My phone buzzed with Zack’s number as the pot began its gurgling. “Hey, Zack, what’s up?”
“Beaulac PD just called Ryan and me out to a scene,” he said. “Since you’re a special consultant, it would be righteous if you could make it.”
Special consultant. That still cracked me up. “I can do that,” I said. “Text me the address. What kind of scene?”
His voice turned grim. “Murder.”
“A murder that your team gets called out on,” I said. Shit.
“We haven’t seen pics yet, but they’re saying Symbol Man.”
My eyes narrowed even as a chill crept through me. “The real Symbol Man is long dead. Let’s hope this is just a mundane copycat.”
“I don’t know. I’m not holding my breath on that one.”
“I’m leaving in two minutes.” Shit. The Symbol Man was a serial killer who’d terrorized the Beaulac area for four years around the time I became a cop. He was dubbed thus for the convoluted mark he’d carved into each tortured and murdered victim. After thirteen victims he stopped, and when three years went by with no sign of more victims, most people concluded he’d either died or left the area.
And then a little over a year ago, the marked and mutilated bodies started showing up again.
The Symbol Man case was the first one I worked with Ryan and Zack as part of a serial killer task force. It was also how I first encountered Rhyzkahl. The Symbol Man turned out to be a summoner who sought to call and bind the demonic lord to his will, and during the first attempt Rhyzkahl managed to escape by hijacking a completely unrelated summoning I was performing at the same time. Instead of a fourth-level luhrek, the beautiful and powerful lord appeared instead. And, well, from there events progressed that I still kicked myself over.
I slipped on a dress shirt and khaki trousers, pulled on a shoulder holster and tugged a jacket over it. I exited the front door, then looked up at the roof. “Eilahn,” I called up. “The task force has been called to a murder. Supposedly looks like a Symbol Man victim.”
She dropped to the ground with a leap graceful enough to make an Olympic gymnast weep in envy. Her face lit with exuberance. “A murder scene! This is exciting!” Then she quickly sobered, chagrined. “Perhaps not the choicest response.”
I tried not to laugh, with only partial success. “Perhaps not.” After giving her the details and location I climbed into the Camry and headed out with her following on the motorcycle. I really needed to learn how to ride one of the damn things. A woman on a motorcycle automatically got something like fifty “hot chick” points. Then again, there was no way in hell Eilahn would ever let me risk myself like that. Hmmf.
The Walmart parking lot appeared to be business as usual when we arrived, with no sign of a crime scene. It wasn’t until I continued around to the back that I found the swarm of cops. The majority of the activity appeared to be centered around a parked eighteen-wheeler with an open back. Crime scene tape had been strung between cars to form a sizeable perimeter.
I found a convenient place to park, got out, and adjusted my jacket. Eilahn pulled up behind me and dismounted, removed her helmet, then went into scan-for-threats mode.
I walked up to the deputy who stood with a clipboard by the crime scene tape. “I’m a special consultant for the FBI,” I told him, taking great pleasure in showing my pretty ID. To my annoyance, the deputy barely even glanced at it and failed to show even the slightest bit of awe at my status. Vaguely disgruntled, I signed the crime scene log then headed toward the open back end of the truck and the knot of law enforcement types there. I automatically looked for the familiar sight of Jill among the cops before remembering that the snarky-yet-awesome crime scene tech was eight months pregnant and working in the lab instead of the field.
A heavy set man with greasy black hair stood a few feet from the truck, phone pressed to his ear. Not far from him a much smaller, wiry man sucked on a cigarette as he tucked a notepad into his pocket. Vincent Pellini and Marcel Boudreaux, two of Beaulac PD’s Violent Crimes detectives and all-around royal pains in the ass. Pellini did enough work to get by, but that was about it. He gave the impression of being perpetually miserable and didn’t hesitate to ridicule or belittle anyone or anything whenever the opportunity arose. Boudreaux was cut from the same cloth and exacerbated the general unpleasantness.
Pellini gave me a nod and, to my surprise, sent what might have almost been something vaguely resembling a smile in my direction. He ended his call as I approached.
“Hey, Pellini,” I said. I even gave him a smile in return. What the hell. I was feeling generous.
His gaze swept over me, easily noting the gun under my jacket to judge by the way his eyes stopped at the slight bulge before continuing on. “Damn, Gillian,” he said with a little scowl that was oddly lacking in malice. “Never thought you’d go Fed on us.”
“I didn’t,” I replied. “It’s worse. I’m a civilian consultant.”
Pellini shuddered. “Well, we’ll get you started on a good case.”
“What’s the deal?” I looked over at the dark maw of the semi-trailer. “I heard it looked like a Symbol Man victim.” My eyes went back to his. “But the Symbol Man’s dead.” I stopped short of saying, I saw him die. I saw the demonic lord rip his head off for daring to attempt to summon and bind him. Probably best not to go there.
“Looks like somebody doing a copycat but making it their own,” he replied, shrugging. “It’s a lot cleaner, and there’s no doubt they wanted us to find the body.”
“You got an anonymous tip?”
Pellini’s mouth twisted beneath his thick black moustache. “You could say that.” He dug a photo out of the folder in his hand and passed it to me. It was an aerial shot of the parking lot with the semi in clear view. Dead Body Inside had been painted in huge letters on top of the truck.
“Yeah, that would be a Clue,” I agreed.
“Hey, Pellini!” The crime scene tech called over. “Pics are done.”
Pellini gave the tech a nod before returning his attention to me. “The Beaulac airport is just a couple miles that way,” he continued as he hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “This is right under the approach. Anyone flying in or out would see the message.”
Great. A killer who wanted to show off. I jerked my head toward the semi. “Mind if I go take a look?”
“Sure thing. Garner and Kristoff are already in,” he told me. “Vic’s female, young twenties, I’d say. No ID yet. And she wasn’t killed here.”
I thanked him and headed to the truck, more than a little weirded out that I’d had a normal and not unpleasant conversation with Pellini. As I climbed up into the truck, I shifted into othersight. Zack stood by the doors, phone to his ear, and gave me a smile.
“Ah, shit,” I breathed as I took in the scene. This was no mundane copycat. Arcane residue flickered like pale blue fire over the body, clearly visible even though I was still a good twenty feet away.
Ryan looked back at me from where he stood, a few feet from the body. “Yeah, that about sums it up.”
I approached and stopped beside him, swallowed back nausea. She lay naked on her back, arms stretched out to the sides and legs spread to shoulder width. A perfectly symmetrical red chalked circle surrounded her, but it was her skin that drew my gaze, held it. Her murderer had carved patterns into her flesh, sigils that, in any other scenario, would be beautiful, but on this canvas were horrors. The pale blue of the arcane flames shifted to red, flaring and subsiding in a rhythm eerily reminiscent of breathing. My own sigil scars itched, and I took a step back, cold sweat breaking. I dimly heard Ryan mutter a curse under his breath right before he turned and moved to me.