CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN
Ella thought that Ezra Crowley – or Todd Peterson – looked nothing like a serial killer. Killers were weedy and unimposing, like plastic bags in human form.
But the man on the other side of the bars had something about him. Presence, maybe, and dare she say it – a hint of charisma, even just sitting there like a Viking who'd stumbled through time and landed in police custody. That blonde hair hung past his shoulders in a way that belonged on an album cover, not a mugshot. Circuit board tattoos decorated the shaved sides of his head in precise geometric patterns that followed the curve of his skull with military accuracy. Despite what true crime documentaries wanted you to believe, serial killers didn’t have an ounce of charisma in them.
Ella stood outside the bars while Luca hung back in shadows. ‘Comfortable?’ she asked.
Ezra shrugged. ‘I’ve had worse.’
‘When?
‘In past lives.’
‘Don’t get philosophical on me. Again.’
‘Again? Have we met before?’
‘Not in person. But let’s ask some real questions – why were you at a crime scene today?’
Ezra stared at the ceiling as though his excuse was written up there in mold. 'I wasn't the only person there.'
‘True. But something tells me you weren’t there to get the scoop.’
The suspect traced a pattern on his knee, then shrugged again.
‘Not talking?’ she asked. ‘Funny, because from what I heard, you usually love the sound of your own voice.’
That got his attention. His head came up like someone had yanked a string. ‘What's that supposed to mean?’
‘Transmutation. Transformation. Alchemy. The elements flow through us all. Sound familiar? You’re quite the philosopher when you get going.’
Peterson rose from the bench in one fluid motion. He moved to the bars and peered into the shadows beyond. Then his face split into a grin .
‘Oh, now I get it. This was the guy pretending to be Felix last night. Very good.’
A sudden cold niggled at every nerve ending. She felt Luca tense behind her. Jesus Christ, what had she done? One careless comment and she'd painted a target on her partner’s back. Eight armed cultists who now knew exactly who had infiltrated their ranks. Every serial killer course at Quantico, and she'd just broken the most basic rule: never give the target leverage.
‘Quite the performance.’ Ezra’s smile widened. ‘Though your New York accent needs work.’
Too late now. The more she dwelled on it, the more upset Luca would get. And if Ezra was her killer, then word of Luca’s infiltration might never reach the others.
‘We're not here to discuss accents.’ Ella pulled out her notebook. Old school, but suspects tended to talk more when they thought you were writing things down. ‘We're here to discuss three murders.’
‘Then you're wasting your time.’
‘Let's talk about this morning. What were you doing at a crash site?’
‘Because, genius, I got a message telling me to check on Tessa.’
‘A message? What kind of message?’
‘That note your detective found. The one with Tessa's name and the symbols.’ He returned to his bench. ‘It's not mine. Someone left it for me.’
Ella could feel the web of lies beginning to weave itself. Excuses on top of coincidences. She had Ezra on the gallows, and all she had to do was keep feeding him rope.
‘Who left it?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Someone from your cult?’
‘The Order isn’t a cult. And yes. After everyone left.’
‘Explain.’
Peterson sighed like a teacher dealing with slow students. ‘I was cleaning up. Found a piece of paper on the floor. Tessa's name, some symbols I didn't recognize.’
‘And you thought what? Someone was sending you a cosmic telegram?’
‘One of our more... gifted members sometimes receives messages.’
Ella couldn't help it. She laughed. ‘What, your cult members are psychic now?’
‘One of them is. ’
The words dropped between them like stones into water. Ella felt Luca shift behind her – probably fighting the urge to call bullcrap out loud. She couldn't blame him. Years of studying killers had taught her that they came in two flavors: those who believed their own delusions and those who used other people's beliefs against them. She wasn't sure which category Ezra fell into yet.
‘Right. And I'm the Pope's mistress.’ She planted her elbows on her knees and leaned closer to the bars. ‘Let's pretend for a second that I believe this garbage. How’d you know where Tessa Webster was this morning?’
'Because I work at Cloud Nine. It's my job to know. We were monitoring Tessa's whereabouts all day yesterday. We even reported her missing sometime around three o'clock.'
‘Seems a mighty coincidence, don’t you think?’
‘No. Our ADS-B system showed Tessa's transponder had gone dark over Storm King yesterday. The signal came back briefly around dawn today – probably when the wreckage shifted. By the time I got there, hikers had already found her.’
Ella watched his face for tells. Most killers loved this part - explaining their brilliance, revealing how they'd orchestrated everything. But Ezra just looked tired. Like a man who'd seen something he wished he hadn't.
‘ADS-B?’
‘Automatic Dependent Surveillance-Broadcast. All aircraft transmit location data.’ He spoke like he was explaining physics to a child. ‘Even recreational balloons carry transponders now. When they lose signal, it usually means they're below radar coverage or...’
‘Or they've crashed.’
‘Yes.’
Ella processed this. Tessa Webster would have made a convenient victim for Ezra Crowley, but right now, she still didn’t have any idea exactly how Tessa Webster had been killed.
So she had to ask a very dumb question. But hopefully, one Ezra couldn’t lie about.
‘From your office, can you…’ Ella wasn’t sure how to word it.
But Ezra just laughed. He clearly caught her train of thought. ‘Control balloons? No. At least not Tessa’s. Some balloons have remote piloting. Tessa’s doesn’t.’
That put an abrupt end to her new theory. ‘Why didn't you call the police? ’
‘I did. Check the 911 logs. Called it in the second I got that signal. About 7 AM.’
‘And you didn’t think to mention this note when we put you in cuffs on the mountain?’
‘Oh sure,’ Ezra scoffed. ‘Because that would've gone over great. 'Sorry officers, I know this looks bad, but I swear I'm innocent. I just found this mysterious note telling me to check on the dead woman. No, I don't know who wrote it. No, I can't explain the symbols. But trust me, I'm on the level.' How well would that have worked out for me?’
Ella stole a glance at Luca. He was clearly as torn as she was here. On the one hand, the psychological profile fits Ezra Crowley like a glove. On the other, there seemed to be too many variables that didn't quite fit. She’d make sure to check the 911 logs, but even if Ezra did inform the police of Tessa’s crash, it didn’t make him innocent. It just meant he’d covered his tracks well enough for reasonable doubt.
Her head began to spin. Ezra’s story was implausible to the extreme. A mysterious note, a conveniently timed system glitch, a frantic race to a crash site.
But.
It also sounded just crazy enough to be true. Killers, in Ella's experience, tried to minimize their involvement. They claimed ignorance, pointed fingers, spun webs of lies to distance themselves from their crimes. They didn't insert themselves into the narrative with wild tales of secret messages and eleventh-hour rescue attempts.
That kind of twist only came from someone who was either telling the truth or working from a script so far off-book that Ella couldn't even see the pages.
Time to switch tracks.
‘Let's talk about Marcus Thornton.’ She pulled out her phone and found the professor's faculty photo. ‘Professor of Geology. Ring any bells?’
‘Only what I've seen on the news.’
‘And Sarah Chen?’
‘Who?’
‘Marine biologist. Washed up in Kensico Reservoir yesterday morning.’
Ezra waved his hands and said, ‘I’ve never heard of her.’
‘No? Maybe some of your cultists have.’
That cracked his mask. ‘My followers wouldn’t hurt anyone. We study ancient knowledge, not violence. ’
‘But animal mutilation and grave robbing is fine, right?’
Ezra pursed his lips and looked at her like she'd asked an unanswerable question. 'We brand animals that are already dead. We've never robbed graves. Even the Order has rules. You should read our manual.'
‘I’ve read it. Barely understood a word of it.’
‘Then perhaps agent, that’s why you don’t understand what you’re dealing with here.’
Ella moved closer to the bars. That was it. The off-hand comment that revealed Ezra knew more than he was letting on. ‘Ezra, Todd, whatever your name is – if you’re withholding something from us, then you better start talking, or you’re going to jail for obstruction of justice at the bare minimum.’
Ezra stood up and moved closer. He clutched the bars too, close enough for Ella to feel his body warmth. ‘That note someone left for me. Maybe it wasn’t one of my followers that left it at all.’
‘Come again?’
Ezra angled his head so he could see Luca. ‘Who’s to say you aren’t trying to frame me? You were at the Order’s meeting last night. You could have dropped that message, knowing I’d find it.’
‘You think we planted evidence on you? Don’t be ridiculous. If it was that easy, we’d have arrested you last night. And don’t act all innocent here. We know you sent threatening letters to Felix.’
‘Where are you getting this rubbish?’ Ezra’s knuckles turned white around the bars. ‘I never threatened Felix. People are free to leave the Order whenever they wish. We don’t hold people hostage.’
Ella held his gaze, searching for the lie, searching for the monster behind the man. But all she could see was a blurry image that could have sharpened into a hundred different things.
‘If all of this is true, then you need to help us. Give us something. Names, locations, anything that might point us in the right direction.’
Todd looked up. ‘You mean...’
‘A list. Of every member in your little club. So we can rule them out.’
And just like that, the shutters came down.
‘No. Absolutely not.’
‘Ezra, you can help us or we can track your followers down the hard way. The choice is yours.’
‘You think I’m going to throw my people to the wolves? I won’t do it. ’
Ella felt her patience fraying. ‘The less you cooperate, the worse this looks for you. You get that, right?’
‘I don't care how it looks.’ He drew himself up. ‘They trust me. They put their faith in me. I won't repay that by serving them up on a platter.’
She heard Luca mutter a curse ten feet away. She was inclined to agree.
But she had one more card to play. One more piece of the puzzle that might shake something loose.
‘ Corpus Hermeticum,’ she said, hoping she was pronouncing the Latin right. ‘Wanna tell me about that?’
Ezra cocked a blonde eyebrow. ‘The Corpus Hermeticum? What about it?’
‘You tell me.’
‘I’ve never read it. I doubt many people alive have read it.’
Ella wasn’t sure what game Ezra was playing now. Luca had found a copy of this exact book in his possession. ‘Guess I’m one of the lucky few, because I’ve read it. Can’t say I understood much.’
‘Yeah, right. Copies of the Corpus Hermeticum sell for about ten grand. No offense, detective, but I don’t think you-,’
‘Oh, I couldn’t afford one, no. But clearly you could, because we found a copy in your meeting place.’
Ezra shook his head, like he’d just heard that everything he ever knew was a lie. ‘I own a lot of alchemy books. Believe me, I’d know if I owned if the Hermeticum, and I don’t.’
Ella went through her phone, found a photo of the book’s front cover. She held it up to the cell bars. ‘This look familiar?’
Ezra leaned closer, squinted. ‘That’s not mine.’
‘Then why was it on your table?’
He huffed a laugh. ‘I must say, I’m flattered. You really bought a copy of the Corpus Hermeticum just to frame me for murder. Quite an expensive effort.’
‘Well, maybe you could tell me why the exact symbols in this book were found at our crime scenes? And on your note? And why Tessa Webster’s last client was someone named Hermes, aka the author of that little book.’
Ezra pierced her with a stare. ‘Detective, do you know what the Corpus Hermeticum is?’
‘Absolutely no idea. I couldn’t find anything on it online, nor anything about the author.’
‘Well, you wouldn’t. The book was banned a century ago. ’
Ella couldn’t deny her curiosity. ‘Why?’
‘Because it’s not about alchemy. It’s about sacrifice. Pseudo-science that even the alchemy world thought was too far.’
She turned to her partner and hoped he was taking this in. ‘How do you mean?’
‘Not much is known about it, but the general premise was that sacrifice through the elements could change your connection to the earth. It’s not about the Magnum Opus like other alchemy principles. It’s about youth, health, wealth, status. Hermes believed that sacrifice could heal sickness. ’
The words carried a weight that made Ella rethink everything. She felt the investigation tilting beneath her feet like a ship taking on water. Everything that had seemed solid an hour ago – Ezra as her killer, the cult connection, the book – was dissolving into questions.
‘The author. Hermes Trismegistus. What can you tell me about him?’
Ezra laughed. ‘There’s your first mistake.’
‘What mistake?’
He ambled back to the bench and sat down. ‘I’m done talking. I want to speak to a lawyer.’
‘Will you give us a list? Or do we have to track them down ourselves?’
Ezra stretched out on the bench like it was a daybed at a Roman feast. ‘All I’ll say is that none of my brothers are killers. Understand?’
A buzzer signaled a new arrival to the holding cell area. Ella turned and saw Ross’ frame fill the doorway.
‘Dark, Hawkins. Out here. Now.’
Ella turned and walked out. She didn't trust herself to say anymore to Ezra, because the worst part wasn't that he might be innocent. The worst part was that she still might not have a clue exactly what she was dealing with.
Out in the corridor, Ross’ face held that specific shade law enforcement got when the devil was running out of dances. It meant one of two things. Either Ross had found something that confirmed Ezra Crowley’s innocence.
Or an external factor had confirmed Ezra Crowley’s innocence.
‘Just got a call,’ Ross said.
Luca grimaced. ‘Don’t say it. God, don’t say it.’
‘Sorry, agents. We’ve got a fourth body. A glassblower out in Bedford Hills.’
Earth, water, air .
Now fire had claimed its due.
Their prime suspect sat twenty feet away in an iron box, which meant either Ezra Crowley was the world's greatest ventriloquist or they'd just wasted precious time interrogating the wrong man.