He frowned at me. "Like you said before, the foreplay is getting tiresome. Just tell me what the fuck you think it was."
"I think they called a demon."
His eyes widened. "A what?"
"A demon," I said.
Henderson just looked at me. "Why?"
"When I crossed the circle, I got that feeling of evil. No matter how monstrous the critter, it doesn't feel the same as something dedicated to evil and no other purpose."
"You see many demons while you're out slaying vampires, Ms. Blake?"
"Once, Captain, just once. It was ... " I stepped out of the circle of power, and I felt better. They'd done their best to hide the traces, but things like this have a tendency to cling. "I was called into a case that they thought was a vampire, but it was demonic possession. The woman ... " I stopped again because I didn't have words for it, or no words that wouldn't seem silly, melodramatic. I tried to tell the story by sticking to the facts. Me and Sergeant Friday.
"The woman had been an ordinary housewife, mother of two. She'd been a diagnosed schizophrenic, Captain. Her particular brand of craziness was almost a multiple personality disorder, but not that clear-cut. She was like the little girl with a curl in the middle of her forehead. When she was good, she was very, very good. A model churchgoer, teacher of Sunday school. She canned her own vegetables, sewed doll clothes for her girls. But when she was bad, she slept around, abused the kids, hung the family dog from a tree."
Henderson raised an eyebrow at that. For a cop, it was pure shock. "Why wasn't she in a hospital?"
"Because when she took her medicine, she was the good mother, the good wife. I talked to her when she was 'well,' and she was a very nice person. I saw why the husband tried to hold on to her. It was tragic in the true sense of the word that her own brain chemistry was destroying her life."
"It's sad, but it's not demonic," Henderson said.
"Neighborhood pets were vanishing, showing up drained of blood. I traced it to the woman. Her history of mental illness had raised flags with the cops. So far, just sad, right." I stared off up the hill at the cops and the techs and everyone. They were not looking down the hill. No one wanted to hang around this one. Even if you aren't truly sensitive to the psychic, we all have survival instincts that work better than we do. Everyone would be reluctant on this one, and they wouldn't know why.
"You still with me, Blake?" Henderson asked.
"Sorry. The night we arrested her, two uniforms had had to drag her out of another man's bed, handcuffed. They didn't have another female on site that night, so I rode in back with her. She was loud and boisterous, flirting with the men, being snotty with me. I don't even remember what I said, but I remember the look on her face when she turned to me. We're riding in this dark police car, and as she turns her head to look at me, the hair on my body stood up. There were no glowing eyes, no smell of sulfur, Captain Henderson, but I felt evil rise off of her like some disturbing perfume." I looked at him, and he was scrutinizing my face like he was trying to memorize it. "I don't scare easy, Captain, but for that instant, I was scared. Scared of her, and it showed on my face, and she laughed, and the moment was gone."
"What did you do?"
"I recommended they do an exorcism."
"Did they?" he asked.
"Not the police, but her husband signed the papers for it."
"And?" Henderson said.
"And it worked. If she stays on her medication, the mental illness is under control. The possession didn't cause the schizophrenia."
Henderson nodded. "We all get the lecture in training that mental illness can open a person up to demonic possession, Ms. Blake. It's like PCP but weirder."
"Yeah," I said. "PCP doesn't cause people to levitate."
He frowned at me. "Did you witness the exorcism?"
I shook my head. "I won't talk about it. I especially won't talk about it here and now. Words have power, Captain. Memories have power. I won't play into it."
He nodded. "Are you positive humans didn't do this?"
I shook my head. "They ate her to death. It ate her to death. A person might be able to bite your throat out and do some of this damage, but not all of it."
"If you told me this was a possession, I'd call my chain of command and start looking for a priest; but Blake, do you know how rare overt demonic attacks are?"
"Probably better than you do, Captain. I get called in for all sorts of weird shit."
"Have you ever seen a demon kill a person by straight attack, not trickery?"
"No."
"Then how can you be so sure?" he asked.
"I told you why I'm sure, Captain. Once you've been in the presence of the demonic, you don't forget what it feels like." I shook my head and fought the urge to take another step away from the body.
"But I'm not an expert on demons, Captain Henderson. I suggest you contact a priest. I'm also not an expert on this kind of magic. Call a local witch to look it over. They may be able to give you more information. The best I can do is general stuff."
"Could you have called a demon and made it kill her?"
I frowned at him. "What are you talking about?"
"Just answer the question, Ms. Blake."
"I raise the dead, Captain. I don't do demons."
"A lot of people don't see that big a difference between the two."
"Great, just great. You call me down here. I tell you it's black magic, and now you're going to blame me. I don't feel like being the toasty end of a witch hunt, Captain Henderson."
He smiled. "Just answer the question. Could you do it?"
"No, I could not do this. Trafficking with the demonic taints the soul. I may not be a perfect Christian, but I am trying."
"Fucking vampires taints the soul, too, Blake."
I stared up at him. I looked at him for several long seconds, because what I wanted to do was hit him or scream at him. No, hit him. But I couldn't do that. I settled for one of those smiles you get sometimes when what you really want to do is hurt someone.
"Fine, Captain, fine. This was powerful magic, and I have a reputation for powerful magic. It's not your fault that you don't understand the vast difference between the two schools of magic. Lack of education, can't hold that against you." My voice said plainly that I wanted to. "But if I were going to kill someone, I'd probably just shoot them. That would at least put me near the middle of the suspect list, not the top."
"I heard that about you. That you were a shooter."
I looked at him. "Heard from whom?"
"Cops talk to one another, Ms. Blake. If she'd shown up with a bullet in her head, then I might believe you did it."
"Why would I kill some unknown woman?"
"But she isn't unknown, Ms. Blake." He was watching me very closely.
I glanced back at the body. I looked down the length of it. There was nothing that I recognized. Of all the women I'd met since I came here, none were tall enough for the body. Except one.
I turned back to him and felt the blood drain from my face. "Who is it?"
"Betty Schaffer, the woman who accused your lover boy of rape."
The world swam in stripes of color and heat. Someone was holding my elbow, and only that kept me standing. When my vision cleared, Henderson had my arm, and Wilkes was back. "Are you all right, Ms. Blake?" Wilkes asked.
I looked him right in the eyes and didn't know what to say. Betty Schaffer had been worse than murdered. If the ritual was done right and the person was in jeopardy, not pure, like being a traitor or a liar or lecherous, then the soul could be taken with the life. I'd only seen one body that had been killed in ritual for a demon, and it had been nothing like this. The sacrifice had been killed with a knife, but the soul had been taken. And I couldn't raise the body. If a demon was involved with the death, then the body was just so much clay. I had no power here.