“It appears that we are still waiting on some of the tox screen results,” she told us. “But cause of death was due to an acute trauma to the neck resulting in massive blood loss. Judging from her histamine levels, the trauma to the chest…” She looked up over her glasses at me then to Ben.
“It’s okay,” he told her. “He’s consulting on the case.”
“…Then,” she continued, “the trauma to the chest and excision of the dermis occurred antemortem.”
“In English, doc,” Ben said.
“She was skinned alive, Detective.”
Jotting down quick notes, Ben continued, “Any idea what the killer mighta used ta’ accomplish that?”
“Based on the size and shape of the wounds…” She looked back at the file and flipped over some more pages. “A short, beveled blade of some sort, but that’s just a guess.”
“One last question,” he asked. “And it might seem a bit odd. Did ya’ find any marks on her arms? Like a puncture wound?”
“Now that you mention it, yes we did,” Dr. Sanders answered. “There was a puncture wound on her left arm, consistent with an injection. I assumed it was from a dose of insulin since she was a diabetic.”
“We’ve got reason ta’ believe she might have been drugged. Possibly with an injection,” Ben told her after glancing quickly at me.
“We took a tissue sample,” she submitted. “It’s being screened with all the rest.”
“Dr. Sanders?” the intercom on her desk blared.
“Yes, Cecilia?” she answered.
“Sorry to bother you,” the disembodied voice continued issuing from the speaker. “But there is an officer here in the lobby to see Detective Storm.”
“Thank you,” Dr. Sanders said to the young woman at the other end then turned back to us. “Is there anything else I can do for you gentlemen?”
“I think that’s it for now,” Ben told her, standing and stowing his small notebook in a shirt pocket. “I’d appreciate hearin’ from ya’ as soon as the tox results are in.” He handed her his card.
“No problem,” she replied, clipping the card to the front of the file folder and then turning to me. “And you, sir… I recommend you go home and get some rest.”
“You’ll get no argument from me,” I answered and shook her hand. “Thanks for the quick treatment.”
“You’re very welcome,” she smiled. “It’s nice to see one of my patients leave under his own power for a change.”
Once outside the office, I turned to Ben as we headed down the intersecting maze of corridors toward the reception area. “So what do you think?”
“I think if that puncture wound turns up somethin’ besides insulin that you’re one spooky S.O.B.” was all he said.
We were met in the lobby by a uniformed patrol officer and followed him outside to his vehicle. Ben sent him across the street for a cup of coffee, and we climbed into the back of the squad car on either side of R.J., leaving the doors partially open to avoid being locked in. His hands were cuffed behind him, and he appeared even more disheveled than earlier. He shot Ben a frightened look as we climbed in and then glanced at me as if asking for help. It was obvious that he had never been through an ordeal such as this.
“Would ya’ mind tellin’ me,” Ben started, “just exactly why I shouldn’t throw the book at ya’?”
“For what?” R.J. squeaked, trying unsuccessfully to appear tough.
“For pickin’ your nose in public,” Ben shot back sarcastically. “It doesn’t really matter! Let’s look at the facts. One. I’m tryin’ to conduct a homicide investigation. Two. You show up at the scene and clock my consultant in the face with a table lamp. Three. You flee the scene screamin’ that you’re gonna kill some individual by the name of Devon. Killin’ someone is a felony, ya’know.” He paused for effect. “Now put yourself in my place. What am I supposed to think?”
R.J. hung his head and squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. I could feel his anguish, his fear…his sadness. Quite a bit had been thrust upon him within the last few hours, and I was sure that he was rapidly approaching critical mass. I only hoped that I would be able to defuse it without getting in the way of Ben’s investigation.
“He wasn’t even home,” R.J. finally muttered.
“You mean Devon?” I queried.
“Yeah, Devon,” he answered, nodding his head. “His neighbor said he hasn’t been home for a couple of days.”
“Who is this Devon character?” Ben asked, once again flipping open the cover of his ever-present notepad.
“He used to be a member of our coven,” R.J. said, glancing quickly at Ben, then back at me, as if only I would understand. “Up until a few weeks ago.”
“He didn’t leave on very good terms I take it,” I coached.
“We banished him. He had been straying from the path for a while, and he started talking about ritual magick a lot. It was like he was trying to get us involved too.”
“Ritual magick isn’t necessarily a bad thing.”
“His idea of it was.”
“Okay, go on,” I told him, glancing up to look at Ben who met my gaze quietly and continued scribbling.
“We didn’t know how long he had actually been practicing Black Arts, but he really got a big head about it.” R.J. squirmed a little more against the biting handcuffs then continued. “He started bragging about an invocation rite and even showed us where he had done it.”
“What did he sacrifice?” I asked, knowing what the ritual implied.
“A dog,” R.J. spat, showing a flash of disgust. “He said he got it from the pound. It made all of us sick, but Ariel took it the worst. She felt like she had failed or something.”
“That’s a Pisces for you,” I told him. “I remember how she used to beat herself up over what she considered her own failings.”
“It wasn’t long after that when we held our Full Moon meeting. Devon was unanimously cast out of the coven.” He looked back to Ben as if a sudden rush of anger had displaced his fear of his own current situation. “He told us we would regret it.”
“So ya’think Devon is the one who did this to Ariel?” Ben interjected.
“It has to be,” he replied. “He was mad at all of us but especially with Ariel. If what Rowan said is true about her murder being connected to The Craft…”
“What’s his last name?” Ben cut him off.
“Johnston. Devon Johnston. He lives over in South City.”
Ben wrote down the information as R.J. relayed it to him and then looked up from his notebook. I caught his eye and motioned for him to step out of the car with me. He nodded and shoved his door open wider.
“We’ll be right back,” I told R.J. as I pushed against my own door. “I know this hurts man. I know it’s tearing you up inside… I’m feeling it too. Ground and center, you’ll feel better.”
He nodded, and even as I exited the car, he began to consciously slow his breathing just as he had been taught.
“What do you think?” I asked Ben over the roof of the vehicle, keeping my voice low.
He squinted and held up his notebook to shade his eyes. “I think there’s somethin’ he’s not tellin’ us,” he answered me in his own quiet tone. “He was kinda hesitant when I asked him about where he was Wednesday night… Not ta’ mention the fact that he has a key. What about you?”
“I picked up on that too, but honestly I think he’s just a scared kid. What about his story on that Devon Johnston guy? If he actually did sacrifice an animal then a human could be the next logical progression.”
“Yeah, I definitely wanna have a chat with Mister Johnston.”
“If you’re game,” I submitted after a moments pause, “I’d like to try something.”
“What’s that?”
“I’d like to talk to the rest of the coven members.” I continued, “Get an idea of their feelings about Devon. And,” I added, “THEIR stories about what happened at that Full Moon meeting.”