M Sellars - Never Burn A Witch

“Yeah, okay. So finally I just told her she had to make a choice. It was either them or me.”

“So as long as her sexuality was entertaining for you, then it was okay,” Agent Mandalay spat, still glaring at him from across the room. She stood rigidly postured, pressed against the dull institution grey wall as if she were seeking to disappear into its face. Her arms were entwined in a tight fold across her chest, and her body language loudly broadcast the fact that this man had definitely gotten under her skin in a bad way.

“Look,” he returned, obviously enjoying himself, “her hanging out with them all the time was no different than if she’d been hanging out with a bunch of men. They were just as big a threat to our relationship, so of course I was going to be jealous. But yeah, I got off on it for a while. You know, a couple of babes getting all wild on each other. It’s every guy’s fantasy.”

Constance quietly seethed at the comment. She was almost visibly trembling with bright crimson anger.

“Not necessarily every guy, Roberts,” Ben interjected, taking mute notice of the Federal Agent’s swelling ire. “Now get on with it.”

“Anyhow, that’s not why I told her she had to make a choice. That Wicker crap or whatever she was involved in was way too weird. I didn’t find out about it until she started in with that group, or I may not have started dating her in the first place. It’s like some kind of cult or something. If you ask me, they’re the ones you should be talking to. They probably sacrificed her or something.”

“Yeah, well nobody asked ya’,” Ben replied.

“It’s not very likely that her coven had anything to do with it, Mister Roberts,” I stated evenly. “And it’s called Wicca, not wicker. Wicca is a religion. Wicker is furniture.”

“Yeah, whatever,” he retorted. “I still think it’s some kind of cult.”

“So your solution to all this was to harass ‘er by sendin’ threatening e-mails?” Ben steered the conversation back onto course with a sardonic query.

“E-MAIL,” Roberts stressed the singularity. “I just sent the one, and besides, I was drunk.” He continued on as if being inebriated was a valid excuse that should easily explain the behavior away. “I barely remembered sending it until I got a notice from her ISP about it. And yeah, I was pissed. It’s bad enough to lose your girlfriend to another guy, but to another woman? And then all that weird Witch crap on top of it.”

“But you took the time to set up the domain,” I interjected.

“Yeah, so?” he countered. “Ten minutes and a credit card gets you a domain name. Seemed like the way to go at the time.”

“So if you’re completely innocent here, why is it ya’ bolted when Agent Mandalay showed ya’ her ID?” Ben posed.

“Look, I’ll talk to you about all this other shit, but I’d rather not get into that part until I speak to my lawyer.”

“Of course not,” Constance huffed.

“Is there somethin’ on that computer that ya’ don’t want anyone to see?” my friend pushed. “From what I understand you were tryin’ to erase the data when we stopped you.”

“Lawyer” came his one word response.

“Somethin’ on there that might connect ya’ with the murder?”

“LAW-YER.”

“Okay then. Fine.” Ben sighed. “How about tellin’ us what ya’ meant back at your house when ya’ said you had warned Miz Miller?”

“I meant I warned her. I told her if she kept messing around with that WitchCraft shit something was going to happen,” he answered matter-of-factly.

“Ya’ mean ya’ warned ‘er or do ya’ mean ya’ threatened ta’ kill ‘er?” Ben chided.

“Warned, Detective. And it looks like I was right.”

“Were ya’ right or did ya’ make it into a self-fulfillin’ prophecy?”

“You just don’t give up, do you? I was right, that’s all.”

“Did you kill Kendra Miller, Mister Roberts?” Agent Mandalay had pushed away from the wall and now slammed the blunt question into his face, driving it home with a cold stare.

“HELL NO!” he shot back. “How many times do I have to tell you people this? All I did was send that one e-mail. Shit, I hadn’t even seen her for three months!”

“So why did you bother with the e-mail then?” she pressed as she drew closer to the small table. “Why wait three months to send it?”

“I dunno. Like I said, I was drunk. And I think that night I was surfing some lesbo sites on the web.”

“Excuse me?” she barked angrily.

“You know, checkin’ out the lez fetish websites,” he answered, taking great relish in the fact that he was annoying her. “That’s probably what got me thinking about her, so I sent the e-mail.”

With no warning whatsoever, Constance strode quickly forward, her hands outstretched as she drove her inertia bearing weight into the edge of the small table. A loud moan escaped from its four legs as they scraped across the tiled floor, and the opposite side of the piece of furniture slammed hard into Allen Roberts’ midsection. The air in his lungs vented from his mouth in a raspy huff, and he wheezed as he fought against the pressure to replace the escaped breath.

Both Ben and I stood frozen, completely dumbfounded by what we were witnessing. We had all seen Agent Mandalay display an almost frightfully hard edge in the past but always with an even temperament. Explosive anger of this order was something entirely new.

“You putrid little bastard!” she spat as she held him pinned against the wall with the edge of the wooden table. “You make me sick!”

“Whoa, Mandalay!” Ben quickly stepped forward and grasped her shoulder with a large paw. “Back off.”

Still brimming with a full head of steam, she twisted away from his grasp and gave the table a furious shove before letting go. One side lifted slightly, and the legs made a dull clack as they bounced down against the floor. Wheeling around, the red-faced FBI special agent exited the interview room in a tempest of wordless emotion, making certain to slam the door on the way out.

“What the hell ya’ think that was all about?” Ben asked me as he looked after her.

“Did you see that?” Allen Roberts coughed as he finally regained his breath. “She assaulted me! You’re my witnesses!”

“I didn’t see anything,” Ben spat back without turning.

“That bitch assaulted me! I’m pressing charges!”

“Shut up, Roberts,” Ben instructed in no uncertain terms.

“I think I’d better go see if Constance is okay,” I offered.

“Yeah, that’s prob’ly a good idea,” my friend agreed.

“Fuckin’ dyke bitch” came a muttering voice from behind us.

“I thought I told ya’ ta’ shut up, Roberts.”

Another disparaging epithet exited the man’s lips just as I was leaving the interview room. Before the door had fully closed, I caught a calm query from my friend that managed to do what the earlier no-nonsense instructions had failed to accomplish.

“Look asshole, do ya’ want me ta’ cuff ya’ to the chair and let ‘er back in here with ya’ for a while? ‘Cause I’ll be happy to arrange it…”

Outside the interview room, at the far end of the hallway, a low wooden bench lined the wall. Tucked neatly into the corner, Constance Mandalay now occupied a small section of the worn real estate. She was pitched forward, elbows resting on her knees and her forehead cupped in her hands. The distance between us was short enough that I could clearly see that she was trembling.

A uniformed officer with an armload of file folders rounded the corner and shot the young woman a cursory look as he passed. He did a double take then threw his gaze back and forth between the two of us. As I made my way steadily toward her, I simply nodded then gave him a thin-lipped smile when we met and then passed one another in the chilly corridor.