Chapter 14

It was nothing Dashiell could put his finger on, and he knew from long experience not to try and pin it down. It was more like his subconscious was sending him a message that something was coming down the pike, and to keep his eye out. After chewing on it for awhile, his mind would spit out the answer. For now, he’d just have to let it marinate.

“Just reading your report here Doc. I see you found some fibers?”

He nodded. “Yeah, a couple of dark threads. The zookeeper was wearing lighter colors, so they were inconsistent. Probably came from the killer. But they seemed pretty generic. Still, you can never tell. There may be something in the weave or the dye. Those guys at the lab can do amazing things these days.”

“That’s true. I guess I’ll keep my fingers crossed.” He then crossed his fingers.

The Medical Examiner looked a little askance at him, but shrugged. “Is there anything else I can do for you today, Mr. Aldridge?”

Dashiell shook his head. “I can’t think of anything. If you end up identifying the object that was used to kill the zookeeper, give me a call?”

“Of course.”

Dashiell headed out of the autopsy room and signed out with the young man working the front desk, and he stepped out onto the streets of Southeast D.C. He reflected again upon the choice to place the Medical Examiner’s office here. It made for shorter trips for most of the bodies that the M.E. would have to deal with.

He headed up to the Metro and tried to decide on his next move.

He now knew that whatever the tiger had been intended for, it wasn’t any mere folk remedy. That would help narrow down his research. But at the same time, that was the problem. Almost all of the uses for tigers were traditional cures. In fact, nothing in his books at the office contained anything that would fit. In that case, his course seemed obvious.

He grabbed the Metro to Capital South and headed north, to the Library of Congress.

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Chapter 13

Dashiell was lost in thought and so he missed something Regina said.

“No nothing here. I can call around to some of the other local Coroners and see if they’ve had anything come through,” the Medical Examiner said.

“Hmmm?” Dashiell looked up.

“I was just asking if the M.E. had seen any other bodies come through with missing body parts,” Regina replied. “This looks like the work of a serial killer. Which means this probably isn’t his only kill. And if he’s taking trophies, that’ll link his kills.”

Dashiell nodded. “Makes sense. I never worked on serials, so I don’t know much about them, honestly. Good luck.”

“Thanks, Dash. I’m gonna call around to other precincts, from Baltimore to Richmond, and see if anyone else has seen anything like this. And to warn them to keep an eye out. We may have been the site of his first kill, but wherever we are in the order, we’re probably not the last. Unless I have something to say about it.” She got that hard look in her eye again. “I’ll call you later. I’ve gotta get on this.” She headed out the door, leaving Dashiell standing alone next to the zookeeper. Apparently, the M.E. had headed out to make those calls he mentioned.

Dashiell picked up the folder of notes the M.E. had left behind. He scanned over it quickly, skipping past all the details on stomache contents, weight of liver and such, to the notes about the cause of death. Nothing too detailed. Just a blunt object. No traces left in the wound, so it was probably a solid object. It was rounded, leaving an inwardly curving dent on the back of the skull. Apparently, death hadn’t been instantaneous.

Dashiell skipped ahead. He didn’t need the details of the poor man’s death. He turned the page and got to the section about trace evidence. Apparently a couple of dark fibers, inconsistent with the zookeeper’s clothing, had been found and sent to the lab. They appeared to be black or dark blue, made of a poly-cotton blend. Dashiell didn’t have much hope that they’d lead anywhere, but it was something.

Dashiell looked up as the door opened and the Medical Examiner walked back in.

“Is Detective Robins still here?” he asked.

“No, Doc. She took off to canvas surrounding precincts. What’s up? You find something?”

“Not really. Only corpse with missing digits from the last couple weeks was from that wreck out by Dulles. Body’s in the Fairfax Medical Examiner’s office.”

“What was missing?”

“Thumb on the left hand and part of the index finger. But it was a car accident, not a murder. Probably just got torn off during impact. People tend to grip the wheel pretty tight when they see the wall or another car coming. Does bad things to the thumbs.”

Dashiell nodded. It sounded like another dead end.

But something in the back of his mind was stirring.

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Chapter 12

Dashiell wandered over to the table where the Medical Examiner was working with Regina. He had to hold back a gag. What hadn’t been obvious from a distance, and what hadn’t been broadcast on the news, was that there were two bodies laid out on the steel table. And one of them was that of an infant.

“My God. What the hell happened?”

Regina turned to look at him, the sadness hovering around her eyes more apparent from up close. “Some sick bastard sliced up a pregnant hooker, that’s what happened.” Her voice was like cold iron.

“The baby…?” Dashiell left it hanging.

“No,” the Medical Examiner said. “It was born alive. And then deliberately strangled. There’s obvious hemorrhaging in the eyes. Coupled with the blue color, and bruising around the neck, there’s little doubt.”

“Dashiell, there’s a sick bastard loose out there. I won’t have time to work with you. I’ve got to find this son of a bitch and bring him down.”

As Regina spoke, the Medical Examiner continued his inspection of the baby, moving from the main body to the extremities. “Detective,” he said, drawing the attention of both Regina and Dashiell. “Found something else.” He used a small metal implement to gently uncurl one tiny lifeless hand. The baby’s fingers were missing. “Somebody mutilated the body. From the minimal blood loss, I’d guess post mortem.”

Regina grabbed the edge of the metal table and gripped it hard, her eyes going hard. Dashiell put a hand on her shoulder. “You okay Regina?”

She shook herself. “It’s just….You think you’ve seen everything on this job, Dash, and then something like this happens….” She took a deep breath, held it, then slowly let it out. “Someone’s gonna pay for this, Dash. I just hope when we catch up to him, the bastard resists.”

Dashiell nodded. It was a hard sentiment to argue with. Anyone who spent any time in law enforcement had a case like that, somewhere in their background. But as much as he felt for Regina right now, he had his own work to do.

The Medical Examiner finished his notes on the hooker and her baby, then put on a new set of gloves and headed to the other end of the room. Dashiell followed after him.

“So Mr. Aldridge, what can I do for you today?”

“Metro hired me to investigate the death of that tiger at the National Zoo. As you know, this zookeeper was killed at the same time. I’m hoping you can tell me about how he died and who may have killed him.”

The Medical Examiner flipped open the chart. Dashiell looked over the body, laying cold and naked on the steel table. There was a neat Y incision across the chest. Apparently, the autopsy had been completed the day before.

“Let’s see….says the cause of death was a blow to the back of the head, with a blunt instrument.”

Dashiell looked up at the Medical Examiner. “Blunt instrument? He wasn’t stabbed?”

“No, sir. No evidence of a knife wound of any kind. No defensive wounds or signs of a struggle either. Looks like he didn’t see it coming.”

Dashiell thought for a moment. The killer had a knife. Why not use it? Well, if it was sanctified in preparation for the tiger, that might explain it. Still, that was a lot of trouble, to find another weapon to kill the guard. There were few spells that required that level of purity in the ingedients. This changed things. If the killer went to that extent, then he wasn’t using these tiger parts for mere home remedies. He was angling for something a great deal more powerful. But what?

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Chapter 11

Beep. Beep. Beep.

One of these days, Dashiell told himself, he was going to throw the alarm clock right out the window. He pressed the button that turned off the alarm and stretched. He turned to get out of bed, careful to put his right foot down first, then his left. He headed to the bathroom and took a shower.

He looked at himself in the mirror, preparing to shave. As he often did, he considered letting his hair grow. It would be easier than shaving every day. Then he got over it and shaved.

He headed back into his bedroom and got dressed, putting on a shirt and tie. He was going to be dropping by a government office today, so he should look decent. He placed the blue bead on its leather thong over his neck, grabbed the acorn from the dish he had placed it in and dropped it in one pocket. He then took a clean handkerchief from his top dresser drawer, carefully tied a knot in it, and stuck it in his other pocket. Lastly, he grabbed his jacket and headed out the front door.

He walked over to the metro station, grabbing the first train that came. It happened to be a blue line train, which served his purposes just fine. He needed to be on the blue line anyway, so he might as well climb on board now. He took a seat and read through the Express.

The train ran above ground, past Reagan/National Airport, then dived underground to go pass beneath Crystal City, Pentagon City and the Pentagon itself. It surfaced again to stop at Arlington National Cemetery, before diving back beneath Roslyn and the Potomac River. Twenty minutes later, Dashiell was finished with the Express and the train was just pulling into the Stadium/Armory stop. He exited the train, using the same door he entered through, and headed up the escalators.

Dashiell was always uncomfortable in Southeast D.C. It was a dangerous part of D.C., and the area around the stadium was one of the worst neighborhoods. But sometimes, the job didn’t give him a choice.

It was a short walk to his destination, the D.C. Medical Examiner’s Office.

He walked in the front door and stopped at the desk. He showed his ID and his detective license, and indicated that he was there to check on one of the bodies.

The kid behind the counter told him to head back to autopsy. “Detective’s already here.”

Dashiell figured it must have been in connection to another case, so he was surprised when he opened the door and saw Regina.

“Morning Regina. What are you doing here?”

She turned around from the autopsy table, a mask over the lower half of her face. “I could ask you the same thing, Dash. I’m here for the case I caught yesterday. You?”

“I came in to see if there was anything interesting on the zookeeper’s body. I hit a dead end yesterday.”

The medical examiner looked up from his autopsy of the young woman on the table. “Grab a mask Detective, I’ll be over to speak with you momentarily.” He pointed to a table on the other end of the autopsy room.

Dashiell grabbed a mask, putting it on. He seriously doubted there’d be anything useful to be found here. Then again, one of the iron laws of forensic science was that two objects couldn’t interact without leaving traces on each other. And if the murder was spur of the moment, then there was a good chance some evidence would be left that could point Dashiell in the right direction.

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Chapter 10

Dashiell spent the rest of the afternoon in an unproductive visit to fifteen residences. True to Frank’s prediction, no one on the list was willing to talk to him. Many of them pretended a complete ignorance of the English language. They gave really obvious bad excuses – “No Engrish” and the like. Dashiell wasn’t buying it, but he didn’t want to push too hard.

After each interview, he would perform a little cantrip outside each door, to detect the presence of witchcraft. He would occasionally detect some small traces, probably from various knickknacks around the house. But there was nothing powerful, that would indicate the use of the tiger parts. And nothing that came close to the level of magic he’d deduced had been used at the zoo.

His feet tired, he decided to head back to his office. One thing he’d learned as an investigator, both as a government agent and in private life, was that sometimes, he just had to wait. Sure, for some crimes, the first twenty four hours were key. But for others, he just had to sit back and wait for something else to happen. It was even possible that the police lab’s mundane detection methods would discover something useful.

But waiting didn’t mean not doing anything. He spent some time in his office looking over alternative uses for tiger parts. Then he expanded the search to include all large cats, and then all mammals. Sure, the tiger was most likely picked specifically. The amount of work that went into getting the parts indicated as much.

But he’d learned long ago not to make any assumptions. Assumptions closed off possibilities, and sometimes you had to explore possibilities in order to find the truth. That was the thing about witchcraft. As much as people relied on the old ways, it was a growing field, and people were constantly discovering new spells, and new uses for old ingredients.

There were limits however. Each item used in witchcraft had certain inherent properties. If you wanted your spells to have maximum effect, you had to harness those properties, and work with them. New spells for newness sake didn’t make sense. Not when you could rely on the old way for the same, or a more potent effect.

So he researched the uses for tiger parts. Tried to discern their inherent properties. Tried to figure out what sorts of magic he’d use them for. Because if he could figure out what the spellcaster intended, well that told him a great deal about them.

After reading over about the fiftieth spell that incorporated tiger parts, Dashiell was no closer to solving the mystery. For obvious reasons, most of the spells were Asian in origin, Far East, Southeast and South Asian. There were even a few European spells. But not many of those.

Tiger parts were mainly used for spells of power and strength. So…he was looking for someone interested in power. Well, Dashiell thought to himself, that really narrowed it down. He looked up at the clock. It was past seven. He decided to call it a night.

He stopped by a little café he knew, and grabbed a quick bite to eat. Then he hopped the Metro and headed home.

He got in around eight and flopped down on his couch, flipping on the TV. He channel surfed until he ended up on AMC. They were playing Casablanca. He set the remote down and grabbed a glass of Diet Coke. It was going to be a good night. He really enjoyed the classics. Bogey was a particular favorite of his.

When the movie ended, he flipped to the local FOX affiliate, to catch the ten o’clock news. After covering the elections, the anchor moved on to local news. The lead local story was the case of a dead hooker found early in the day. He smiled as he saw Regina in the B roll running in the background.

It sounded like a particularly gruesome case. Apparently, she’d been slashed pretty badly, with special attention paid to her nether regions. There was a theory that a psychopath had done it, someone with a pathological hatred of women. He silently wished Regina good luck, and hoped she wouldn’t have trouble sleeping. Some cases could really get to you.

The dead zookeeper and tiger were next. There was no mention of Dashiell’s involvement, which didn’t surprise him. Metro PD probably wouldn’t want it known that they’d hired outside help. And they certainly wouldn’t want to mention any occult involvement in the case. The general public had a strong disbelief in the occult, and that probably wasn’t going to change anytime soon.

When the sports scores came on, Dashiell watched until they reported the score of the Duke game, then he flipped off the TV and yawned. It had been a long day. He decided to call it an early night. He headed upstairs, used the facilities, and emptied his pockets onto the dresser. He placed the acorn in a dish, and untied his handkerchief before dropping it in the laundry, along with his shirt. He hung his trousers on the back of a chair, then climbed into bed, making sure he was facing south. He slowly drifted off to sleep.

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Chapter 9

“Another body? At the zoo?” Dashiell asked.

She shook her head. “No, unrelated. A hooker up on 13^th and K. But you know how short handed we are. I’m the nearest detective, so I caught the case. Besides, you’ve got this covered. I’ll call you later.”

He nodded as she headed out the door, and he turned back to Frank.

“Look Agent Aldridge, if this tiger was killed last night, it’ll be all over the six o’clock news. No one’s going to be trying to move tiger parts with that kind of attention,” Frank said.

“Too much heat, huh?”

Frank nodded. “Exactly. Whoever did this either has an out of town buyer or plans to use them for himself.”

Dashiell considered this. “Hmmm. It was an awful big tiger for home use…Still, do you have a list of anyone who might be interested in that sort of thing?”

Frank scoffed. “Who’d be willing to talk to you? Look Agent Aldridge, you may talk the talk, but you’re still a white man. Most of the folks who are still into the ancient remedies won’t give you the time of day. On top of which, they’re my customers. You know I like to cooperate, but I can’t afford to be held responsible for a nosy white man poking around.”

“Look, Frank, I understand. But here’s the thing. It wasn’t just a tiger that got killed last night. Someone knocked off the zoo keeper too.”

Frank looked concerned. “Well, that’s another matter.” He considered for a minute, then reached under the counter and pulled out a large black binder. “Alright, Agent Aldridge. I’ll give you a list of the most common customers. People who look for the old remedies. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t spread my name around….”

“Don’t worry about it, Frank. I don’t want to put you out of business. I’ll do my best to keep your name out of it.”

Frank looked grateful. He copied over a list of about 15 names and addresses, which he handed to Dashiell. “These are the addresses I have for people. But I have to be honest Agent Aldridge. None of these people strike me as the kind who would do this sort of thing.”

“I know, Frank. But then, they rarely do.”

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