The Witch's Key (26 page)

I had to laugh, but inside I knew she was right about
qualifying for a lawsuit. Still, I know a bluff when I hear
one.

“Pleeease,” I said, showing no concern for her
threat. “That’s not what you call circumstantial. That’s called
felonious intent to extort from a government municipality, and it’s
punishable by a real prison term of ten-to-twelve with time off in
five for good behavior, which, incidentally, I don’t see happening
since you don’t know how to behave yourself.”

You have to love Lilith for scoffing in all the right
places. Nonetheless, she let me finish and reminded me when I was
done that I still did not have a case for the DA. “Blow all the
steam you want,” she said. “In the end, it’s still only
circumstantial, and juries don’t convict on circumstance.”

“
They do if the circumstantial evidence is
supported by an eye witness.”

“Oh?” She eased back, folding her arms to her chest.
“This should be good.”

“It is,” said Carlos. “We have a witness who saw you
with Raymond Kosinski moments before he jumped from a trestle.”

She soured her face at that. “Who?”

“Leonard Kingsley. He’s a brakeman on a CSX Portland
to Providence.”

“No, I mean, who is Raymond Kosinski?”

I chimed in. “He’s the young man that Kingsley saw
with you just moments before he jumped to his death.”

“He said it was me?”

“He did. Dominic showed him the photograph he took of
you a couple of weeks ago and he had no problem identifying you as
that woman.”

Lilith’s expression grew predictably neutral.
“Really? Well, I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t know either of those
men. It doesn’t matter anyway. What you have here is a case of
mistaken identity.”

“I don’t know about that. He seemed certain.”

“I’m sure he did, but your recipe is still
incomplete. You don’t have a motive. You’ll need that, won’t you?
In any trial, you need motive, means and opportunity.
Remember?”

I sat down again and copied her body language,
including the arm folding and practiced smug look. I did not want
her to see that I knew she was right. The evidence was weak at
best, and with what we had so far, the DA would never let it get to
a jury. But I have learned not to give an inch in situations like
this, and to treat every nuance of evidence like the proverbial
nail in the coffin. Sometimes it works. Other times it does not.
The determining factor is always in the character of the suspect.
With Lilith, I got the feeling that everything we had collected
against her was slipping away like sand.

“The motive is not important,” I insisted. “In serial
cases, it’s usually nothing more than someone getting his kicks out
of watching people die. As far as opportunity, these photos prove
you had plenty of that.”

Even as I spoke, her head shook in dismissal of my
theory. She knew me well enough not to worry about academic
foreplay, and to address only the tangible incriminating evidence
against her, of which, it turned out, we really had none.

“What about means?” she said, saving her best shot
for last. “You have a witness who claims to have seen me, and
others who saw men step out in front of moving trains on their own
freewill. Are you going to convince the DA that I, with my
hundred-and-eight pound body, somehow forced those men, some twice
my size, to kill themselves?”

I could not let it pass. “One hundred and eight,
Lilith?”

She smiled back, teasingly. “All right, one-twelve.”
I raised a brow at that, but she squelched it quickly. “And we’ll
leave it at that.”

I reached into my pocket and pulled out the paper I
found in the back seat of her car. “Here’s your means,” I said,
handing it to her. “Do you recognize this?”

“Yes.” she laughed. “This is a will-kill spell.”

“I know what it is.”

At that point, I must admit that even I had a
difficult time keeping a straight face. She looked the page over
thoroughly before giving it back. “You’re going to tell the DA that
I cast a spell on those men?”

“Didn’t you? I mean, I know you had to do something
to get them to walk out in front of a moving train like that.”

I watched her face grow from disbelief to scorn and
then to something resembling hurt. At that moment I knew the
interview was about over. She leaned forward in her chair,
hesitated a moment, and then stood, looking tired and beat. “You
know what, Tony?” The scornful tone in her voice caught my
attention now like never before. Her eyes seemed to look both at me
and through me at the same time. “I was having fun here for
awhile,” she said, and I definitely heard a break in her voice.
“But now you’ve ruined it.”

I shook my head. “What do you mean?”

“This,” she swept her hand over the table. “I thought
you were putting on this show for Carlos and Spinelli. I never
thought you were really buying into any of it. Now I see….” She
stopped to catch her breath. “Now I see you in another light. You
are no different after all. Are you?”

“Lilith, I only presented you with the evidence so
you could explain your side.”

“My side?” She pointed her finger at me, and for just
a moment, I swear I thought it was loaded. “I’ll tell you my side.
I didn’t kill anyone, and that’s all you need to know.”

She started for the door, and at the risk of serious
witch-baked repercussions, I grabbed her by the arm to stop her.
“Lilith, wait!” She could have pulled away easily, but did not.
“I’m sorry. I truly am, but we are desperate. We need answers.
Everything we see here connects you to this case in some way or
another. You can’t tell me it’s all coincidence.”

“Coincidence? Have I not told you before that
coincidence—”

“Yes, I know, it’s just another way of explaining the
unexplainable.”

“That’s right.”

“But it’s not always the case. Look. What about
this?” I reached across the table and grabbed the framed picture
sitting upside down on top of the others. “Explain this.”

She took the picture and turned it over slowly, as if
knowing what she might find on the other side. I watched her face
turn cold and pale as she gazed at the black and white photo like a
ghost from her past. Her lips parted in frozen awe, her eyes wide
and unblinking like polished spoons. She ran her fingers over the
image lightly, connecting almost spiritually to the man and woman
staring back. I leaned in closer and touched her hand gently, as I
did, I heard her whisper the name, “Gypsy.”

“What’s that?” I said.

She did not answer. She just gazed blankly at the
photo, immersed, as if pulled through time to another place so long
ago. Carlos, perhaps thinking he was helping, came up from behind
and tapped me on the shoulder. “That’s Gypsy, Tony. I heard her.
She said Gypsy.”

“Thank you, Carlos.” I shooed him away with a squint
and a glare. Lilith continued addressing the picture with bonded
emotion. I had seldom seen her in such a vulnerable state, and
imagined that I might get her to talk to me if I approached her
delicately. I ran my fingers along her forearm and whispered into
her ear. “It’s okay. You can tell me. Is that you, Lilith? Are you
the woman in the picture?”

She shook her head no.

“It’s your twin, isn’t it? Is Gypsy’s your twin?”

She peeled her eyes away from the photo and almost
immediately, that surly expression of hers returned. I backed away
instinctively, not caring anymore for delicacy. “Gypsy is not my
twin,” she said, and she pressed the picture to my chest. “She’s my
mother.”

I watched in utter silence
as she turned and walked away. I looked at Carlos and Spinelli,
their faces washed in astonishment. Even if I could have found my
voice, I could not have put it better than Carlos, when he said
simply, “Man, I didn’t see that coming.”

Carlos, Spinelli and I walked in silence from the
cafeteria back to Carlos’ workstation, where we stood for the
longest time, looking at one another, shaking our heads and
wondering where the hell the latest revelation in the case left us.
When it became obvious that I would have to speak first or none of
us would be going home anytime soon, I broke the ice with a modest
proposal.

“Tell me how I could have avoided the last half
hour,” I said, “and I’ll pay for your dinners tonight.”

“You couldn’t,” said Spinelli. “You did everything by
the book. You laid your cards down on the table and you forced
Lilith to play her hand.”

Carlos agreed. “Not only that, but you extracted a
key bit of information from her that might blow this case wide open
now.”

“You mean about Gypsy being Lilith’s mother?”

“Yes.”

“How’s that going to help us blow this case wide
open?”

He squirmed a little uncomfortably. “Well…I don’t
know exactly, but you’re good with that sort of thing.”

Spinelli said. “At least you know that Lilith isn’t
our killer. That’s something.”

“And she’s not your mother,” Carlos added. “That’s
got to be a relief.”

“No,” I said. “She’s not my mother, but if Gypsy is
Lilith’s mother, that makes Lilith—”

“Your sister!” Spinelli shouted. “My God! You and
Lilith are brother and sister! How weird is that?”

I dropped my head and closed my eyes, and in that
instant felt that my reason for living had become just an
incidental footnote to the bigger mystery surrounding us. I suppose
I should have been happy. I never had a sibling growing up and I
never really knew my mother or father. Now that I had all three, I
could not reconcile with the consequences. I lifted my head and saw
Spinelli, his half smile telling me that he still did not feel my
pain. Carlos, however, recognized my anguish and offered real
solace by way of empathetic intervention. He came to me, wrapped
his arm around my shoulder and pulled me to his side.

“It’s a tough break, Tony, but you know we’re here
for you.”

I nodded thoroughly. “I know.”

“If it’s any consolation, you can take comfort in
knowing that you haven’t lost her. Knowing she’s your sister will
only make things less complicated, not more. Now you don’t ever
have to worry about a messy breakup.”

I smiled, giving him an ‘A’ for effort. “That’s
supposed to make me feel better?”

“It doesn’t?”

“I don’t know. I guess it does. Thanks. You’re a good
friend, Carlos.” I pulled Spinelli into our little huddle. “You,
too, Dominic.” I slapped them both on the back and then pushed them
away. “Now, how `bout we figure out what we’re going to do
next?”

The two retreated to neutral corners and took their
seats. I could tell that Carlos still wanted to talk about the
whole brother and sister thing, but Spinelli seemed less focused on
that and more on the case. And maybe that was good. If I dwelled
too much on my feelings for Lilith, I might have made myself sick.
As it stood, I imagined I would probably need a month of
deprogramming to flush the naughty images I formed of her out of my
mind, assuming that was even possible. I made it a point to avoid
eye contact with Carlos while giving Spinelli a silent nod to say
what he was thinking.

“I don’t see how anything’s changed,” he said, though
I believe Carlos and I would have respectfully disagreed. “I mean,
as far as the evidence trail is concerned.”

“How do you figure?”

“Who is Gypsy,” he said, “other than a name from the
distant past?”

He had our attention now. “Go on.”

“I’m not saying that she wasn’t a real person, but if
not for a couple of drunken bums, we would have never heard of her.
Look at the evidence. It still points to Lilith. The witch’s keys
are hers. The Incubus ring is hers. We have photos of her sneaking
onto railroad property at night wearing dark clothing. There is at
least one witness who identified her from a photo as being the last
person to see one of the vics. We have your hair, Detective, in a
locket that—”

“All right!” I said, holding my hand to his face to
shut him up. “I get it. We have nothing that suggests the existence
of another suspect named Gypsy.”

“Exactly. It would not be a stretch to say that Gypsy
is just a fabrication to throw us off track.”

“But not Lilith’s fabrication. You said so yourself
that a couple of drunken bums started that rumor.”

“Ah, because that’s what Lilith wanted them to
believe. By leaving chalked symbols relating to Gypsy at the site
of each murder, she knew that word would circulate like fire around
the jungle that the ghost of Gypsy was killing again.”

“Why?” asked Carlos. “Why kill transients? That
doesn’t seem like Lilith’s thing.”

“He’s right,” I said. “Lilith didn’t do it.” Spinelli
cleared his throat to challenge that assertion, but then seemed to
change his mind for no reason. I knew what he was thinking, though,
and I wanted him to say it. I have always considered constructive
criticism and open dialogue the cornerstone of any partnership. I
felt that Spinelli was a good cop with an inherent aptitude for
understanding human nature. For him to subordinate his opinions for
fear of conflicting with mine could only squelch his greater
instinct for creative reasoning. I reached over and tapped him on
the knee. “Dominic,” I said, “go on. Tell me what you’re
thinking.”

He shook his head. “Forget it.”

“No, please. This is an open forum.”

He shrugged, but I knew it was coming. “I think
you’re in denial,” he said. “I hate to bring this up, but you know
about Lilith’s involvement in the Lieberman and Kayo murders.”

“That’s never been proven.”

“Then you deny it?”

“Her involvement? No. I wouldn’t say that.”

“All right, then why do you find it so hard to
believe that she’s culpable in these homicides?”