Page 9 of Wicche Hunt

“Could you all excuse me for a moment?” I whispered.

“What?” Landscombe said. “Of course not. I’m not leaving you alone with evidence.”

I stood. “She’s my cousin Pearl, not evidence.” Turning to Hernández, I said, “Can you all just move back, away from me? I need to do something.”

Declan moved between me and the other women. “I think I know what this is. She won’t touch the body. Let’s give her some space now.” His deep, solemn voice finally got them moving to the other side of the room.

I took off my gloves and prayed to the goddess to give my voice the strength it needed to send Pearl on to the other side. I closed my eyes and lifted my hands and face to the heavens, singing the song of death for Pearl, sending her on with our love. I was announcing her arrival, telling the souls there that they were receiving a gift of kindness and light, one we hadn’t been ready to part with.

Tears streamed down my face, but the goddess had given my voice the strength to complete the ritual. When my last note echoed in the sterile room, I bowed, fingers to my forehead, thanking the goddess and saying goodbye to Pearl.

I stood, wiped my face, and pulled on my gloves, grabbing my backpack and water cup. It was time to go. I went to the door and waited for Declan to open it for me, as my hands were full. I strode down the hall to the front door.

“Arwyn, wait. What did you see?” The detective and the doctor followed us.

“Give me a minute. I want out of here,” I whispered, knowing Declan would hear me. Ritual over, the pain and hoarse voice had returned.

He did and passed it on.

Once outside, I went to his truck. “Heat?”

He opened the passenger side door, picked me up, and placed me on the seat. I took another sip, felt it go down easier, and placed the cup in a holder. Declan slid behind the wheel and started the engine, cranking up the heat for me. I unzipped my backpack and pulled out a sketchbook and charcoals.

I slammed the door closed, rolled down the window, and started to sketch the man who’d killed my cousin. Hernández leaned against the truck door, watching me work. When I was done, I took a bigger gulp and felt the pain fading.

Handing the detective the sketch, I said, “That’s not him, though.”

Landscombe looked over Hernández’ shoulder.

“What do you mean?” Hernández was studying the image.

“That was the face he showed her, but it’s off. I think the shape of his face is right. The dead eyes are right, but the last thing she saw was him scrubbing his wet hands over his face, cleaning something off. It could have just been makeup. I think, though, it’s both skin tone and a fake nose or chin. I think that was why he only kissed her once. That, and it didn’t feel like sex drove him.

“It was her first kiss,” I continued, throat sore but getting better. “She was too discombobulated to notice anything, but I think the kiss messed up the putty or makeup or something. Maybe he has theater experience. Maybe not. He’s a sociopath, I can tell you that, so taking drama lessons fits. He needed someone to teach him how to react like a normal human being.”

“Can you start at the beginning?” Hernández asked.

“Sure.” I told her all about the short, tragic courtship of Pearl Corey. “She thought he was a student, but I’m not so sure.”

“Why?” the detective asked.

“Hard to explain.” I thought a moment. “It all seemed contrived, right from the beginning. A quiet girl, hiding behind a curtain of hair, and that’s the one he approaches. There were lots of empty tables, but he asks to take her chair? Nah. He wanted to know if someone was coming, someone who might see him and mess up his plans.

“And then he checks which professor she has before talking about a different one. No one recognizes him, even when walking in the dorm or around campus. She sees him as confident and outgoing, but no one even waves at the rich, good-looking, charming guy? I don’t buy it. He didn’t belong there. He was isolating and manipulating her.

“I mean, is short blonde hair even important to him,” I continued, “or does he just get off on making her do something she absolutely doesn’t want to do?” I shrugged. “No idea. He paid cash for their meals, so she never saw a card.”

“Name?” Hernández asked.

I shook my head. “He introduced himself as David, but I don’t think that’s it. He’s tall. She had to look up to him. Not Declan tall, and Pearl is petite, but probably six feet. Dark hair, blue eyes. He’s white, lightly tanned, but that might be makeup. He doesn’t feel like an outdoorsy guy, so he’s probably much paler than he appeared.” I shrugged. “All of that is feel on my part, though. All I know for sure is what I saw.”

The doctor scoffed at that.

Tossing the sketch pad into Declan’s lap, I stepped out of the truck, forcing Hernández to step back. “That’s it. I’m sick of your shit, sister.” I held up my fists. Spelling her would have been easier, but I was itching to whoop her the old-fashioned way.

Hernández immediately stepped between us. “Okay. That’s enough.” She turned to her friend. “You should go in.”

The doc was super snooty but left right quick, which, honestly, was all I wanted.

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