The Cult of the White Owl Page 9

  The meeting was held in an old gothic church on Township Line. The pews were almost black from the many layers of wax applied over the decades. Seated in the front rows were members of The White Owl order, looking much like rows of nuns in their habits. The flock’s identities were hidden by their pearl masks, white robes and tall, pointed head gear. In the center of the room, on the altar, was a gorgeous white owl with a blanket of South Sea Pearls thrown over the altar that her golden cage rested on. The lighting was subdued but the bird was spotlighted by the tall white candles on either side of her cage. The owl seemed to be enjoying the attention. She had a live field mouse in her claws and she was looking around for any predator who might try to take it away. No one would be that foolish, but she kept turning and seeking.

  Minerva, the snowy white owl was becoming agitated as the Keeper of the Keys adored the bird by swaying an incense burner directly toward the altar. The fumes of which wafted over the crowd. The worshippers started chanting her name in a steady Gregorian beat, “Minerva, Minerva.” It was jungle like in its rhythm. The owl raised her great white head at the multitude, preened her feathers. and turned her head 180 degrees. She bowed to the multitude of worshipers accepting their homage. She polished off the food offering and was waiting for the cage door to open and then she would receive an even greater reward. She was smart and knew the routine.

  The Keeper of the Keys unlocked the cage door and the crowd roared. The bird looked out at the waiting congregation cheering her name. Daintily stepping to the edge of the cage she projected forward, wings outstretched, then soared over their heads and out the open skylight, climbing higher and higher until she was a white dot in the starlit night sky.

  The relatively new members started shifting from foot to foot convinced they had seen the last of the bird, “So much for our initiation money, there she goes up in the clouds.” A disgruntled member mouthed to his neighbor preparing to leave. His friend grabbed his arm, “Look! The bird is coming back.”

  Minerva swooped into the church hall, wings spread wide and landed on the shoulder of one of the masked men in the center of the crowd. The bird held out her claw and the man handed the bird a small wrapped package containing an 18mm South Sea Pearl. The man, a stranger to the bird, was crying with emotion that he had been chosen and half the money collected from the victim would be his. It was like winning the lottery, and one of the reasons they were all members.

  Crystal witnessed the emotion coming from the chosen person and sympathized with his mixed feelings of grief and triumph. The crowd parted as the Keeper of the Keys walked over to the chosen person and led him away to a hidden room in the back of the church, where he would obtain further instructions on how to deal with his victim. The keeper signaled Minerva who was flying overhead to return to the cage where a reward was waiting, a trembling live lemming, the owls favorite prey, to be devoured alive.

  The Keeper of the Keys turned back to the massive man who was chosen by Minerva for the kill, to give hum his instructions on how to dispense with the District Attorney Richard Smith’s wife Priscilla.

  It was a well laid out plan to eliminate her in her favorite place where she is the happiest, her country club.

  “What, I am not about to kill myself or spend the rest of my life in prison, what are you thinking? The country club, no way.”

  “The plan is a simple one. She will be drugged and controllable. We have already made arrangements with her club that we are doing a feature on the finest, legendary country clubs in the United States and theirs was chosen over one hundred other similar clubs. They were thrilled. The action will take place next week and you will escort Priscilla to the lounge and her favorite booth. She will be dressed in a white satin gown and carry red roses. You will manipulate her hand around a dry martini, her favorite drink and then you will administer the gas, a fatal does of Carbon Monoxide poisoning. Stop protesting, no one will see you as we have already told them this was a closed shoot . Your assistants will remove the camera equipment and any evidence that might incriminate the Cult and you will place this card which I will give you on Thursday by the already dead Mrs. Smith. You will walk casually out the front door into your car waiting at the curb We then wait and watch the money roll into our coffers and your pocket, since half of everything collected is yours.

  The would be murderer was somewhat mollified when again he heard the ton of money that would soon be his and he shook the Keepers hand.

  “Thank you, see you Thursday. Now where is the whore, I am ready for her.”

  “Patience please and watch your language. Crystal is a lady.”

  “Yeah some lady.” He poured himself another drink from the decanter as the Keeper backed out of the room, shaking his head.

  “What a prick,” he thought to himself.

  Waiters dressed in black robes went amongst the crowd with morsels of finger food and champagne. Baskets were passed to receive the One Thousand Dollar donation to implement the cost of the crime. Everyone was in a hyper mood and donated happily. This above all was a murder club with benefits. Nothing made the congregation feel more alive than death. They could bank on a big pay day or an outstanding murder or both. Another sensational blackmail or if it came to that a killing! Some wondered when it would be their turn. Others did not care, the suspense of the lottery, there inclusion in this exclusive club, made it all worthwhile even if they were never chosen.

  Crystal, after eating and drinking with the crowd, was called by the Keeper into the hidden room.

  The men in the crowd watched as she made her way toward the secluded sanctuary where the lucky winner was taken and they nudged each other and snickered. Jealous that the well stacked Crystal was not their prize.

  The room was dark and empty except for the flickering of the lighted candles and the winning candidate standing naked waiting for her administrations. This was a new part of her responsibilities and she did not like it. She went over to the bar and poured a glass of scotch and drank half of it down.

  “Come here, you are part of my prize.” He was drunk but in good physical shape. somewhere in his early fifties she guessed. He was rocky, and was an emotional wreck she doubted he could pull off his assignment let alone the sex.

  She moved toward him and he fell down missing the red velvet covered bed and stayed down where he lay on the floor more than half out of it. She pulled her skirts up to keep him from grabbing her. He reached for her buttocks but she kicked his hand away. He tried to get up off the floor but in his drunken state it was impossible. He fell back and she bent down to help him up and he groaned and put her hand on his surprising erection. She knelt in front of him and massaged his member with her fingers. He came quickly gasping for breath and sweating profusely. Finished, he managed to stand up a bit unsteadily with her help, his mask was askew but he was still strong enough to push her aside, out of his way. Staggering from booze and sex he headed for the door, not even bothering to dress. Clutching his clothes in front of him, he left by a side door. Never even looking at her again.

  Sprawled on the bed and moving only to finish her glass of scotch, Crystal wiped her hands on the sheets. Her skirt was ruined with semen, “Never to be worn again,” she muttered to herself. “That was a slam bang no thank you ma’am,” she paraphrased.

  She picked up her purse and left the candle lit room. By the time she made her way to the church proper it was deserted. No sign of the pearl laden cage and no sign of the owl, no sign of any one. Again the only car in the parking lot was hers. She slowly drove home, alone.

  She liked being with Jake and spying on him and his men when they came into the Suburban plus going to bed with Jake; he was so much fun, a bonus. “It has only been the one time but even so, it was memorable.” What a contrast between that masked creep and Jake.

  She hated her new responsibility having sex with strangers. “They can’t pay me enough to do that again, Sex as a r
eward thing is over!” She thought to herself, fiddling with the radio for company, and to get that jerk off her mind.

  “Da da da daaa,” she hummed, then sang with the radio, “Blue moon, I saw you standing alone, without a dream in your heart without a love of my own.”

  “I wonder if Jake was going to McCane’s studio, now that would have been info for the White Owl. Da da deee, hmmmm,”

  “God I’m nothing but loyal, to that weirdo of all people. I guess it’s the money. Money gives me security. Something that was totally lacking in my life. Love and security. Da da…..nummm.”

  I have always counted on my wits to get me out of the tight spots my libido got me into in the first place. After college the jobs for woman were deplorable…A secretary with wages barely enough to survive on, school teacher which were worse or marriage and kids, no thank you. My good looks saved me from a fate worse than death and I worked Atlantic City night clubs, The 500, the Cotton club, the Brighton Hotel all hot spots. That is where I met a representative of the White Owl who asked if I would like to make real money. I said I am making money. No, he said, I mean big money. Who do I have to kill, I asked. No one, just do what you are doing here in Atlantic City only in Philadelphia and report to The White Owl Cult. The White Owl Club I never heard of it, no he said the White Owl Cult. He reached into his pocket and peeled off Five Hundred Dollars in One Hundred Dollar bills, he handed me a creamy white card embossed with The White Owl logo and the telephone number along with the money and said to call when I get in the city for further instructions. I was not too far wrong when I said murder, as it turned out I was right on. When you play around with big money, other people’s money, someone will turn up dead.

  “Blue moon without a love of my own, da da dumdum”

  CHAPTER 9

  The lights were ablaze in Tony McCane’s studio. The police were a significant presence and Jake arrived in the midst of the hubbub.

  “Show me what is so exciting that you dragged me here on the one night I took off.” Jake followed his young lieutenant down a flight of stairs into a dark room where a group of officers were looking at eight by ten photographs.

  “Here Chief, is hard evidence that McCane is somehow involved in these murders.” The police officers stepped aside and hanging on a wire with clothes pin type apparatus were photographs of the two victims scantily dressed, more provocative than if they were nude.

  “Those are some discovery, are there any more ladies in like poses?” Jake questioned.

  “Yes sir, over there by the sink, six or seven more.” One of the officers answered.

  “Chief, this!” Murphy held up a picture of the dark skinned, handsome, presumably Russian man, in two photographs with Daphne Carter in a sexual pose.

  The photographs were artistic and stylized and caught Tony McCane in a lie and perhaps a noose.

  “Where is he? Is he on the premises? I want him here right now, on the double.” Jake was ice cold with anger, and the two policemen were already half way up the stairs following Jake’s orders.

  The policemen escorted the miscreant down the stairs after apprehending him on his way out the door and then stopped directly in front of Jake.

  “Murphy show our friend the photographs we found in his dark room.” Jake gave Tony a hard stare.

  “What’s going on? I never come down here. I don’t understand” Tony stopped and gaped at the pictures of the two female victims in happier times.

  “I never saw those photos before.”

  Jake spread out the rest of the photos of the laughing ladies, holding back the dark skinned Russian man. “Nor any of the those, either.” Pointing to the pictures by the sink, a note of panic creeping into Tony’s voice. “Do you think I would give you access to my premises in order to incriminate myself.”

  “I don’t know what your game is mister, I only know you are up to your ass in circumstantial evidence,” Jake leaned closer to him, “and for your information people have been hung on less. Take him to the station for further questioning. One more thing before they take you, we found this picture as well, ring any bells?” Jake waved the photo of the Russian man in front of his face.

  “Oh my God, Alain!” shoulders hunched, he followed the officer back up the stairs, then into the squad car.

  Murphy looked at Jake, “aren’t we going to the station to question him?”

  “He will keep awhile. Look at the woman, they look as if they were all cut from the same cookie cutter; beautiful, alluring and seduced. What are we missing?” Jake questioned.

  “They have no children, their husbands are prominent and not the coming home for dinner kind of guys. Their marriages are like ships that pass in the night.” Murphy analyzed, ticking off his remarks on his fingers.

  “Yeah, from what the mayor said and even Councilman Carter, their wives were still asleep in the mornings as well.” Jake mused.

  “Do we have the names and addresses of these other woman? And how did you know they had no children?” Jake asked Murphy.

  “Turn the picture over, the facts are all written on the back of the photo.” Murphy turned one of the pictures and showed him the neatly typed resume of each of the women, including their bank accounts.

  “It’s as though they were applying for a job. Little do they know the job they might get is death. Our first priority is to cal,l no bring, the woman to the station, as fast as you can. I will get a ride with one of the other officers. You get going.”

  “Yes, but, Chief one of these woman is married to the assistant governor. How am I going to get her?”

  “Don’t start with her, get the fire chief’s wife and the judge’s wife and for God’s sake, get Richard Smith, the D.A.’s wife. Get her first.”

  “I didn’t even know he was married.” Murphy said getting in his car.

  “Which I think proves your theory completely.” Jake said giving orders to close the studio, turn out the lights, and return the keys to Tony McCane at headquarters.

  “Get me the D.A. at his home at once, it’s urgent.” Jake called to the desk sergeant on duty at this hour of the morning. “Transfer the call to my office.”

  Jake hung up his coat and picked up the telephone on the first ring.

  “Richard?”

  “I know this is important or you would not be calling me at this hour. What’s going on?” Richard was trying to show patience and trust in his sleepy, slightly hoarse voice.

  “Is Priscilla with you?” Jake asked quietly.

  “Yes, is this a joke?” Loosing patience.

  “Richard I want you to get dressed and come down to the station, the both of you, right away. I will explain when you get here. I am not kidding, I will be glad to send a squad car for you, in fact I would rather.” Jake said.

  “No, not necessary, we will be there in twenty minutes, no traffic at this time of night or should I say morning.” The D.A. hung up and kissed his wife awake.

  “Something important has come up and Jake wants us both down at headquarters in twenty minutes.”

  Richard, threw water on his face in the bathoom and gave his hair a swipe with his brush. He put on jeans and a sweater and slipped into his loafers. He grabbed a coat from the hall closet and the car keys out of the bowl on the foyer table and headed out the door to start the car. “Hurry up Priscilla, just throw on anything and let’s go.”

  Priscilla was halfway down the stairs, after changing into jeans and a cardigan sweater, when the explosion rocked the house and blew out the plate glass window in the dining room. The sky was flaming red from the fire and debris was dropping on the neighborhood from the remains of the car and everything else.

  Priscilla was flung down the stairs from the force of the blast, and she fell in a heap at the bottom. Dazed from the fall, she could not fathom what had just happened. “Richard,” she whispered picking herself up, “Richard
,” she screamed realization washing over her, “Richard,” as she threw open the front door that was now hanging off its hinges and faced the conflagration. There was nothing left of her car, just flaming rubble, nothing left of Richard, nothing at all.

  She heard sirens in the distance but she could not move off the front lawn staring at what was once her Richard, her love, her life.

  She was wrapped in a blanket that a medic arriving at the house, provided. She was in shock but she waited for Jake, she knew he would come and explain to her what happened to Richard who was behind the wheel of her car now a wreck of twisted metal. She had no comprehension. Except, she thought, was it meant for her? Was she supposed to blow up? Jake rushed to her side and held her tight. She looked up at him, shocked. Her eyes the color of a gray day were wet with tears. Her ash blond hair falling in her face.

  She clung to his arm, “Jake it was meant for me! That’s my car!”

  “Come on Priscilla, let’s get you checked out at the hospital, I’ll come with you. I’m not going to let anything happen to you if I can help it.” Jake lifted her up and wrapped the blanket more tightly around her as she got into the ambulance. Jake climbed in after and told his officer to follow in his car.

  “Murphy,” who left the precinct with Jake stood by the ambulance waiting for orders. “I want you to stay on the scene and wait for forensics. Cordon everything off so there will be nothing to disturb the crime scene. I will be at the hospital with Mrs. Smith.”

  “Yes sir, I will stay right here until I hear from you, or receive further instructions.” Murphy looked around, hands on his hips, surveying the horrific scene; the busted plate glass window, the front door hanging off its hinges, the car smoldering in the driveway, he prayed, “God have mercy on Richard’s soul, he was a good man.”

  Richard my good friend, killed by mistake. Would he have wanted it to be him and not Priscilla? My guess is yes, but he would have rather it was neither and that the maniac was caught; preferably by me. Jake’s dark thoughts kept surfacing as he was jolted from side to side by the ambulance’s rough ride as it sped toward the nearest hospital. No chance of a card in that mess. Poor Dr. Smith, he was really going to earn his pay check tonight. But in my opinion this job was bungled. No ambience, no finesse, no card, and possibly no probably, the wrong victim.