M Sellars - The End Of Desire

“Not much,” Martin began, gesturing toward the covered corpse. “We’re pretty sure the victim is Lewis, but we don’t have a positive ID just yet and probably won’t until the M.E. gets done.”

“That bad?” Ben asked.

“Not much of his face left,” he offered. “Not to mention the missing part you already know about. Rest of ‘im isn’t much better. If you think what you can see is bad… Well, trust me, you don’t really want to look under the bag. I don’t think she stopped working him over for a while, even after he was dead.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Ben grunted. “They gonna transport the body soon?”

Martin nodded. “Yeah. The restraints he’s wearing are attached with padlocks, so they went to get some bolt cutters. Until they get those off ‘im, he won’t fit in the bag.”

“Lovely,” Ben replied. “So, what about the rest of the apartment? Anything helpful?”

“Well, not really.” Martin pointed toward the floor, indicating several points in succession. “As you can see, we have a fairly clear trail to follow. It pretty much gives us an idea everywhere the killer went inside the apartment. Residue in the tub indicates she might have showered or bathed after she killed him. Hell, it looks like she might have even had herself a late night snack.”

“Why do ya’ think that?” my friend asked.

“There was a gallon jug of milk sitting on the back of the toilet. What little was left of it anyway.”

“She didn’t drink it,” I offered. “She added it to her bath water.”

“What makes you say that?” Martin asked, looking over at me.

“Voodoo. Given her religious leanings, bastardized as they are, it’s something she would do for purification,” I explained.

Ben grunted, “Ain’t nothin’ pure about this bitch except that she’s evil.”

“True, but she would have wanted to cleanse herself after this murder.”

“I don’t remember there being anything like that at any of the other crime scenes,” Martin added. “Why this one?”

“There was no need in those cases,” I said. “This is different. She didn’t kill him for the sexual high like she has with her past victims. She was exacting vengeance, and the ritual bath would be her way of ridding herself of any leftover emotions.”

He nodded. “Okay. So, what was she getting revenge for?”

“I’m not sure.”

“She sent his tongue to your wife, or at least we think it’s his. Do you think it has something to do with her?”

“Possibly.”

“Why his tongue, though?”

“That’s hard to say. My best guess would be that since the tongue is associated with speech, the obvious answer is retribution for something he said or she feared he was going to say.”

“Okay, but why send it to your wife?”

I shrugged. “To frighten her maybe. Again, I’m not really sure. I’m just telling you what I’m seeing and feeling.”

“So this is coming from one of your gut instincts?” he asked.

“Some of it. The rest is pretty much just a hypothetical application of what I’ve studied about Voodoo and hoodoo.”

“Okay, well since we’re on that particular subject, Storm said the real reason you came here is to have a look at what we found in there,” Martin said, as he nodded toward the half wall that divided the main room of the apartment.

We followed him as he stepped around the tented evidence markers that were lined across the floor and headed in the direction of the small kitchen. It was no big surprise that a fading trail of bloody shoe prints marked the path we followed.

Detective Martin guided us through the doorway then pointed toward the counter near the sink. “Don’t touch anything,” he instructed. “The techs haven’t gotten to this yet.”

“No problem,” I replied, an absent tone in my voice as I scanned the area where he indicated.

Whole cloves were scattered across the floor where they had fallen from a large pile on the countertop. Next to the pile itself was a plastic container lying on its side, the dried flower buds spilling from the open mouth in a dark brown spread. The sharp aroma of the spice was even thicker here in the small room.

I edged around the mess on the floor and leaned forward to peer closely at the other remnants of magick occupying the space near the sink. A slag of red wax with a small piece of blackened wick sat to one side. Near it was a pattern of drips, which at first glance also appeared to be wax but was black and had a much glossier sheen. Upon closer inspection, I could tell they had come from a very different type of candle besides simply the color. Next to these sat a bowl, which contained a rusted red substance that had the distinctive look of slowly coagulating blood. Drops of the dried liquid formed a trail across the surface of the counter. I followed it with my eyes until it ended at a roughly circular spot that was devoid of the scattered cloves.

“Have the evidence technicians removed anything in here?” I asked.

“No,” Martin replied. “Like I said, they haven’t made it this far except to set markers and take a few pictures.”

“Something is missing,” I muttered.

“What did you say?” Ben asked.

“Something is missing,” I said louder, as I pointed to the clear spot. “Whatever she did, it involved a bottle or a jar maybe. See this round spot here that doesn’t have any cloves on it?”

“Yeah,” he grunted. “So what’d she do?”

“I can’t tell.”

“Whaddaya mean ya’ can’t tell?”

“I mean I can’t tell,” I repeated. “I’ve never seen this exact type of magickal working before. The basic components of a lust spell are here with the red candle and the cloves. But, by the same token, you also have blood, which I’m betting once belonged to Lewis. And, see these black droplets here? That’s sealing wax.”

“You mean like the stuff they put on the back of fancy envelopes?” Martin asked.

“Exactly. Whatever she did, she sealed it in a bottle or jar.”

“So it’s some kind of Voodoo?” Martin asked.

“Hoodoo, maybe. Even more likely, it’s some manner of old folk magick,” I told him.

“Okay, well I hate to be a skeptic, Rowan, but what bearing does it really have on this investigation?”

“For the police, probably nothing more than evidence that she was here.”

“So it’s nothing,” he replied.

“No, it’s something. I just don’t know what because it doesn’t make sense.”

“Which part?” Ben asked.

“The outward appearance of the spell in general. I don’t get why she would be doing some kind of convoluted sex magick because she killed him out of anger, not for the thrill.”

“Do you think maybe you could be wrong about that part?” Martin asked.

“I could be wrong about all kinds of things,” I replied. “But, I can guarantee you that I don’t feel any sexual energy emanating from this apartment, and that has always been the predominant psychic feature of all the others.”

“Okay, so then what do you think the bottle or jar was for?”

“Like I said, to contain whatever magick she performed, so that in itself creates another mystery. Sealing a magickal working into a bottle isn’t unusual, but it can be done for just about any type of spell, so it really doesn’t give us any clue as to exactly what she did.”

“But, if I’m followin’ ya’, you’re sayin’ maybe she made ‘erself some lust in a bottle,” Ben interjected.

“On the surface that’s what it looks like, but we’re talking about blood magick here, so I’m seriously out of my element. Even so, since the container isn’t here, I’d be willing to bet she either has it with her or she buried it somewhere.”