JoJo said, “What do we know about Catriona and the FBI guy, Macauley Smythe?”
T. Laine lifted her head from her laptop and spoke to FireWind. “Sir.”
FireWind took a swig of his cola and crossed one ankle over the other knee. He said, “Catriona Doyle asked for an attorney and has refused to answer questions. Macauley Smythe plans to charge Doyle with three counts of first-degree murder by magical means, and multiple counts of attempted murder. He intimated to the sheriff that he may ask for a grand jury with the intent of charging the Nashville coven for multiple counts of attempted murder by magical means since she’s a member there.”
“That’s stupid. It’ll never hold up in court,” T. Laine said.
“I don’t think he cares,” FireWind said. “As several of you have pointed out, he intends to parlay this short-term renown into a secure job future when his twenty-five are up. The new national FBI director is not returning my calls, though I have spoken with his staff about the imprudence of such charges without sufficient evidence. I do not believe that Catriona Doyle is a death witch. However, with several people in the hospital, and the beginning of a national antiwitch, antiparanormal hysteria, it would be wise to do everything in our power to find the perpetrator and wrap up this case quickly. Jones,” he said to JoJo, “you contacted the paranormal ward at UTMC and offered them the null room at HQ and any assistance we might provide. What was the response?”
“The person I spoke with said they had the patients stabilized but they’d let us know if they needed to bring anyone to the null room,” JoJo said. “She was not enthused at the prospect, but she said thank you.”
FireWind said, “You were on scene all day, Occam. Thoughts on the suspect’s methodology?”
“At this point,” Occam said, “I think someone got into the house and set the trigger into a box of shirts—assuming it was a trigger—with the intent of killing whoever opened the box.”
“Not Stella Mae specifically?” FireWind asked, leaning forward and holding Occam’s gaze.
Surprised, I said, “Why would anyone think Stella would open a box of swag?”
“An assistant or a grip or a low-level flunky would open boxes,” Occam said, agreeing. “Stella was the star, not the paid help.”
“Hmmm. Indeed.” FireWind sounded surprised. “And the shirts?”
“Somehow missed or simply not taken on tour because the buses were full?” Occam suggested. “I talked to the driver of Stella Mae’s personal RV. He said every square inch of space in both vehicles was packed the day they left. He said he saw several boxes still in the swag room.”
“Everyone I spoke with said the shirts look like real tour tees, not some fake batch put there just to load up a spell or a curse,” I said. “And with the construction, the trigger had to be set in the last two weeks.”
FireWind propped an elbow on the chair arm and rubbed his chin.
I swiped through the still shots of the swag room taken by the first LEOs on the scene. “There were open shipping boxes containing promotional material when the deputies got there. Two had been open long enough that there was dust on the contents.” I pointed to a photo indicating dust. “The tape on the box of shirts was freshly cut. Monica Belcher had been putting away things, opened the T-shirt box, grabbed some shirts, and fell.” I pointed at a photograph I had taken and said, “I didn’t notice it until later, but that looks like the handle of a box cutter in Monica’s hand. It’s mostly hidden by her body, but it’s the right shape.” The others leaned as I expanded the image to show a rounded handle.
“The tape could have been cut at some point previous and reapplied when the witch trigger was set,” T. Laine said, leaning to get a better look at the photo of the box, “assuming it was a witch trigger, assuming this was a murder, a designation we have yet to officially make.” Her face said she was tired of dancing around making this a murder scene, was prepared to call it a witch trigger and start looking for suspects. “But FireWind didn’t call it that at the five p.m. press conference and”—she looked at the big boss—“you kept the sheriff and chief of police from doing so too. That was some impressive dancing you and the press did, by the way.”
“It kept SAC Smythe from saying things he might have regretted and it bought Catriona Doyle another day without charges. I’ve read over Ingram’s data,” FireWind said. “She has specified where everyone was today at the farm, when, and for how long.” He looked at me. “Good work getting so many of the social media links for everyone too.”
I felt my face warm. I wasn’t used to praise.
FireWind leaned forward and clasped his hands together between his knees. “I want a level three background check on every single person who had access to Stella Mae’s basement for the entire duration of the tour and level four checks for everyone the two days Stella was in the house after the tour, followed by in-depth interviews, with a close emphasis on the last two weeks. Concentrate on the dead and work out from there. We are looking for a witch, a magical practitioner, or someone withthe funds to hire such. We are looking for someone with a grudge against Stella Mae Ragel or one of the band members.
“I know it does not need to be said, but we talk to no one outside this unit, and we guard our words anywhere we might be overheard. The media is everywhere, following LEOs, sneaking onto the property, trying to get inside to take photographs of Stella Mae.”
“Worse,” JoJo said. “Turn on your TVs. The media just posted breaking news, based on unnamed sources close to the case, that Catriona Doyle will be charged for the murders. Dollars to donuts the feeb, Smythe, released the info.”
Occam turned on the set and we watched the news scrolling by on CNN and then on Fox. They were both naming Catriona Doyle as a suspect in the deaths and showing aerial footage of the investigation at the farm.
Without taking his eyes from the screen, FireWind said, “Ingram, I need you to go back to the farm and read the land. I had hoped to wait until tomorrow, but, with this”—he gestured to the TV—“I want it done tonight, not in the daytime when the drones might take footage of you. Since nothing reads specific on the psy-meter, I want you to see if you can tell what thedeath and decayenergies are, whether it’s speeded-up natural progression or a witch curse or even something else.” He hesitated and I thought he might say more about the “something else,” but he didn’t. “If possible, I’d like you to determine how it got onto the property: via the drive, the front door, the back door, or a trail in.” He looked at me. “You were able to determine that with the salamanders, yes?”
FireWind was talking about the things that had nearly killed LaFleur and had killed Occam. I could discern their passage over the land when I read it. “I can try,” I said, hesitant. Every time I used my gift of reading the land deeply, I risked losing myself in it and becoming more plant. I had been practicing at Soulwood, and I had gained a little control over reading and the unintended results, but I still couldn’t read the earth for more than a few minutes at a time or I set down roots. Literally.
I didn’t want to be a tree again. I liked being human.
“We know that three reporters made it from the connecting road overland to the house,” FireWind said. “I want you to rule out anything you can, tonight. Tomorrow, after you get somesleep, I want you back at HQ to help Jones on the deep backgrounds.”
Deadly danger, followed by paperwork and scut work, I thought. With new probie Margot gone, research fell back to me. Worse, I’d have to face my sisters sooner than later. I held in a resigned sigh.
“I know you are trying to locate the Blood Tarot deck, but put that on the back burner.” As if he thought that was why I was hesitating, he added, “The Blood Tarot is a vital piece of evidence from the last case, and when this is wrapped up, you can return to it. Or sooner if we receive evidence that it’s being used in blood magic.”
T. Laine said, “Nell can’t read the earth alone.”
