" Anathema," Karl said. "The pope says they're cursed by God, all of them."
"Yeah, and that's one of the reasons I took a hike," Lacey said. "Give some old man a tall hat, and all of a sudden he speaks for God? I don't think so."
"You may not be with the program any more, Lacey," I said, "but I'm betting the Dwyers were. From all indications, they were hard-core Irish, and, especially in this area, that means hard-core Catholic."
"You think they drove a stake through their own kid because some fucking priest told them to?"
"Possible, but it didn't have to happen that way. If they figured the Church would have wanted him dead, that might have been enough. It would be, for some people I grew up with. They probably told themselves they were saving his soul." I turned my head and looked at the night as it pressed against the car windows. "Who knows? Maybe they were."
We were approaching the on-ramp for 81-North when I whacked the steering wheel with one hand and said, "Damn!"
Karl was bent forward, fiddling with the radio. "What? What's wrong?"
"Just remembered something else the Staties ought to be doing: check the computer in the kid's room."
"For what – to see if he was downloading vamp porn?" I couldn't see Karl's smile in the dark, but I knew it was there.
You can find porn catering to every taste on the Internet – most of it legal, some not. Where there's a niche market, somebody will come up with product to fill it: gay, straight, bi, gimp, albino, human, nonhuman. It's all there someplace, and I guess vampire porn's been around the Internet as long as all the other kinds. I once had to check some of it out for a case I was working. I hope never to have to look at it again.
"No," I said, "I'd be more interested in finding out whether any Google searches had been done for those symbols we found carved on our first vic. If it was Mom or Dad, or both, who carved them in the kid, they had to find them first."
"Yeah, that could be useful," Karl said, "although there's no way to tell who was doing the search, if there is one. Hell, the kid could have done it."
"Not if it took place during daytime, he didn't. Anyway, it's kind of a reach for the kid to be researching symbols that later end up carved on his own corpse, isn't it? I'm pretty sure he didn't carve himself."
"You got a point there." Karl found a radio station he liked and sat back. "But what you did back there with Twardzik was pure fucking genius, Stan."
"Thanks. Too bad they don't give out Nobel Prizes for conniving."
All I'd done was suggest to Lacey that she tell the lieutenant that I was convinced James Dwyer was the latest victim of the serial vamp slayer, and in my opinion the investigation should focus on that aspect of the case and exclude all others.
Which guaranteed that Twardzik, while following the vamp slayer angle, would also spend plenty of man-hours treating the case like just another homicide. If there was any evidence of the parents' involvement, he'd find it. And then figure out a way to let me know about it, bless his little head. Both of them.
We were about a mile out from Scranton when Karl said, "Getting late."
I glanced at the dashboard clock. "Yeah, double shift is almost over. The chief won't pay for triple overtime, even if I had any energy left to do it. Which I don't."
"Yeah, I guess what-his-name, Jamieson Longworth's 'pad' will have to wait until tomorrow night." Karl scratched his chin. "Unless he has his pet wizard drop a boulder on us while we're asleep."
"If he was able to do that, he'd have done it by now."
"You hope."
"Yeah. I hope. But if you think about it, he probably hasn't-"
The police radio crackled into life. "Car 23, car 23, this is Dispatch. Do you copy? Over."
Whoever's riding shotgun handles the radio, so Karl reached out, snapped off WARM 590 AM, and picked up the mike.
"This is 23," he said. "Copy just fine. Over."
"That isn't Sergeant Markowski, is it? I'd know his voice. Over."
"No, this is Renfer, but Markowski can hear you. He's driving. What's up? Over."
"I've got a phone call just come in for Sergeant Markowski. The lady says it's urgent. Do you want me to patch it through to your vehicle? Over."
Turning my head a little, I could see Karl looking at me. "Ask if she's got a name," I said, "or knows what it's about."
"Did the caller ID herself?" Karl asked. "Over."
"Affirmative. Says her name is Joanne Gilbert."
"Doesn't ring a bell," I told Karl. "Have her leave a number, and I'll-"
The radio dispatcher spoke again. "Caller says she's Rachel Proctor's sister."
I checked the mirror, then put my foot on the brake and began easing us over to the shoulder of the road and a complete stop as I said to Karl, "Tell them to put her through."
"Hello? Hello?"
"This is Detective Sergeant Markowski speaking."
"Oh. Uh, hi. My name is Joanne Gilbert. Rachel Proctor, who I guess works with you, is my sister."
Her voice did resemble Rachel's. Joanne Gilbert sounded like someone who was trying very hard to stay calm.
"Gilbert would be your married name, then," I said.
"That's right. I live in Warwick, Rhode Island, but I've got a… message… for you from Rachel."
"Is she there with you now?" My fingers were suddenly tight around the microphone. "Because I really need to-"
"No, sir. I haven't seen Rachel in a couple of years. We were going to get together at a big family thing last Christmas, but then one of my kids got sick… you know how it is."
"Yeah, I guess I do. So, how did Rachel get in touch – email, phone call, what?"
Silence. I let it go on for a little bit, then said, "Mrs. Gilbert? You still there?"
"Yes, I'm here. It's just that this is a little… what happened was, Rachel got in touch by making me write the message down with my own hand."
This time the silence was on my end. Joanne Gilbert didn't let it last long. "Detective, if you work with Rachel, I guess you must know something about witchcraft."
"More than I ever wanted to," I muttered.
"Excuse me? What?"