrich killed Doctor Lieberman with the handsaw. Lilith was there. She witnessed it. I’m telling you she had a flashback. I saw the whole thing just as she saw it that night.”

  Again, Carlos grinned, probably expecting me to yell “Gotcha” or “April fools” at any moment. But the moment passed. Nothing. I peered anxiously into my partner’s eyes, waiting for validation through concurrence, but Carlos was not buying.

  “Tony. Do you really expect me to believe any of this? Because if you do, then I think you—”

  “I’ll tell you what. I’ll make you a bet. You find me that bag, and if there isn’t a bloody towel or two inside, I’ll buy you lunch for a week. How’s that?”

  That turned his soft grin into a smile. “Lunch, at the Black Angus?”

  “Any place you like.”

  “All right. You got a deal. I’ll find your bag of cookies.”

  “Okay, but if you do, and instead of cookies we find bloody towels, you owe me lunch for a week.”

  Carlos considered the offer, tempted but cautious not to jump on it too soon, knowing how I seldom lost a bet. “All right,” he said. “Answer me one thing first. Tell me how you were able to read Lilith’s mind.”

  I pulled the witch’s ladder from my coat pocket and held it up proudly. “This is h
ow.”

  He reached out, took the knotted rope and wrapped it partially around his neck like a hangman’s noose. “What the hell is this?” he scoffed, mocking its obvious usefulness for only one thing.

  “It’s a witch’s ladder, and it’s very powerful.”

  “A witch’s ladder? And with this you were able to read Lilith’s mind?”

  “Yup, that’s right my little Cuban amigo. And that knotted piece of hemp is going to help me solve this case.”

  Carlos laughed robustly and half the precinct turned their heads to see what was so funny. “All right, Tony. You got it. We’re on. But remember. I can eat a lot of steaks.”

  I took the witch’s ladder back, stashed it in my pocket and smiled as though I had already won the bet. Carlos smiled, too, thinking the same thing, and for a minute the two of us stood there, looking at each other, smiling and bobbing our heads like a couple of dashboard Chihuahuas, smiling and bobbing—bobbing and smiling, and thinking do I want fries or a salad with that T-bone?

  Twenty minutes later, I was back on the road. This time I set out to see the most unlikely suspect in the case. Jean Bradford.

  Except for the report about the brown paper bag and my flashback of the bloody towels, I would not have considered seeing Jean again for questioning. After all, the report I received on the plaster footprints suggested only five women were present on the night of Doctor Lieberman’s murder. Considering that Lilith, Leona, the twins and Valerie would have accounted for the five, it left no room in the equation for Jean. Still, I couldn’t see the harm in having a talk with her anyway.

  I arrived at Jean’s house just as it started to rain. I pulled my collar up around the back of my neck and started up the walk. As I passed a parked car in the driveway, something in the back of my mind clicked. I remembered that Jean drove a beat-up old Plymouth sedan with rusted fenders, missing hubcaps and bald tires. The car in the driveway was a shiny new Cadillac. On the dashboard, driver’s side, I noticed a valet-parking ticket for New Castle Downs, dated the night before. On the front seat, cast arbitrarily about, lay countless programs, newspapers and more valet-parking receipts.