Bones of a Witch (6 page)

“Maybe they didn’t. A key like that would have
been worth a lot of money to someone back then. It’s possible
someone took it from her, either before or after they hanged
her.”

“No. You don’t understand. That key is sacred
to a witch. There is no way Ursula would have gone to her grave
without it.”

“So you believe it was on her person when they
buried her.”

“No. It’s more likely it was in her person when
they buried her.” Lilith looked down at the front of her jeans and
passed her hand discreetly over her private area.

“Oohh, I see.”

“People back then didn’t know the first thing
about witches. Everything they thought they knew came from the
church and from the wild imaginations of the accusers who sent them
to the gallows. No. Ursula had her gate key when they buried her.
I’m certain of that. If this man says he has it, he has
it.”

I got up from the couch and found myself
unconsciously checking the window and the door lock. “Okay, what
then? What happened after this man phoned you and you left
here?”

“We were to meet at the parking garage
downtown. I got there first and waited for him in the shadows
behind a fence.”

“And?”

“Just about the time I spotted him, the
elevator door opened up and a woman stepped out. Everything
happened so fast after that. The man walked up to the woman. He
called her Lilith.”

“Thought she was you.”

“Yes.”

“What then?”

“Then he killed her. Stabbed her with a fucking
sword.”

“A sword?”

“All right, maybe not a sword, but a fucking
really big knife.”

I started for the phone. “I have to call
Carlos.”

“He knows by now, I’m sure. I pulled the fire
alarm before I left.”

I stopped and looked over my shoulder at her. I
wanted to tell her good job, but the words wouldn’t come. I guess
because deep down I was disappointed in her, though I really don’t
know why. She couldn’t have known what would happen out there, and
she probably couldn’t have done anything to stop it; but then maybe
that’s why: because of the probably.

Carlos answered his cell on the third ring.
“Tony, where’ve you been? Dominic tried to call you. We got a
homicide down here at—”

“Carlos, I know. Lilith told me all about
it.”

“Lilith? How’s sh—”

“She was there. Look, it’s a long story. When
you going back to the office?”

“We can head back now if you like. Things are
secure here.”

“Great, do me a favor first.”

“What’s that?”

“Have Spinelli take some photos for me with his
digital.”

“No need. We have a department photographer
here already.”

“Carols, indulge me, will you?”

“All right, fine. We’ll snap a few and head on
out.”

“Thanks. I’ll see you there.”

Dominic Spinelli:

After Carlos hung up with Tony, he asked me to
take some pictures with my own camera. When I told him I had
already done that, he just shook his head and smiled. “Have I
mentioned how you remind me more of Tony every day?” he
asked.

I smiled back proudly. “Yes, you
have.”

His face fell into a scowl. “Yeah, well stop
it.”

Before leaving the garage, we met with the guy
who manages and maintains the facility: a Mister Melvin King, a
nice guy with an easy-going disposition, but a bit of a nervous
feller if you ask me. He seemed genuinely disturbed by the event
that took place in his facility—said he prides himself on its
record of low crime and no vandalism.

“Oh, sure we’ve had a couple of auto break-ins
when people were stupid enough to leave shopping packages out in
the open on the seats, but…” he shook his head, “nothing like
this.”

“We understand,” I said. “Mister King,
Detective Rodriquez and I would like to have copies of your
security videos from tonight, if we may, and we’d also like to see
the time registers from your ticket voucher machines.”

“Already have them for you here,” he said,
pointing at a neatly packed manila envelope by his office
door.”

“Wow, that was quick,” said Carlos.

“It’s all digital now, Detective. I think
you’ll find the quality of the video exceptional. I hope you find
something helpful.”

“We do, too,” I said. “Thank you.” I looked to
Carlos. “Anything else?”

He gave me a look almost as if to say, would
Tony need anything else? And then it came to him. “Yes. Mister
King, are there any cameras on the outside of the
building?”

Melvin frowned for a brief moment before
brightening up as though surprised by the idea. “There is,” he
said. “I completely forgot. There’s one mounted out over the garage
door facing down the one-way street. It’s on a video loop separate
from the others. We installed it last year after a gate crasher
bailed out without paying for a two-week stay on level one. Our
cameras inside can’t see everything, but that one sees all the cars
leaving, since it’s the only way out.”

That made Carlos happy. “May we have the video
from that one as well?”

Melvin King obliged, and soon we were on our
way back to the Justice Center to meet up with Tony and Lilith, and
boy I can’t tell you how excited I was to hear all about that. Just
knowing Lilith was somehow involved made me suspect something
witchy was at play here. I never imagined, however, that the entire
case would revolve completely around her. It made me realize
something strange, something I really had not considered before:
that Lilith had, in one way or another, directly or indirectly,
been involved in virtually every homicide recorded in New Castle
over the past several years. Coincidence? I wondered.

Tony Marcella:

Lilith and I were already at the Justice
Center waiting when Carlos and Spinelli arrived. They escorted us
upstairs to a private conference room where AV equipment had
already been set up so that we might review the pictures and
security videos they brought back. But first Lilith and I had to
bring the two up to date on Lilith’s involvement in the
matter.

I let her tell them about Ursula Bishop and
about the bones the city dug up outside the cemetery. Then she went
in to the part about the mysterious caller wanting to meet to
discuss Ursula’s gate key. I think that part intrigued Spinelli
most of all. Carlos had Lilith slow things down a notch when she
got to the graphic part concerning the murder. She was, after all,
talking a mile a minute. If he didn’t ask her to slow down, I’m
afraid I would have had to. Of course then she would have picked on
me for being a control freak.

“That’s when I let out a gasp,” she said. “I
know he heard me. He turned and looked my way.”

“So, whereas before he obviously didn’t know
what you looked like,” said Spinelli, “now he does.”

“Damn straight he does,” she answered. “And
it’s a good thing. I want him to know exactly who the hell it is
that did it when I vaporize his ass.”

“Wow! You can do that?”

She leaned across the table at a dropped jawed
Spinelli, and in a hushed, sexy tone said, “Honey, you’d be
surprised what I can do. Just stick around.”

He eased back in his chair, his silly smile and
his stare not fading for an instant. I waved my hand in front of
his face and snapped my fingers twice. “Spinelli, you want a
cigarette?”

He straightened up and joined the rest of
us.

“All right, Lilith, what happened after that,”
Carlos asked. “After you saw him kill that woman, what did you do
next?”

She jerked her shoulder in a sort of half
shrug. “I pulled the fire alarm and left. I came home and told Tony
and he called you and well, here we are.”

“So you got a good look at the guy?”

“No.”

“Why not? You said he looked right at
you.”

“He did, but from the shadows.”

“So you couldn’t see him?”

“I told you, no.”

“This doesn’t make sense,” said Spinelli. “If
this guy doesn’t know you, then why does he want to kill
you?”

“Are you kidding?” I said, meaning it as a
joke, of course. “Do you even know this woman?”

Carlos and Spinelli scooted their chairs back
and away from the table, their reflexes, I must say, more keenly
acute than my judgment. But Lilith held her fire, presumably out of
respect for the office of the Justice Center, but I’d like to think
it was for love.

“Maybe the parking vouchers and video will help
us,” Spinelli returned.

“The videos maybe,” said Lilith, “but I doubt
the vouchers will. He didn’t park in the garage.”

“You sure of that?”

“Certain. I saw him run out past the ticket
gate.”

Carlos looked to Spinelli and gave him the nod.
“Start with the video from the camera closest to where the murder
happened. Let’s see if we can pick out a face.”

Spinelli tinkered at the computer for only a
minute before isolating the images from what turned out to be
camera number four. In it we saw the stranger tucked neatly within
the shadow of a concrete support column.

“I’m behind the one across the way there by the
fence,” Lilith said. “You might see me from camera two.”

Spinelli tapped a couple of keys, clicked the
mouse a few times and presto; we were watching a split screen with
Lilith behind a column on the left and the killer behind a column
on the right. It was from the right side we saw the elevator door
open and the woman step out.

“Here,” said Lilith. “Right here is when he
does it. Keep your eyes on him now.”

Of course she needn’t have told us. By then we
were all crowded closely around the monitor. We saw only the back
of the killer as he approached the woman, removed the knife from
beneath his coat and plunge it in her belly. As he withdrew the
blade and stepped back, Lilith let out an audible gasp, much like
she had after witnessing the killing first hand.

Hearing her, the killer turned his head sharply
toward Lilith, but faded into the shadows, preventing us from
seeing his face. Seconds later he turned and ran for the gate; the
camera unable to get anything at all worthwhile. A quick check of
the other camera angles proved no better and we were left with
nothing more than a vague description of our suspect.

“That’s about it,” Spinelli said. “It doesn’t
tell us much.”

“No it doesn’t.” I said, and I eased back in my
chair, folding my arms at my chest. “But it tells us something.
What?”

Spinelli thought a moment. “It tells us he’s
right-handed. It’s the hand he used the knife in.”

“Good, what else?”

“The victim’s driver’s license said she was
five-six and one-hundred-thirty pounds. Using that as a gauge, I’d
put our perp at five-eight or nine and one-hundred-eighty
pounds.”

“Wrong,” said Lilith. “Women lie on their
driver’s license apps. That tub weighed one-sixty-five if she
weighed a pound. And she likely wore heels for her picture. She’s
barely five-three. That puts our perp at only five-five or six and
two-hundred ten pounds. He’s a porker, like her.”

“No.”

“Yes,” I said. “I’m with Lilith on this
one.”

“Big surprise,” said Carlos.

“No, really. There are other indicators to
gauge this guy’s size. Dominic, run the video again and get ready
to stop on my say so.”

Spinelli ran the video and paused it exactly
where I needed it. “There.” I pointed at a trash receptacle beside
the column from which the killer stepped out into the light. “Look
at the shadow from that trash can and then look at our killer’s
shadow. They’re nearly perfectly aligned. Now look at the markings
on the can. It says NCDPW.”

Carlos commented, “So? The Department of Public
Works handles the trash collection there.”

“I see where you’re going, Tony.” I knew
Spinelli would pick up on it. “That’s a standard issue public trash
can. They’re all forty-eight gallon cans that stand thirty-three
inches high. Assuming the killer is sixty-five, or sixty-six inches
tall, then his shadow should be exactly twice as tall as the trash
can’s shadow.”

“Exactly. It’s relative proportions. You can
measure it right here on the screen.”

And Spinelli did, proving with reasonable
certainty that the killer was in fact only five feet six inches
tall. From there we went on to determine that he was also
Caucasian, because his coat sleeve momentarily rode above his glove
at the wrist as he lunged toward his victim with the knife. We also
determined, though mostly through speculation, that he was probably
middle-aged or slightly older because of his dress: men’s slacks in
lieu of jeans, wingtips rather than sneakers, a topcoat of vintage
seventies style and a hat like a fedora, the likes of which even I
would not have worn when I was old.