“She said she shouldn’t have bothered with human law enforcement and should have handled it herself, whatever that means,” he scoffs. “The whole thing had ‘set up’ written all over it.”
“But she did exactly what she said, right? Gave the police a tip about what I think you’re alluding to is the mafia?”
“That’s what the records show.”
“Look,” I start. “I’m not here to defend my aunt or get into what she did or didn’t do. If I’m being honest, I didn’t know her all that well and I’m realizing she had a lot of secrets that I probably don’t want to know. But she’s dead and I’m not trying to set anyone up. Marissa and Allison deserve to have their cases closed so maybe they can move on.”
“Move on?”
“Allison’s spirit is still in that house. It’s how I know what I know. And their families can finally get closure as well.”
Maxwell inhales and leans back, looking right into my eyes. “Say I believe you and find this coffee tin full of trophies. It still won’t be enough to get the rest of the force on your side. I might be able to convince a couple of my guys in the Thorne Hill department—unexplainable things happen in this town—but the PV force will laugh in our faces,” he says in such a way that leads me to believe they’ve laughed before.
The joke is on them, of course, since I’m confident to say every single unsolved murder in this town has been due to demons.
“Before, I considered having my friend call it in and say he discovered it during renovations. But we didn’t want to risk messing with evidence that could have DNA on it. Maybe I shouldn’t have told you that, but maybe that would work?” I suggest, fully knowing Officer Maxwell isn’t the kind of cop who likes anyone to suggest how to do his job.
“You said there were others.”
I nod, head bobbing quickly up and down. “Yeah. Eleven others to be exact.”
“Eleven?” he echoes.
“That I was able to track down.” Shit. How do I explain this? Another psychic vision? What do psychics on TV always say? They say they did a reading yet never explain what the reading actually is. Or should I say play the angle of being an annoying internet sleuth and that I spent an energy-drink fueled twenty-four hours scouring the Internet for any sort of similar cases?
“Go on.”
I hold up my hand and turn to dig through my purse, pulling out a folded piece of paper. “I’m a visual person, so I made a list. The first murder actually happened in 1986.” I slide the paper over to him and watch his face, though his expression remains unreadable.
“Are you aware that Stuart Brown died in 1993?”
“I am.”
He looks up from the paper. “You’ve listed crimes past then.”
“I know.” The waitress brings my iced tea and we wait for her to walk away again before we continue.
“Are you suggesting that he faked his death?”
“I’m not. I’m suggesting that his spirit is carrying on with the murders.”
“All right. I see this is all a joke to you and you’ve wasted my time.”
“No,” I interject and move my hair over my shoulders, showing him the red marks on my neck. The annoyance on his face turns to concern.
“Who did that to you”
“Stuart. His spirit attacked me and I know it sounds crazy but he was evil when he was alive and sometimes evil doesn’t die.” I tap the paper. “Every single one of these victims considered themselves witches or spiritualists in one way or another. And Stuart hated them for that. He’s still killing and a woman who practices Paganism is on her way to that house tonight and she’s in danger.” The words spill out of me and I’m surprised at the sense of relief they bring me.
“Okay,” Officer Maxwell says slowly. “Ghosts aren’t real, and they certainly can’t kill people.”
“I know how crazy this sounds, trust me, I do. But if you go back to the station and look into these cases you will see that every single one of them was targeted for their beliefs. And they were all killed in similar ways but not identical so they weren’t all flagged in the system or whatever.”
Officer Maxwell picks up his coffee and takes a sip. The cafe is notorious for terrible coffee, but it’s almost part of their charm in a weird way.
“You stay put,” he tells me and takes the list from the table. “I’ll be right back.”
Certain he’s going to have someone run checks on a few if not all of the victims, I watch him walk out to his car and then reach into my purse, texting both Ethan and Keith to let them knowI think I’m making progress.