The Witching Hours, page 6
He nodded grimly. “I know of one that was … horrific. In Germany, 1589, Peter Stumpp. He was tied to the large wheel of a cart, his skin was removed with hot pinchers, and his head was cut off before his body was burned on a pyre and then the head was put on a wooden pole designed to look like the body of a wolf—you know, warning to other werewolves. Of course, after some pretty extreme torture, he admitted to being a werewolf, eating sheep, goats, and, naturally, women and children. Was he a killer? Who knows—but his mistress and daughter were killed alongside him, a bit more mercifully strangled before they were burned on the pyre.”
Skye winced. “I knew, of course, about the witchcraft trials in Europe—and Asia, and all over the world just about. It’s estimated that somewhere between sixty thousand and maybe even two hundred thousand people were persecuted and executed. When you’re looking back at something like the Peter Stumpp situation, maybe he was a criminal, if not a werewolf, or maybe his neighbors just wanted revenge for some wrong or slight.”
“The world never really changes,” Zach said. “People will always believe what they want to believe. Indoctrinated and brainwashed sometimes, perhaps by a community in which they live or grow up, maybe forced into belief sometimes, but …” Zach paused, shrugging. “But these days? Someone believing in a green witch with a black pointy hat—I’m not seeing it. The gun this person is wielding is doing all the talking.”
“But what then?” Skye wondered. “What is the end game? There haven’t been any ransom calls. And thankfully, I mean, the bodies of the kidnapped women and children have not been found, which—very hopefully—means the missing women and children are still alive. So, are we going on the concept they are alive? Then where are they being kept and why?”
“That’s why a task force is going to be so important. And every officer out there knowing that they’re looking for a green person in a witch costume … everything that you saw today is really going to help, Skye!”
She smiled at that, leaning back again.
“I have a feeling,” she said.
“A paranormal feeling?” he asked lightly.
That drew a smile. “No, just that gut law enforcement feeling thing,” she told him. “Tomorrow … tomorrow we’re going to find something—and you’re going to be the most helpful!”
He smiled. And as they did so, he saw the little house that had been rented for them just down the street. “Ah, parking!” he murmured. “Magic! There’s a space almost right in front of the place.”
They headed on in. Zach had arrived first that morning; he’d set his computer up on the dining-room table.
He saw she had done the same thing when she’d arrived.
When Jackson Crow sent agents out, it appeared that he did so carefully. The house was small; it offered just two bedrooms upstairs, the kitchen, dining room, and parlor downstairs.
Of course, the dining room as a work area made sense—there was really nothing else.
“Scotland,” Skye said suddenly.
He turned and arched a brow to her. “Scotland?”
“James VI of Scotland, who also became James I of England,” Skye murmured.
“I think he’s been dead awhile,” Zach noted.
“Right. But he was one of those people—one with great power—who became obsessed with the idea that witches and witchcraft were real and evil. He wrote a dissertation called Daemonologie, which was published in 1597—ironically, several years before the King James version of the Bible. The man had been married by proxy to Anne of Denmark, and a fierce storm almost killed her when she was on her way to Scotland via ship. James went to Norway—part of the Danish empire at the time—to retrieve her himself. They spent a bit of time in Copenhagen and then Oslo and boarded a ship to head back to Scotland.
“Once again, a storm swept up. James had always been paranoid about people wanting to kill him—possibly since his mother, Mary, Queen of Scots, had been beheaded. Who knows? But people—mainly women—were accused of causing the storms in the Danish empire. And, of course, it’s always amazing what people will admit to under torture. Someone confessed, others confessed … and it all started up all over again in Scotland. Not that witch trials hadn’t existed there before, but beneath James’s kingship … it all went a little crazy, and thousands were burned at the stake.”
“We’ve been aware that history is—” Zach began.
“Tragic!” Skye finished, shaking her head. She looked at him. “It makes it all the more perplexing! What the heck is going on? Who would dress up as a wicked witch in Salem to commit a murder and kidnap women and children?”
Zach grimly studied her. “The who is what we must find out. And the why … well, that’s probably going to be really crazy, but—”
“But! Again! Maybe finding out the why will give us the who,” Skye cut in.
“And I have the strangest feeling …”
“Feeling?” she queried.
“Just a feeling,” he said, grinning. “A feeling that it’s just not going to be what we’re expecting at all. Anyway, the little zebra and I are going to bed. Maybe holding it in the darkness, I’ll get a few visions of my own.”
CHAPTER 4
It had felt later than it was the night before.
But it had been one hell of a long day. An odd one, being picked up in the airport to fly to Boston on the Krewe’s dedicated private jet—nice, of course, as far as flying went, but a little nerve-wracking, starting what Jackson was seeing as a new unit and not having any idea of how everything would go.
No different. It was still a human being doing horrible things to others and needing to be apprehended. And scary—but exciting, too. Working with someone with whom she could speak honestly!
And …
He wasn’t bad! Zach Erickson was proving to be an excellent partner. Of course, they had only been partnered for a day, but it had been one long day. Easy enough when they’d arrived at their little rental; he’d taken the toy zebra and gone to bed, and she’d headed in.
She awoke at six and immediately checked her messages.
No new developments had occurred during the night. Patricia Yale, Jeremy Bolton, and Jane and Sophie Howell remained among the missing. Traffic cams had been studied anew by sharp eyes back at Krewe headquarters. Anything near the Bolton house or the costume house had been studied, and while there had been nothing that stood out, the results were now readily available on their computers. Since they were on the site, they might notice something that others—no matter how good—might not.
Even though it was early in the morning, Skye dressed and explored the kitchen; she was sure it had been stocked for their usage.
And it had been.
First, she discovered that when she’d departed to her bedroom last night, Zach had apparently come back out and prepared the coffeemaker. All she had to do was push the button.
She found eggs, bread for toast, cheese, vegetables, all kinds of things for an omelet.
She wondered about her partner. They parted for their separate rooms almost immediately upon their arrival. But it would only be polite if she was making an omelet for herself, to make one for him, too, and, well …
She could just hope he didn’t hate eggs. There were so many things that partners learned about one another, but it took time.
If she was making omelets, yes, of course, she’d make one for him, too.
Why not? She’d been taught as a child not to waste, but she’d seen a few stray cats roaming the area. Surely, if Zach didn’t want an omelet, a cat would be thrilled to have one!
Ah, but did he have any allergies?
Whatever!
She decided to add cheese, tomatoes, bell peppers, and a few onion bits to her mix. As she was working, he made an appearance, dressed and ready to go for the day, she assumed. Except he wasn’t wearing a pristine business suit, but rather appeared to be dressed for hiking.
“Food!” he said appreciatively as he saw her working at the stove. “I know that brunch is when you mix breakfast and lunch, but yesterday we had to mix lunch and dinner. Not sure what you call that, and we had to leave before dessert.”
“Well, I hope you like omelets,” she said.
“I’m grateful that you concocted food for us both. Oh, and I promise, I can cook, too. I’m best with a grill, but not horrible when it comes to a few other things,” he assured her.
She smiled. “Hey, they even left us paper plates. I’m honestly not into being wasteful, but let’s go that route this morning so that we don’t spend too much time picking up! Oh, and thanks. Button pushed on the coffee—should be brewed!”
“It all works for me. I’ll get the plates—and how do you take your coffee?” he asked.
“Depends on when and where. In a pinch, black. When it’s easy enough, a little cream, milk, or white stuff.”
Zach opened the refrigerator and laughed. “You have a choice again—milk, cream, vanilla cream.”
“Vanilla cream.”
He poured cups of coffee, while she spooned out the omelets, and they were quickly seated, eating.
She was glad she’d gone pretty big on the omelet; he was hungry. But then, of course, he was a tall man with broad shoulders and, she assumed, made mainly of muscle.
“Delicious, and thank you, thank you so much,” he assured her.
She smiled, taking a sip of coffee and saying, “Nothing new overnight?”
“And that’s why I’m wearing jeans.”
She arched a brow to him.
He let out a sigh. “Okay, it’s possible that our wicked witch had a hideout somewhere in town, on the outskirts … or even in a neighboring town. The costume-slash-monster shop is geographically in the town of Swampscott. But there was something about the Bolton house.”
“You mean that the rear of the house joins up with the forest?”
He nodded.
She pondered his words. “The only thing is … well, okay. Let’s think about the area. There are incredible tours to go on here that are given by historians. Then people go to see places like the Rebecca Nurse Homestead, and, of course, the Witch House, the one building still standing that is directly associated with the trials, the old home of Judge Corwin, a man directly responsible for the first executions. But—”
“Don’t judge him too harshly,” Zach said sarcastically. “He was a product of his time.”
She nodded and said, “The point I’m making is that along with all the historical things you can do, people love the area for hiking! Salem Woods has dozens of trails for people of all levels of ability and—”
“You’re thinking that it would be difficult for someone to really disappear into a forest.”
“I am.”
He was thoughtful for a minute. “Difficult, maybe. But not impossible—again, especially, for someone from this area—someone who knows the landscape and surrounding areas very well.”
“So, do you want to go running around in the forest?” she asked. “Do you know these forests?” She smiled. “Of course, I read the company info on you. You were born in Harpers Ferry, West Virginia, moved to Boston, brilliant kid, but you chose the military, and then you got a degree in criminology from the University of Miami—”
He laughed. “Hey, the military paid for the degree!”
“Well, since you survived it all, good planning. I just didn’t see anything in your general bio that suggests that you’re great at running around in forests.”
“You didn’t notice that Harpers Ferry kind of borders the Blue Ridge Mountains?” he asked lightly.
She arched a brow. “Harpers Ferry. Another place where history, epic events, and certainly tragedies have taken place. You follow it around—or it follows you around. And the Blue Ridge, true! Lots of forests there! Places to trek. I’m sorry! I didn’t mean—”
He laughed, interrupting her. “To be honest, I didn’t trek the Blue Ridge all that often. Though, of course, I do appreciate the incredible natural beauty to be found there—and Massachusetts, too. But I did all my trekking in a slightly different way.” He paused, looking at her, then shrugged and told her. “I had a great professor at the university. He taught forensics techniques, and he was fascinated with the psychology of criminals, which wasn’t really part of his classroom agenda, just something he liked to ponder. He had worked for the Bureau for several years before retiring to teach, so he was able to rely on dozens of friends to come in and talk to us. Professor Adams was great! He never thought he knew everything and always invited in whoever he could when he believed that person to be way more experienced than himself in aspects of law enforcement. I ‘trekked’ through school. Adams taught us all so much.”
“And in his teaching … did he give you something you can use here?” Skye asked.
“Well, you can never be sure, until you do have the truth—the whole truth and nothing but the truth, if you ever do—but I have a few impressions because of him. Our boyfriend Fin is innocent. And Mr. Howell is right—his wife never would have left willingly without calling him. And someone threatened her daughter. That’s why she went with the witch-kidnapper.”
“Right,” Skye murmured.
“You didn’t ask if the zebra and I had a good night,” he told her. “I can be kind of useful, you know.”
She lowered her head, wincing at that. “I never suggested—”
“It’s dark,” he told her.
“Dark?”
“Wherever little Sophie is being held now, it’s dark. And she wasn’t afraid with her mother, but she is afraid now.”
“Do you know if there is something or someone specific frightening her?” Skye asked. “Well, other than being held by kidnappers.”
“That’s why we’re going hiking. I think she’s being held somewhere that’s very dark at night. I’m thinking she’s in the woods. We know that there are areas around here where the forests are dense—where rangers never tread. When I held the zebra and concentrated on it last night … I saw darkness. And I felt her fear. She wasn’t being harmed, and she is alive. That part is good—very, very good.” He hesitated. “At some point, I need to get back into the Bolton house. I want to take something that belonged to little Jeremy, put it with the zebra, and see what happens. Maybe we’ll see Fin again, too, before tonight and see if he has something that belongs to Patricia or go by and talk to her roommates.” He paused, frowning. “That’s something we need to do, anyway; find out if someone has been talking to them, if anyone threatened Patricia, or if there’s anything they might tell us at all that could help.”
“Dark, hm,” Sky said, wincing. “Look, I’m not doubting you in any way, but dark could be just about anywhere at night. I mean, people turn lights out.”
“Crickets.”
“What?”
He grinned. “She hears crickets chirping and other insects, I imagine. She hears the quiet chirp sound of something, anyway. And …” Zach paused again, looking reflective.
“What?”
He shrugged. “It seems that we more than ‘see’ here. It’s as if you get a sense of more, of the true darkness, of sounds, of scents … She is smelling trees and grass, and sure, there are trees and grass everywhere, but I sincerely doubt they’ve been abducted to be held on Salem Common,” he said acerbically.
“Haha,” Skye told him. “Okay, I agree on that. But there is so much forest around here, Zach. Where—”
“By the Bolton house,” he said. “Two birds with one stone, as they say. I can pick up something that belongs to little Jeremy, and we can see if we can find anything that suggests they may have just been taken through the woods.”
Skye nodded slowly. “I might even add to your theory,” she told him.
“Oh?”
“Well, local people, our people—in other words, a ton of people—have studied traffic cams, and they haven’t come up with anyone green running around. You can doff a hat easily enough, but you probably need some major work to get rid of the green on one’s flesh, unless it was a green mask, but I don’t think so. To get into the Bolton house without being seen, it might have been possible for someone to just slip from the woods into the house. Then again, what about the costume shop? There aren’t any easily accessible woods around that shop, so …”
“Sometimes you need to go with the flow. If they didn’t need to drive, maybe they didn’t. When it was necessary to drive—they drove?” Zach theorized in a question.
“Okay, well, we can get started. Paper in the trash and—”
“Where are the pans, cooking utensils?” he asked.
“I wash as I go—saves having to deal with a mess later,” she told him.
“Wow,” he said lightly. “You do have some amazingly commendable habits,” he told her.
She shrugged. “I’m ever so glad you think so!”
He laughed softly. “Hey, in our line of work … Ready?”
“Two seconds! I need boots—I didn’t know I was going to go trampling through the woods!” she told him.
He laughed. “Sorry!”
“Not a problem. I like the woods.”
“Better in the daylight,” he murmured. “I don’t know … I’m just desperately hoping that we can find something.”
“Right! On it.”
Skye hurried to her room. She decided to change her whole outfit, no businesslike pantsuit that day. She changed quickly into jeans, a knit top, and threw on a just-in-case lightweight jacket, and then slid her feet into boots. So dressed, she ran back downstairs to meet him.
“Wow!” he told her again. “Commendable time changing, and commendable outfit.”
“Wow, yourself!” she told him. “I’ll remember to put that on my next résumé. ‘Commendable.’”
He laughed, then winced and grimaced at her. “Much better than ‘apeshit crazy,’ don’t you think?”
She just groaned and headed out the door.
He followed her, laughing softly. “Hey!” he called, pausing to lock up with the code they’d been given. “‘Commendable’ isn’t so bad!”
