To Kill a Sorcerer Page 10

  “He’s probably doing a drive-through or a walk-through, and taking a look,” I said. “Making sure the block is a quiet one. According to the ME’s estimates on time of death, the girls were killed around two in the afternoon. That gives our man plenty of time before most people come home from work.”

  “And he’s taking all these risks so he can do this voodoo ritual.”

  “He’s reproducing magical ceremonies,” Aliena said. “He has to do it in exact detail. Any deviation from the formula and he fails.”

  “That’s right,” Reed said. “Worse, the magic could rebound on him, even kill him.”

  Hamilton threw his hands up, let them fall back. “I don’t know. I guess I’m tired. Are you saying the man we’re looking for is actually becoming some sort of magician?”

  “Well . . . not yet, anyway,” Reed replied. “But he believes he is. I’ve studied the occult for twenty-three years, and I’ve only seen real magic twice.”

  “Oh? Is that all?”

  “So far. I need to look at some more data, but I have collated the facts we have, and there is one answer in both Clavicula Salomonis and Grimorium Verum.”

  “Clav-what? What was that?” Hamilton asked.

  “They’re grimoires,” I told him, pointing at the crudely bound volumes on Reed’s desk. “Textbooks of black magic.”

  “Of course they are. I can get the spellings later if I need them.”

  “All of the elements of his ritual, including eating their hearts, leads me to believe this man is trying to become a Thief of Souls.”

  There had been something familiar about this pattern from the beginning. Decades ago, I had read an ancient manuscript that described a magician who could manipulate awesome forces, an invincible sorcerer known as the Thief of Souls. According to this document, acquiring the power was tied to the ritual murder of virgin girls. The tale had been so over the top, I had discounted it as myth.

  “He’s a specific sort of conjurer,” Reed continued. “He’s not just killing these girls, he is stealing their souls. That’s the reason for the candles and the incense, and why he drinks their blood and eats their hearts. It’s a ceremony, like a Catholic priest taking the Eucharist.”

  “He must also believe the murders will give him magical powers,” Aliena said.

  “Exactamente,” Reed said. “That is precisely what a Thief of Souls attempts to achieve through his ritual slayings.” He looked troubled. “According to what I’ve read, he would keep the spirits of his victims in limbo, forcing them to do his bidding, even killing for him.”

  A horrible thought.

  “What about the drug?” Hamilton asked. “Why is he using that? Why doesn’t he just crack them on the head before he suspends them from the ceiling?”

  “They have to be conscious when he cuts them open in order to capture their souls. Based on Watanabe’s analysis of the cuts, it’s possible he was able to drain their blood and drink it while they watched. At least, that is an important part of the ritual according to these brujerias,” he said. “He would not want the drug to kill her, that much is certain. And there’s one other thing.”

  “Yes?” Hamilton asked.

  “The way he removed their hearts. According to Watanabe’s examination of the Barlow girl, he didn’t cut it out of her.”

  “She told us that.”

  “She found bite marks inside the body.”

  “What?” Hamilton looked at me, back to Reed.

  “The high-def photos show the marks clearly,” Reed told us. “If we have a suspect, we can identify or eliminate him now based on dental characteristics.” He stood, walked around his desk, sat on the front edge of it, looked down at his hands. “I’m not positive, but I think the killer ate her heart right out of her body. According to the Grimorium Verum, the ritual requires he begin eating it while it’s still beating. The vertical cut down her middle that laid her flesh open was a single, swift slash. It appears it was the first cut, so it’s possible he could have pulled her heart out and eaten it right in front of her.”

  “Jesus. How sure are you about all of this?”

  “I’ve already run it past Watanabe. She won’t say absolutely yes, but she admits it’s possible.”

  We were all silent for a few moments. Something Reed said earlier occurred to me.

  “Tell me, Auggie, what would happen if he did not perform the ritual exactly according to instructions?”

  “If we were talking about real magic”—he glanced at Hamilton—“a ritual of this sort, with such ancient powers involved, would have to be handled delicately, or the procedure would blow up in the sorcerer’s face. Becoming a Thief of Souls is an extraordinarily hazardous career choice. If he makes even the slightest error or deviates from the ritual in any way, the soul he is attempting to steal could actually become a threat to him.”

  “Are we done with the bogeyman yet?” Hamilton directed the question at Aliena. “Please don’t tell me you believe this voodoo bullshit.”

  “I admit it is not a scientific explanation for what this man is doing.”

  “That’s no answer.”

  “May I ask you a question?”

  “Shoot.”

  “Since you do not believe in the magical angle,” Aliena said, “do you have an alternate explanation for why this man is murdering in this specific way?”

  “No, but that doesn’t matter. Maybe this dork really does think he’s a Soul Thief, but that just makes him a psycho, some guy who’s probably played too many fantasy video games.”

  “Very well, then answer this: how does he know they are virgins?”

  “What?”

  Aliena arched an eyebrow. “It is not as if you can tell a girl is a virgin just by looking at her. How did he know these girls were virgins if, as we all agree, this man is a stranger to them?”

  “Shit, I never thought of that . . . maybe the guy’s her gynecologist.”

  “And both girls had the same doctor?”

  “All right. I have no idea how he knows they’re virgins. I suppose you’re going to say he’s using magic.”

  “No. I am saying it is an important question—whether he’s using supernatural powers or not.” Aliena gave me a smile, her head cocked to one side.

  “She’s right,” Reed said. “That is a vital question. If our murderer is skilled in astral travel, he could see these girls with etheric eyes, and if he knows how to read a person’s aura, he would be able to tell if these girls were still pure. In fact, that is probably the thing that attracted him to them in the first place. He must travel on the ether to complete the ritual, so he may have already learned how to control his ti bon ange.”

  “Astral travel. Auras.” Hamilton shook his head. “Christ, what’s next? Are we going to perform a séance and see if the spirits can point this perp out to us, maybe give us his name and address?”

  We ignored him.

  “Is there any way we can tell if he has made a mistake?” Aliena asked Reed.

  “You mean, maybe he botched one of the murders? Now, that would be interesting, but . . . no, I don’t think we’d be able to tell. If he makes a mistake, only he and his victim will know.”

  “What about on the astral plane?” I asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Let’s say he was unable to capture her soul after killing her. Then her spirit could be out there, waiting to make contact with someone.”

  “Hmm, you know, that’s not bad. I don’t know, though, finding a specific soul in the ether . . . I’ve heard of it, but it’s difficult unless you’ve met that person before. And we don’t know that he has made a mistake anyway. Based on what I can see, he’s been very careful. It’s unlikely someone this meticulous has let a soul get away from him. Frankly, I am concerned for you and Detective Hamilton if this guy turns out to be for real.”

  “Why’s that?” Hamilton asked.

  “I saw the two of you on the news tonight. They showed your names. It’s a good be
t the killer knows you are the leads on this case. If he ever decides you are a threat, he will use all his powers to attack you.”

  “Somehow, I’m not worried about that,” Hamilton said.

  Reed shot me a troubled glance. “My assumption is that this man has a grimoire and is following the steps to becoming a Thief of Souls. But he would need something else to make the rituals yield true magical power.”

  “Such as?” Aliena asked.

  “According to Clavicula Salomonis, the conjurer requires a potent supernatural object. I’ve studied with verified conjurers, and their magic is real, but it’s strictly bush league compared to what a true Thief of Souls could do.”

  “Do you know of any artifacts that would qualify?” I asked.

  “The very next thing I was going to research.”

  “How many murders must he commit to complete the ritual?” Aliena asked.

  “My grimoires have different answers to that. One says three, the other says four. They both agree that after even one perfect sacrifice, the murderer would have simple magical powers.”

  “And after two?” I asked.

  “Then he would have formidable abilities, a true conjurer.”

  Hamilton snorted. We ignored him.

  “What kind of power?”

  Reed thought for a moment. “Assuming he has a magical object, he would be able to make the formulas for potions and other magical concoctions in his grimoires actually work. He would be able to create powerful charms. With two murders, he could control his captured spirits and make them do his bidding. He’d be damn tricky to handle in person, possibly able to move objects with a thought.”

  “Telekinesis?” Aliena asked.

  “Similar in form, but this is sorcery.”

  “Is there anything we can do right now to stop him?” I asked.

  “Not unless you have a working crystal ball.”

  “Tell me, Auggie,” Aliena said, “is there a timetable involved?”

  “Isn’t there always? Both grimoires contain the usual references to planetary alignments and seasonal fluctuations being the only times when these rituals will deliver the true power of the ancients.”

  “The day before Christmas, we will have a rare conjunction between Venus, Saturn, Jupiter, and a crescent moon, that will last for three days,” I said. “That’s his time frame.”

  “Bingo.”

  “When is the closest conjunction?” I asked.

  “Two days from now,” Reed said. “If he has murdered three girls and completes the final sequence Christmas Eve, está hecho—it is done.”

  “And so are we, I think,” Hamilton said, putting away his notebook.

  “In that time,” I said, “he needs to kill at least one more girl, possibly two.”

  “Yes.”

  I watched the Christmas lights winking along the top of the doorsill, racking my brain for some way to track this killer quickly. I didn’t see any shortcuts. Hamilton and I would have to run down the slim leads we had on the incense and the black candles, and talk to the neighbors of the two murdered girls. A slow process. Too slow. Watanabe was right. The killer had undoubtedly marked his third victim by now.

  It appalled me that we were helpless to stop him from taking her.

  “Okay, Auggie, thanks for the info. Keep us advised on your search for possible artifacts and anything else you can dig up on this Thief of Souls.”

  “Will do.”

  Aliena, Hamilton, and I walked across the lobby and pushed through the front doors. The night had turned chill. A near-crescent moon hung just above the palm trees on the other side of the street.

  “Call me later, Sebastian,” Aliena said. She waved to Hamilton and walked down Ash Street, her boots clicking on the sidewalk. We watched her for a moment, then turned toward the parking lot.

  “She’s just going to walk home?” Hamilton asked.

  “Oh, I doubt Aliena’s going home. She’s a night owl.” And like an owl, was surely in the air by now.

  “Yeah? What does she do?”

  “She loves the clubs. She’s a people person.”

  “Doesn’t that make you jealous?”

  “A little.”

  After we were back in the car and on the road, I said, “Where to? The station or home?” The Maserati’s clock showed nine fifty.

  “The office. I have paperwork before bed.” He turned toward me, shifting in his seat. I knew what was coming. “This is a homicide investigation. We are looking for a man. Not a sorcerer. Okay?”

  “How does the killer know the girls are virgins?”

  “Who knows? But it’s not—”

  “Hold on, chief. Unless you can give me a good answer to that question, I will pursue all possibilities. Including using a marijuana smoker to identify the incense at a crime scene if that’s all we have.”

  “I didn’t have a problem with Charlie. I’ll take leads wherever I can get them. But incense is a helluva long way from astral travel.”

  True. But that didn’t mean the theory was wrong. I have learned to achieve meditative states that alter my conscious perception. During these sessions, I release my ka, or spirit, from my body and travel in the shadow world of the astral plane, a world that is just as real as the “physical” world. Unfortunately, such an experience is uncommon to most Western cultures and difficult for the uninitiated to grasp.

  “If you no longer wish to be a part of those discussions, that’s your choice,” I said. “But Aliena is right. How can you tell a girl is a virgin if you don’t know her?”

  “Are you crazy? Are you really going to say the only possible answer is magic or astral travel, or whatever?”

  “No, of course not. But we’re at an impasse as to determine how he knows anything about these girls at all. Maybe he can travel in the stellar plane.”

  He snorted. “Come off it. There are probably a dozen ways he could get that information.”

  “Such as?”

  “I can’t think of one offhand, but that doesn’t mean anything. Maybe it’s like you said, he’s doing a drive-through of the neighborhood.”

  “And picking up the talk on the street that Sherri Barlow has never done the deed.”

  “Yeah, yeah, okay. He’s doing his research somehow.”

  “I agree.” I accelerated and cruised through a red light.

  “Give me a break. I suppose you and Aliena know magic, too.”

  “No. But I know a man, yes.” In fact, I was going to have to meet with Bey soon.

  “Jesus.” He shook his head. “How do you know your man isn’t our perp?”

  “Because I know him.”

  “Look, you’re really not leaving me a choice here. I have to report this to Reyes. She may not usually listen to criticisms of you, but I doubt she’ll want to leave you on the case knowing this shit. We are not looking for a sorcerer.”

  “I did not say we were.”

  “But you do consider it a possibility.”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s what I mean.”

  “Reyes won’t take me off the case,” I said, turning onto Sylmar Avenue.

  “Why does the department let you do that? Money? Is it just your damn money?”

  I pulled into the parking lot of the Van Nuys Police Station and stopped.

  “Fine.” He popped off his seat belt, opened the door. “In the future, have your people stick to scientific observations. They can keep their supernatural speculations to themselves.”

  Nineteen

  Wednesday, December 22, 10:43 p.m.

  I sped up my access road and parked in the garage next to my 1967 T-bird. The Thunder Chicken was a mint-green convertible with wide white sidewall tires and white leather interior. Hector, my special assistant, had returned the car today after installing a new water pump.

  I pressed my hand to the security plate next to the door. The lights came on as I pushed inside and passed through the foyer, tossing my keys onto the side table and shrugging out
of my jacket. In the living room, my computer was already warming up. While waiting for it to boot, I crossed to the kitchen, grabbed two bottles of Don Julio tequila, and then sat on the couch. Half of the first bottle went down immediately. I set the bottle on the table.

  I grabbed my laptop, slid my finger along the biometric security strip, opened the “Hamilton III” file, and added what we had learned from Watanabe, Preston, and Reed.

  We now knew the killer was using Tashua Jong incense and black candles as part of his ceremony. We had proof he brought spices to the murder scenes, and we had identified which kinds he used.

  By themselves, these facts were nearly useless. We had to connect them with something. For instance, if someone purchased Tashua Jong and black candles from the same store, that was not valueless, especially if that name showed up on another list, say a list from a local hardware store of people who had purchased the brand of rope used in the killings. We would need some luck. In fact, I was counting on it.

  The final contents of the first bottle of tequila went down the gullet. I popped the cork in with the ball of my hand, opened the second bottle, and sipped it, leaning back on the couch and studying the dark sky outside. I verbally turned off the interior lights, lit another cigarette, and set the ashtray on the cushion next to me.

  Reed said he had seen real magic twice. I have seen it many times in my travels. I watched a priest pass his hand over the face of a man afflicted with leprosy, and that man’s face healed. A witch in Scotland brewed real love potions and curatives that defied medical explanation. There were many other examples, but in every case, two things were true: the magic was not deadly powerful, and the people affected were believers.

  Except the Candomble priests and priestesses. They wielded power over life and death. When they constructed a doll meant to be you, you were in the hands of serious juju. I was sure they could not kill me—at least not permanently—but I had never tested their powers.

  I finished the Don Julio and the cigarette. Kicking my shoes off, I lay down on the couch and relaxed into a twilight state. My ka, or astral spirit, began to rise from my body, but I pulled it back. That was for later.