The marshall drummond ca.., p.1
The Marshall Drummond Case Files: Cabinet 2, page 1
Table of Contents
Title Page
Also by Stuart Jaffe
Introduction
Case 06 - The Essence of the Problem
Case 07 - Bones in the Woods
Case 08 - The Haunting
Case 09 - The Blood Witch
What to read next?
About the Author
Copyright Information
The Marshall Drummond Case Files
Cabinet 2
(Cases 06 - 09)
Stuart Jaffe
Also by Stuart Jaffe
Max Porter Paranormal Mysteries
Southern Bound
Southern Charm
Southern Belle
Southern Gothic
Southern Haunts
Southern Curses
Southern Rites
Southern Craft
Southern Spirit
Southern Flames
Southern Fury
Southern Souls
Nathan K thrillers
Immortal Killers
Killing Machine
The Cardinal
Yukon Massacre
The First Battle
Immortal Darkness
A Spy for Eternity
Prisoner
Desert Takedown
The Malja Chronicles
The Way of the Black Beast
The Way of the Sword and Gun
The Way of the Brother Gods
The Way of the Blade
The Way of the Power
The Way of the Soul
The Parallel Society
The Infinity Caverns
Book on the Isle
Rift Angel
Gillian Boone novels
A Glimpse of Her Soul
Pathway to Spirit
Stand Alone Novels
After The Crash
Founders
Real Magic
Short Story Collections
10 Bits of My Brain
10 More Bits of My Brain
The Bluesman Complete
The Marshall Drummond Case Files: Cabinet 1
The Marshall Drummond Case Files: Cabinet 2
For more information, please visit www.stuartjaffe.com
Introduction
Well, here we are again. Happily, the first set of Marshall Drummond Case Files did quite well. Enough so that I kept writing more Drummond stories. In fact, I wrote four that all tied together into one big story and that is the book you have right now. But let’s take a step back.
The previous incarnation of Drummond’s adventures consisted of five stories that had no connection to each other beyond involving Drummond, and on occasion, his old pal Detective Cooper. It was a natural situation considering that I had no idea how many stories I would write or if anybody would care enough to read them.
However, this time around, I had learned that the tales of Drummond while he was alive had an audience, and that fact gave me license to explore his world in more depth. It also allowed me to write longer stories. Novellas, in fact.
So, I did.
I wrote four novellas which follow Drummond through a series of cases all flowing out of the first terrible situation. He gets challenging cases, frightening dangers, a love interest, and most exciting for me, we are introduced to his sometime-friend, sometime-partner, always-smart and knowledgeable about the witch world man in the woods, Leroy Parker.
As a writer, I create characters all the time. Some are vital to a story. Some are just names in passing. Some come to life fully-formed. Others require many hours of banging ones head into the desk until the character can take her first breath. With Leroy, it was all of this and more.
He started out as a name for a character that would arrive, provide some information, and leave without much else to say. But the character popped into life and demanded to be more. I know enough about writing to listen when that voice in my head guides me. It is rarely wrong. In this case, it did not merely whisper an idea but it shouted. The end result was a character that not only exceeded my intentions and then my expectations, but one that fans tell me has become a favorite as well.
Best of all, the love shown for Drummond’s adventures means that I’ll be able to write more in his world. I’ll be able to explore his other loves, his other fears, and as if by magic, I’ll also get to explore more about Leroy Parker.
So, thank you, folks. Because of you, I get to play in this wonderful world a little bit longer. With any luck, you’ll enjoy this book and those still to come. I’ve got plenty of ideas.
-- North Carolina, 2019
Case 06 - The Essence of the Problem
IT WASN’T THE FIRST TIME THAT MARSHALL DRUMMOND had a midnight meeting in the Winston-Salem railyard nor the first time the meeting would be with the cops. He understood, though. Back when he was a beat cop, before the crash of ‘29, he would never have dared talk in public to a PI who specialized in ghosts, witches, and other unworldly creatures. He would have been laughed out of a job.
So, when his old friend, Detective Cooper, set up this meeting, Drummond knew there had to be a serious problem. Worse than that, really. After all, Cooper had contacted Drummond several times over the years whenever his cases became unusual. Cooper had even visited Drummond’s office on occasion. A clandestine meeting like this promised trouble of a greater magnitude.
With a long drag on a cigarette, he tipped back his hat and let the cool night breeze tickle his skin. Summer neared its end but not before striking out with a final sweltering week. A rainstorm earlier that day did little to help, and the humid air wafting off the giant steam locomotives only made things worse.
Two figures approached. The dim yard lighting made them little more than shadows. Still, Drummond recognized them right away — the sturdy frame of Detective Cooper and the rounder shape of Chief Carter.
The Chief of Police, huh? Things had definitely gotten worse.
“Thanks for coming out here,” Cooper said as he shook Drummond’s hand. The Chief kept his hands at his sides as he continually scanned the area.
Readjusting his hat, bringing the brim lower, Drummond said, “What exactly can I do for you?”
Before Cooper could respond, the Chief snorted and spit off to the side. “I’m going to be straight with you. I don’t believe in any of this crap. Never have. Never will. But Pearl and I are at our wits end. We don’t know what to do and Cooper thinks you can help.”
From the derisive way Chief Carter spoke Cooper’s name and from the uncomfortable look on Cooper’s face, Drummond guessed that his friend’s job rode on the success of the night.
“Well, you’ve established how much you don’t want me to help you,” Drummond said. “Tell me how I can help you.”
The Chief scowled. “Now I remember why I was happy to see you leave the Department. Damn smart mouth of yours.”
Cooper put a hand on each man’s shoulder. “Come on gentlemen, let’s not forget why we’re here.”
Poking his cigarette in the Chief’s direction, Drummond said, “I don’t know why I’m here. You can cut the games; I don’t work for you anymore. You want my help? Get on with it.”
For a second, Drummond thought he had ticked the Chief off enough to cause Cooper trouble, but then Chief Carter snorted and spit again. “You listen to me — I don’t buy any of this dog-and-pony show of yours. You understand? Only reason I’m here is ‘cause I got no other choice. And my Pearl deserves every chance, so here it is — somebody broke into our house and terrorized our maid.”
“Your maid?” Drummond received a nod from Cooper confirming the claim. Then he frowned. “A break-in and an assault? This is all your domain. You got the whole Department at your disposal, and I’m sure they’d turn every stone for you. Why are you bringing this to me?”
“Use the police? Gee, that’s brilliant. Why didn’t I think of that? Oh, wait — maybe, any moron with half-a-brain would realize that I’m meeting them out here at midnight because I want this kept quiet. Your genius pal here suggested you could help and that better be the case — especially considering the odd nature of this.”
“Odd?”
Now it was the Chief’s turn to receive a nod from Cooper. Stepping closer to Drummond, the Chief’s mouth twisted in disgust. Out of his coat pocket, he produced a light-blue cloth no bigger than a napkin. “Mrs. Carter and I went out last night, went to a show at the Colonial, and when we got back, Ms. Daggett was standing in the corner of our living room shaking and talking gibberish. Shock, of course.”
Drummond wanted to hurry the Chief along. He didn’t need to hear the normal details. In the last twenty-four hours of a normal case, the Department would have brought every suspect in and questioned them. All the leads would have been followed up on. Standing in the railyard on a humid midnight and hearing the word odd meant something unnatural. The normal way of doing things would not help — not necessarily. It depended on the nature of the odd part of all this.
But if Drummond pressed too hard, the Chief would remember he didn’t believe in magic. This was 1932, and he was a modern, civilized man. Ghosts were for superstitious chumps. He would curse out Cooper and storm off determined to use his own men. And whatever had frightened Ms. Daggett would continue to haunt the Carter’s house — because if the Chief used the word odd and Cooper thought this meeting worthwhile, Drummond had no doubt the regular police would be way out of their depth.
Chief Carter stared down at the light-blue cloth, his thumb rubbing it, and he shuddered. “This was clutched in her hand.” His voice choked as he thrust the cloth over.
Drummond opened it, pretending to ignore the Chief’s stifled blubbering. His heart fell as he saw the symbol drawn on the cloth — a swirling line wrapped around a downward pointing arrow. The drawing had been made with a crimson substance that all three men recognized — blood.
Cooper gestured to the symbol. “There’s more.”
“I figured,” Drummond said. “Nothing so far is worth getting this upset over.”
“The Chief isn’t telling you where Ms. Daggett found that cloth.” Cooper peeked over at Chief Carter. When he got no response, he took it as permission to continue. “It was sitting atop a — well, um, a sort of altar, I guess. This horrible thing in her room made of the furniture and a disemboweled animal — a calf, maybe a wolf. I don’t know. Blood everywhere. Between that and the strange symbol — well, I thought of you.”
“Gee, thanks.” Rifling through the various occult symbols Drummond knew, he could not place this one at all — of course, he only had limited experience with occult symbols. “I’ll need to check out the crime scene. You said she found this cloth in her room?”
Chief Carter stabbed a finger in Drummond’s direction. “I’m not having you and your voodoo nonsense stepping foot in my house. All you’ll do is upset Pearl and my maid. It’d be pointless anyway. I already had the rooms looked over.”
“I thought nobody from the Department knew about this.”
“Something bad happens and you think I’d call for you first? Sheesh, you must be more deluded than I thought.” Speaking slow as if giving directions to a bratty child, Carter said, “I had an old friend — retired — come over. He checked out the house, and he talked with Ms. Daggett. Tried to, anyway. She wouldn’t say anything. But he found the cloth in her hand. When I saw that symbol, when I saw what it was drawn with, that’s when I remembered that Detective Cooper had stayed in contact with you. That’s the only reason I had this meeting set up. But there’s nothing else to be found in the house, and I’m not putting my loved ones through any more of that.”
Clearly trying to salvage the situation, Cooper said, “That symbol looks like the stuff I’ve seen in your office. Am I right?”
Drummond shrugged. “It’s not a spell, if that’s what you mean.”
“A spell,” Chief Carter sneered. “This is the kind of crap I wanted to avoid.”
Pocketing the cloth, Drummond said, “You don’t have to believe it, but you better accept that others believe it. Not only that, but they guide their lives by it. So, instead of acting like an ass every time we mention spells and such, you might want to remember that we’re all sweating and tired tonight because we want to help you.” Before the Chief could rebut, Drummond turned away. Passing Cooper, he said, “I’ll look into this.”
Back in his car, Drummond checked his watch — 12:24am. The Chief should have come to him sooner. Either the perps were idiots with the bad luck to pick the house or they had targeted the Chief. Unless, of course, the attack had been meant to intimidate the maid, and the fact that she worked for Chief Carter had been an unfortunate coincidence. But Drummond thought that would be an amazing bit of bad luck. No. This all felt very specific and not at all the work of amateurs.
Driving along East 11th Street, Drummond considered requesting an interview with Chief Carter. But given that the Chief only agreed to meet in a railyard at midnight and that he had a near-conniption at the idea of Drummond checking out the crime scene, he did not like his chances of getting any requests approved.
He pulled up to Raymond’s Diner — one of the only all-nighters in the city. It had been fashioned out of an old railcar and had plenty of charm despite being narrow and cramped. The place was good for late-night thinking. It always smelled great and had only a few people hanging out on the long counter — mostly truckers grabbing a meal before hitting the road.
As Drummond settled into a booth near the back, Catalina walked up to him, set a mug on the table, and filled it with hot coffee. She had a weathered beauty that always left him wondering how she had ended up at such a dead end. Though he knew Hollywood could be quite prejudice against brown-skinned women, he would have paid money to watch her dance alongside Fred Astaire or fight the bad guys with Gary Cooper.
“The usual?” she asked, only a slight hint of a Mexican accent.
“Just the coffee for now, doll.”
“Suit yourself. But Marcus is on the grill tonight.”
Drummond raised an eyebrow — Marcus made a mean omelet that never failed to satisfy no matter how late at night. “Okay, then. The works.”
“Hushpuppies on the side?”
“What kind of man would I be, if I didn’t eat hushpuppies?” As she turned to go, Drummond added, “Hey, Cat, let me ask you something.”
“Sure, but I like my full name.”
“Catalina it is, then.” His hand reached into his pocket and gripped the cloth. “Were you a good kid?”
She shrugged. “I did my share of things, but I was no troublemaker.”
“You knew any kids that got in trouble a lot?”
“No more than the next kid. What’s this about? You got a new case?”
Catalina knew Drummond was a private investigator, but she had no idea of the kinds of cases he undertook. Pinching the clothing between thumb and forefinger, he said, “I’m working on something a bit odd, and I’m trying to make sure it really happened.” She raised an eyebrow. Grinning, he said, “I mean that sometimes kids will pull all sorts of tricks to get Mommy and Daddy’s attention.”
“How old is the girl?”
Drummond had to laugh. He had not mentioned anything specific, yet Catalina had picked up on the image in his mind. “I don’t even know if there is a kid. Just trying to think all the angles.”
“Shouldn’t you already know something like if there’s a kid or not?”
“Of course. I don’t know why I even thought that way. I must be more tired than I realized.” He swigged back some of the coffee.
“Most kids are good, though. Even the bad ones are usually not trying to cause any real harm. They just want to be seen.”
“I guess that means you’ve got a kid.”
“Two. Both boys.”
A heavy-set fellow with a heavier beard waved his hand from the far end of the counter. Catalina headed off to take care of her other customers, and Drummond watched her every move.
It wasn’t an infatuation. Drummond simply appreciated a fine woman when he saw one. Especially when what made her so fine came from inside. Catalina was bright and caring. The fact that he found her beautiful only widened the smile on his face.
“What’s got you so happy?” she asked when she returned to his booth.
“You came back.”
“I’m your waitress.”
“But my food isn’t ready yet.”
She flashed her smile and glanced back at the two men finishing their meals. One threw some cash on the counter, knocked his knuckles a few times atop the cash, and walked out. The other joined his friend a moment later.
“See that?” she said as she slid into the booth bench opposite Drummond. “You’re the only customer I got left.”
“Lucky me.” He tried to sound casual, but for some reason, his heart raced in his chest.
Before his blood rushed to his head, Catalina reached over and snatched the light-blue cloth out of his hand. “Is this part of your case?”
Drummond frowned. He did not recall taking the cloth from his pocket. “It was left behind — presumably, a message.”
When she opened the cloth, Drummond saw the change come over her face. He wanted to jump across the table and ask her what she knew, but that approach would have failed. Part of being a good detective was reading people. A woman like Catalina would not respond well to an aggressive tactic.
Instead, he sat back and sighed. “I’ve seen plenty of weird, little groups in my time — cults and covens and such — but I don’t know that logo at all.”
