Vollwiz: I'm sure you are, Sergeant. And this method of murder is not inconsistent with the knowledge you possess. Consider: what IS charcoal, anyway?
I figured out what he was getting at in about three seconds, then spent another ten feeling stupid.
Supecop1: Charcoal's super-compressed wood, isn't it? Wood – as in wooden stakes.
Vollwiz: Exactly. It is an uncommon method to kill one of my kind, but effective. As you have seen yourself.
Supecop1: Yeah, I guess I have.
Vollwiz: Have there been any other developments in the case?
Supecop1: Yeah. I may have a name for the perp. I guess you could call that a new development. It's hard to be sarcastic online. Unfortunately.
Vollwiz: Indeed? That is most interesting. Congrat ulations.
Supecop1: Don't pop any corks just yet. There's no way to know for sure whether it's our guy, but I like him for it. From what I hear, he's: 1. a wizard. 2. new in town. 3. acting secretive – pretending to be somebody else, etc.
Vollwiz: I agree, he sounds like a promising candidate. What is his name?
Supecop1: Calls himself Sligo.
No response. I watched the empty screen for a while, then typed:
Supecop1: You still there?
Still no answer. I was starting to wonder whether the connection had been broken, when this appeared:
Vollwiz: Are you absolutely certain?
Supecop1: Certain that's the guy? Hell, no. Certain that's what my informant told me? Yeah, I'm sure, since I don't have wax in my ears, oranything.
Karl appeared over my shoulder, holding a thumb drive. I attached it to the computer, downloaded the file, then sent it to Vollman's email address as an attachment.
Supecop1: I just sent the file with the symbols I copied from our latest vic. It's pretty accurate, I think.
I waited. Nothing, for maybe two minutes, then this appeared:
VollWiz: I will be in touch with you later.
Then the chat connection was broken.
"Motherfucker," I heard Karl mutter from behind me.
"Yeah, I know," I said. "But at least he's given us a way to find out where he hangs his cloak, and that's something we've been wanting to know."
I looked up the customer service number for AOL and called them. It took the better part of an hour to find a supervisor with the authority to look up a customer's mailing address, and to convince her that I had the authority to ask for it.
Finally, I heard her say, "Very well, Sergeant. What is the email address you have?"
"It's V-o-l-l-m-a-n-e-x at aol.com."
I heard her keyboard clacking in the background. Then silence. Then more clacking, followed by another stretch of silence.
"I'm sorry, Sergeant," the supervisor said, "but we have no account listed under that address."
"Has it been cancelled recently? Say, within the last hour or so?"
"No, sir. We have never had an account under that name. It simply doesn't exist."
I hung up the phone and said to Karl, "Fuck Vollman and the hearse he rode in on. I'm getting tired of that old bastard and the way he keeps jerking us around. It's time we started acting like goddamn detectives, for a change."
"Sounds good to me," Karl said. "You got any particular kind of detecting in mind?"
"Yeah, I do. Sligo, or whoever the perp is, has offed two guys so far, right? Why those two? Were they picked at random, or–"
"Or is there a common factor?" Karl said. "Some pattern he's following."
"Exactly. Why don't you get on that, see if you can find anything about the vics that stands out."
"Okay. What are you gonna be doing?"
"See if I can find out more about this forbidden book," I told him. "Vollman said there were only four copies in existence. Let's see if he was right."
Karl went over to his own desk, and I turned back to my computer and brought up Google. I typed in Opus and Mago and clicked "Search."
A few seconds later I was looking at the first hundred of my 28,343 hits. A lot of them involved classical music, although several seemed to refer to some penguin in a comic strip.
Realizing where I went wrong, I went back to the search screen. This time, I put quotation marks around Opus Mago so the search engine would read it as a phrase.
Eight hits. That was more like it.
Seven of the references were duds. Five of them lumped the Opus Mago in with fictional works like the Necronomicon, the Lemegeton of Solomon, and the Grimorium Verum. Shows what they know. Two other hits brought me to bogus black magic sites, constructed by obvious wannabees who'd probably run screaming for their mothers if they ever got close to the real thing. It didn't take me long to figure out that these morons didn't know the Opus Mago from the Kama Sutra.
The one hit left was a news item saying that a prossor at Georgetown University had translated some fragments of the Opus Mago, which the article said was one of the oldest and most obscure works in the black arts. Dr Benjamin Prescott was described as "one of the foremost authorities on the ancient grimoires." Then I read that Prescott had refused to allow his translation to be published. Anywhere. Ever.