Dave grunted and added, “Do they have anything further on Soto?”
“It wasn’t a random attack.”
“Oh?” Dave cocked an eyebrow.
“No.” I told them about the tattoo and how Molly and some kids had spotted it on Soto in the butterfly rainforest at the university. “They said the tat looked like a fairy with the body of a woman wearing butterfly wings. That matches what I saw.”
“Fairy? You mean like Tinker Bell?” Nick asked, a smile spreading.
“More of an adult version. A fully developed nude woman with butterfly wings.”
Dave said nothing, his brow furrowing. Nick took a pull from his beer and said, “So this crazy dude has Tink on his arm, naked. What kinda guy goes around with tattoo of a fairy, huh?”
“Did you see any other tattoos?” Dave asked.
“That was the only one I could identify. There was some ink at the base of his neck and on the other arm, but I couldn’t see it well.”
Dave glanced out the open sliding glass doors to the cockpit. A breeze was blowing the scent of ocean salt air into the salon. “Maybe he’s wearing it because the tattoo symbolizes some kind of an event in his life. Could be similar to a souvenir. Can you remember if it looked fresh, maybe some bruising around it, or redness from the sub dermis caused by the needle?”
“It did look like there was a slight redness around it. I didn’t know if it was because of the impact I delivered to him, or something else.”
“Maybe the skin art’s new,” Dave said.
Nick grinned and said, “Could be the dude went to Disney World. Got high on titmouse punch and fantasized that he saw Tink flyin’ around with a boob job.” He laughed so loud Max cock her head and moved closer to Dave. “What’s wrong, little hotdog, you think Nicky has fish breath? I gargle with ouzo.”
Dave said, “It could have been inspired by some event he attended, maybe something like the big Fantasy Fest they have in Key West each October at Halloween.”
“Lots of fairies down there,” said Nick, draining the last of his second beer.
Dave glanced at Nick, smiled and shook his head. “I’m always amused at your perspective. The Halloween parade in Key West has a certain Pagan-like feel to it, I hear. The holiday is the best known of those with a Pagan theme.”
I looked at the calendar above the galley bar counter. “You may be on to something, Dave. A few days ago, it was summer solstice, the longest day of the year. It’s a time of ancient rituals tied back to most of Europe. I recall something about Midsummer Eve festivals, which included fairy dances.”
Nick chuckled. “Yeah, man, but that stuff was hundreds of years ago. That’s why they call ‘em fairy tales. Today, we got topless bars.”
Dave said, “It may have begun hundreds of years ago, but in some places, it continues today. Ancient spots on the planet, like Stonehenge, were believed to be built to tie into summer solstice. In the case of Stonehenge, it was most likely the monument’s perspective to the sun. It’s the longest day of the year, the shortest night, and the first day the sun begins moving away on its journey south. Sean’s correct. Midsummer Eve’s dancing fairies is all part of the fairy tales, as you suggested. One of the greatest, A Midsummer Night’s Dream, was penned by Shakespeare.” Dave, slipping into his poker face, looked at Nick and said, “It was about fairies and Greeks.”
“That’s why I don’t read that stuff,” he went into the galley for another Corona.
I thought about the tattoo on Soto’s arm and why he chose to get it. “Where might there have been a Midsummer’s Eve festival in Florida a few days ago?”
Dave said, “Usually they’re associated with bonfires, dancing and a little good-natured carousing at the traditional levels. Lots of places across the nation have them. There’s a big one in New York’s Battery Park. On the other hand, with the darker, deep Pagan celebrations, you’d probably find them in very isolated places.”
I said, “The most remote spot near Gainesville is the Ocala National Forest, hundreds of thousands of desolate acres, many not accessible by car. Part of the eastern boundary is across the river from my old house. That’s where the swamps begin.”
“But,” Dave said, rubbing Max’s head, “as you know, that’s only one tip of the forest. It stretches over a couple of counties, lots of lakes, scrub pines, places so thick you can’t see the sun, and there are some of the world’s most beautiful springs in there. I read the forest is almost a half million acres.”
“Yeah,” said Nick coming back to the couch. “If one of these Pagan tribes had a fairy dance in there, how in the hell would you find it in a gazillion acres?”
I smiled and said, “At a tattoo shop.”
FIFTEEN
Luke Palmer was looking for a place to camp when he heard a goat. Maybe it was a sheep baying. Maybe it was an overactive imagination, he thought. The sun had slipped behind the tall trees quicker than he realized, bringing a curtain of dark down so fast that Palmer had to light a match to read the map of the forest. He believed he was less than a mile from a well-marked trail, the Yearling Trail.
Then he heard it again.
An animal. An animal in distress.
He walked in the direction. A farm way the hell out here in the forest? He hoped it wasn’t the men running the meth lab. Palmer knew the next time they met, he wouldn’t walk away. He made his way to a rough trail, decaying limbs cracking under his worn boots.
He began to hear music. Chanting and sounds from a flute. Then he heard voices. Palmer crept quietly down the trail and walked through some brush until he saw light. It was coming from a large campfire. He pushed back a limb and watched. More than two dozen people were in a clearing next to a lake. They walked in a circle around the fire. Their voices chanting something in a language Palmer didn’t recognize. He saw a goat tied to a stake, a circle of rocks around the goat. Then he saw something else.
A young woman, dressed in white, hair braided up, was led from the circle and told to stand between two posts. A tall man wearing black summoned two other men. He ordered them to tie the woman’s hands. Palmer wondered why she didn’t fight back as they lifted her arms and used rope to tie her hands and feet to the posts. She was made to stand in an X position. The chanting continued as another man tossed a log into the fire causing sparks to rise into the inky night.
The tall man read from a black book. He said, “On this sacred night of the Sabbath, we honor you by sacrifice.” The chanting grew louder. In the firelight, Palmer was close enough to see the tall man had a large Adam’s apple that bobbed up and down as he spoke. He had a scarecrow face with hollow, wide eyes and ears that protruded from his close-cropped hair.
Palmer wished he had a gun. He couldn’t allow them to do it. Even if it meant yelling at them and running like hell and hoping they’d never find him.
The tall man continued with his pagan speech. “You, our leader in all that we do, have shown us strength and resilience against the forces that seek to silence us.” The man stepped to a small table where food and utensils were laid out. He picked up a large knife, its steel blade flashing in the light from the fire. The chants grew feverish. The man walked to the goat, pulled up its head and slit its throat. The crowd walked faster around the fire as the man dipped his finger in the dying goat’s blood and stepped to the girl. He used his bloody finger to make a mark on her forehead.
Palmer felt like his heart was going to explode in his chest. Sweat poured from his face. The man in black used the knife like a queen might knight a man, touched it to the girl’s head and shoulders. He mumbled something in words that Palmer didn’t recognize. When the man touched the knife to the side of the girl’s face, Palmer yelled. “Back off asshole!”