Deja Blue (11 page)

Then something happened. Her hand hovered now over the center of the body, at the belly button. It gave her an image of passages, dark and congested with tight areas one must squeeze through as in a deep dark cavern that tightened and shrank as one went. Then she realized, on seeing the image on the screen held in her other hand, what this cavern was—the victim’s throat.

Rae’s hand shot back to the lips and mouth.

With her hand in this location, Rae again heard the words stronger now, like a chant, words about floating and trouble wafting through her consciousness.

“There’s something here,” she announced. “He shoved something into her mouth.”

“There’ll be a note with words scribbled on it,” said Orvison.

Kunati had come off the wall, stepping closer, his brow twitching in confusion. “We told no one about the notes left inside their mouths. No one. They were even kept out of the autopsy reports.”

Orvison exchanged a long look with Kunati. “I told you she was good, Amos.”

Kunati frowned and shook his head.

Orvison told her, “Leave the folded note for Dr. Hatfield. He’ll be expecting it.”

“If the killer handled it, then I should handle it.” “You’ll get your chance, later.”

“What is it? An ongoing letter? A poem?”

“Song lyrics.”

“Song lyrics? Really? Our mutilator is interested in music? Don’t tell me, bedtime lullaby?”

“A little known tune from Gordon Lightfoot. My Troubles and I.”

“I want a copy of it, every line. Maybe it’ll tell us something about this creep.”

“Trust me. We’ve gone over every line for clues, but sure,” said Orvison, “you’ll get a copy.”

“Someone in the earlier FBI team told you about his stuffing song lyrics down the victim’s throat, didn’t they?” asked Kunati.

“’Fraid not; we don’t communicate so well. They have less faith in me than you do, Detective.”

“I never made out I believe in this stuff.” “But your chief brought you to Quantico with him, why?” she asked both men.

“Kunati has a lot to learn,” Orvison shot back. “There’s more between heaven and hell than thought of in any one man’s philosophy.”

“I see. So not only am I here to help solve a murder but to ahhh…educate Detective Kunati?”

“Kill two birds with one stone.” Orvison shrugged. “He may look black, but his prevailing color is green.”

Kunati exploded but kept his outburst controlled, saying through clenched teeth, “Come on, Chief! She got the business about the lyrics from one of the other agents. They may be FBI but their lips are as loose as any public office.” Kunati stormed out.

“I promise you, I didn’t know until now!” Rae called after the black man. “Bite me,” she muttered to herself.

“I take it the session is over?” asked Orvison, pressing a button that closed off his camera lens. He then got on his cell phone and said to the man at the other end, “Tell Dr. Hatfield that he’s got my all clear now.”

Rae stepped from the death room ahead of Orvison, who caught up. Just as she opened the outer door on the street noise and the crowd of curious and reporters, the Chief whispered in her ear, “Best say nothing to the press right now, especially nothing of the information we’ve held back. Besides, I wanna keep this as low key as possible.”

“What? That you’ve got another victim? Or that you called in a psychic?”

“Both,” he said, but his slight twitch gave it away as a lie.

“It’s ultimately your show, Chief. I’ll follow your lead.”

Orvison waved at the press and assured them. “My department is on the cusp of capturing the maniac that’s created so much havoc…a larger fear than this city has ever known.” Orvison then forced open a path for himself and Rae. Once at the cruiser, he scoured the crowd for Kunati, and Rae spotted the tall black detective at the same time that Orvison did. Kunati was busy gabbing with another detective who’d come by with a CSI unit. She got a quick glimpse of Dr. Hatfield’s help, as Orvison whispered, “Hatfield’s decided not to show at all. Guess we hurt his feelings.”

She and Orvison climbed back into the cruiser. The brilliant sunlight and contrast of blue against fluff-ball clouds overhead, instantly sent a feeling the sick juxtaposition through Rae, the irony of life and energy just outside this house so full with death, and yet Gene had come to her in that house, here in West Virginia. Why? To absolve her? Or was he afraid for her? Was he unable just yet to stop looking out for her? Had she in a sense brought him with her from Quantico? Had he all this time been hovering nearby? With her whenever she went into trance? Was Gene unable to end the role that had identified and defined him in life—Rae’s protector? Her loving protector and friend.

Kunati stuck his head in the car and said he’d get a ride back to HQ with a fellow named Keller, to which Orvison replied, “Not a word about the damn case to anyone outside HQ.”

“You got it, Chief.” To Rae, he gave a perfunctory peace sign and said, “Enjoy your stay at the Embassy Suites. Understand they have a helluva Jacuzzi.”

The jibe fell flat, and Rae got the full impact of Kunati’s thinking, that she’d come on a lark, so why not have a lark while here, all at taxpayer expense. “I’ll do that, Detective!” she shouted as the door slammed to. Now she sat in the rear seat with Orvison again acting as chauffeur. It made her feel foolish as they pulled away from the curb and the crowd, some snapping photos.

She at first had the thought ‘small town paparazzi’ until she saw the camera crews with the clear markings of CNN, Fox, CBS, NBC, ABC and others. This small town series of killings had gone national, due most likely to the sensational nature of the killer’s brutality and the weapon of choice along with the idea of his being a sleepwalking monster. A knifing, murder by gunshot wound, strangulation, poisoning, domestic dispute turned murder, none of these horrendous acts were quite enough nowadays for a public that insatiably fed on graphic violence. But this Hammerhead guy, now this was something network news could run with.

“Maybe I shoulda hid you out at the Brass Monkey,” Orvison commented to the rearview, watching for her reaction. When he saw her features scrunch up like one big question mark, he added, “It’s a bed and breakfast downtown. A good deal more private than the Embassy.”

“I’m sure I can manage. I’ve dealt with the press before.”

“I just mean…well at the Embassy, they can take your picture right through the elevator door.”

“Really?”

“While you’re ascending or descending.” “Really?”

“It’s entirely glass.”

“So…ahhh throw no stones?”

“I’d appreciate your not talking to the press if you can avoid it.”

“I’ll tiptoe around them as much as possible,” Rae promised.

“That’s all I ask.”

The city of Charleston had two major centers in its downtown, the capitol complex with its recently refurbished and polished golden dome overlooking a number of crumbling at the foundations buildings, a water fountain, and several statues erected to war veterans and coal miners—and secondly, the major shopping district where the Town Center Mall acted as a fulcrum to orbiting major hotel chains such as the Marriot, the Embassy Suites, the Ramada Inn, and others along with a huge civic center. This was also restaurant row, and it teemed with more people than Rae’d thought to see in one place here.

A number of tall buildings graced the downtown area as well, buildings topped by giant metal letters reading CHASE, BB&T, BRICKSTREET, and others, primarily banks and insurance firms, below which squatted small coffee shops, sandwich shops, bookstores, a walkabout park, and jewelry establishments up one street and down the other in quaint colors. A number of downtown buildings, such as the library and the defunct Pioneer Hotel, looked to be standing since the turn of the century,. A movie theater that’d become a stage for the local university and the local Subway Sandwich shop flanked this area on each side. There were no rail subways here, only the occasional bus.

Finally, they’d reached their destination, the Embassy Suites downtown. Rae leapt from the rear seat and as soon as the trunk was popped, she pulled her bag from the cruiser before Orvison could get around the car. He’d opened the lid from inside. A gangly bellhop stood statuesquely by, smoking a cigarette, indicating with its burning embers that he was on break and unassailable. For this reason, Orvison insisted on taking her suitcase in through the doors where a second bellhop took charge of it. By now it was nearing 6PM.

“We’ll pick things up tomorrow where we left off,” suggested Orvison.

“I’d like to meet and talk with the last victim’s daughter.”

“Can be arranged.” “And your medical examiner, get a firsthand assessment of the crimes from him.”

“Hatfield, of course. I’ll arrange it; let you know.”

They parted at the desk, and Rae located her accommodations. They were indeed swank. Someone in Charleston definitely wanted her comfy and feeling wanted. She wondered if the mayor had anything to do with it; wondered if he were into occult things and held a strong faith in the paranormal. Else this was West Virginia hospitality.

# # #

She closed the door on her room, and once alone, she smelled the odors of the crime scene clinging to her clothing, clutching at her nostrils and skin. She quickly undressed to her panties and bra, started a warm bath in the Jacuzzi that Kunati would have surely denied her, and did a little perfunctory unpacking, hanging out her outer garments—a couple of business suits, an array of blouses that could change each suit daily, and a pair of skirts. She then located a place for her under things, T-shirts, pj’s and jeans.

While doing these chores, she was pleasantly surprised to find a his-and-her matching pair of white terrycloth robes, and while she didn’t need both, she enjoyed the loan, pulling the hers from its hanger and wrapping herself in it.

She next raided the wet bar for a glass of wine, the best in stock being the Berringer’s Zinfandel, which must do. She poured herself the entire mini-bottle into a wine glass and after a sip, she placed it on the arm of the Jacuzzi.

Her hot bubbling water ready, Rae stripped away the robe and the remainder of her clothes, and one toe at a time gingerly slipped into the ‘cauldron’.

She let out a long sigh as the warm water pounded her body with a gentle tsunami from all sides. The hotel had spared no expense on the hot tub, and it was located not in the bathroom but before a fireplace in the living room. “It’d be damn romantic if I only had someone to share it with,” she said aloud, fingering the controls on the Jacuzzi and striking a red button, assuming it was the highest level for the jets. Instead, the fireplace came alive with a rainbow of flames. This she could not have anticipated, no matter how psychic, not here in Charleston.

“Still,” she muttered to the posh room, “this is living.” She felt this way primarily because for the first time in twenty-four hours, she’d gotten both the awful murder case and concerns about Nia back in home off her mind. A rare moment, indeed.

She luxuriated in the moment. What was it Dr. Polkabla always encouraged? Live in the moment, the now with a capital N.

The water pulsated on all sides of her, soothing tired muscles.

She had lowered to the point only her head remained above water. She then managed to find a jet to hit the back of her sore neck.

The warm glow of the fireplace was her only light as darkness descended over Charleston outside.

No phone calls.

She felt heaven had descended with nightfall, and she half-kiddingly wondered if Gene had anything to do with it. She knew her father and mother would just call it an extravagant indulgence, both being somewhat ascetic in their beliefs and lifestyles. There was more in common between Buddhism and Wiccanism than people realized. Come to think of it, she knew that neither her father nor her mother had ever used a Jacuzzi.

As it is, this Jacuzzi is getting too crowded. Why is it I can’t just veg out and enjoy. Why all the guilt tripping? You’d think I was Catholic or Jewish.

She missed being able to drive ten minutes to the Tavern on the Green to talk it over with Joannie Childs. At this rate, she’d even settle for her shrink, Dr. Polkabla to get some answer to the question. What’d I ever do to deserve so much guilt heaped on me by none other than me, myself, and I? Just what gives?

Wellnow, wellnow… came her mother’s familiar phrase in her head. Why don’t we explore that just a bit, shall we, Aurelia?

Mother always called her Aurelia when displeased, Rae when happy with her and her actions.

Rae had closed her eyes, but now she opened them to find her mother’s insubstantial yet substantial spirit at the other end of her Jacuzzi, a slight frown and look of disappointment furrowing her brow there in the rising hot mist between them.