Eye of the Witch (10 page)

“
Damn it!” I said, almost without realizing it. I reeled around and punched a hole in the wall out of sheer frustration. Spinelli sprung back, shocked. Carlos hurried to me. He tried putting his arm around my shoulder, but I shrugged it off.

“
Tony! What’s gotten into you?”

Already, I had forced composure upon myself. “I’m fine,” I told him. “Leave me alone. I’ll pay to repair the hole in the wall.”

“
But, I don’t get it.”

“
What’s to get? I told you I’m fine.” I crossed the room, pulled up a chair in the corner and sat down with my head in my hands. Spinelli started to follow, but Carlos held his hand up to stop him. He gave me a minute, then came over and pulled a chair up next to me.

“
You want to talk?”

I didn’t look at him. I just shook my head and kept my eyes on the diamond patterns in the carpet. “No. I’m fine now. I lost my cool. I’m sorry.”

“
You’re not fine, Tony. You’re like an old snapping turtle. You almost took Lilith’s head off at The Percolator today. That’s not like you.”

“
She got on my nerves.”

“
She gets on everyone’s nerves. She’s Lilith. But she’s never riled you like that before. So come on, we’re buddies. We’ve worked together for what, thirty years? Why don’t you tell me what’s up?”

“
I can’t. I don’t know what’s up. That’s the problem. You remember how bad it got right after our last case.”

I saw him nod through the corner of my eye. “Oh, it wasn’t that bad.”

“
Not after we freed Leona, maybe. Hell, I was on such a high after that. But later, when I realized I had nothing on Lilith, and we failed to find Doctor Lowell’s remains.”

“
But we know what happened to the doctor and Jean Bradford.”

“
We couldn’t put it in the report. Gordon killed himself, so we couldn’t put him on trial for murdering Doctor Lieberman. Then there were Michael and Valerie’s mutilated bodies in the woods. They disappeared. None of that ever got resolved, on paper anyway. As far as the people of New Castle are concerned, we still have a serial killer out there somewhere.”

“
But we don’t, and we know it.”

“
Yes, but they don’t know it.”

I felt his hand on my back. “I see. So, that’s it.”

“
What’s it?”

“
It’s a legacy issue. The Surgeon Stalker was your biggest case ever, and on paper you couldn’t solve it.”

“
No, Carlos. That’s not it at all.”

“
Well, what then? Why the hell are you so irritable? Why can’t you eat or sleep. Why can’t you give Lilith that stupid witch’s ladder?”

I turned sharply at him.

“
Yes,” he said. “I know you still have it. But you heard Dominic. It’s just a string of beads now. It’s useless except that it reminds you of the Surgeon Stalker. If not for that, then maybe you could get some sleep. Unless you want to remember the Stalker, is that it? Is that why you still have it? You need it?”

“
No! I don’t need it, and it doesn’t remind me of the Stalker.”

“
Then whom? Leona? Are you holding on to it because it reminds you of her? Are you clinging to the memory of a sweet young woman who, if not for you, would have suffered a fate worse than death?”

“
No!”

“
Is it Lilith? Are you….”

I turned my eyes away in guilty denial.

“
You are! You’re holding onto that ladder because it’s the only thing tying you to Lilith Adams. But why, Tony? Why can’t you let go?”

“
I don’t know, Carlos, damn it! Don’t you see, I just don’t….” I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Look. Whatever my issues, I’ll work through them. In the meantime, we have to decide if there’s a case here or not.”

“
Fine,” he said. I watched him mentally wrap up my troubles and stash them aside. If only I could do the same, I thought. He waved Spinelli over, and together we formed a loose huddle. Carlos said, “So, what do we do?”

“
For now,” I said, “let’s assume we have a case. We’re totally lacking in evidence, but we have suspects, motives, victims and opportunities. What we need to do is build a scenario and then try to fill in the blanks. Any ideas—anyone?”

“
I’ve been working on one,” Spinelli offered.

“
Let’s hear it.”

“
All right. It goes like this. Ricardo Rivera decided to kill Bridget Dean because she got the promotion he felt he deserved. So he recruited someone that he knew could get the job done.”

“
Piakowski,” said Carlos.

“
Right, Gregory Piakowski, his old high school pal, whom, it just so happens, owes Rivera big for getting him off on charges of capital murder. You with me so far?”

“
Yes, I think Carlos and I have entertained that much already. How do you figure Anna Davalos’ death in all of this?”

“
Jealousy: the oldest motive in the book. The way I see it, either Rivera told Courtney about his plans for Bridget Dean, or Courtney overheard him and Piakowski planning the murder.”

“
I’d believe the latter,” Carlos remarked. “Ricardo Rivera is too smart to let anyone in on a secret like that, even a lover, and especially a flake like Courtney. Look how much trouble she had keeping information to herself when questioned by you and Tony.”

“
I’m good with that,” Spinelli said. “The important thing is that I believe she found out. Once armed with that knowledge, she blackmailed Rivera into killing her rival, Anna Davalos. That way she could have Rivera all to herself.”

“
Excuse me,” I said, “but why wouldn’t Rivera just kill Courtney, instead? You get rid of her; you get rid of a loose cannon and silence a potential tattletale.”

“
Are you kidding? Have you
seen
Courtney Lusk? Killing her would be like destroying a Michelangelo. The girl’s a work of art.”

“
More like a piece of work,” I replied. “I’m sorry, but I don’t give Courtney that much credit. She lacks the initiative. I’d sooner believe that Anna Davalos found out Rivera murdered Dean, and then
she
tried to blackmail him into leaving Courtney. Faced with blackmail, Rivera had no choice but to kill her.

Carlos and I differed on that view, but we had seen wilder outcomes in affairs of the heart. Love, sex and all matters in-between often yield unpredictable consequences. Regardless of technicalities, I apologized for the interruption and asked Spinelli to continue. He cleared his throat and proceeded.

“
One suicide may look perfectly innocent to the average cop—especially if it appears cut-and-dry on video. But add another suicide: a woman from the same office building, and a cop like Karen Webber will start asking questions. When that happens, you have another problem. And if you’re Ricardo Rivera and Gregory Piakowski, you do what you have to do; you make the other problem go away.”

“
By killing Karen Webber,” Carlos concluded.

“
Exactly!” Spinelli stood with arms splayed to receive his review. I looked at Carlos, whose face I can usually read with no problem, but this time I had nothing. I asked him, “So, what do you think?”

He gestured ambiguously, and for a moment I thought maybe he didn’t want to speculate. Then he turned his palms up empty and said frankly, “It beats what I had.”

“
Which was?”

“
After watching the video, I thought the three probably did commit suicide, but what Dominic says isn’t bad. It’s got me thinking again.”

I turned to Spinelli. “Not me. Nice try kid, but your theory is full of holes. You have to plug some of them up. Why don’t you go through that video again and see if you can’t find something else we can use.”

“
Got it,” he said, and he turned and walked off in spirited strides.

I waited until he was gone and I said to Carlos, “He acts as if I handed him a compliment. Does he get it that I just shot him down?”

“
Did you?”

“
I thought I did.”

“
So, you have a better theory?”

“
No.”

“
But you did say nice try.”

“
Yes.”

“
Well then there you have it. If I were Spinelli, I’d take that as a compliment, too.”

I stared at him a while, blinking back my disbelief. “Does the city actually pay you to do this job?” I asked.

He laughed. I didn’t have the heart to tell him I wasn’t kidding. I felt the stress and fatigue beginning to work on my last nerve, so I decided to call it a day and find a hotel room where I could grab a hot shower and maybe something to eat. Yeah, eat, I know. The thought of it still made me queasy. But you can’t think straight on an empty stomach, and every indication told me that I definitely wasn’t thinking straight. Carlos offered me a bunk at his place, but I knew better. He liked to stay up late watching infomercials, crunching potato chips and picking at his feet. When he did finally sleep, he snored like a bear. I thanked him for the offer and headed out.

In the old days, we had only one real hotel in town, called the Minute Man, which offered a pool with Jacuzzi, cable TV and a view of the swamp. Now there are lots of places to stay—places where the air-conditioning works and hookers don’t. But they aren’t for me. I don’t need AC in April, and though I don’t employ them, the hookers don’t bother me. I even know most by name. So I took a taxi to the Minute Man and I booked myself a room.

I ran into an old acquaintance there: a guy named Mike Riley. He recently married, but his marriage was on the skids now. Can’t say I was surprised to hear that. A while back, he blew up his farmhouse and burned his girlfriend’s house to the ground. Doctors said it was something in the water and that he was okay now, but you could have fooled me. We ate dinner together in the hotel restaurant. The entire time he kept disciplining his little brother, Patrick. Harmless enough, you might think. Except that his little brother has been dead for over thirty years. After dinner, he offered to buy me a couple of drinks at the bar. I respectfully declined, explaining that I had business to attend to in the morning. He said he understood. Then he did something I’ll never forget. He leaned his ear down to…well, to his brother, I suppose, and he came up with a word of advise. “Don’t let it eat at you,” he said.

I smiled awkwardly, blinking back my surprise. “What?”

“
We all have demons,” he replied. “Some are all around us, others only in our heads….” He leaned his ear down again and came up smiling. “Oh, yeah, and some are in our dreams. But they don’t define who you are, so let them go. Don’t let them eat at you.”

“
All right,” I said, half-smiling. “Thanks, and…ah, take care.”

I turned away, and as soon as I thought it was safe to do so, I looked back over my shoulder. I saw him walking towards his room, his arm by his side, though reaching slightly as if holding a little kid’s hand. I understood then, he was right. We all have demons. The difference is in how we deal with them.

I slept better that night, except for that one damn dream. Doctor Lowell had me tied to the tree again, but this time Lilith was tied up with me, too. She kept calling for that damn witch’s ladder, but I wouldn’t give it to her.

“
I can free us!” she hollered. Doctor Lowell moved in closer, his butcher knife raised and gleaming in the full moonlight. “Let me have it, Detective, now!”

I reached into my pocket. The ropes fell away like paper ribbons. Next thing I knew, the witch’s ladder appeared in my hand. I shook it violently and the beads spilled to the ground. Lilith’s ropes were still bound tightly, but she knew that mine were loose. She pleaded for me to scoop the beads up and give them to her. “We’ll die!” she cried. “We’ll die together!”

I held the bare string dangling at my chest. Lilith’s sobs echoed in my ears. Then it occurred to me, I didn’t want freedom. I wanted Lilith. Better still, I wanted to meet my demise with the witch who had outsmarted me. I closed my eyes and….

I awoke in a sweat, my heart pounding, my hands trembling. I wanted badly a grapefruit and guava, but in New Castle I realized that was probably against the law. I thought of getting up and going out for coffee. Instead, I closed my eyes and sleep arrested me. I didn’t awake again for seven hours.

Six

What a difference a day makes. I’ve heard that saying before and thought what a crock. But it’s true. After a real dinner and a relatively sleep-filled night, I was feeling on top of the world. I phoned Carlos, who met me at the Minute Man restaurant for toast and coffee. He told me that Spinelli had some big news waiting for us at the box (his words, not mine).

“
Any idea what kind of news?” I asked him.

He shoveled a forkful of French toast into his mouth just as I asked. He does that often, I’ve noticed. Once food is on its way to his mouth, there is no stopping it. If Carlos was on an airplane spiraling down to Earth, and a microwave burrito touched his lips, he would have to go for it. I sipped my coffee and waited patiently for him to stop chewing. The answer came at the bottom of my cup.

“
Something about Piakowski,” he said, “and the video.”

“
He’s got a video of Piakowski?”

Another payload of French toast left his plate, but this time I was ready. I stretched my hand across the table and intercepted his fork mid-flight. It left him dazed, his jaw unhinged and maple syrup oozing from his toast like a bloody stump. He closed his mouth and swallowed, then looked at me blankly. “You didn’t have to do that.”