Read Online Never Burn A Witch: A Rowan Gant Investigation by M. R. Sellars - Free Book Online Page A

my lunch around the Styrofoam
plate with the plastic fork, occasionally stabbing a broccoli
floret or slice of carrot that hadn’t been cooked beyond
recognition and popping it in my mouth.
    “Your food okay?” Ben asked. “Ya’ don’t seem
ta’ be eatin’ much.”
    “It’s fine,” I lied. “I’m just not real
hungry right now.”
    “So…” He paused for a moment and guzzled cola
from a thirty-two ounce plastic cup before continuing, “You’re
pretty sure this nutcase is gonna keep killin’?”
    “Yes. If he’s following the mentality of the
inquisitors, I would guess that he sees himself as apostolic. He
probably believes that his actions are being directed by God.”
    “Don’t tell me God’s talkin’ ta’ this wingnut
through his electric razor or somethin’.”
    “I don’t know, Ben.” I said. “If you’re
looking for an accurate and expert psychological assessment, then
I’m not the one you need to be speaking to. You know that. I can
help you with the historical aspects, and if I visualize something up here...” I tapped my
forehead with my index finger. “But other than that…”
    “You think I need ta’ call the Feebs,
don’tcha?”
    “If you want a profile of him.” I confirmed
his comment with a nod then added, “Look, I know you have a problem
with the FBI getting involved, but you’ve got a pretty good working
relationship with Constance Mandalay in the local field office.
She’s pretty open-minded and you know it.”
    “Yeah,” he grunted. “She’s workable. I just
don’t wanna get stuck with another one of those know-it-alls with
an Ivy League sheepskin an’ a big fat zero in the experience
department. I don’t need that kinda aggravation when somethin’ like
this is goin’ on.”
    “So request her specifically.”
    “I s’pose I could get ‘er involved
unofficially and see where it goes. If the Feebs end up knee deep
in it then...”
    Ben’s vocal musing was bitten off cleanly by
the shrill cry of his pager as it demanded immediate attention. He
thumbed the button to silence the device and peered at the liquid
crystal display with a thin-lipped frown.
    “Office,” he proclaimed as he proceeded
to slip the beeper back on to his belt, only to have it begin
blaring loudly once more. Extracting the screaming palm full of
electronic components, he glanced at its face with sharp disgust
before returning it to his side once again. “Jeezus… Fuckin’…It’s
the goddamned office again .”
    Ben reached around the back of his chair and
into the folds of his coat. After a moment of wrestling with the
flap on the pocket, he withdrew a hand-held cell phone and pressed
the power switch. The compact apparatus looked like a child’s toy
in his massive hand. The moment the ready tone announced the
phone’s status, he stabbed out the department number from memory
and then held it to his ear.
    “Yeah, it’s Storm,” he said after a short
wait. “I was paged.”
    He paused for another moment, apparently
holding to be transferred to the individual who had done the
paging. I decided I was finished with my lunch and pushed the plate
of gelatinized gravy and cold vegetables to the side then began
molesting my itchy forearm in a distracted fashion.
    “Yeah. I’m at lunch. What’s up?” Ben finally
spoke into the cell phone once again.
    I watched him as he listened to the voice at
the other end. Slowly, his face took on an expression of deep
concentration, and his free hand went to the back of his neck and
began automatically massaging.
    “Yeah... Yeah... Uh-huh,” he grunted. “Hold
on a sec...”
    He switched the phone to his other ear and
fumbled for his notebook. The struggle ended quickly, and he
flipped the pad open on the surface of the table then snapped the
button on his ink pen. Resting one elbow on the notepad to hold it
in place, he looked like a contorted giant trying to use miniature
replicas of everyday items.
    “Okay, go ahead... Yeah...