There was a very nice photo volume entitled High-gate Cemetery, Victorian Valhalla, photographed by John Gay and introduced by Felix Barker. I opened it up, and thumbed through the black and white photos of the famous cemetery in London. As I did, a slip of notepaper fell out. On it was written “Beware David R. Farrant, British Occult Society,” with “Egyptian Avenue amp; the Circle of Lebanon,” written at a slant, and the whole thing had a smiley face under it with the word “Isadora.” On the open page was a smaller version of the huge photo on the wall. I checked in the list of photos in the back of the book, and discovered that the Circle of Lebanon was a wheel of crypts in Highgate Cemetery in London. Strange. I copied the note onto my log sheet, along with the name of the book, and Isadora. Just for future reference.
Beside the cemetery book was one entitled The London Nobody Knows by Geoffrey Fletcher. Next to it was London Under London, A Subterranean Guide by Trench and Hillman. Two books I thought I'd like to read.
The Oxford Dictionary of the English Language dominated a shelf all by itself. I'd heard of it, but never actually seen one. It was the really cool edition, the one that came with the magnifying glass. I thought it looked out of place in such a modern room, and should have been in the library downstairs, with the mahogany table and the five-foot wainscoting.
The last shelf contained a series of almanacs, woodworking guides, a carpenter's handbook, and The Joy of Sex. I smiled to myself, because their shelf order made me think of splinters in unusual places.
There was nothing behind the books or behind the shelf. I went back toward the center of the room, and cleared my throat. Hester turned her head toward me. “I know what that's a photo of,” I said, pointing to the wall.
“Really?”
“Highgate Cemetery, London. It's crypts. In a circle, pretty old.”
“Ah.” Not as much reaction as I'd hoped.
“Check this,” she said. She drew my attention to the built-in wardrobe closet. Lots of stuff, much of it women's clothes. Some Victorian-looking stuff, brocaded and velvety, in deep reds, blues, and greens, with lots of lace at the neck and cuff. Pretty. Some men's clothing, as well. Looked to be for somebody about six feet, slender build. Big-sleeved shirts, laced-at-the-v-neck kind of stuff. Mostly white and off white. Black trousers, and one formal set of tails. Really nice. With them on the hangers were blue jeans, sweaters, sweatshirts, and sweatpants.
On the floor of the wardrobe were several kinds of footwear, including Wellington boots, laced Victorian women's high-topped shoes, and men's and women's tennis shoes.
On a series of little pegs on the inside of the door were hanging several pairs of black velvet restraints, black velvet blindfolds, and a brown leather switch with a tasseled end.
“Little something for everybody,” said Hester.
“Not quite,” I said. “No cookies.”
Between both teams we eventually found only three groups of items of particular interest, which were photographed in place, and then taken as evidence.
The first interesting little group was discovered by Hester, in the wastebasket in the kitchen area. A fairly large pile of stripped casings from a variety of rechargeable lithium batteries, the kind that are used in cameras, video cameras, flashlights, that sort of thing. The metallic cases were split, and folded back. A bunch of packaging material, that had obviously contained the shrink-wrapped batteries. Also in the white garbage sack inside the wastebasket were about ten empty packages of Sudafed cold medications. Nothing more.
“Look at this stuff,” said Hester. “I believe we have a tweaker.”
Both Grothler and Chris Barnes were on the battery casings like a pair of hounds.
“Yep,” said Grothler. “Took the lithium strips out. You bet.”
“Nazi formula,” said Barnes. “Watch for anything that looks like ether. Needs anhydrous ammonia, too, but it's probably stored remotely.”
What they were referring to was the formula for methamphetamine developed by the Germans in WWII. Speed. The allies developed their own methods, too, but needed central manufacture. Used as a way to keep soldiers awake and alert for extended periods, the so-called Nazi method involved ephedrine, lithium, and assorted other elements, cooked using ether and anhydrous ammonia. It was quick, effective, and made small amounts that were ready for use. The Germans apparently needed their troops to be rather more self-sufficient in the face of Allied interdiction of supply lines, I guess. The mixtures were both chemically dangerous and quite explosive. No particular problem for soldiers in the ffeld. In your house, though, you could easily blow yourself up, or burn your house down.
At any rate, you sure didn't have to be a soldier to use the stuff.
Hester, who'd continued to search that area while the discussion was taking place, held up a small glass bottle. A brownish crystalline substance was inside.
“Bingo.” She held it up to the light. “I'd say meth, all right. Crystal meth.”
The question quickly came down to just who the tweaker was. This elusive Peel dude? Jessica? Or maybe Edie, who had, after all, possessed a key to the third floor?
The second item discovered was a black steel filing box containing nine VHS videotapes. They weren't labeled, but were numbered one through nine, neatly, with numerical stickers in the left corner. A glance showed that tape number ten, identically marked, was in the camera.
The tapes and camera were seized, due to the high probability that we might just have tapes depicting either the real Daniel Peel, or the man who had fled down the stairs and sliced Borman's vest, or… well, both, if they were either the same man or two different people. Along with others, presumably Edie chief among them. Because Edie was likely to be on them, I truly was not looking forward to viewing those tapes.
The third item was what we used to call “pay dirt.” It was in the center, lower drawer under the huge bed. A knife, and an unusual one at that, wrapped in a cloth with dark, reddish stains that appeared to be blood.
The knife was really strange-looking. I suppose it was nearly sixteen inches overall, with a blade some eight to nine inches long. The handle was slightly curved downward, ebony, and with a silver metal butt cap that was shaped like an eagle's head. The beak on that bird looked very sharp. The blade itself was the really weird part. It was about three inches wide, tapering sharply to a very fine, slightly up-curved point. It was a double-bladed knife, so the blade looked as if it had had about a quarter-inch slot just ground out all along its length, making two blades, effectively. The inside edges of both halves had been sharpened, too. Four cutting surfaces for the price of two, so to speak. The thing that really struck me about the knife, though, was that slot between the blades. I vividly remembered the lump of muscle protruding from Edie's neck wound. With this knife, it would have been easy to snag muscle in the slot, and if there was any twisting, to effectively pull muscle and other tissues right back out of the wound.
“This could be it,” I said.
“Sure is big enough,” said Grothler.
“You mean the split in the blade?” said Hester, to me. “Snagging tissue?”
“Yes.” I nodded. “It looks like that'd do it.” It would explain the number of cuts inside the wound as well. Not so many thrusts, but twice the cutting surface.
“Could well be,” said Hester, reaching for an evidence bag.