working on the Tanner case with me.” He turned and gestured toward me. “Rowan, would you like ta’ join me up here.”
Judging from the stares that suddenly came my way, I knew immediately that I wouldn’t.
I wouldn’t like it at all.
CHAPTER 9
Ben remained behind and slightly to the right of me as I positioned myself at the stand. I looked out over the numerous detectives seated at the tables, and as I had been warned, they all stared back at me blankly. I noticed a copy of the day’s newspaper resting prominently atop the notebook of one of the officers in the front row. The newsprint was neatly folded to display the front page, picture and headline. It may have been coincidence, but it definitely appeared deliberate. My heightened senses easily detected suspicion and disapproval seeping from the group, and from the corner of my eye, I saw Felicity shift nervously in her seat. She could feel it too.
“As Detective Storm told you,” I began nervously, “my name is Rowan Gant. I have been consulting with him on the investigation of Ariel Tanner’s murder, and more recently…”
“Where’s your broom?” a disembodied voice interrupted from the back row.
A grating laugh rippled through the room. Ben started forward, ready to admonish the speaker and anyone else in the room, or so it appeared. I thrust my arm out and stopped him, then looked over and shook my head. He stepped back without a word, though I could feel him seething beneath his silent facade. I took in a deep breath and turned back to the seated officers. Apparently, there was to be no dancing around this problem, and hiding behind Ben definitely wouldn’t help. This was something I would have to handle myself if I wanted to gain any respect from them.
“Actually, my broom is at home,” I told them sarcastically, indignance replacing the trepidation. “We came here on my wife’s Hoover Deluxe… Now, since you all want to act like a room full of school children,” I looked around, making eye contact with as many of them as I could, “are there any more smart-ass comments before I continue?”
I remained silent, staring out at them, continuing to meet their eyes and hold them. Some of them looked quickly away. Some fought to hold fast, then folded as the others before them.
“Why the hell should we listen to you?” the voice came from the back row again.
This time I pinpointed him. He was a young cop-younger than the rest anyway-with dark, styled hair and the rugged features that often graced print advertisements for men’s cologne. He fixed his blue eyes on mine and held my gaze. He was not going to be easily persuaded.
“Could you come up here, please?” I asked him, motioning him toward the front.
“What the hell are you doin’?” Ben hissed at me.
“Let me handle it,” I whispered back over my shoulder.
By the time Ben and I had completed our exchange, the young detective had come to the front and was looking back out at his colleagues with a wide grin. He was obviously quite pleased with himself, and the other detectives were enjoying the spectacle as well.
“What’s your name?” I asked him.
“Bill,” he answered, still pleased.
I motioned to the corner of the room. “Detective Deckert, could you get the lights please?”
He nodded and switched off the overhead lights. Felicity picked up on the cue and responded by switching on the slide projector.
“Let’s step over here out of the way, Bill,” I told the young detective as I slid the rostrum to one side.
Once we had moved, Felicity tapped a switch on the slide projector’s remote control, and the tray advanced, audibly dropping a transparency into the beam of light. The auto-focus kicked in, and a larger than life image of the Pentacle from Karen Barnes’ murder scene glowed back at us.
“Can you tell me what we’re looking at, Bill?” I asked him.
“It’s a star,” he told me. “What Detective Storm said, ya know, a Pentacle.”
“Very good,” I said. “And what does it mean?”
“Whaddaya talkin’ about?” he asked, his voice somewhat less confident than before.
“What is the inherent meaning of the symbol, Detective?” I asked again.
“Oh, yeah, that.” He shuffled slightly. “Well it means worship the devil and Satan and stuff like that.”
“Sorry,” I stated apologetically. “Wrong answer.”
I motioned to Felicity in the dim light provided by the image reflecting from the screen, and the slide changed. Now the words that had been inscribed on the walls of both murder scenes brightly stared back at us.
“And these words, Detective,” I continued, “‘All Is Forgiven.’ Can you tell me why the killer inscribed them at both scenes?”
“That’s easy,” he returned. “He’s forgiving the victims.”
“Hmmm. A little closer but sorry, wrong again. Next slide please.”
Suddenly the wall was lit up with the sickening image of Karen Barnes’ flayed torso, her glazed eyes gaping back at us.
“Can you tell me why the killer excised the victim’s skin, Detective…?” I received no answer. “Detective?”
I turned and saw the young man facing away from the image, breathing heavily and obviously fighting back nausea. I decided that I had made my point and that he was no longer nearly as pleased with himself. I motioned across the room; the lights came back on and the projector shut down.
“Go back to your seat,” I told him, then turned and took my place back at the podium.
Ben was grinning at me when I looked up at him, and Detective Deckert flashed me a smile with a surreptitious thumbs up. The rest of the detectives in the room remained quiet as my heckler returned to his seat. A good number of them looked just as green as he did.
“That,” I began, “is why you should listen to me. If you want to catch this guy, you need to know why he is doing what he is doing. And, that is what I’m here for.
“I’m going to be straight up with you. I really don’t give a damn if you like me or not. I don’t expect you to believe in my religion or follow its covenants. What I do expect is for you to give me the respect that I deserve and recognize the fact that I just might be able to answer some questions that you can’t. I’m here to help you, not entertain you.
“Look, I’ll be the first one to admit that I’m not an expert criminal psychologist or anything like that. What I have to say is simply my interpretation of the facts available based on my knowledge of the Wiccan religion. As I said, knowing the whys and wherefores behind what the killer is doing just might prove useful in catching him.” I paused to let my words settle. “Now, I’m sorry if I made you look like an ass, Bill, but you seemed rather intent on acting like one even without my help… So, can we get down to business and figure out a way to catch this son-of- a-bitch before he kills again?”
A grumble of assent rolled through the room. I could tell that the majority of them still weren’t happy about having me involved in the investigation, but at the same time, I think they realized I might be able to shed some light on certain aspects of the cases.
“Fine,” I continued. “I’ll begin with telling you something that I am sure you already know. You are dealing with a very unstable individual. The second thing I will tell you is what you aren’t dealing with here… What you aren’t dealing with is a Witch.”
I paused and waited for the chairs to quit shifting and the whispers to subside.
“If you will allow me to explain,” I told them. “I am not saying that the person committing these murders is not attempting to practice some type of ritual magick, in fact, I definitely believe that that is exactly what he is doing. I also believe that he thinks the rituals used by a practitioner of The Craft play some part in it. This is very simply not true. An actual practicing Wiccan, or Witch, holds to a very specific covenant within the religion. That covenant is to Harm None. Witches do not, I repeat, DO NOT sacrifice people or animals in their rituals. The reason I’m telling you this is that it’s going to be very easy for you to point your finger at anyone who might happen to be a
