by Dana Donovan
“I think we have a skull here,” the man called out.
Another worker declared, “I have a body here.”
Carlos turned to me. His face grew cold and emotionless. There seemed no reason to hang around any longer. We were both certain that the charred bodies at the gazebo would prove to be the remains of the missing twins, Shekina and Akasha Kayo. We turned and walked away.
“It’s kind of funny,” said Carlos. “Seems like with every question we answer, there’s yet another waiting to take its place.”
“Indeed,” I said. “It gets more complicated all the time.”
“So what do you make of it? Did Gordon kill the twins and then try to frame them for Doctor Lieberman’s murder by planting the handsaw and tire iron in the trunk of their car?”
“I don’t know. Someone may have planted the evidence. In retrospect, it seems as though finding them in the trunk was too convenient. If you ask me, it wasn’t just Gordon. I can’t see him taking on the twins alone.”
“You still think the others are in on it?”
“No doubt about it, Carlos. Everyone has something to hide, and the more complicated things get, the more someone keeps slipping up.”
“What do we do now, wait for the next slip-up?”
I shook my head. “We can’t do that. Another slip-up almost certainly means another body. We have to force someone’s hand.”
“Back to Lilith’s?”
“No, not Lilith’s. I’m going to see the one person I really haven’t questioned enough.”
“Valerie Spencer?”
“Exactly.”
“Well, she is a good looker. I don’t suppose you’ll mind that call.”
I stopped in my tracks and wondered what strange events would greet me if I used the witch’s ladder again at the Spencer home. I thought it might be good—even fun—to take Carlos along for backup this time. I turned to my old pal and said to him, “You know what? Seeing whereas you’re a nonbeliever of such matters as witchcraft and the like, what do you say you join me? Things could get interesting.”
“Interesting? Tony, this case is interesting enough. I can’t imagine it getting any more so. But knowing you, I’m sure you’ve got something up your sleeve.”
“Oh, you’ll see.”
“Yeah, then I’ll see you buying lunch when we’re done.”
“You want me to buy lunch?”
“If you want some company.”
“It’s barely nine o’clock.”
“It’s never too early to plan.”
I slapped him on the back and nudged him toward the car. “Okay then. Let’s go. I imagine you’re getting hungry already.”
“Oh, you know me so well, Kemosabe. Lead the way.”
Seventeen
On the ride out to the Spencer residence, I took time to brief Carlos on what he might expect once questioning got under way. I tried to remain vague without leaving him ill prepared, but Carlos simply failed to appreciate the unique circumstances inherent to that particular visit.
“With all due respect, Tony, I’ve been doing this a while. I hardly need instructions on how to participate in a routine interview.”
“But that’s what I’m trying to tell you. I don’t expect this will be routine.”
“What makes this one different?”
“I’m not sure, but be prepared because once I start asking Ms. Spencer questions, you may experience some…shall we say strange phenomena.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. It might get windy, or the room might shake. I don’t have a lot of experience with this, so I’m not sure exactly what to expect myself.”
“Windy? Inside the house? Are you serious?”
I thought about what I was saying. I realized how bizarre it must have sounded to someone who hadn’t already seen the things I’d seen, the thought-form of Travis Webber on the window at the institute, the quaking in Lilith’s house and the cyclone at Jean’s. I couldn’t explain any of it in scientific terms, and science was the only reasoning Carlos understood. I glanced at him alternately, dividing my attention between him and the road.
“Look, all I can do is warn you. In all sincerity, you need to listen. As soon as I begin questioning Ms. Spencer, I’m going to take out the witch’s ladder and untie one of the knots. If anything happens and I can’t stop it, I want you to get out of there like your life depended on it. You got that?”
A nervous twitch tugged at the corners of his mouth. “You’re pulling my leg, right?”
“No. I’m serious. Something weird might happen. You have to be ready for anything.”
“Tony, the only thing weird is you losing touch with reality. I hate to say it, but maybe you’ve been working too close to this case, getting too caught up in all this supernatural voodoo hocus-pocus stuff.”
“That may be, but I still want you ready for anything. Okay?”
“Hey, Amigo. I’m a cop. I’m always ready for anything.”
I pulled into the driveway of Valerie Spencer’s home. Carlos rolled down the window and stuck his head out before the car came to a full stop. “Wow, will you look at this,” he said. “Spencer must be worth a bundle.”
I threw the car into park and shut off the engine. “She is.” I leaned over the steering wheel to get a better look out the windshield. “I’ve done some checking these last few weeks. Spencer’s husband had a successful business down in Venezuela. When he died, he left her millions. She’s probably worth more than you and I will make in a lifetime.”
Carlos nodded. “That’s a shame.”
“How so?”
“Think about it. What a shame it’d be if it turns out she put all this on the line by getting involved in Doctor Lieberman’s murder, and for what?”
“Indeed. That’s what we’re here to find out. For what?”
We strolled up the front walk to the elaborate granite-lined entryway with its massive fluted pillars flanking each side. A security camera mounted high up in the corner activated on our approach. It rotated on a swivel and automatically tracked our moves by infrared sensors. We reached the front door and were mildly startled when a voice on the intercom acknowledged our arrival before we even knocked.
“Good morning, Detectives,” the voice said. “Just a moment. I’ll let you in.”
A mechanical click and the sound of a sliding deadbolt echoed against the granite walls as the door unlatched itself. Carlos pushed on the handle and watched as it glided open effortlessly.
“Did she do that with her mind?” he asked, only beginning to believe some of my stories about psychokinetic phenomena.
I started to answer, when the obviously amused voice came back over the intercom. “No, Detective,” she said, and a laugh followed. “It’s not psycho kinesis. It’s Teltech Security. I have a remote entry control switch hooked up to all the doors in the house.”
Carlos turned away from the camera, embarrassed. He looked at me and noticed me biting down on my lower lip, trying hard not to laugh. “What?” he said. “What’s so funny?”
“Oh, nothing.” I nudged him forward. “I’m just thinking how this is definitely worth the cost of a lunch.”
“I can leave right now if you want.”
“No, don’t. Come on. Get in there.”
We stepped over the threshold, allowing the door to close automatically behind us. Again the voice came over the intercom, this time through the house speakers mounted in the ceilings. “Please come to the back of the house, gentleman. You’ll find me by the pool.”
I led the way. We passed the grand foyer and the sweeping circular staircase, continued through the formal living room, the sitting room, library and butler’s pantry.
“I think we took a wrong turn,” Carlos whispered. “This looks like a pantry.”
“Gee, you think?”
“Yeah. We should backtrack.”
Overhead, the intercom clicked on. “Go through the living room and turn right. When you pass
the movie theater, take a left.”
“Did she say Movie Theater?”
“Yes.”
“Holy cow! Then what do we do, turn right past the concourse and take the shuttle to Penn station?”
“It’s all right, Detective,” the intercom voice said. “You’re almost there. Keep moving.”
I gave Carlos the look before shoving him forward to make him take the lead. I followed on his heels, making mental notes of all the possible exits in case the front door no longer offered an option for quick retreat. Carlos, on the other hand, trampled blindly, marveling at the rich décor, its lush indoor greenery, exquisite paintings and the overall flamboyant architecture of the building. The house had a distinctly South American ambiance about it, a sort of aristocratic Venezuelan touch with an air of Spanish Colonialism thrown in. I could understand why Valerie and Leona Diaz hit it off so well from the beginning. Even though Leona came from Central America, she would have likely felt right at home among the Mexican tile, archways and subtropical plants that adorned the inside of the house. Though probably more up-scaled than Leona ever knew, it likely came closer to home than anything else she had seen since arriving in America.
Thinking about Leona reminded me that I needed to question Valerie as to her whereabouts. Leona still represented the only person not questioned in the murders of Doctor Lieberman and the others. I also wanted to know if Leona still had her rosary beads and if they were intact. Deep inside, I truly hoped they were. Whatever evil had possessed the others to partake in murder; I desperately wanted to believe it had not taken hold of her as well. As it stood, her mysterious disappearance seemed to point to only one of two possibilities, either she partook in the murders and had gone into hiding, or like the twins, she had already met her demise. Whatever the case, it seemed far too unlikely that Valerie didn’t have a clue as to which of the two applied. With the help of the witch’s ladder, I hoped to find out.
We caught up with Valerie by the pool, lounging in a teakwood reclining deck chair. With her dark sunglasses, floppy hat and yellow one-piece swimsuit, she hardly looked as though she had much to worry about, except for possibly getting ticketed by the fashion police for impersonating a wayward Miami Beach tourist.
In her left hand was a frozen margarita, garnished with a little umbrella and a long plastic straw sticking out the top. I imagined the iPad-looking device in her right hand was probably the controller she used to open the front door.
“Good morning, Detectives,” she cooed, her voice drawling with exaggeration. She sounded unusually relaxed, almost sedated. I suspected her margarita may not have been the first of the day.
I tipped my hat and smiled. “Morning to you, Ms. Spencer.”
“Well, aren’t you going to introduce me to your handsome friend, Detective?”
I stepped back and allowed Carlos to move in closer for a handshake and a proper introduction. “Of course.” I splayed my hand in a presentational gesture. “Ms. Spencer, Detective Carlos Rodriguez. Detective, Ms. Valerie Spencer.”
“Pleasure, Ma’am,” said Carlos.
Valerie placed the electronic device by her side and offered her right hand to Carlos. “No, the pleasure is all mine, Detective, I assure you.”
She seemed genuinely intrigued by Carlos, the essence of his mannerisms and the subtleties of his ruggedly good looks. Carlos smiled, took her hand and kissed it softly in that Cuban-gentleman sort of way. Valerie pulled her hand back, grinning as goose bumps flowered up and down her arm.
“Aren’t you sweet,” she said, passing the margarita to her right hand and offering her left for another kiss.
Her preoccupation with Carlos allowed me to steal a glimpse of the notepad-sized device on the ground. It seemed smaller at second glance. I saw it contained several rows of buttons like a TV remote, but with an LED screen as well. I imagined she used to it view images from the security cameras all around the house. When Carlos noticed me checking out the device, he broke away and strolled off in the opposite direction, distracting Valerie further. He meandered along the edge of the pool at a leisurely pace, taking conspicuous interest in the house and the beautiful grounds surrounding the patio.
“This is really some place you have here, Ms. Spencer,” he said.
“Please, Detectives, call me Valerie.”
“Of course. Valerie is such a beautiful name.”
“Thank you.”
“Ms. Spencer,” I said. “I wonder if we might ask you some questions.”
Valerie sipped her margarita with indifference, lending a deaf ear to my question. Her eyes gleamed with fixation, engaging Carlos as he continued not so unsuspecting along the edge of the pool.
“Did you hear what I said, Ms. Spencer?”
“Yes, Detective. You have questions. I talked to Lilith and she told me to expect that you might come around asking questions about the twins, Doctor Lieberman and some silly bag Jean showed us out in the parking lot.”
“Oh, she did? Then why don’t we start there? Would you mind telling me what you saw in the bag?”
“Not at all. I saw cookies, chocolate chip as a fatter of mact.”
“What?”
“I mean, matter of fact.”
“Cookies?”
“Yes. Why? What did Lilith tell you?”
“She said cookies, too.”
“But you didn’t believe her?”
“Should I?”
“I don’t see why not. She’s a good witch you know.”
“Yes, but good witches can lie too, can’t they?”
“Are you calling me a liar?”
“No. I’m not saying that. I’m saying Lilith can lie, also. She could be a good witch, but she could lie—too.”
“Yes, well it still sounds a bit insulting. I’m not sure how I should take that. Did you say if your friend over there is single?”
“Carlos?”
“Yes, Carlos, Carrr-los. You have to roll the R, you know.”
“I know. I can never do that.”
“Then you can never learn Spanish. Maybe that’s why I don’t like you.”
“You don’t have to like me, Ms. Spencer, but I would like you more if you answered my questions without giving me a hard time.”
“I’m not giving you a hard time. You’re giving me a hard time, accusing me of lying and such.”
“I didn’t accuse you of lying.”
“But that’s how I took it.”
“Then take it as you wish, but it wasn’t meant that way.”
“I’ll tell you, Detective, you should learn to employ a little more charm around women, say like your handsome partner over there. He’s a real gentleman, I can tell you that, and ladies like gentlemen. It’s true what they say. You get a lot more flies with honey.”
“Flies?”
“It’s an expression.”
“Yes, Ms. Spencer. I understand. Honey is sweet and flies like sweets. But if flies are answers, then I can tell you I’ve found my share of them around things that are rotten, too.”
“So you go from accusations to insinuations, Detective. Is that it?”
I rolled my eyes up and away. I could see that Valerie obviously wanted to play the hostile witness, but I was in no mood to engage her in a verbal joust. I took a deep breath and panned the deck for Carlos, who had strolled clear around to the other side of the pool. Valerie’s gaze locked onto him as well, providing a diversion as I fished the witch’s ladder from my pocket. I loosened the next knot, and just as I had done with Lilith and Jean, I untied it and surprised Valerie with my question.
“Ms. Spencer. I want you to tell me about the bloody towels inside the paper bag the other night.”
For all intent, Valerie knew I had come to her house to ask exactly that question. She even knew I would try to employ the witch’s ladder to elicit a visual image of the bloody towels. Unfortunately for her, she didn’t expect me to come to the house with Carlos Rodriquez. That tactic proved exceptionally beneficial to
me. As far as Valerie was concerned, Carlos was a bundle of TNT. His natural charm and boyish smile coupled with an undeniably Cuban-sized dose of sexual magnetism, made for a combination too impossible to resist. When questioned, she found herself thrown completely off guard. My timing and her preoccupation with Carlos led her unwittingly down the path of vivid recollection.
Her mind instantly flashed back to the moment she first held the towels in her hand that night at the gazebo. She recalled how quickly she embraced the sinister secrets the monogrammed linen surrendered through psychometry. Three words came to mind: attraction of blood. The recurring vision was powerful, and the more she tried to stop it, the faster it came. It delivered shocking and grotesque images of a killer scurrying off with the liver of his latest victim wrapped neatly inside the bloodstained cloth.
Valerie tried diverting her attention to a more benign subject before the images of what else happened that night came to mind; images of her and her fellow accomplices performing the unspeakable act of human mutilation on the still breathing Doctor Lieberman.
On the far side of the pool, Carlos recoiled sharply; daunted by the sudden crash of glass after Valerie dropped her margarita to the pavement. Hastened by instincts, he reached for his holster, drew his Glock 10 and aimed it at her. I stepped forward, placing my body between Carlos and his target, my hands flagging to wave off the assault. Valerie leapt from her chair and dashed into the house, leaving behind her sunglasses, floppy hat and the peculiar remote control device with its LED screen. In her wake lay a trail of blood drops leading from the slivers of broken glass to the patio doors which she disappeared behind.
“What did you do to her?” Carlos asked, after sprinting back to meet me.
“Nothing. I only asked her a question. The next thing I knew, a flood of images came to me.”
