The Witch's Key (16 page)

According to Spinelli’s research, Wagner was a
captain among hobos, respected, well liked and considered a breed
apart by the old-timers. He had become a champion of sorts,
participating in local town hall meetings and pushing advocacy for
the homeless. Throughout his travels, George had succeeded in
getting municipalities all along the NEC to adopt a friendlier
attitude towards transients, and encouraged a greater tolerance of
the disadvantaged. His suicide, more than any, should have raised
red flags from the start. Of all the hobos from oldies to goldies,
and newbies to wannabes, George Wagner defined the role. And as
anyone in the autonomous jungle could tell you, his was a life that
many a working stiff could only dream of. He lived simply, traveled
light and enjoyed every breathing moment that came his way.

Carlos and I needed no orange paint to tell us where
George caught out his final train ride. It happened beneath the
bridge on Jefferson, and judging from the splatter patterns, most
likely about six feet above the tracks. The engineer said that the
body just dropped out of the sky without warning. “I never saw
exactly what it was,” he told police. “It was dark and kind of
foggy. I thought that maybe some punk kids tossed a dummy off the
bridge in front of the train to scare me. I hav`ta say, it
worked.”

We took some pictures below the bridge, but I
suspected that our best chances of finding what we were looking for
remained above us. And sure enough, up on Jefferson, overlooking
the tracks, Carlos and I found Gypsy’s third sign, drawn simply in
white chalk along the railing. We made note of its location,
snapped another picture and rolled on.

We investigated the remaining sites on our list,
finding Gypsy’s calling card at all but one: the site where Fred
Long died. But that did not necessarily mean she had not been
there, or that she had not left a sign. It could have simply washed
away in the recent rains. She had left George Wagner’s sign in
chalk, as well as Chris Jennings’. Teddy Bishop’s, she left in
charcoal, which we think she drew using the burnt end of a stick on
the underside of a trestle. So, finding no evidence of Gypsy’s hand
in Long’s suicide did not convince us that she had not facilitated
it.

We took more pictures and made notes of the varying
evidence trails surrounding the circumstances of each site. In
Raymond Kosinski’s case, for instance, we found the orange paint
that police investigators sprayed on the gravel between the ties
where he took his last breath. But for human remains, we found
none. Chris Jennings, Theodore Bishop and Fred Long, on the other
hand, left their marks in large bloodstains where their bodies fell
after the train spit them off the tracks like pit seeds. Jim
Taylor, not unlike George Wagner, had gone one better. Taylor, AKA,
J.T. or J.T. Bones left behind nothing of himself for investigators
to recover. His body had slipped under the train after impact where
it dragged along the tracks for miles until virtually nothing
identifiable was left. If not for an old shoe and shredded
clothing, his demise may have gone unnoticed entirely.

Perhaps because his was the first of a soon-to-be
string of suicides, Gypsy left J.T. something special: a silver
dollar-sized hand-carved skull and crossbones made of ivory,
complete with the letter G scribed into the skull’s forehead.
Carlos found it at the bottom of the track mound, half-covered in
mud. How he spotted it, I will never know. I am only glad he
did.

“Well, I guess it’s official,” I said. “A random
string of suicides would hardly have such a common thread as this
associated with them.”

“Hardly,” he answered. “But it still doesn’t mean
that Lilith has anything to do with this.”

“I didn’t say she did.”

“But you thought it.”

“I have to think of everything.”

He laughed. “Yes, but I know you’re not thinking that
an eighty-five year old woman did this, either.”

“Or that her ghost did it.”

“Could be someone else wanting us to think it’s a
ghost.”

“Gitana officials?”

“Why not? It makes sense.”

I considered the possibilities, and none other
appealed to me more. I already had my hands full with the thought
of Lilith being my biological mother. I did not really need to beat
myself up with the notion that she was also a cold-blooded killer.
But I wanted to rule it out before blocking it out. I tapped Carlos
on the shoulder and headed for the car. “Come on. We have to get
going.”

He started after me. “Where to?”

“I have to see a man about a witch.”

“We do?”

“Not we. Me.”

“Can’t I go?”

I stopped and shot him
the
look. “You really
want to?”

He gave it only a moment’s thought before coming to
his senses. “You know, maybe not. I just remembered I have
something to do, too.”

I nodded. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

Twenty minutes later, Carlos dropped me off at the
apartment. I told him to hook up with Spinelli as soon as he got
back to the justice center. “Have him run a search on those murders
from the 40s to see if any suspect photos of Gypsy exist from back
then.”

“Got it. Anything else?”

“Yes. Go through archives and try to find pictures
like the ones we have of Gypsy’s signage. Compare them for
similarities and accuracy. I want to know for sure if this is the
genuine thing or just a copycat.”

“Good thinking.”

“Oh, and one more thing. That skull and crossbones
medallion you found?”

Carlos pulled the ivory sculpture from his pocket and
held it up. “Yes?”

“Have Spinelli test it.”

“For what?”

“I think it may be human bone, not ivory.”

“God!” he cried. “No!” and he tossed the carving
across the seat onto the floor. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

I laughed. “Relax. It’s dead.”

“That’s the point.”

I started away. “Get with Spinelli and then get back
with me.”

As he drove off, I noticed him leaning against his
door as far from the sculpture as he could get. I felt kind of bad
then, because I really didn’t believe that it was carved from human
bone like I told him. But I owed him one for not telling me what he
and Lilith were laughing about in the kitchen. I did not consider
us even, but it was a good start.

When I stepped into the apartment, the first thing
Lilith did was to greet me at the door with a cup of some God-awful
liquid that looked like molasses and smelled like old cheese. I
pulled away in utter disgust and held back the urge to hurl on my
shoes.

“Good God, Almighty! Lilith, what is that?”

“It’s harmless, I swear. Try it.”

“No!” I pushed it away and a splotch of it splashed
out and landed on my hand. “Are you insane? I’m not drinking
that.”

“Tony, it’s meant to help you with your powers. I got
the recipe on Witchit.”

“Oh, you got it off some kooky web site, so that
makes it all right?”

“Yes.”

“Forget it.”

“Pleeeease.”

“No!” I started toward the bathroom, and only took
two steps when I realized that Lilith was following me. I knew she
would not stop at the door, so I turned to confront her. “Look. I’m
not interested in your little witchcraft experiments. I’ve got lots
more important things to do.”

“But this could help you.”

“How?”

“It’s a potion that stimulates electro-sensitive
cells in your body to create new synapse for neurotransmitters,
which let you channelize the kinetic impulses that lie dormant
within you.”

“What?”

“It’s an energy drink.”

“No.” I headed once more for the bathroom, this time
determined to slam the door in her face even if she was still
talking.

“Anthony.”

“Forget it, Lilith.” I smiled at my little victory as
I shut the door tight.

“I’ll do anything.”

I opened the door and poked my head out. “Did you say
anything?”

She planted one hand on her hip. “Except that.”

“You didn’t hear me out.”

“I figured you out.”

I opened the door all the way. “Okay, look. I’ll try
your nauseating concoction if you agree to go with me this
afternoon, no questions asked.”

“Go where?”

“Oops, see there. That’s a question.”

“How long will it take?”

“Uh-ah. Another question.”

She sighed, looked down at the cup and then held it
out. “Okay, here. I’ll go to your stupid whatever. Now, drink
this.”

“I said I would try it.”

“Drink as much as you can.”

I took the cup. “We have a deal, right?”

She held her right index and middle fingers together
and pressed them into her left palm. “Witch’s honor.”

I put the cup to my lips, held my nose and then drank
the noisome brew down. Lilith’s eyes blinked wide in disbelief. I
handed the cup back to her and she accepted it with a broad smile.
“That was amazing. You didn’t even taste it first.”

“I trusted you,” I said. “Now it’s your turn to trust
me. You’re going to keep up your end of the deal, right?”

“Of course. Just say when.”

“After my shower.”

“I’m driving.”

“No,” I said. “I’m driving. You don’t know where
we’re going.”

“You don’t have a license.”

“I have a license.”

“You have a Florida license with an old man’s picture
on it.”

“But it’s valid.”

She fed me a crooked smile. “You really want to go
with that?”

I thought about it a moment. License or no license,
it was Lilith’s car we were arguing over, but more importantly, I
was arguing with Lilith. I never had a chance. “All right, fine,” I
said, begrudgingly. “You drive, but remember, you promised.”

She started up the car and pulled out, heading west.
“I know what I did.”

“What does that mean?”

A light smile thinned her lips. “It means I know.”
She turned the car north onto Lexington at the first corner. I
realized then that she knew exactly where we were going. So I
leaned back, crossed my arms at my chest and waited for her
surprise.

We pulled into the parking lot of the hospice center
on Lexington and Fillmore just ten minutes after leaving the
apartment, not a long time, but an eternity with Lilith when not a
word is spoken. I waited until she put the car in park and shut off
the engine before warming up to the idea that she was not actually
going to leave me there on the curb.

“You are coming in,” I said, only it may have come
out more as a question.

She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

“Lilith, you promised. You even did that witch’s
honor thing with your fingers.” I showed her the index and middle
finger to the palm move.

“Oh, this?” she duplicated the sign, only making it
look more official. “That was nothing. I made it up. Witches don’t
really have an honor signal. We pretty much just do what we
want.”

My mouth dropped. “But you….”

“Relax,” she laughed. “I’m only teasing. I’ll go in
with you.”

“You will?”

“Sure. Lead on.”

I still did not quite trust her. “Give me the keys.”
I held out my hand. She pulled them from the ignition and gave them
to me without a fight.

“Fine, if this is the trust you show me.”

I took them. “It’s the trust you’ve earned. Now,
let’s go.”

Melissa recognized me as we approached the front desk
and she greeted us with a warm smile. “Mister Spitelli,” she said,
“nice to see you again. Are you here to see Mister Marcella?”

“Spitelli?” said Lilith, but more under her
breath.

“Nice to see you, too, Melissa. Thank you, and yes,
we are here to see Mister Marcella, if that’s possible.”

“Oh, please say it isn’t,” Lilith uttered, only I
feared this time that it was not so under her breath, as Melissa
looked both surprised and confused.

“Excuse me?”

“Melissa, this is my sister, Lilith. I told her about
Mister Marcella and she wanted to come in to say hello to him.” I
turned to Lilith and gave her the eye. “Didn’t you, Sis?”

She drilled a purposely-unconvincing smile my way. “I
did,” she said, and then pasted the same smile on for Melissa.
“When my brother told me about Mister Marcella, I said to him,
Spit—that’s what we call him—Spit, you must take me to see that
dear old goat at the hospice center so that I can say hello to him
before he croaks.”

I faked a laugh through gritted teeth. “All right,
Lilith, that’s enough.” Melissa worked at returning a pleasant
smile, but I could tell it was hard for her. I leaned over the
reception counter and whispered, “You’ll have to excuse her. She
gets nervous around places like this.”

Melissa came forward in her seat and whispered back,
“She really needn’t be. Nobody here is contagious.”

“Oh, it’s not that.” I nodded in Lilith’s direction.
“You see, a lot of folks here are just a heartbeat away from
meeting the big guy upstairs, and she doesn’t want any of them
leaving here with a bad impression of her. They might talk, if you
know what I mean.”

I pulled back, leaving Melissa nodding, though
undoubtedly more confused. I do not really think she knew I was
joking, because even as she waited for India to answer her page, I
noticed how she kept eyeing Lilith with great suspicion. Lilith, I
suspect, noticed too, because every time a patient came along, be
it on foot, walker or wheelchair, she would shout out, “Mom! Dad!”
and then she would wave to them. The sad part is that half of them
waved back, but then she ignored them completely. I pulled her
aside and asked her if she would stop it.

“Would you rather I leave?” she asked.

“No, but if you’re trying to get us kicked out, it
won’t count towards fulfilling your promise.”

She smiled up at me playfully. “You’re cute. You know
that?”