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Fiona was sipping a Diet Coke as I ate my slice of pizza, with a regular Coke set just out of knocking over reach. Fiona had a plate that had two slices of Hawaiian pizza on it, or my version of Hawaiian pizza on it anyway; mushrooms, sausage, black olives, jalapenos, ham, and pineapple, the only thing that could have made it more Hawaiian was spam. The FBI was feeding us. Kimberly had ordered from a place that had a whole lot of toppings you wouldn’t find at a chain pizza place.
Gabriel, Lucas, and the FBI agent were conducting interviews. Fiona and I were looking at every murder case from Tallahassee that had happened in the last year where the victim practiced a pagan religion.
There were a lot of them. Tallahassee’s general population was 50% pagan. There were nine different branches of organized Satanism, the usual Wiccans and Druids, then there were five revivalist religions that worshipped deities belonging to ancient cultures, like the Cult of Osiris that worshipped the ancient Egyptian pantheon of gods, five or six Asian religions based on mysticism, and about thirty or so religious cults that didn’t really explain what they worshipped. This meant that a disproportionate number of murders involved victims that were practicing pagans.
There was a criteria to our search, we wanted female victims where the level of violence was extreme or prolonged torture was evident. Our killer hadn’t just woken up one day and started stalking Satanist couples and injecting them with acid. Killers that used extreme methods tended to work up to it. Rarely did a guy immediately start with rape, torture, and mutilation. There was a progression to it. Fiona and Lucas had decided we could rule out crimes where the victims were raped, but that still left a lot of cases. Tallahassee was not the murder capital of the US, but it did average 1,000 homicides a year. It did not have many ritual murders or serial killers. Every once in a while one would crop up like Brent Timmons, but they were the exception not the rule.
We had five bins set around the room, each one labeled. I closed a file and got up and took it to a bin labeled “Not our serial, but still a serial” and gently placed it inside. Fiona did something similar with the folder she had been looking at, placing it in a bin marked “Absolutely not related to our serial”. They had let me create the bin names and I liked names that left nothing to the imagination.
Kimberly stuck her head in the door. A smile on her face.
“What?” I asked her.
“You both read very quickly. I knew you did, but I didn’t realize you had found a partner in speed reading. Do you two need anything?”
“I’m good,” Fiona told her.
“You were very quiet this morning at the crime scene,” I answered.
“It spoke for itself,” she answered.
“That it did.” I agreed, motioning her into the room.
“I have seen five of those now, they aren’t getting any easier and I think the level of violence is getting worse.”
“How so?” Fiona asked her.
“The first couple weren’t nearly as dissolved as this one.” She looked down at the pizza boxes. “With each case he’s using more acid, and hanging around longer as a result. He isn’t afraid of getting caught. Considering the public nature of the temple, I’m just surprised.”
“And horrified,” I added.
“A little bit.” Kimberly nodded. “I have seen some dreadful things on this job, but this is in the top ten.”
“Do you have a problem with acid attacks in this town?” Fiona asked after another moment.
“No. I know there have been some in other places around the country, but we have not had a single one.” Kimberly said. “I don’t know how to put it into words.”
“The large pagan community means that really dedicated religious persons fail to feel welcome and so they don’t stick around long enough to start spouting scripture on corners or throwing acid on young women they find immodest.”
“Basically,” Kimberly nodded. “Our mayor is a Druid. This is a community that accepts all religions and religious diversity better than most and the overzealous don’t stick around for very long as a result. We don’t get a lot of religion-based crimes.”
“Considering pagans are discriminated against fairly regularly, I’m surprised by that.” Fiona said.
“It’s part of the reason my husband and I moved here.” Kimberly said. “My husband’s family is from here and most are practicing pagans. So, when we met and started talking about getting married, he asked if I would have a problem moving here so he could work for his father.”
“That was elusive and cagey,” I pointed out.
“My father-in-law is an occultist, for lack of a better word. He sells spells and charms and amulets from a variety of pagan religions.” Kimberly shrugged. “My husband is a doctor, so they also sell folk medicine.”
“Don’t introduce him to Xavier.” I smiled.
“Actually, they might still get along. My husband believes most people are over medicated. He doesn’t solely rely on folk medicine, but if someone is insistent they need a medication to treat whatever they have that he isn’t as convinced they need, he will often give them something like valerian root, because he says belief is half the battle with treating any illness.”
“You may be right then,” Fiona agreed. “They might get along fine.”
“Exactly. He doesn’t recommend spells or holistic medications that have a spotty track record, it’s more about getting people off the medications than putting them on it, like he wouldn’t tell you to stop treating your migraines with modern medication, but he would want to do lab work and make sure you weren’t missing any key vitamins or minerals in your diet and he’d put you on supplements of those to see if they helped.”
“Our definition of folk medicine might be different,” I suggested.
“Maybe,” she agreed. “However, most medications have horrible side effects and people want a pill to help with everything, so doctors prescribe them pills to help with everything. My husband doesn’t agree with that approach. He prefers a more natural approach then using medications when nothing else is available. He isn’t going to risk the life of a patient with high blood pressure by prescribing them all-natural relaxant substances, but he will try to get them off all medications not essential to controlling their high blood pressure. For example, I grind my teeth bad, acupuncture in my jaws and valerian root are what my husband recommended. I stopped taking the muscle relaxers and I rarely use a night guard anymore. Putting one in only when I’m really stressed at work, like lately.”
“I understand,” I assured her. I looked around the room. Fiona was munching the second slice of pizza that had been on her plate. I offered a piece to Kimberly who declined.
“Is your husband an occultist, too?” Fiona asked.
“My husband is a scientist,” Kimberly chuckled. “The occult doesn’t interest him. However, he comes from a long line of Haitian witch doctors, making it impossible for him to be a total disbeliever.” Kimberly looked at Fiona. “You commented earlier you weren’t a Satanist, but you aren’t exactly a Wiccan, either, judging by the medallion you are wearing.”
“I practice a form of goddess worship and naturalism. Wicca is as close as most people get to understanding it, so I just claim to be a Wiccan witch.” Fiona touched the amulet that usually hung on a chain long enough to keep it hidden in her shirt. However, Badger had broken the chain a week ago and a new suitably long replacement hadn’t been found yet. Fiona was technically a Neo-Druid, but there was more to her religion than Druidism ever thought of being. From what I could tell it was mesh of Druidism, Revivalist religion, and naturalism. She mostly worshipped forgotten goddesses like Gaia, Hathor, and Maat, making her religion mostly revivalist ancient Egyptian, except the Gaia part. We didn’t really discuss it because the incense burning and sage cleansings annoyed me.
“I’m going to be a bitch and ask what your parents thought of you marrying a Haitian witch doctor’s son.”
“We don’t speak. They have never seen their grandchildren, and until they accept it, they won’t.” Kimberly’s parents were Jewish and not particularly tolerant of things not Jewish. They had expected her to settle down with a nice Jewish boy and raise nice Jewish children. Kimberly had about as much interest in practicing Judaism as I did in practicing self-mutilation. In college, they had been horrified to learn that not only was I not Jewish, I was not religious anything. I remember them yelling at the resident advisor in our building about them setting up their daughter with a gentile, especially one like me.
“Maybe one day,” I shrugged at her without much conviction in my voice that her parents might one day come to their senses and learn there were things worse in life than Haitian witch doctors.
“We aren’t holding our breath,” she replied absently.
“Do you have many hate crimes in general in Tallahassee?” I asked, changing the subject.
“Not really,” Kimberly answered. “You think it’s a hate crime?”
“The method of killing implies it probably is.” Fiona answered. “The method supports the idea of it. Killing is usually about hate, even in shootings, but the idea of injecting acid into another person, is a specialized kind of hate. I don’t think the killer could do this if they considered them people.”
“I agree,” I told her and Kimberly. “Hate crime fits. We’ve kind of been looking for hate crimes, but we haven’t found many.”
“The majority of our hate crimes are based on race more than religion. We have our loons no different than anywhere else. A few years ago, a Neo-Nazi group tried to set up a headquarters here. There was an organized demonstration against it, organized by the leaders of several of our non-mainstream religious groups that ended when the group made it known that they were just as comfortable with their right to bear arms as the Neo-Nazi group. No one died, but they were using a vacant store as their headquarters, and it was the target of lots of vandalism, including someone continuously cutting their electric at the box. One night someone wrote a note and told them they would be in for their own Kristallnacht if they didn’t leave. Listed the names and addresses of all the members of the group, a few days later we got a slew of reports of slashed tires and gas tank tampering from the hate group members. Shortly after that, they closed down shop and the majority of them moved out of town. They now have a cult-like compound on the outskirts of town. That’s why the FBI is here. My boss was worried these killings were retaliation for running the skinheads out of town.”
“Is that possible?” Fiona asked.
“It isn’t impossible,” Kimberly answered. “Although very unlikely, because no one could figure out who was behind the vandalism. It isn’t like The Temple of the Rising Sun was the only one claiming they organized it. Even my father-in-law claimed that he got some of his Voodoo buddies together to cast spells on the skinheads and that the demons they summoned must have caused the damage. Almost every organized group in town claimed responsibility. Even the peace-loving hippie yoga group claimed responsibility saying they did it because the skinheads were disrupting the calm the town had.”
“How odd,” I frowned.
“Hey, since the pagans came to town in droves, our crime rates have really dropped. We went from averaging three thousand murders a year to just under a thousand.”
Why would pagans drop crime rates?” Fiona asked.
“They are very organized and community involved. It’s hard to believe but the nine Satanist groups have a youth outreach group and run several community centers as well as pour money into public education and policing. We even have a community policing group that has to train for three months with the police force and every dime they need to operate from uniforms to training is paid for by the Satanic Coalition that exists in this town.”
“Satanic Coalition just sounds weird. They aren’t two words you put together and think it helps the community,” Fiona smiled.
“I know, but in Tallahassee, the Satanic Coalition is one of the largest fund-raising groups around and they are generous donors.”
“I get it.” I told them. “They’re accepted here, but they still feel the need to prove that they are contributing society members.”
“You do the same thing,” Fiona looked at me.
“To some degree,” I answered.
“I had never thought about it until now, but that’s why you buy the crap the kids in the neighborhood sell, whether it’s cookies, candy bars, or magazine subscriptions, you tend to buy it and you tend to foist it onto us once you have bought it.”
“Except the candy bars and magazines,” I reminded her, although sometimes, I gave members of the SCTU the magazines too. I had even gifted a few subscriptions. I only read a handful of magazines and they usually weren’t on the forms the kids in the neighborhood were selling as a fund raiser.
“I don’t foist, I gift, there is a difference,” I informed her.
“The difference must be very subtle,” Fiona remarked.
“Sometimes the difference is practically invisible,” I shrugged.
