Jackson and I arrived at the scene in record time. The Chief of the Mt. Clements Police Department had notified the personnel on the scene of our position, and we were immediately granted access.
Upon entering the store I discovered the sweet sickly, smell of death replaced the normal aroma of sandalwood incense.
All the bookshelves lining the walls, usually neatly arranged were now empty; the books lying in tumbled heaps on the floor.
The two dark green and burgundy overstuffed chintz chairs situated in the back corner of the store were sliced open exposing their soft innards of foam and batting.
The glass display cases that once held crystals, incense, tools for Wicca worship, Satan worship, and every other obscure religion, sat smashed open and the contents strewn around the store; the bases of the display cases systematically dismantled.
Evidence technicians busy processing the scene buzzed around the shop like a swarm of bees.
I stopped dead in my tracks at the sight of the devastation, fighting to control my emotions.
Jackson, sensing my struggle, put his arm around my waist.
Wait here, Ill go find the detective in charge, he whispered in my ear.
Okay, I said, barely breathing. I watched in silence as Jackson picked his way through the wreckage. He returned a few minutes later.
Savannah, this is Detective Brent Wilder. Detective, Savannah Williams, Jackson introduced us.
Ms. Williams, its a pleasure. Ive heard about your work. I just wish we were meeting under different circumstances, he said as we shook hands.
Thank you, Detective. I do too. What have you got so far?
As I understand it, you know that Amy Conterri found her sister in the backroom at about six tonight dead of an apparent gun shot wound. Ms. Conterri claims that she didnt touch anything except for the telephone to call us. Cal Bowers, the Medical Examiner, examined the body and estimates the time of death to be between two and four-thirty this afternoon. Hes removed the body to the morgue and will have the results sometime tomorrow. Right now it looks like robberys the motive for the slaying, Detective Wilder said consulting his notes.
Thank you, Detective. Can I walk around? I asked.
Be my guest.
Oh, by the way, have you seen a cat? I asked.
A cat?
Yes, Madam Phoebe had a cat, a big black one. His name is Max. If you find it, could you let me know? He must be scared to death.
Ill have everyone keep an eye out for it for sure, he answered.
I began to walk through the store, careful not to disturb anything.
Jackson, walking right behind me, cautiously surveyed the damage.
Jackson, no offense, but could you leave me alone for awhile. I need to work the scene, I asked.
No problem. Ill help them find the cat, he answered, heading off through the store.
After borrowing a pair of latex gloves from one of the technicians, I spent a good hour walking around the entire store.
After my inspection of the store, I headed to the back room. Entering the back room I saw the chalk line and pool of blood on the floor. I stifled a scream and turned away, leaning on the doorframe to collect myself.
Murder scenes are bad enough to explore, worse if the victim is someone you knew. But I had to do my job. I owed Madame Phoebe that much.
The drawers in Madame Phoebes desk that held her files stood open, but seemed relatively undisturbed. The table, where Phoebe and I shared many a cup of tea and interesting conversation lay overturned. The pretty yellow tablecloth that once adorned it, now lay on the floor stained with Madame Phoebes blood and, upon closer examination, two important clues. Footprints.
Id seen enough. I knew what happened, but I didnt know why.
I walked out of the office and rejoined Jackson and Detective Wilder.
Well? Jackson said.
This was not a robbery.
Are you sure? Detective Wilder asked.
Im sure, I said walking over to the front windows of the store and peeking out the blinds.
Ill explain in a minute, but first I think you should get some men to secure the area outside the building. The press has arrived and are circling like vultures.
Shit, Detective Wilder said, looking out the front door.
Detective Wilder disappeared outside and I heard him barking orders to the uniformed officers on the scene.
Okay, you were saying? Detective Wilder said, rejoining Jackson and I.
Whoever killed Madame Phoebe was looking for something specific. I dont think they found it. They probably threatened Madame Phoebe, but she wouldnt tell them anything. Judging from the back room, she must have put up quite a struggle before they shot her, I answered.
Interesting. Go on, he urged.
My guess is that they killed Madame Phoebe and then tore the store apart looking for whatever theyd come to get. If robbery was the motive, there would have been no reason to cut open the cushions on the chairs, or practically dismantle the display cases.
Good point. So what makes you think they didnt find what they were looking for? Detective Wilder asked.
Because of the pattern of destruction. Take a look around. The destruction varies in degree. For example, the books, they werent even searched. That tells us that they werent looking for a piece of paper or money. They were looking for something bigger. The books were thrown off the shelves out of frustration, or to make it look like a robbery, frustration would be my guess though. Thieves do not dismantle display cases; they simply smash the glass and grab anything of value. No, whoever did this was definitely looking for something, and they were very methodical. They started with the display cases and worked their way around the store, their frustration growing by leaps and bounds, I explained.
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