It was the same young woman that had been in the pictures. Despite those, Barb, who had until recently never seen a dead body before other than at a viewing, was surprised by the waxen pallor. The young woman looked more like a yellow doll than a corpse. She held onto that thought as the sheet covering her was drawn back. It seemed grotesque to be viewing the poor girl's naked body like this, especially with the two men standing there, just looking at her as if she was a slab of meat or something.
"Okay, Barb," Janea said, gently. "I know this is rough for you. But I want you to put your hands over her and open your channel. Search for feelings that aren't yours."
Barbara watched Janea place her hands over the girl's midsection and close her eyes, then followed suit, holding them about six inches over the girl's flattened chest.
"Can you feel it?" Janea asked, quietly. "I can, faintly. Like a trace of rot."
"Like the smell of vomit," Barb said, softly. "God be with us, it's so strong!" She opened her eyes and drew back her hands, wiping them on her skirt to remove the ephemeral foulness.
"You felt it that strongly?" Janea asked, opening her eyes. "I could barely sense it."
"I can feel it from here," Barbara said, backing up. "It's horrible."
"Unfortunately you have to face it," Janea said. "I'm sorry it's so strong for you. But you have to feel it, sense it, taste it. If you felt it again, would you be able to recognize it? As distinct from other odors of foulness?"
"I've never felt anything like it before," Barb said, shaking her head. "No, I have. From Almadu. But . . . that was stronger, filling me until the Lord came to my aid. Like this but . . . maybe not the same . . . scent." She stepped forward again, holding her hands over the girl's chest for a moment, her eyes closed and face twisted in a grimace. "I can't do that for long," she said, stepping back and rubbing her hands on her clothes again, unthinkingly. "But . . . I think I'd know it again."
"We were wondering if you could perhaps go to where the bodies were found," Halliwell said. "We know that wasn't where the girls were killed. But if you can . . . feel anything that might help . . ."
"She was killed in a room," Barbara said, her eyes unfocusing. "An unfinished basement, I think. There is a smell of mold. And . . . a gas flame?" She paused and shook her head. "I'm sorry, this is all very new to me. God has given me these gifts, but they are new and untried. I don't know if I'm truly sensing something or if it is my imagination playing tricks on me."
"You'll learn," Janea said, reaching across the body to touch her shoulder. "Let's get out of this environment."
"Wait," Barb replied, looking around. The morgue had drawers for bodies on both sides of the room and she walked to the other, her hand out to the drawers until she stopped at one. "There is another who was killed by the same methods in here."
"Yes, that is the other body we're holding," Hannelore said.
"But . . ." Barbara continued, walking down the row. "There is another . . ." She paused at one and gestured. "Here. Similar. Not . . . exactly the same. But . . . very similar."
"Really?" Hannelore asked, confused. He went to the drawer to get a number and then brought the case up on a computer. "Hmmm . . . Case J-17389. Ohio. A male. No signs of sexual assault although there are ligations. And no symbols on the body. There was removal of organs, but that was assumed to be sexually predatory even without signs of sexual assault. And the throat was cut. But the MO wasn't linked. It was brought here because we're doing an analysis of the ligation marks and trying to get any minor DNA contamination that might have been on the body. You're sure it's the same?"
"The feel is the same, similar anyway," Barb said, opening up the drawer and pulling it out. She paused when she saw the young man's face. He could have been an image, slightly older, of her own son. "I am sorry for this, my son," she muttered, holding her hands over the body. "Very similar," she concluded after a moment, stepping back. "Not as strong, but very similar."
Janea walked over to the drawer and held her hands over the body, shrugging after a moment.
"There's a trace of necromantic residue," she said. "That's all I can tell. It is definitely a Special Circumstances killing, but more I can't say."
"The body was found a month before the first killing in Case R-143," Hannelore said, musingly. "An early kill?"
"I think the killer hadn't settled his devotional method," Janea said. "Of course, the trace has faded over time. But I would guess that he didn't find his true ceremony until recently. But I'd be surprised if it wasn't the same killer, based on what Barb feels."
"We'll put it as possibly linked," Halliwell said, nodding. "Based on MO and secondary, unspecified, evidence."
"J-17389 was killed by a serrated edge," Hannelore said, distantly. "Sawn down. The R-143 cases are all a long bladed, non-serrated edge, inserted on the left side of the neck and then cutting out with drawing strokes. Our killer has refined his killing technique, if they're linked. Right-handed, by the way."
Barbara suddenly felt it, being raped and the point of the knife entering the side of her neck to kill her. She reached up to touch it—the feeling was so intense she expected her hand to come away bloody—and shook her head.
"I need to get out of here," she muttered, stumbling to the door.
Janea found her outside in the corridor to the lab, head bowed and hands clasped so hard her knuckles were white. She waited for the obvious prayer to finish and Barb to raise her head.
"I was calling for strength from the Lord," Barbara said, lowering her hands. "I knew I shouldn't have. This is something for which you have to find the strength within you. I don't know if I have it. If this is what the minor touch of necromancy does to me . . ." She stopped and shuddered, shaking her head.
"Well, yes, in there," Janea said. "You were opening yourself to the feelings. When you get into battle with the Enemy, your . . . sensitivity level goes down almost automatically. Or that's what I've been told," she added, shrugging. "I mean, I've never had to really face an enemy before."
"Well, I need to get further away from the morgue," Barb said, striding down the corridor. "I need to get out of this building. To take a shower. Slimy doesn't begin to describe it."
She exited the double doors to the morgue and then sat in a chair in the laboratory as the activity continued around her, willing herself to either ignore or suppress the continued miasma of evil. It was easier here but still seemed to be present and she wondered if she'd picked something up. She wanted to throw up, as if from sympathetic vomit.
"First time you ever saw a dead body?" one of the techs asked, grinning.
"That is not my problem," Barbara snarled, then caught herself as anger welled up in her soul. "I'm sorry," she added, trying to be calm. "But that is not my problem."
"Are you all right?" Halliwell asked, coming through the door and closely followed by Hannelore. At the sight of the Special Agent in Charge and the director of the lab the grin slid off the tech's face and he hurried away.
"I need to get out of this building," Barb said as calmly as she could. "For a while at least. I'm sorry but . . . that was much more unpleasant than I could possibly have imagined. Or explain."
"We were pretty much done here," Halliwell replied. "Agent Donahue can take you to the sites that are near here." He looked at Janea for a moment and shrugged. "You might want to change your shoes."
"Whatever for?" Janea asked, batting her lashes. "They help keep me on my toes. Is Agent Donahue driving?" she asked, batting her lashes again.
"No," Barbara replied. "I am. You can sit in the back. This time, wear your seatbelt."
"There," Donahue gasped, pointing to a narrow dirt road. "On the left." He grabbed his seat with his left hand and the handle of the door with his right, anticipating the slew turn.
Instead, Barbara slowed and then turned in carefully. The road was heavily potholed and might once have been a logging road but now was used for illegal dumping and, she suspected, as a parking and partying area for local kids. The trees were mixed pine and oak with an understory of what she thought might be beech. Without the garbage dumped in corners it would be a pretty area. And without the reason they were visiting it.
Donahue directed her through a couple of turns and then she stopped when she saw the police tape. The area marked out, with tape around the trees, was about thirty yards across. It had, apparently, been turned over by animals.
"When we investigate something like this we tend to tear the place up looking for evidence," Donahue admitted. Most of the pine and oak leaves from the area were gone, leaving empty loam.
"That also tends to make it harder for us," Janea said, getting out of the car and looking around. "Where was the body?"
"Wait," Barb said, following her out. She looked around the area, then ducked under the police tape, moving to a spot behind one of the larger oaks. "Here," she said, pointing to the ground. "Right here."
"You can still sense it?" Janea asked.
"Maybe I got sensitized," Barbara replied, looking at the ground unseeingly. "She wasn't covered, was she? She was on her back."
"That's right," Donahue said. "But that was in the pictures."
"There's not much else," Barbara replied, swallowing. "It's like a strong . . . I hate to use the word but 'psychic' imprint. Not only of the necromancy but of the dead body. I hope I don't start doing this for everyone who dies."
"Anything about the killer?" Donahue asked. "We don't even have a good tire track. We've got his DNA but . . ."
"No," Barbara said, closing her eyes. "Just the . . . sad feeling of death with that ugly hint of necromancy. That's weaker than the feel of death itself."
"We can probably reach one more site today," Donahue said. "But it's older."
"We'll go there," Barbara said. "See if there is anything."
"Can I drive?" Janea asked.
"No."
Even with a stop for lunch it didn't take as long as Donahue expected to reach the next site. This one was right by a minor back road. Apparently the killer had stopped, dragged the body into the weeds just beyond the right-of-way and then driven away. The area was thick with high grass and blackberries and Janea hadn't even bothered to try to crawl into the brush. However, it didn't make much difference since Barb couldn't even pick up the residue of the body.
"All the others are older," Donahue said.
"I don't think this is going to do any good," Barbara said, pushing aside some high grass. "There's hardly anything . . ." She paused and then stepped further into the grass. "You picked this area over?" She asked, turning her head from side to side, her eyes closed.
"Yes," Donahue replied. "Should have, anyway."
Barbara stopped and bent down, digging into a section of briars with a set expression on her face.
"Do you have a set of tweezers or a bag or something?" Barbara asked.
"Here," Donahue said, handing over a long set of tweezers and a plastic bag. "Don't touch whatever it is with your fingers."
"I wasn't planning on it," Barbara replied in a strained voice. She reached into the brambles and carefully extracted something, dropping it in the bag. "I don't want to be doing this, much less touching it."
"Interesting," Donahue said, taking the bag by the corner. "A gem?"
"Moonstone, I think," Barbara said, wiping her hands on her skirt again. "And it's steeped in that necromantic . . . stench."
"Let me see, please," Janea called, stepping up to the edge of the brush.
Donahue first put a small yellow marker in the briars, then gave Barbara a hand getting out of the scrub. Barbara didn't complain; the aura from the moonstone was nearly as intense as from the dead girl. Certainly more concentrated. The hand wasn't entirely unnecessary; she was shaken by being as close to the gem as she had been.
"That's a moonstone, all right," Janea said, taking the bag carefully. "And Barb's right; the aura level is massive. I'd say that it was used as part of the rite. Perhaps a decoration on the althane or on ceremonial dress. I'd strongly suggest turning this over to Special Circumstances forensics. They have some ceremonials that might give us a better handle on what it was used for. I . . ." She paused, then shrugged and handed the bag back.
"This feels as if it has been used for a power repository. But I don't know a ritual that does that, not at the levels I'm feeling from this. The writing was from an unknown source and this might be an unknown ritual. In which case, we really need to know about it; we've got a library of most of the true rituals out there."
"I'll leave that up to the SAIC," Donahue said, pocketing the gem.
"Well, leave it in the trunk at the very least," Barbara said, shuddering. "You have no idea what horror you just dropped in your pocket. Think of it as every concentrated scream, every concentrated plea, every drop of blood, every soul, in micro, there in your pocket."
Donahue slowly drew it back out, then walked to the car and put it in a case in the back.
"Wait," Janea said, digging in the small bag she'd brought along to hold her "necessary" cosmetics. She pulled out a scarf and handed it to the agent.
"Wrap it in that," Janea said, backing away from the trunk.
Barbara, even without being able to see what he was doing, could tell when the thing had been wrapped. The aura of evil was abruptly cut off.
"What was that?" Barb asked as they got in the car.
"Silk," Janea said. "I was so overwhelmed by the stench from that thing I forgot. But silk will stop most power emanations dead in their tracks."
"I'm going to make some silk bags for investigations, then," Barbara said, feeling much better with that . . . thing wrapped up. "And we need to suggest to the FBI that they invest in silk covers for bodies. I don't think that being around that sort of necromantic power is good for anyone in the building, sensitive or not."
They drove back to the Academy, dropped off the gem along with a description of where it had been found, then caught dinner at a steak house.
"I'd always heard of psychic consultants," Donahue said, as the waitress left after getting their drink order. "And I'd always discounted them. I guess I shouldn't have."
"Well, the Bureau sometimes uses what we call 'real' psychics," Janea said, chuckling. "At least, so I'm told. People who think they have the ability to feel psychic emanations. We don't do that. We have a sort of connection to a god. The god, in turn, gives us certain gifts."
"I hadn't really realized I could do that until just today," Barb said. "And now I wish I couldn't. I can still feel the residue from that thing in the trunk and we haven't really helped."
"Oh, yes you have," Donahue said. "Just that moonstone could be a major key. In this case, we have a solid case against some unknown perpetrator. The DNA is solid, there are various other pieces that are solid and, guaranteed, as soon as we know the perp there will be witnesses that put him and the victims, some or all, together. Just the DNA, these days, is good enough for a conviction. We just have to find him. And that moonstone could very well be the key."
"Unlikely," Janea said. "Moonstones are common in fandom and we're thinking this guy is a fan, right?"
"Yeah," Donahue admitted.
"Moonstone is relatively cheap and looks cool," Janea continued. "You see it all over. I'd been thinking about the properties of moonstone. One of them is, yeah, the enhancement of power and power storage. But not at that level. If there's a lost ritual that actually permits the stones to store power for a greater rite, then . . ."
"The stone was being used like a battery?" Donahue asked.
"Maybe," Janea said. "That's what some people do. But not that powerful a battery."
"I want to know how it was attached," Barbara commented. "Was it on a ring? In a setting? On a costume? What? I think if the . . . perp has whatever it was attached to at the con I'll feel it. He . . . heck, I think I'd feel it if I was in the same county."
"Unless it's wrapped in silk," Janea pointed out.
"The lab will be able to find that out by tomorrow," Donahue said. "The con starts Friday evening in Roanoke. It's small. In one way that will act in our favor; we won't have as many people to try to sort through. In another, it will be a problem since we'll tend to stand out if we don't be careful."
"Careful is my middle name," Janea said. "Of course, it's from my real name and I never use that."
"I just don't see you as a Doris," Barb admitted, smiling.
"Hush your mouth," Janea replied, waving a finger at her. "I hate that name."
"Do we go together or separate?" Donahue asked and then looked at Barbara's expression. "We're staying separate, obviously."
"Pity," Janea said. "Hey, if I go with Greg, there'll be more room for the luggage!"
"How much luggage do you have?" Greg asked, worriedly.
"A lot," Barb said, frowning.
"You've got a rentacar, right?" the agent asked. "Why don't I see if I can check out a Bureau unmarked Expedition. More room for luggage, more room for us."
"And you can drive?" Barbara asked, grinning.
"That, too," Donahue admitted.
"We can do that," Barb said. "I'm not sure how we get back."
"We can fly out of Roanoke," Janea replied. "You can fly home direct. We'll drop the rentacar off before we go down."
"Let's do that," Donahue insisted. "Among other things, it will give you a chance to catch up on your reading."
"More reading?" Barbara said, smiling.
"You're going to have to be able to discuss the collected works of K. Goldberg," Donahue said.
"Who?"
"She's a horror and mystery writer," Donahue said, handing over a book with a dripping knife on the cover. "You'll want to read at least one book of hers before the con. You can keep that one; get it signed if you wish."
"Great," Barb said. "More homework."