M Sellars - Harm none

“Point three. As depicted in this image, the skin was removed from the victim with notable precision considering we believe that the instrument used to accomplish the task is what’s know as a dirk. For those of you unfamiliar with the name, it is a double-edge, European dagger that is about six inches long. Ariel Tanner owned one for use in Wiccan rituals. It was missing from her apartment. Someone able to do this probably has some experience at it and has more than likely skinned an animal or two.”

I could hear scribbling in the dark. I may not have reached all of them, but at least some of them were taking notes, and that bolstered my confidence almost immediately.

“Finally. This individual is meticulous about his rituals. The flaying, the inscription, the use of a purification incense. He took his time and made sure he followed a regimen he had set for himself. This is going to indicate someone deeply involved in ritual and ceremony.

“In both instances, he made it a point to prop open the door to the house or building where he committed the murder. This may indicate that he wants the bodies found as quickly as possible. Couple that with the Expiation spell, and I would theorize that he wants to be caught and punished. He is seeking not only atonement from himself but from the world as well.”

“If the asshole wants to get caught, why doesn’t he just turn himself in?” came another query.

“My guess would be that he would consider that too easy,” I replied. “I don’t know. Like I said before, I’m not a psychologist, I’m just here to interpret the symbols and ritual for you. The rest is pure speculation. Lights please…”

The lights came up in the room, and I heard Felicity switch off the bulb on the projector, though she left the fan running in order to cool it down. It droned on in the otherwise somber room.

“That’s really all that I have for now. I know it’s not much,” I told them, making my way back to the rostrum. “I will be in contact with Detective Storm and will let him know if I’m able to glean anything else from all of this. Are there any more questions?”

“Yeah,” one of the detectives in the center of the room spoke up. “I’m curious about somethin’. Ain’t you s’posed to be called a warlock?”

“Big fan of Bewitched were you?” I chuckled, feeling the mood in the room lighten at his query. “No, I am a Witch. The definition of warlock is ‘liar or breaker of promises’. The word has also been used to describe a practitioner of the Black Arts, either of which I am most definitely not. If you want to get right down to it, I’m really just a person like any of you, only I happen to be of a different religion.”

“It’s heresy. I don’t care what you say.” The statement was punctuated by a notebook slamming shut and a chair screeching on linoleum.

The voice had issued from a man everyone recognized. Detective Arthur McCann stood up and strode toward the door. He had been a valued member of the county police department for as long as anyone cared to remember. He was the prototypical good guy and esteemed member of his church. I had known him well a few years back when I helped out waiting tables in the small family diner my mother had owned and where he had been a regular customer. These days, he appeared in the paper often, a one-man task force bent on the eradication of the Wiccan religion and occult practices in Saint Louis. It was his belief that anything which didn’t include his God was nothing more than a cult and therefore evil. He was not about to listen to anything different.

“If you insist on having a Witch involved in this investigation…” He turned as he reached the door, fixing his gaze on Ben, who was standing next to me. “Then I will have no part of it.”

“Arthur,” I stated evenly, “how many times have I told you, good is good and bad is bad. I’ve done nothing bad.”

“You speak heresy,” he spat back angrily. “You go against the word of God.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” I returned. “And it bothers me that it hasn’t been that long ago that you thought I was a pretty good guy…Until you found out my religion that is.”

He didn’t answer, his face just grew redder, and he stormed out of the room, angrily slamming the door behind him.

While I could still detect a definite lack of enthusiasm for my presence in the investigation by the rest of the members of the Major Case Squad, there had been no more outbursts for the rest of the briefing. We left the frenetic activity behind as Ben escorted us out of the building, dropping off our visitor’s badges with the desk sergeant before exiting into the bright, sunlit day. The small, nomadic media city from the night before had positioned itself in front of City Hall, and local television personalities were vying for positions from which to do their live reports.

“Looks like a goddammed airhead convention out there,” Ben spat as we walked.

The sun was beating down hard on the pavement, and combined with the moisture from the previous night’s rain, we had the makings of a legendary Saint Louis summer day. The humidity was thick in the atmosphere, and the stillness of the air made the ninety-four degrees on the thermometer seem less than accurate. Felicity peeled off her light jacket and arranged it over the back of her seat when we arrived at the Jeep.

“I have to tell you,” I said to him as I stowed the slide projector and tray, “it went much better than I expected.”

“Yeah, but what was that crap with McCann? I didn’t know you two knew each other.”

“Awhile ago,” I answered. “Back when Mom had that diner. I helped out waiting tables and got to know him then.”

“Oh yeah,” he said. He had been to the diner many times himself. “So I guess he’s outta here.”

“Looked that way,” I said, haphazardly tossing my own jacket into the Jeep and getting a stern look from Felicity. “So, why didn’t you say anything about R.J.?” Knowing my wife’s expressions, I retrieved the jacket and hung it properly over the back of the passenger seat.

“Pretty much ‘cause I’m workin’ on a hunch,” he explained. “You see, the way I look at it, everybody starts with ten bricks in their pile. As the investigation progresses, some of the bricks get moved into the suspicious and/or guilty pile, and the rest stay right where they were and don’t bother anybody. Right now, I’d say R.J.’s only managed to move a couple’a his bricks over to the suspicious pile.”

“When were you planning to talk to him?” I queried.

“I kinda figured on paying him a visit a little later this afternoon.”

“What’s the plan with Devon?”

“We’re sittin’ on his house, and I got a basic description from his cousin out on the streets,” Ben answered.

“Hey,” Felicity interrupted, “in case you two haven’t noticed, it’s hot and muggy out here, not to mention that I’m the only one standing here in heels.”

“Point taken,” I told her and then looked back at Ben. “Do you have a little free time to get us in to the Karen Barnes murder scene?”

“Yeah, why?” he asked.

“I’d like to play a hunch of my own,” I answered. “I want to make sure I didn’t miss something last night.”

Leaving the parking lot proved to be much more of a nuisance than I originally expected. We were exiting ahead of Ben, and the moment our Jeep rounded the corner of the building, the drive was blocked by a swarm of reporters and cameramen. Felicity pressed lightly on the accelerator, inching us through the mob as they thrust microphones at our windows and barked questions made unintelligible by the din of them all speaking at once. Viewing the spectacle, it was impossible to miss Brandee Street, short skirt, trendy hair and manicured nails, as she ruthlessly insinuated herself between the others.