Witches and sorcerers (!!!trial name, draft!!!)

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  The murder is a shocking event for a small town, it's almost apocalypce. Murders are happening somewhere far away, practically in another world, it may be in megacities because vanity, fuss and crowds of big city makes people crazy. Murder is a topic for federal newspapers and conversations on social networks, this concerns only freaks from megacities. But all five thousand inhabitants of Riverwood are normal people, they are quiet, reasonable, sane, respectable and God-fearing. They are a basis of bases, a true essence of the Universe and of Roaneg republic, salt of its earth. There are a lot of such tiny small towns in the Roaneg, and all of them are very proud of its correctness and a tranquil way of living. Everyone in Riverwood don't kill. And even if someone decides to do on so unworthy business, then it will be the most ordinary, the most traditional cause and method of murder - matrimonial quarrel, jealousy and kick with a kitchen knife or long-living uncle, impatient successor and strangulation by a pillow or drunkard driving and drunkard pedestrian.
But in any way not a corpse of the woman in the Central park of town. Especially if someone shot this unfortunate lady from a crossbow and then cut her throat.
Jeremy Fisher, tall, thin, awkward, clumsy guy of twenty-eight, his blue eyes like a turquoise and his a fiery reddish hair like a lump. Jeremy watched as the police inspects the corpse. The Riverwood is in the south-east of the country and May is quite hot here.The temperature rises to thirty-three and even thirty-five degrees Celsius. Therefore, and the police and the Jeremy were glad that the dead was found early in the morning and she didn't lie in the heat all day.
The corpse lay on a lawn near one of the side and secluded dirt tracks. The murdered were found by two housewives, who went out for the morning run. The victim was young, not more than thirty years old, pretty - a slender blonde with a lovely face. She was in a rather expensive business suit and new shoes with high graceful heels. Her hands were gentle, well-groomed. She was a well-off. But she was killed not in the office or in the house, she died in the park like a beggar vagabond-drug addict.
The young cop looked at Jeremy disapprovingly and asked his older partner 'Why is an outlier gad about here?'
'Do you not know Jeremy?' The older cop was surprised. 'He is a famous town fool.'
'And what is he famous?'
'Jeremy lives in the seventh quarter', the older cop answered. 'A lucrative place. Father Jeremy owns a car wash, and his mother sells coffee and snacks there. But Jeremy doesn't want to do family business and doesn't look for another job, because he not be able to do anything useful. The guy is thirty soon and he still lives with his parents and doesn't have his own money. To entertain himself, Jeremy registered the news portal in social networks and received an international license of an independent reporter. But it doesn't matter, because the license is issued by all comers and the real reporter is only the one who publishes his articles in good newspapers and on good news sites. And Jeremy's portal is not read by even his mother. But formally he is a reporter. Therefore, if we drive him away, other reporters will eat us. And not because a fool from the small town is interesting for them, but because the cops who drove out the media are an article that will bring money for a good dinner and one minute of glory.'
The young cop nodded and stopped paying attention to Jeremy. And Jeremy went to the police chief, a tall, fat black man. 'Mr. Donovan', asked Jeremy, 'why so little blood? If the throat was cut, then there must be lake Baikal and not a small puddle.'
'It's very strange, Jeremy. Her blood seemed to have been stolen. All blood. Do you know this woman?'
'No, Mr. Donovan. There are five thousand people living in the Riverwood, and even a reporter can't know all them.'
When the word "reporter" sounded, the cops snorted, but Jeremy didn't notice. He looked attentively at the deceased. "Her shoes are very fashionable, expensive and stylish", thought Jeremy. "Even if it isn't a brand, it's a fake, then she spent a lot of strength to find a quality imitation. Her suit looks worse than her shoes. She believed the words which say that a person's social status is determined by shoes. She wore very uncomfortable shoes which caused much hurt to her feet because she wanted to suit other people's words. This woman doesn't have her own will and her own mind. She lives under vicarious control. These shoes are very uncomfortable for the park, because the heels get stuck in the ground. She was called here by a person who was important to this woman, which she didn't dare to force to wait, and therefore the woman didn't go home or to the store to change her shoes."
And then Jeremy noticed another oddity.
'Mr. Donovan, if she came herself, then why are heels of her shoes not stained with dirt?'
'There aren't traces around her, Jeremy. If the killer brought a corpse here, this person went through the air.'
Jeremy's heart began to beat anxiously. The killer could approach the victim through the air, and transfer her through the air from the asphalt pavement in the center of the park to this secluded lawn.
The killer was a magician.
Jeremy more than ever acutely regretted that his magical gift was negligible. Jeremy's father was a strong sorcerer, he was a worthy continuer of an ancient magical lineage. And Jeremy couldn't give his father the opportunity to see the grandson's magic talent, because all girls always ignored Jeremy, didn't accept his invitations to date. He doesn't have someone who will become his wife.
Jeremy tried to see the aura of the lawn, see the traces of magic, make a small sorcery of recognition. But as always he got only pain.
"It was sorcery", Jeremy thought. "If it makes stomach hurt, this is sorcery. Witchery makes the heart ache."
Jeremy took out his camera and began taking pictures of the lawn. Modern digital photo captures not only simple matter, but also subtle, magical. Jeremy's father will be able to find out a lot about the killer with the help of these pictures.
"Is she witch?" thought to Jeremy, looking at the murdered. "Members of the sorcerers's Circle of Power don't communicate with members of the witch's Circle of Power. We have nothing to talk about with them, we don't have common business with them. But the leaders of the Circles have an acquaintance with each other and in case of major problems they can meet. Father should tell the leader about this murder."
'Mr. Donovan', asked Jeremy, 'have you already found out who is she? Did you find her handbag?'
'Yes. This is Miranda Eller. She lives in the tenth quarter. Her works as an accountant in the Greenrock, travels to this city twice a week. There were the driver's license, two credit cards, the keys to the house and the car, a few cash and some cosmetics in the her reticule. Everything is standard.'
'But this murder is very unusual, officer', said Jeremy and went to his car.