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George looked at her for a few seconds. “The papers haven’t mentioned anything about the way the victims have been killed.”
Cassie looked around to make sure they were alone. “That may be insider information.”
“In that case, I will keep it to myself.” George leaned forward. “Blood also gives us life by carrying oxygen to our cells. Some consider it to have healing properties. Bloodletting was the act of withdrawing blood from a patient to prevent or cure an illness. We know diseases don’t work that way. On the other hand, there’s a reason why blood sacrifices are often made to gods and demons. We still believe there’s a lot of power in our blood.”
Cassie shook her head. “It’s weird to think people still believe in that.”
George shrugged. “People who take communion are consuming the body and blood of Christ, are they not?”
“Yeah,” Cassie said, “but that’s metaphorical.”
“Is it that much of a stretch? I don’t condone such practices, but ritualistic sacrifice, to me, would seem less crazy if I were truly desperate. Imagine that all your crops are dying, and a shaman tells you that if you cut off the head of your neighbor and bury it in your field, your crops will begin to grow. Most people wouldn’t jump straight to murder but imagine that your family is starving to death. Can’t you imagine you’d try anything if you thought you could get away with it?”
“Yeah, but that stuff doesn’t work,” Cassie said.
“Maybe not. But that’s not the point, is it? It provides hope and sometimes that can be more promising than anything reality provides.”
It still seemed like a strange idea, especially here in Savannah, but then again, she could talk to ghosts. Who was she to say what was real and what was not?
“Are the police considering ritualistic sacrifice?” George asked.
“I’m not sure. In all honesty, I don’t think they know what to do with the information they have. They’re looking into anything that might explain why someone would do this to those women.”
George nodded solemnly. “What happened to those women was a terrible crime.” He eyed Cassie and measured his words with caution. “But it’s not your responsibility to solve this case.”
Cassie's mouth tightened. What could she say to that? In a way, he was right. But knowing what those women went through made her heart ache. Survivor’s guilt, they call it. She felt bad for being alive while the three women wound up dead. Cassie knew she couldn’t have stopped their deaths and yet, her brain was yelling at her to do something, anything, so it didn’t happen to another person.
Plus, there was Elizabeth. Somewhere along life’s path, Cassie decided that if she had the ability to fix a terrible injustice, it was her responsibility to do that. She wasn’t some girl who considered herself an amateur detective. She could communicate with the dead and that gave her a leg up on most people, including the police department.
“I know.” Cassie tried to put some weight behind her words. “But helping feels better than doing nothing.”
George looked proud. “You’re a good person, Ms. Quinn. We need more people like you in this world.”
“I don’t know about that.” She wouldn’t wish her abilities on anyone. “But that means a lot coming from you.”
Eighteen
Cassie emerged from the Bull Street Library to four missed calls from Harris. She stopped dead in her tracks with a heart so heavy it sunk to her toes. When Cassie called the detective back, her worst fears were realized. Harris did not mince her words.
“Another woman has been killed.”
Cassie stopped dead in her tracks. “Are you serious?”
“Just like the others.” Detective Harris took a deep breath. “I know I have no right to ask—”
“I’ll be right there.”
Cassie got the address from Harris and hopped in her car without thought. Halfway there, Cassie understood what she was feeling.
Guilt.
She should’ve been able to do more. She should’ve listened to Elizabeth sooner. She should’ve tried harder. If she had, maybe this latest victim wouldn’t have fallen prey to this killer. Maybe he would already be in prison and Cassie would be moving on with her life.
When Cassie arrived at the crime scene, a few vehicles were parked nearby. A couple of people stood off to one side and several police cars were blocking the park’s entrance.
Cassie pulled up and gave them her name. She was waved right through.
By the time she parked and got out of her vehicle, Harris was there to meet her. She looked tired, like she hadn’t slept much last night. Her ponytail wasn’t as sleek and smooth as normal, and dark circles had formed under her eyes.
