Never Burn A Witch: A Rowan Gant Investigation by M. R. Sellars Page B

Proclaimed Witch Aids
Police In Satanic Serial Killer Investigation, etcetera—I should
have been amazed if someone didn’t know me.
    Ben engaged in a short banter with the city’s
chief medical examiner and persuaded her to take over the
postmortem on Brianna Walker. She had begun by assuring him that
Doctor Friedman was more than qualified to complete the autopsy but
within minutes agreed to handle it herself. I wasn’t entirely
certain if Ben had been just eloquent enough in his arguments or if
she had agreed for no other reason than to get him to shut up. In
any event, Ben got what he wanted, as usual, and invited her to
lunch with us in return for the favor. She had declined for reason
of a full schedule, pointedly citing the fact that she now had yet
another post to perform on top of her never-ending administrative
duties.
    The radio was playing softly from
strategically placed speakers and intermixed with an occasional
tinny spurt of chatter from the police radio mounted vertically to
the face of the dash. The cigarette lighter receptacle stood ready
to accept the plug for the magnetic bubble light that rested on the
engine cover between the seats. I knew from past experience that a
hidden switch somewhere on the driver’s side would activate a
deafening siren behind the exterior grill. Ben was dedicated to his
job, and the modifications he had made to his personal vehicle
showed it.
    “A lotta coppers eat here,” he said as he
urged the van over the curb into the unplowed lot and created his
own parking space next to the small building. “I got turned on to
it when I worked this district a coupl’a years back.”
    He was making conversation. Going purposely
out of his way to avoid the subject of Brianna Walker and the
revelations I had bestowed upon him less than an hour before. I
knew he was doing so for my benefit. It must have been obvious that
I was still rattled by the entire experience, and this was even
without my having engaged in any psychic exploration of the young
woman’s death. I had to admit to myself that I was already in deep
and that any other fear I had faced in my life to this point was a
cakewalk as compared to what awaited me now. In my mind, I mutely
convinced myself that I was just going to have to get over it.
    “You know, Ben, I appreciate what you’re
doing, but we can’t keep avoiding the subject. We have to talk
about this.”
    The itching sensation on my forearm had
tapered off to a dull annoyance for a brief time but had now
returned with a growing intensity. The thick, polyfiber-filled
fabric of my coat was positioned armor-like between my clawing
fingers and my burning skin, rendering my attack useless.
    “Yeah, white man, I know,” he conceded with a
nod. “But I don’t mind tellin’ ya, I could really do without
another serial nutball runnin’ around loose. Shit! The last one was
bad enough.”
    “I hate to tell you this,” I ventured,
“but if I’m right, and this guy is re-creating the Inquisition, it
could get much worse than the last one... much worse.”
    “Yeah, I was afraid you were gonna say
somethin’ like that.” He paused thoughtfully then turned to stare
out the window for a brief moment before centering his gaze back on
my face. “Sixty-four thousand dollar question, Row. Are ya’ gonna
be able to handle this?”
    “Yeah, Ben. I think I will.” I was still
pawing at the itch mindlessly.
    “You think , or you know , Rowan?” he stressed. “I’m not gonna have
ya’ in the middle of this crap if it’s gonna put ya’ over the edge
or somethin’.”
    “I understand your concern, Ben, but I’ll be
all right. The whole idea of someone reviving that part of history
just caught me a little off guard. Besides, I thought you said my
involvement in this was requested from further up the line?”
    “Yeah, it was. You made a big impression with
that whole mess last fall... But I’ll tell the chief he can kiss my
ass if this is gonna be any