Just like the body I’d seen three years ago.
And now I could feel the arcane resonance—a hum of power, like a bass speaker a room away. Keeping my hand a couple of inches from actually touching the body, I spread my fingers over the symbol carved into her chest, opening myself further to that resonance. I knew that it probably looked weird as shit to anyone watching me, but I wanted to soak up as much sensation from this arcane resonance as possible.
I pulled my hand away and glanced up at Jill and Crawford, relieved to see that they were looking at the area surrounding the body and had apparently missed my faith-healer impression. Regardless, it would have been worth it. Whoever had killed this woman had been working deeply in the arcane at the same time. Was this the arcane touch that Kehlirik had felt? He’d said it had the taint of blood and death, and there was certainly plenty of that here.
I shifted my awareness back to normal sight. I could still feel the resonance, but at least now it didn’t feel as if my teeth were going to vibrate out of my head. “If it’s not the Symbol Man, then it’s one hell of a copycat,” I said for Jill’s and Crawford’s benefit, but I knew this wasn’t a copycat. Not with the symbol and the arcane traces and the timing that coincides so perfectly with the convergence of the two spheres. That’s just way too much coincidence.
“Looks like we’re going to be busy for a while,” Crawford said as I stood. “Oh, by the way, the captain said he wanted to see you when you got here.”
I nodded. “Is he on the scene?”
Crawford snorted. “As if. No, he’s conferring with the chief and some of the other brass.”
I scanned the area beyond the tape for the distinctive silhouette of the head of the detective division. Captain Turnham seldom went inside the crime-scene tape unless his presence was vitally needed. He despised being subpoenaed simply because his name had been on a crime-scene sign-in sheet and also despised seeing extraneous people on a crime scene, refusing to be one of that number. I guess he doesn’t consider me extraneous, I realized, allowing myself a brief flush of satisfaction at the thought.
Taller than most of the others on the scene by nearly a head, the captain was easy to pick out. As expected, he was standing just beyond the perimeter of the crime-scene tape. With him were Boudreaux, Pellini, and Wetzer—the three Violent Crimes detectives other than Crawford. And how are they going to handle hearing my input in this case? Will they even take me seriously? Pretty doubtful, considering that lot. There’d been a few times when my white-collar crime cases had intersected with an armed robbery or a homicide, and they’d made it quite clear that I didn’t know dick about what they did and that any opinions I had were unwelcome and unnecessary. Crawford had a huge capacity for being an ass, but at least he was fairly good at his job and was usually willing to listen to input.
I left Crawford and Jill by the body and headed toward Captain Turnham. He stepped away from the other detectives as I approached, full attention focusing on me. A tall, thin black man with arms and legs that seemed too long for his body, he’d been a police officer in New Orleans for fifteen years before moving out to “the boonies.” He’d been with the Beaulac PD for almost ten years now. He seemed humorless and dour to those who didn’t know him, but the people who worked with and for him knew that he was merely relentlessly dedicated and overly meticulous. Even now, at three a.m., he was wearing a crisp white dress shirt and khaki pants with creases sharp enough to slice bread, while every other detective on the scene was in jeans and PD T-shirts.
“Morning, Gillian.” Captain Turnham looked down at me over his wire-frame glasses.
“Morning, Captain,” I said with a small nod. “Thanks for letting me come out on this.”
His lips twitched into something vaguely resembling a smile. “I’m going to give this one to you, since right now you know the most about the Symbol Man cases.”
I stared at him for several heartbeats, certain that I’d misheard him. “You want me to work with Crawford and the others on this?”
He shook his head. “No. I want you to take this case.”
I was suddenly insanely grateful that Crawford had remained by the body. I didn’t even want to think what his reaction would be to this. “Sir, you do remember that I have no experience with working homicides?”
“And you never will unless you work one,” he replied with calm logic.
“Well, yes, but—”