Mercy for the Damned (34 page)

Pretty Witches all in a Row

Chapter One

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The words reverberated through her mind, indistinct; she couldn’t quite place the language or make out the intent.  The air grew oppressively hot, the scent of bitter herbs permeating the room.  Her breathing came in shallow gasps as an unreasoning panic seized her limbs. 
She was in grave danger…

Să îmi dea puterea

Să îmi recapăt tinereţea şi să îmi dea viaţă de-a pururi

Suddenly there was no air, no breath, no light; only a terrible sinking sensation, as though she was being sucked into a black hole.  A terrified scream ripped through her, drawing her out of the void, even as the final words hovered in the air.

Aşa cum am spus aşa sa fie…

Annaliese clutched at the twisted bed sheets, chest heaving as she sucked in a greedy breath.  Her entire body was covered in a fine sheen of sweat, heart beating like a jackhammer as she grew more aware of her surroundings. 
All a dream…

Already the words began to fade, the edges of the dream becoming blurry and indistinct.  All too happy to let it fade away, she let go of the sheets fisted in her hands, willing herself to take slow, calming breaths.  “Just a dream,” she murmured shakily.  Drawing comfort from that mantra, Anna repeated it to herself again and again. 

Just a dream. 

Normally a nightmare kept its hold on her for quite some time, trying to reassert itself into the next dream.  Trying to avoid that particular circumstance, she reached over to turn on the clock radio by her bedside, cheeks puffing out as she exhaled again, arm crossing over her eyes.  The dream receded quickly, abnormally so; but she didn’t question it, letting the fatigue catch hold of her.  Scant moments later, Anna slipped back into a peaceful sleep, untroubled by dark dreams.

* * *

The sun had been up for an hour or more by the time he got the call.  Already on his way into the office, Detective Nicholas Gibson pulled over, needing to punch the address into his dash mounted GPS device.  The dead ends and one way streets in the Portland Metro area constantly gave him a headache, making the little device more than worth its weight in gold.   

Well within the morning commute, Nick briefly considered flashing his lights to get there a little quicker, but he didn’t like to abuse that power.  Eh… who was he kidding… he
loved
to abuse that power.  Still, the dead body waiting for him wasn’t likely to get any deader, and the Crime Scene Unit was already on the scene working their magic.  In fact, the longer he waited, the more information his team would gather by the time he got there.  By comparison to his old commute in L.A., the drive across town was practically the speedway at Irwindale.  As he puttered along on 26
^th
, managing a respectable twenty miles per hour, his fingers tapped along the steering wheel to the beat of the song playing on the radio. 

The road grew less congested as he pulled off the main road, the side streets still sleepy in the early morning.  At every turn, the plucky little GPS directed him with great cheer, until he came upon the crime scene, the narrow street clogged with emergency vehicles of every shape and size.  Plenty of onlookers dressed in robes and slippers tested the patience of the uniformed officers on site, all eager to see what was going on. 

Nick sighed as the little duplex came into sight, still steaming and smoking in the morning air.  He hated fires.  Not only would his shoes get all wet and ashy, he’d be lucky if he could get the smoky smell out of his suit without another trip to the dry cleaners.  That and it was usually none too pleasant a crime scene to come upon.  Physical evidence ended up contaminated in all manner of ways, from the water damage and the number of people tromping in and out before the CSU arrived.  At least he hadn’t had breakfast yet.

Double parking, Sergeant Gibson stepped out of the car, giving his most charming smile when spectator eyes swung in his direction.  At six foot one and a half, with brown hair and eyes, ruggedly handsome with more smile lines that worry wrinkles, Nick frequently found himself the object of female interest.  At least where the suburban housewife set was concerned.  Too bad the interest frequently cooled once they became acquainted with the reality of what he did for a living.  It might seem glamorous or exciting to be a police detective on TV, but it often translated to long hours and a lot of missed dates.  Not many women had that kind of patience, he’d found. 

Wearing his favorite navy blue pinstripe suit, he felt a little overdressed for the crowd of onlookers, but he didn’t intend to linger with them for very long.  With a quick wink at a bottle blonde in a tight fitting jogging get up, he crossed the police tape, hastening his step as he dodged firemen closing up shop and preparing to clear out. 

The duplex was a bungalow style house, converted some time ago to get two living units out of it.  The entire structure was smaller than his own two thousand square foot home by about a third, and he estimated each unit had about seven hundred square feet of living space.  The weathered siding had at one time been painted white with red trim, but had grayed with age, browner towards the bottom where overgrown shrubs lined the perimeter and a sooty grey at the top near the roof.  The concrete steps, painted red to match the trim, were scuffed and faded, the paint flaking away at every corner.  A brightly colored welcome mat in the shape of a sunflower sat in front of the door.  Wind chimes made from seashells hung over the door, hastily shoved aside, probably by the fire guys. 

Not exactly the Ritz, but someone had put forth an effort to make the place a home. 

As he stepped over the threshold, Nick spotted his team standing by an interior door, speaking in hushed tones.  Detectives Brady and Park were seasoned enough to know what to look for without him having to babysit them, while young enough to keep that eager edge despite all the drudgery they had to slog through.  Better them than him, he’d already put in his time running down dead end leads in his day, Nick was content to let the younger pups have at it. 

Michelle Park, primly dressed in a navy blue, conservative woman’s suit, stood with perfect posture, black hair pulled back into a severe ponytail.  Of Asian descent, Nick found her attractive in an understated way, but completely lacking in any flirtatious or playful manner, despite his best efforts to engage her.  She looked more like an investment banker or an assistant principal than a detective, but Gibson had come to appreciate her dry wit and sharp observation skills. 

Her counterpart Kip Brady waited to her left, impeccably dressed in a dapper charcoal gray suit that Nick guessed was worth at least a week’s paycheck, his shoes buffed to a high shine.  With close cropped dark hair and blue eyes, he easily fit the bill of everyone’s buddy, a trait that served him well in his years on the force.  A little short in stature, Brady had none of the ‘short man’s complex’ that plagued so many of his height.  Witty and affable, Nick could always count on him for a clever quip.  The pair of them tried Park’s patience to no end sometimes, of that he was sure, but overall they made a good team. 

Brady looked up with a reverse nod and waved him over.  Gibson gave a little mock salute to a couple of EMT’s lounging by the kitchen entrance and slid past them.  The doorway led to a small bedroom, the epicenter of the fire with its blackened walls and waterlogged carpet.  “Hey guys, did you bring the marshmallows?  I’m fresh out.” 

“That’s probably for the best, I think you’re probably gonna lose that sugar jones as soon as you take a look.”  Detective Brady gave him an amused smirk and Park stepped aside so he could stick his head into the bedroom, swiftly taking in the extent of the damage.  Even with the charring, it was easy to see the room hadn’t been filled with expensive furnishings.  There were puddles of wax on every surface indicating an overabundance of candles once resided there, along with an interesting array of candle holders made of glass, resin and stone.  A hanging contraption made of brass hung suspended from the ceiling, about the size of a small apple, riddled with little holes.  Maybe some kind of incense holder?  He hadn’t seen anything like it since his days as an altar boy.

It wasn’t long before his eyes were drawn to the badly burnt corpse lying on what was left of the bed.  “Eewh, crispy…” he muttered, ducking back out.  “So… are we thinking arson?”  His brow furrowed, it wasn’t often he was called to a fire; in fact, he could count them on one hand over the span of his ten year career in law enforcement. 

“No sir, the initial report from the Fire Marshall indicates it was started by untended candles,” Park supplied politely and Nick gave a long suffering sigh.  No matter how many times he’d asked her, Park hadn’t lost the need to call him sir yet, but he was still working on softening her up. 

“So, tell me again why we’re here?”  His phone chirped cheerfully, and he automatically withdrew it to check the screen, his face breaking into a wide smile when he saw the display.  “Hold that thought,” he raised a finger before reading the text: 
It was supposed to be your turn to make breakfast!

Brady leaned over to surreptitiously read the message from around his shoulder.  “Bimbo du jour?”

“Bite your tongue, you know there’s only one girl in my life,” Nick scoffed, swatting Kip away before placing the call.  A smile was exchanged between the younger detectives as they listened to the one sided conversation.  “Hi Muffin…No, I know, but I’ll make it up to you…Well…how about pancakes for dinner? …Okay, Belgian waffles then…Did you finish your English project? …Okay, okay, it’s my job to ask, you know…I will keep that in mind…I’ve gotta go chase bad guys, I’ll see you tonight.  Make good choices! …Bye sweetie, I love you.”  Nick tucked his phone away with a smile, rubbing his hands together expectantly.  “Now then, where were we?”

“We were about to regale you with the tale of why we’re here before you stopped to play Father Knows Best,” Brady supplied helpfully. 

“Regale away.”  Nick nodded benevolently, ignoring the jibe.  There weren’t many that took a back seat to his work, but he did his best to make time for his teenaged daughter, Veronica.  “But start with the part as to what makes this a homicide investigation.”  In his experience, fires were a messy way to kill someone; most people didn’t get that fancy. 

“I think I can help with that.”  A gloved finger tapped on his shoulder and he turned to make room for the petite brunette with a paper mask attached to her forehead.  “Had to hit the ladies room, too much coffee.”  Her nose wrinkled as she stepped into the bedroom and she rapidly replaced the mask, her hazel eyes skimming over the room to find the clipboard where she’d left it on the top of the dresser. 

“My favorite M.E.  Nice to see you, Libby, well… part of you,” Nick grinned, stepping into the ruined bedroom with her. 

“Always a pleasure, Sergeant Gibson,” she nodded amiably, flipping open her metal clipboard and clicking on her pen. 

“Not yet, but I’m hopeful,” he dropped a playful wink, drawing a roll of the eyes, prompting Nick to clear his throat.  “So, you were saying?  This wasn’t an ordinary fiery death then?”

“Not by a long shot, in fact this one should be right up your alley.”

“Yeah?”  He studied the body a little more closely.  “Cause of death?”

“Not the fire.  In fact, there’s no sign of smoke inhalation at all.”

“Huh, I wonder how he managed that?”  He certainly looked crispy on the outside, why not the insides?

“I’m thinking it was probably a little hard for
her
to breathe with an eight inch knife plunged into her heart,” Libby deadpanned. 

“You don’t say…”  Nick brightened at the news. It was turning into an interesting fire after all. 

“I
do
say.  Entered here under the breast bone.”  She lightly touched the body with her gloved hand.  “Right up under the rib cage and straight to the heart.  Either the killer really knew what he was doing, or it was an incredibly lucky shot.  She would have died almost instantly.”

“That
would
complicate things,” he allowed.  “Any way to tell time of death?”

“It’s a little more difficult with the state of the body, but on first examination I’d say sometime between eleven PM and two AM,”  Libby replied, scribbling onto the clipboard.  “I’ll have a more thorough report after I get her down to the morgue.”

“The fire department was called at one forty-two AM by the next door neighbor,” Park supplied, referring to the notepad on her cell phone. 

“Okey doke.”  Nick backed out of the bedroom, leading them away from the doorway so Libby could get back to work.  He might enjoy teasing her, but he knew she hated to have someone looking over her shoulder.  “So, what have we got on our vic?”

Brady flipped open his notebook and began to recite the facts.  “Her name was Caroline Mackenzie, but she legally changed it to ‘Skye’ when she became an Oregon resident.  Age twenty-two, moved here from Texas three years ago.  No priors, except for one arrest for disorderly conduct last year, during a peaceful demonstration that turned a little ugly, but the charges were later dropped.  Worked as a massage therapist, according to her business cards.  Not a bad looker if you like the hippie type.”  He picked up a framed photo depicting a smiling blonde sitting on a field of grass, a crown of daisies atop her head.  She flashed a peace sign for the camera, blue eyes crinkling with mirth. 

“Massage therapist, huh?  Maybe someone got ticked off when she wouldn’t give them a happy ending?”  Nick chuckled at his own joke, drawing a smirk from Brady in kind before he cleared his throat with a look at Park. 

Ignoring the childish jokes as par for the course, Park took up where Brady left off as though there hadn’t been an interruption.  “Her parents are still living in El Paso, Texas and she has two sisters that live in Texas also.  That’s about the extent of what came up on record so far.”