SAND CASTLE CONDOMINIUMS
WEDNESDAY, 8:30 AM
They made their way down State Road A1A, heading toward Andrea Alvarez’s apartment, in complete silence. Becca was still stewing over her situation, pondering every dwindling proposition she could think of to extricate herself and her agency from the investigation.
Maybe it’s the work of a serial killer, she fantasized. The FBI would take jurisdiction if it was a serial killer.
Silas, for his part, kept his gaze fixed out the passenger window, watching the beach front scenery race by. Periodically, he would whistle or ‘ooooh’ when something particularly breathtaking would come into view. In many ways, he was almost childlike in his awe of the natural world.
Heck, we don’t even know it is a murder yet, she continued her whirlwind rationalizations. Autopsy’s not finished yet. We already know the stab wound didn’t kill her. Maybe that was just a coincidence or something and she died from heart failure. Case closed. Mr. Death can be on his merry way.
After a few minutes, she could take the silence no longer.
“I’ve got a question,” she said.
Silas seemed to snap from whatever mental world he’d escaped to and turned to her. “Shoot.”
“What do you think is going on? I mean with Alvarez’s death. Do you really think it’s a murder or something else?”
He seemed to think about this for a few moments. “Well, it’s highly suspicious. And I know that these unsanctioned deaths must be done by unnatural causes. Natural deaths—such as heart attacks, cancer, liver failure, those types of things—would all be predetermined and therefore, would be properly sanctioned. So, Ms. Alvarez was definitely killed by something or someone.” He paused for a second. “And the Ebo blade stuck in her back would suggest her death was intentional to some degree.”
“Ebo blade?”
He nodded. “It’s a ceremonial knife. Used in the Santeria religion for animal sacrifices.”
“Oh, that’s just great.”
Becca was aware of the presence of Santeria throughout Florida. Had even heard recent rumblings about local groups around Summer Haven, but she hadn’t paid it much heed. She had worried more about the influx of heroin and Fentanyl in her town than any group of hoodoo shenanigans and animal sacrifices.
“Are you thinking Alvarez was some kind of human sacrifice? By these Santeria groups?”
Silas smiled and shook his head. “Nah. Santeria doesn’t practice human sacrifice. But with the knife and those glyphs written in the blood on her back, I believe we were supposed to think she was.”
Becca returned her attention to the road, letting his words sink in. A few minutes later, she turned into the Sand Castle Condominiums and made her way around the winding parking lot until she came to the building with her victim’s unit. She parked her patrol car, reminded herself to breathe, and got out.
She’d parked beside the patrol unit guarding Alvarez’s home and, the moment she stepped out of the car, she was met by Officer Tim Sharron. Sharron gave Silas a strange look when he got out of the passenger seat, then glanced over at Becca.
“Long story. Don’t ask,” she responded to his unspoken question. “How’s the scene holding up?”
“It’s been quiet,” he said. “Haven’t seen anyone approaching her place since I got here.”
“What about the back entrance?”
He shook his head. “Of course, I can’t watch the front and the back at the same time. But I’ve made random patrols around the property. Haven’t seen anyone except other residents leaving, heading for work.”
She smiled at the officer. “Good job. Especially with making your patrols random.”
Sharron, who’d only worked for the department a year now, beamed at her praise. “Thank you, ma’am.”
She patted him on the shoulder. “Stick around, Tim. We’re going to look inside. If there’s trouble, I’d appreciate the backup.”
“Want me to go in with you?” He kept staring at Silas Mot with wary eyes. There was just something about the guy that put everyone on edge.
“Nah, I’ll be fine. Just stay sharp and come if I call.”
He nodded, then climbed back into his patrol car.
Without acknowledging Silas, she began walking toward building D, and looking for unit number 14—Alvarez’s condo. A few minutes later, she caught sight of it and veered in its direction.
“So, what exactly are we hoping to find here, Chief Cole?” Silas asked, breaking the short reprieve she’d been enjoying from having to speak to the crazy man.
“It’s just a good place to start, that’s all.” She approached the front door and tried the door knob. It was locked. “Right now, we don’t know a lot about our victim. We don’t know where she died either. The body had obviously been moved onto the beach by the killer. So, her place might give us the clues we need to continue with the investigation.”
“And you won’t need a warrant to enter her property?”
“It’s not hers. She was just renting the place.” She retrieved her cell phone from her pocket, searched Google for the property manager’s phone number, and dialed it. A short conversation later and she hung up. “Property management is contacting the condo’s owner. He lives close by. They said he should be here in five minutes to let us in. If he gives us permission, there’s no need for a warrant.”
“Ah! Very enlightening.”
She pulled her notebook from her pocket and pretended to be reviewing her notes to avoid any more conversation with the strange man. For his part, Silas withdrew another Warhead candy—the crinkling of the wrapper threatening to shatter her last nerve—and plopped it in his mouth for another display of blissful pucker-face.
She flipped through the pages of her notebook with an angry flourish, hoping her new partner would get the hint. But he appeared oblivious to her irritation and began humming a strange tune that sounded like an old Irish ballad she’d heard at a funeral when she was a kid. She rolled her eyes.
It’s only around ten in the morning and I already need a drink. This guy is going to put me in the looney bin.
She was about to ask him to stop his humming when a bright red Mini-Cooper pulled into the parking lot beside her car. A moment later, a portly young woman wearing a pair of leopard print leggings and a black sports bra two-sizes-too-small climbed out from behind the wheel. The woman’s hair, short and poufy, was professionally colored as red as her vehicle. Her face—thick with makeup—revealed worry lines creasing her brow when she noticed the police car and then Chief Cole standing near Andrea Alvarez’s door. The newcomer rushed toward them, a set of keys in her hands.
“What’s going on?” she asked when she was within earshot. “Is Andrea okay?”
Becca stepped forward, blocking the woman from the front door. “Sorry, are you the owner of the condo?”
The redhead shook her head. “No. Just Andrea’s best friend.” She looked from Becca to Silas. “What’s happening? What’s wrong?”
The chief recognized the woman from around town, but she’d yet to learn her name. In her line of work, most of the time, that was a good thing. In situations like this, however, it made things a little awkward.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but I’m not at liberty to talk about it just yet.” She withdrew a pen from her shirt pocket. “Can I ask you your name?”
The woman nodded. She was visibly shaking. Her thick mascara now ran in streaks down her cheeks. She was definitely concerned. I wonder why.
“S-sure,” she said. Her voice trembled. “Ceci. My name is Ceci Palmer. Like I said, I’m Andrea’s best friend. Is she okay? She’s not dead, is she?”
“Well now, Ms. Palmer” Silas said. He leaned toward her like a famished predator, arms behind his back. His gleaming teeth reminded Becca of those of a hyena. “Why on earth would you ask something like that?”
The woman blinked at him, then turned to Becca. “B-because…” She wiped away a tear and sniffed. “Because of the Death Curse.”
Silas seemed to go rigid at the proclamation, though Becca couldn’t blame him. In all her years as a police officer, she’d never come across a statement like that.
“Death curse?” she asked.
Ceci Palmer nodded. “Yeah. She’s been worried sick about it for weeks. We all have. When I saw your police cars here, I just assumed the curse finally got her.”
Becca decided to shelve talk of a curse until they could get inside to look the place over. “And why exactly were you coming by here today? If you don’t mind me asking.”
The rotund redhead shook her head. “I d-don’t mind at all. I came to pick her up for the gym. We have spin class today.”
Becca glanced over at Silas, who was eyeing the woman with deep suspicion. She then looked down at her watch. The landlord was taking his sweet time getting here to let them in.
“Do you have keys to get in?” the chief asked, gesturing with her thumb to point at the door behind her.
Ceci’s tear-streaked face nodded. She held out her set of keys in shaking hands.
Becca took the keys. “Don’t go anywhere, Miss. We still have questions. And I’d like to hear more about this death curse you mentioned.”
Another nod.
Becca then turned to the front door and riffled through the keys until she found the one that fit the lock. She gave it a quick turn and the door opened with a twist of the knob. She took a single step inside and jerked to a surprised halt. A ghastly visage, hidden within the shadows beyond the door’s lintel, stared at her from a pedestal about waist high. A second later, she realized the macabre thing was a statue of some kind—a large oval stone with a face made out of sea shells.
“That’s Echu Eleggua,” Ceci said from just outside the door. “One of the Orisha Warriors of Santeria.”
Becca glanced back at the woman. “Excuse me?”
“Santeria, Chief Cole,” Silas whispered in her ear. “Our connection to the Ebo knife.”
“Andrea practiced Santeria.” She pointed at the Mr. Potato-Head-like statue. The thing sat in a bowl filled with small pebbles, assorted hard candies, and a plastic child’s whistle. “I’m not really sure of all the ins and outs of her religion, but she told me that the Orisha Warriors were supposed to be placed at the entrance to the house to keep out evil spirits. Eleggua was supposed to be the keeper of the door.”
On the right side of the door, resting on another pedestal was a medium-sized iron cauldron with several iron spikes placed within. Next to it was a third pedestal with what looked like an iron tripod connected by a chain at the base.
“The pot, I believe, represents Ogun, the master of all metal. Where Eleggua opens and closes doors, Ogun keeps things at bay.” Ceci had slid into the condo past Silas and pointed to the tripod. “And that thing…Andrea told me it’s supposed to represent a crossbow. It’s the sign of Ochosi, the hunter. My understanding is that if someone keeps these avatars at their door, it would keep the evil spirits or curses away.”
Silas nodded. “I know these guys,” Silas said to Becca. “Interesting fellows, each of them. Though they tend to cheat at cards.”
The two women blinked at him, then Ceci returned her gaze to the Orisha statues. “There’s a piece missing.” She pointed to an empty pedestal tipped over on the ground beside the Potato-Head stone. “Osun is supposed to be there. It looks kind of like a silver trophy with a rooster on top. I think it represented Andrea herself…her well-being. Legend said that if your Osun falls over, you’re in danger.” Ceci paused as if thinking about her last statement, then gasped. “Andrea!”
Before Becca could react, the portly redhead bolted up the stairs of the condo. A moment later, there was a gargled yelp. Becca and Silas ran upstairs and found her in what appeared to be the master bedroom. A nightstand and lamp had been overturned. Strange symbols, similar to those scrawled on Andrea’s body, were marked in red on the vanity mirror to their right.
Ceci stared at the bed, which didn’t appear to have been slept in recently. She pulled her hand over her mouth to stifle a gargled cry. “Where…where is she? Where’s Andrea?”
Becca placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Honey, I’m afraid we need to talk.”