Disclaimer: Once again borrowing from the classics.
This story is kind of based on fact. Go ahead and Google "Wiccan Ritual Killing"
Feel free to Google "Wiccan Rede" and "The Charge of the Goddess".
"When God Was A Woman" is a real book, written by Merlin Stone, available both in print and in ebook.
Original characters exist only in my overactive imagination and I couldn't resist poking a little fun at actor's turned politicians.
Had to throw in a little gun porn. Reason: McGarrett would have a freaking arsenal at his house, just in case. It's what cops do.
Rhodesian Ridgebacks are the most awesome dogs on the planet.
A few bad words here and there and some gratuitous sex.
Ignorance is contagious, don't let it happen to you...
Reviews welcome.
The bodies were arranged in a crude semi-circle, face down on the blood soaked carpet inside a circle outlined in white powder, hands tied behind their backs. Candles burned on every available surface, making the room almost unbearably hot.
There was blood everywhere. Blunt force trauma would do that. It didn't help that the throats of all the victims had been cut.
Upside down stars were drawn on the wall in what appeared to be the victim's blood.
McGarrett stepped around the bodies, trying his best to avoid stepping in the puddles of blood that soaked the carpet. The coppery scent of too much blood didn't mix well with the smell of the candles. Whatever was burning in the small cauldron set up in the center of the circle was making his eyes water. He'd seen some strange things in his years as the commander of Five-O. This was the strangest.
"Danno," he asked, "What in the hell have we got?"
"Damned if I know," Danny replied, looking grim. "This is the first time I've ever seen anything like this."
"That makes two of us. Anything?"
"HCSO was called in to do a welfare check when the son failed to show up for work or school yesterday and today. House is owned by one Charles Hobson, Caucasian, mid sixties. He lived here with his adult son. The neighbors say they were quiet people, kept to themselves, but always polite and helpful. Dad was semi retired; son was in his late twenties, worked as a part time security guard and was going to college. No one seems to know who the female is, and so far no ID either. We're trying to get positive ID's on all the bodies, only that's proving a little difficult due to blunt force trauma. The ME says he's going to have to use fingerprints and dental records. He's estimating time of death sometime Tuesday night."
"Get Che in here and tell him to bag everything, and I mean everything. If he can't bag it, dust it. What's with the circle on the floor and the rest of the, hell, I don't even know what to call it."
"The sheriff thinks it's some sort of ritualistic killing. He says there's some sort of witchcraft and occult angle. Specifically, he's saying it's a Wiccan death ritual tied in with the blue moon that's coming up."
McGarret gave the room an intense look, his storm blue eyes missing nothing. "Danno," he said, "Wiccan's didn't do this."
McGarrett and Williams watched as the bodies were removed by the ME's office. A crowd of neighbors had gathered, along with news vans and print journalists who had heard the roll out on their police scanners. Sheriff Augustus Murphy was doing what he did best, pressing the flesh and playing to the crowd in his custom tailored uniform.
Williams had bummed a cigarette from a motor cop and was standing under a bougainvillea arbor, smoking, and glaring at Murphy.
"I thought you gave those things up years ago," McGarrett said.
"Today, I'm making an exception. His Majesty is having a good time."
"Getting his daily exercise in early, I see."
"Yep, running his mouth and jumping to conclusions."
It was obvious that neither of the Five-O detectives cared for Honolulu's recently elected sheriff. In the late '80's Augustus Murphy had been a semi successful television actor featured in a crime show about a Hawaiian surfer dude who solved any case presented to him, neatly tying up all the loose ends in the allotted hour of prime time and scoring with an abundance of bikini clad beach bunnies along the way. As a favor to the governor and the Board of Tourism, McGarrett had reluctantly agreed to let him spend time at Five-O offices for a few days in order to observe proper police procedure. It hadn't worked. He'd made himself a total nuisance, especially on the last day of the experiment when he'd shown up wearing tinted contact lenses the exact shade of blue as Danny's eyes. He then went on to fame as the Blue Eyed Surfer PI Sunny King. The show was on for five seasons, during which the surfing PI made every thinly disguised fictional law enforcement agency on the Island look like a pack of inept kindergarteners. Running on his popularity as an actor and his promise to 'shake things up' for local law enforcement, he'd gotten himself elected sheriff and had been a thorn in the side of every police officer and deputy sheriff in Honolulu since. The press loved him. He was always available and always good for a quote.
They listened as the sheriff made his statement. "There are definite elements of the occult involved. The bodies were laid out in a ritualistic fashion and there were other elements that point to witchcraft. What we're dealing with here is a Wiccan Death Ritual."
The reporters were eating it up as Murphy droned on, obviously in love with the sound of his own voice.
"He doesn't know any of that," Williams spat, disgusted. "The lab's not even done processing the crime scene and all the ME knows is blunt force trauma and cut throats. For all we know it's a drug deal gone bad."
"Or they had to listen to one too many Sheriff Murphy press conferences and decided to end it all. My god, that man's ignorance knows no bounds."
The sheriff finished his statement, reiterating that there would be a press conference at the sheriff's station later on that evening after the crime scene techs were done and in plenty of time to make the late news, promising he'd have all the information they needed by then.
McGarrett gave a disgusted grunt. Apparently Murphy was still laboring under the delusion of having a cadre of accommodating script writers at his beck and call.
The reporters spotted the two detectives standing under the bougainvillea and hurried over. Danny crushed out his cigarette and tried to look calm. Steve's jaw was clenched so tightly Danny was expecting to hear his teeth crack. Cameras and microphones were thrust in their faces. "Well, Mr. McGarrett, do you have anything to add to the sheriff's statement?" Mark Meyers asked, smirking.
"Not at this time," he said. "It's too early in the investigation to make any comment. So if you people will excuse us, we have work to do."
"Is it true that the crime committed was witchcraft related?"
"At this time the only thing I can tell you is that there are three bodies. Other than that, no comment."
"No exclusive for the Stars and Stripes this time?"
McGarrett glared at Meyers. "I doubt it," he said, in a calm even voice that made it all the more dangerous. "This doesn't involve the military so I doubt they'll be interested." He stalked off, Danny following close behind.
They drove in silence to the morgue for a meeting with Doc Bergman and the recently deceased.
"I shouldn't let that fool get to me like that. If ignorance is bliss, he has to be the happiest man on the planet," Steve said, eventually.
"Which one, Meyers or Murphy?"
"Take your pick, they're damn near interchangeable."
"What's a 'Wiccan Death Ritual' anyway? I thought Wiccans were Goddess worshipping nature lovers who wouldn't hurt a fly. Murphy is way off base this time."
"This time he's so far off base he's not even in the ballpark."
"He's going to offend every pagan and Wiccan on this Rock when the word gets out."
"Big time. And I get to go home to one of them."
Chin and Kono met them at the morgue. The three bodies were laid out on gurneys, awaiting Doc Bergman's attention. He'd just stepped out to retrieve the x-rays of the victims skulls when McGarrett and Williams arrived.
Bergman returned, carrying the x-ray films and a blood pressure cuff.
"You can keep that thing away from me," McGarrett growled as he sighted the cuff.
"You wish. Sit down, take off your jacket and roll up your sleeve. I've got orders from a higher power. When I'm done we're going to have a round of guess the cause of death."
Higher power, indeed, Steve thought, removing his jacket and sitting down. No use arguing when the Little Menehune had spoken. "Get it over with. I swear my blood pressure goes up every time you get near me with one of those things."
"Quiet," Bergman demanded. He pumped up the cuff and placed the end of the stethoscope just below the edge, on the vein at the bend in the elbow. After what seemed like an eternity, he loosened the cuff and looked up. "135 over 90. Better but still borderline high. Still getting headaches?"
"Only when I have to deal with Murphy," McGarrett answered, glaring at the rest of the Five-O staff, silently daring them to say a word.
"That man is a legend in his own mind. Bet you want to know which came first, the bludgeoning or the throat slitting."
"That could prove helpful."
"As it turns out, it's neither," Bergland started hanging the x-rays on the light boxes on the wall. "It's hard to find, but it's there if you know where to look." He crossed over to one of the horribly mutilated bodies, pulled back the sheet and turned the head to the left, exposing the area just behind the right ear.
Danny saw it first. "Just when you thought it couldn't get any stranger. I'd say small caliber firearm, a .22 or a .32, at point blank range."
"Yes," said Bergman. "One shot behind the ear at close range for all three of our guests here. Note the powder burns around the entry site. Throat slitting was next, done by a very sharp knife with a thin blade, followed by bludgeoning, probably with your garden variety claw hammer. I'll see if Che can match the wounds up to the type. Whoever did this wanted to make sure they were dead."
"Get the bullets to the lab as soon as you dig them out. What's the possibility of keeping Murphy in the dark about this?" Steve asked.
"I can probably get you about forty eight hours, and then he's going to know something is up. No, wait; this is Murphy we're talking about. Could get you another day, but that'd be stretching it."
"I'd appreciate that, Doc. That'll give Murphy enough time to make a complete ass of himself."
"I take it you're not buying the whole 'Wiccan death ritual' hypothesis?"
"I think we need to look for the obvious before we start chasing the occult. Kono, I know this has nothing to do with the Kahuna's or any other type of Hawaiian folklore or ritual but I want all bases covered. Ask around. Find out if this blue moon has any significance."
"Just another full moon is all I know. Suppose to be some good surf. From what I saw at the crime scene, ain't none of that Kahuna."
"I know it isn't, but do it anyway, maybe someone knows something we don't. Chin, check out the metaphysical shops. Find out what's going on with the pagan community."
"Will do. What exactly am I looking for?"
"Anything weird."
"At a metaphysical shop? Everything about them is weird."
"More weird than normal, then. Find out who the pagan community leaders are and see if they'll talk to us without a court order. That is if Murphy hasn't offended them so badly they're hexing us. Danno, find out everything there is to know about the Hobson family. I want the book. Work history, medical records, and financials, all of it. See if they had any enemies. Same for the woman as soon as we find out who she is. One shot behind the ear screams either professional hit or full blown psycho. Doc's buying us at least two days. Let's use 'em."
"Maybe you should go find one of those Wiccans and have a talk with them," Bergman suggested.
"That, Doc, won't be a problem."