“What do you know about that?”

“The cuts? The pentacles? It was all over the news. It’s something to excite, to titillate. To guarantee it’s all that’s talked about. The killer is exceptionally egocentric-he wanted to leave his signature behind.”

Ariadne shifted in her seat, her tone more serious now. “This wasn’t some guy shooting from a clock tower, Lieutenant. This was methodical, planned, and it might not be over. You need to be looking for someone with a very special skill set.”

“Someone like you,” McKenzie remarked. Untroubled, Ariadne said, “Yes. Someone like me. But I would never kill to further my goals. That is strictly forbidden. You of all people know that. Besides, it’s against my own personal code.”

“You know^r an awful lot about this, Ariadne,” Taylor said. “I can’t help but wonder how. And not through any of these gimmicks, either. You know details, and you’ve actively interfered in an official police investigation.”

“That is true,” she said, a small smile playing on her lips.

“We have a man in custody who says he committed the murders,” McKenzie said. “He also claims to be the king of the vampires.”

Ariadne threw^r up her hands, her long hair swirling around her like a wave.“Tcha. The Vampyre Nation is a joke. They are parasites, vermin. This so-called vampire king is lying. The warlock who did this is too smart to turn himself in.” She paused for a moment, then said, “Though he will want to brag, of course. Has he sent you a letter yet? I thought I picked up words last night.”

McKenzie gave her a long look. “You’d make a good cop, Ariadne,” he said at last, Taylor leaned back in her chair, eyes narrowed. What was the agenda here? Yes, this was a splashy case, plucking at the heartstrings of everyone involved. And it wasn’t entirely unusual to have people surrender themselves, admit to knowledge of the crimes. She’d had self-proclaimed psychics try to horn in on cases in the past, people who claimed they could see the missing, could communicate with their spirits if they were already gone. They’d always ended up being charlatans, glory seekers, redirecting the investigations to suit their own twisted purpose. She couldn’t take that chance, not on a case this big. She realized she’d made her decision already.

“Ariadne, I’m going to read you your rights. You understand that I’m going to have to treat you as a suspect- you’ve really given me no choice. This is for your protection as much as for mine.”

Ariadne nodded in agreement. “Do what you feel necessary, Lieutenant. I have nothing to hide-my heart is pure.

You must do what your path tells you. I am not offended in the least. As a matter of fact, if you hadn’t, I might have been suspicious.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because now I know that you believe me.”

Twenty-Five

She’d left McKenzie with the witch. He’d be able to ferret out whatever it was that Ariadne was holding back.

Truth be told, Ariadne made her desperately uncomfortable. Mind reader or no, she was entirely too perceptive. Taylor had noticed her eyeing the bouquet of white roses Memphis had sent, wondered if she’d had the audacity to read the card while Taylor had been conferring with her team in the corridor. Probably. Frauds, the lot of them, these people who claimed to use the supernatural as their guide. She most certainly didn’t believe the woman was a witch, but she did believe she was involved. And since it wasn’t unusual for suspects to inject themselves into cases, Ariadne certainly fell under suspicion.

What was the deal with that creepy Barent man? Claiming he was a vampire, that Taylor had killed him over and over, Marcus had submitted the paperwork to get the warrant, they were playing the waiting game now. She was surrounded by kooks.

And by one clever killer, who had them chasing their tails, looking into the dark shadows for answers.

It gave Taylor chills to pull back into the Kings’ driveway, but she needed to talk to Letha before she went further. There were multiple cars in the drive way, well-wishers and neighbors bringing covered dishes and morbid curiosity.

Taylor had always felt vaguely uncomfortable with the southern tradition of the wake-too many people seemed to live for tragedies, were surrounded by death and sickness. They were the first in line to comfort strangers, to offer help when victims’ families were more interested in battening down the hatches and healing themselves. This scene was being repeated all over Nashville this afternoon.

She knocked on the door, surprised when Letha herself answered. Her face had been scrubbed and her hair was clean, the black polish gone from her nails. Her eyes were clear.

“Letha, Lieutenant Jackson. We met yesterday. I’m so sorry about your brother. Can I come in?” Letha glanced over her shoulder. “Do you mind if we talk out here? It’s really crowded inside.”

“Certainly.”

The girl came out and closed the door behind her softly, as if she didn’t want to alert anyone of her actions. Taylor stepped to the porch railing, leaned against it. “So. I was at the school this morning, and your name came up. You hang out with the Goth kids?”

Letha bent and picked up a broken limb that had fallen on the stoop. ‘T don’t hang with them, not really. I was just.. .experimenting.”

“Who do you hang out with?”

“I’m a floater. I don’t belong to any of the cliques.”

“Theo Howell told us that you found Jerry yesterday, and called him and his sister to come over to help. You must be friends with them if they were your first recourse.”

“Theo and Jerry are friends. Were friends. I didn’t know who else to call.”

“What about the police?”

She shook her head. “I didn’t want to get Jerry in trouble.” Taylor tried not to groan aloud. The logic of teenagers. “You should have called 911 as soon as you found him.

You know that, don’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. So you aren’t part of the popular crowd?”

“I told you. I don’t hang out with anyone in particular.” She tossed the branch out into the lawn. Taylor could see the lines of anger in the girl’s shoulders.

“What do you know about drugs at school?”

Her eyes darted away, and she mumbled, “Nothing.”

“Vi-Fri? You’re sure you don’t know anything about it?”

Now she was truly discomfited. “How do you know about that?” she asked.

Taylor nudged a fallen leaf with the toe of her boot. “Theo told me. Was Jerry doing drugs?” She nodded meekly. “Were you?”

“Maybe a little X, here or there, but nothing major. Just on weekends. Like Jerry. He gave me some of his, if he was in a good mood. Please don’t tell my parents. They’ll be really mad at me.”

“Only if you tell me who Jerry bought the drugs from.”

The girl hung her head. “His name is Thorn. He’s a freshman.”

“What’s his real name?”

“I don’t know. It’s something foreign. T don’t remember. Can I go back in now? My mom’s going to notice I’m gone.”

“Juri Edvin?” She looked startled-she knew the name. “Maybe. I really don’t know.”

“What does Thorn look like?”

“I don’t know. Short, like me. Kinda heavyset. He’s really part of the Goth crowd.”

Taylor watched the girl. She was biting a thumbnail, obviously upset. Was she lying? Or just not telling the whole truth? Taylor didn’t think so, but it never hurt to ask.

“Letha, your brother and Brandon Scott had a fight last week. Do you have any idea what that might be about?”

“No,” she said, quick and sharp. She clamped her lips together, leaving Taylor to think the real answer was yes.