Josh lifted a questioning brow, and she gave a small shake of her head, letting him know she hadn’t spotted Preston’s ghost.
A credenza along the left wall yielded more ritual objects, candles, relics, and boxes of cotton robes, both black and white. She turned away and surveyed the room again. Aware the older patrol officer was watching intently from the hallway, she didn’t linger and left the room. Without the street cops around, she might have attempted to lure the spirit into the open. But she couldn’t afford to start whispers within the department again. She’d put the rumors of PTSD and the accompanying doubts behind her…and intended for them to stay there.
“An unusual hobby,” Maggie remarked as she headed back to the front room. “It can stir fear, even hate. Someone may have wanted to stop her occult activities.”
“Murder, you mean,” the patrolman muttered from behind her. “Yeah, I wondered about that, but in a locked house? Uh, considering that back room, maybe she cast a spell or curse that backfired.”
Only in New Orleans would a cop voice such speculation.
“And summoned a poisonous snake? Voodoo or witchcraft gone bad?” She threw a quick glance to see his reaction.
He dipped his chin. “My mother might say so.”
Yeah, blame it on your mother. Maggie hid a smile. “I take it she believes in the occult.”
“Oh, yeah. I won’t even tell her I was here. She’d be dosing me with sage smoke.”
Smudging. An ancient way to cleanse negative vibes. See…she had absorbed some of Dalia’s teachings.
When they reached the living room, Maggie stopped next to the body and nudged the dead snake with the toe of her boot. “It’s too early to discount any theory, but I don’t think anyone conjured this killer. He seems pretty real to me. And I’m sure he didn’t appear out of thin air or slither in here by himself.”
“Anything can happen when witches are involved,” the cop muttered.
Since Maggie couldn’t dispute that with a clear conscience, she didn’t try. Josh ended the discussion by dismissing the patrol cops.
“Thanks, guys. We’ll take it from here and wait for the CS techs.” His eyes flashed a hint of humor. “I’m sure you’re eager to learn what the rest of New Orleans’ good citizens are up to this morning.”
Maggie knew what he was doing…creating an opportunity for her to make contact with the victim’s spirit. Josh was the one person on the force who knew her affinity with the ghosts of those who’d died at the hands of unpunished killers. That he’d accepted it was nothing short of miraculous. When they’d met last fall, she’d still been in denial. It wasn’t as if she’d grown up with the ability to see spirits. It had been thrust upon her sixteen months ago when she’d died from a sniper’s bullet and been brought back in the ER, triggering a latent family heritage steeped in ancient witchcraft. Or so her relatives said.
The front door rattled, and Josh’s hopes for a few minutes alone at the crime scene were thwarted when the patrolmen passed the crime scene techs and the medical examiner coming in the door. Not a problem for Maggie, more like a welcome reprieve. But it wouldn’t last long. If the late Mrs. Preston wanted her help, she’d contact Maggie soon enough.
“We have a bit of a puzzle here,” Maggie said by way of greeting to the new arrivals.
Doc Merriweather gave a meaningless grunt and breezed over to the body, and the two-person tech team set down their evidence cases. The man began to process the scene by taking photos of the body. His female partner picked up on Maggie’s cue and stopped beside her. “Puzzle? You mean the snake?”
“Well, it got my attention. Like how’d it get here? And how does it bite someone on the face and neck? What do you think, doc? Had the victim already collapsed to the floor from something else? Like a heart attack? Drugs?”
He stood and gave her his typical scowl. “How would I know at this stage? Ask me again after the autopsy. All I can tell you now is she’s dead, died around midnight, give or take an hour or two.”
Maggie nodded, not expecting more out of the taciturn doctor at this stage. She turned to the young woman tech. “The other part of this puzzle is a locked house mystery. Unless this was an accident or suicide while she was handling the snake herself, how did the killer get in and out with every door and window locked?”
“Ooo, a secret passage.” The tech grinned and turned around slowly, studying the room. “A loose brick in the fireplace or a latch hidden in the bookcase. Isn’t that how it works in mystery novels?”
Merriweather snorted, but any disparaging remarks were pre-empted by the arrival of his assistants with the gurney. They loaded the victim into a body bag, lifted it onto the gurney, and rolled it out the front door. The snake carcass was left behind for the lab techs.
“Doc, we need the autopsy results as soon—”
“I know, I know, detective. Everyone wants priority. I have two ahead of you.” He snorted in resignation as he grabbed his medical bag to leave. “Check in with me at 5:30 or 6:00. You’re lucky I needed a good excuse to avoid this evening’s dinner party.”
Maggie shot him a look of sympathy, although the crusty ME wouldn’t appreciate it. His wife had died from a lingering illness five months ago, and Maggie assumed his friends thought it was time he rejoined the social world. From her experience, it wasn’t that easy to set grief aside. Not only did she still have painful moments from losing both her parents in a plane crash, but Josh’s mother had died of cancer this past January. It had been a tough time for him and his brother Harry.
She turned back to the tech. “If you aren’t intrigued enough by the snake or the locked doors, wait until you get to the room in the rear hallway. On the left,” she added as the young woman spun around and hurried down the hall.
But the male tech got there first. His voiced echoed from the back. “Oh, man, Elise. I’m loving this case already.”
Maggie heard the young woman’s squeal upon her arrival and then the click of the camera snapping pictures. Yeah, this crime scene had a lot to offer.
“I’m going outside to check for pry marks or an entry that’s not visible from in here,” Josh said. “Why don’t you take the neighbor lady? Street cop says she’s a real talker.” He lowered his voice. “We can come back tonight for a second walk-through after we’ve been to the morgue.”
Maggie sighed. He meant they’d be ghost hunting. She flexed her shoulder, uneasy about the pending encounter—if she had a choice, she’d prefer to never see another ghost—but if Doc declared this a homicide, Preston’s spirit might help them find her killer.
“OK by me.” She followed Josh toward the door but paused to glance at the CS tech who’d returned and was bagging the snake. “Don’t forget to check the roof and chimney.”
The young woman gave her a baffled glance. “Why?”
“For signs of entry. Isn’t that how St. Nick does it?”
The tech snickered.
* * *
The neighbor, Mrs. Goodbody, might once have lived up to her name, but time had had its way with her. Skeleton-thin, gnarled and knobby, eighty years plus, and using a walker. But her faded blue eyes peeped alertly from under wispy, white curls, and the years hadn’t stopped her from keeping her finger on the pulse of the neighborhood.
“Sorry to hear she died. Valerie Preston has lived here six years, but I don’t know her well,” Goodbody said when they were seated in her spotless living room. “A tad standoffish. She’d wave if you waved first, and we’d exchanged a few words about the weather and such, but she didn’t socialize in the neighborhood.”
“What about visitors?”
The woman eyes lit up. “Oh, plenty of those. Some kind of group came every other week on Thursday. Card players, I suppose.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Twelve of them, every time. Just enough for three tables if the hostess sat out. Course I can’t be sure of that. They close the drapery. Gets people to talking about orgies and drug part
ies when you’re that secretive.” Goodbody wrinkled her nose in thought. “But I don’t think so. Too quiet.”
Clever lady. In this case, the gossips hadn’t been imaginative enough. Twelve plus one equaled thirteen, the number in a traditional witches’ coven. “Always the same people?”
Goodbody bobbed her head. “Ten women and two men, nobody younger than forty. I don’t know any of their names.”
“If you saw them again, could you identify them?”
Goodbody gave her a sly wink. “You mean in a lineup or from their mug shots? Oh, I think so. Most of them. Something funny about her death, huh?”
Maggie raised a brow. “Sorry?”
“Well, you’re asking all these questions. I assume it was murder. Poor lady. Did she suffer?”
“We’re not yet sure what happened to her.”
“Uh-huh. Not going to say, are you? Well, I guess that says a lot.” She folded her hands in her lap. “I didn’t hear any screaming or shouting…and no gun shots…” The old woman’s voice ended on a questioning upturn, and she let it hang expectantly.
Maggie suppressed a smile. Mrs. Goodbody might do well as an interrogator. She sure didn’t give up easily. “What did you see or hear late last night?”
“Nothing but that dog barking, and that’s not unusual. He barks a lot.”
“Whose dog? What time did you hear it?”
“Scamp’s a friendly mutt, except he barks so much. I guess that’s how he got his name. Belongs to Marvin Sutter, the neighbor behind Valerie’s back fence. But you asked what time? Around midnight, I think it was. Is that when she died?” Mrs. Goodbody’s hands twitched as if uncomfortable at the thought of the killer coming and going while she lay in bed listening. “Should the neighbors be worried, Detective? Could the murderer still be around?”
“We’ve no evidence of that. If someone killed her, they could be far away by now. But it’s a good rule to keep your doors locked and not let anyone inside unless you know them.” Maggie rose. “Thank you for your time. I can see myself out. You have my card in case you think of anything else. But if you see or hear anything that frightens you, call 911 first, then call me. Patrol can get here faster.”
Maggie closed the door behind her, the heat smacking her in the face and beading sweat on her forehead. She spotted Josh inspecting the victim’s bay window that covered the left third of the house front. The rest was a four-column porch with a pair of white rattan chairs.
“Find anything?” she asked, coming up behind him.
“No signs of damage or forced entry. She kept her property in good condition. Did the neighbor have anything we can use?”
She told him about the barking dog and the Thursday meetings. “Why don’t we check with the dog owner while we’re here?”
“Suits me. Did you notice the guy across the street? Slightly built white male on your six, late 20s or 30s, dark tan. Maybe he’s just a curious neighbor, but he’s been watching closely. Snapped photos with a small camera when he thought I wasn’t watching.”
Maggie shifted just enough to peek behind her. The man had already turned and walked down the street away from them. She watched him a few seconds, but he didn’t turn around. “Gawker, I guess. He’s leaving now. Shall we meet the barking dog?”
Marvin Sutter, an unshaven man in his mid-thirties, answered the door in a gray T-shirt and faded jeans with a beer in his hand. It wasn’t yet mid-morning. As soon as Josh showed his badge, Sutter invited them in, offered to get them a beer—which they declined—and introduced them to Scamp, a twelve-year-old, black and white terrier mix who pranced around their legs, clearly happy to be the center of attention.
“Is this another complaint?” Sutter sounded wary but resigned. He bent down and scratched the terrier behind the ears.
“Have you had many?” Josh countered.
“A few. But I do my best to keep him quiet.” Sutter straightened. “Honestly, I do, but the breed is just yappy.”
“Do you live here alone, Mr. Sutter?” Maggie asked. There was a picture on the table of him with a woman and a toddler, but a layer of dust and stacks of newspapers, discarded clothes, and beer cans, coupled with the lack of scattered toys, seemed to contradict the likelihood of other occupants. “I noticed the photo. Your wife and child?”
Sutter’s face clouded. He glanced at the picture then around the room, as if noticing the disorder for the first time. “Yeah, you’ll have to excuse the mess. They died in a car wreck two months ago. I’m alone now. Just Scamp and me.” Sutter made a poor attempt at a smile. “He’s not a very good housekeeper.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
“We won’t intrude on you for long,” Josh said. “We’re not here on a noise complaint. Your neighbor, Valerie Preston, died last night under unusual circumstances. We were told Scamp was barking around midnight. Did you happen to hear or see anyone outside?”
“He was barking all right,” Sutter admitted. “It woke me. I’d fallen asleep in front of the TV. I checked the window but didn’t see anyone. He barks at everything, even me. I have no idea what time it was. Didn’t look. I just let him in and went to bed.”
“How well did you know the victim?”
“Hardly at all. We’d talked over the fence. She mentioned Scamp’s barking once or twice, but other than that, we’d never discussed anything else.” He turned away and opened the fridge for another beer. “Sorry. Afraid I can’t be more help to you. You might try Mrs. Goodbody.” He waved vaguely in the direction of the woman’s house. “She kind of keeps track of everything…and I mean everything…in the neighborhood.”
“We’ve spoken with her. Anyone else who might notice something out of the ordinary? Or was friends with the victim?” Josh asked. He picked up an outdoors magazine on the kitchen table and absently thumbed through it.
“No. It’s a quiet area. I don’t see much of the neighbors.” He pointed the beer can at the magazine. “That’s a good mag. You do much hunting or fishing?”
“Some.” Josh put it back on the table. “How about you?”
“Never had enough time. Now it’s all I got.”
Maggie noticed the hand tremor as Sutter popped the can open. Nerves or a man on a downward spiral. Unusual he’d be home during the day. Was he collateral damage from the car wreck? “Where do you work, Mr. Sutter?”
“I’m currently seeking a better job.”
OK. Drinking, unemployed. She’d make a referral to social services to follow-up for grief counseling. But it would be up to him whether he accepted it.
Sutter tipped his head toward the victim’s house. “People have all kinds of secrets we don’t know about. Karma could have caught up with her.” His phone rang, and he turned away. “I need to take that. Might be a job offer.”
Josh pulled the front door closed on the way out. “Karma? That was a strange thing to say.”
“Yeah. It was.” Unless he knew something they didn’t about Valerie Preston or what went on in her ritual room.
CHAPTER TWO
After a short lunch, keeping the conversation strictly focused on the case, Josh and Maggie returned to District 13, set up a murder board, and called Lorna Rafferty, the victim’s married daughter. Since she was flying into New Orleans late that evening, they deferred the bulk of their questions to a face-to-face interview, beyond confirming she had no immediate theories regarding her mother’s death. Both detectives plunged into the normal paperwork until it was time to meet the ME at the morgue.
Always on the solemn, occasionally grumpy side, Doc Merriweather had grown distant and morose in the months since he’d lost his wife after thirty-six years of marriage. It hadn’t affected his work, except he was even touchier than usual.
They found him in his blue scrubs, bent over the autopsy table. When the door clicked closed behind them, he straightened with a scowl. “Didn’t I tell you to come at six?” He looked pointedly at the clock on the wall. It read 5:17. “You can’t rush these things.
”
Maggie lifted a shoulder. Since he was closing the body on the table with a long, curved needle and twine, indicating he was almost finished, she ignored his complaint. “Just tell us what you know so far. Do you have a cause of death?”
“Tentative,” he said as if begrudging any information until he was ready. “The lab will have to confirm it.”
“Understood. So what is it?” Josh asked patiently.
“Venom poisoning, providing the test results are positive. It wasn’t natural causes. She was relatively healthy for a woman her age.”
“What about other injuries?” Maggie prompted.
“Nothing except these arm bruises.” He showed them what appeared to be finger marks above her right elbow. “Whatever killed her was ingested or injected. And before you ask again, I won’t know if she was sedated until we get toxicology results, but these grab marks indicate she was restrained. Now go harass the lab. I can’t tell you anything else until we have their tests.”
“Are you calling it a homicide or not?” Maggie persisted.
Merriweather’s black look deepened. “I’m calling it a suspicious death. That’s the best I can do right now.” He waved the hand holding the needle, turned away, then swung his head back. “I heard the daughter is arriving tomorrow. Send her to me when you’re done. I have questions of my own.” He turned his back this time and bent over the body, dismissing them. They took the hint.
When Josh pulled up in front of Maggie’s apartment building, she grabbed the door handle, relieved he hadn’t suggested going to his place. Today had been awkward and probably would remain that way until they worked out a new routine—one that didn’t include being in each other’s pocket twenty-four hours a day.
“Eight forty-five?” he said as she got out.
Maggie paused in mid-step. She’d forgotten the return trip to the crime scene tonight. “Sure. We should get it done.”
“Would you rather not go?”
She bent down to the window and met his eyes. “It’s OK, Josh. Really. Don’t worry. It has to happen. I may not consider this ghost business a gift, but I’d be foolish not to use it. I’ll be fine. You’ll be there to keep me grounded.”