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

perceptibly as
she thrust the business end of the device at him, then he coldly
remarked, “This is a closed crime scene. I’m gonna hafta ask ya’
ta’ leave.”
    The determined young woman staunchly ignored
him and swung her attention immediately to Carl.
    “Detective Deckert. What is your reasoning
behind getting the MCS involved?”
    “I’m afraid I can’t comment on that at this
time, Miss Street,” Carl returned tactfully.
    “Is there any truth to the rumor that you
specifically requested Detective Storm on this case?”
    “Detective Storm is a fine officer, and I
welcome any opportunity to work with him.”
    “But is it true that you contacted the city
police chief to request his assignment to the MCS?”
    “I have no control over assignments to the
Major Case Squad,” he explained in a calm, slightly patronizing
tone.
    “Let me rephrase the question.” Brandee was
quickly becoming annoyed, and it was easily apparent in the crisp
tenor of her voice. “Sources close to both the city and county
police departments indicate that you specifically asked that
Detective Storm be assigned to the Major Case Squad. These same
sources have also indicated that you requested Mister Gant be
brought in to consult as well. Would you like to comment now?”
    “No, Miss Street, I would not.”
    “Mister Gant…” In a flash she abandoned the
unresponsive cops and concentrated directly on me. “Given your
involvement last summer with the Satanic Serial Killer
investigation, your presence here would seem to indicate some type
of occult element in this murder. Is that true?”
    “I’m sorry. No comment,” I told her
apologetically.
    “We have it on good authority that you were
rushed to the hospital earlier for a wound on your arm. Can you
tell us more about that?”
    Before I could get another “Sorry, no
comment” out of my mouth, Ben interposed his large frame between
the relentless reporter and me.
    “Listen Brandee, if I’ve told ya’ once I’ve
told ya’ a thousand times, ya’ want a statement, ya’ talk ta’ the
public relations officer.”
    “The people of Saint Louis have a right to
know what’s going on, Storm!” she barked back, glaring up at him
and holding her ground.
    “Don’t give me that old freedom of the press
speech, I’ve heard it before,” he answered. “You know full well
we’re not in a position to tell ya’ anything. Call Public Relations
in the mornin’ and I’m sure they’ll have a statement prepared.”
    “I’m after the real story here, Storm. Not
that P.R. department crap!” She then added, bitterly stressing each
word, “I... Am... Trying... To... Do... My... Job.”
    “So are we, Brandee, and like I said before,
this crime scene still hasn’t been cleared, so technically
speaking, you’re trespassin’. I’m only gonna tell ya’ ta’ leave one
more time, then I’m gonna arrest ya’.”
    “You wouldn’t dare!” she spat angrily.
    “Try me.”
    She didn’t.
     
     
    * * * * *
     
     
    “I guess I don’t have to tell you that Street
wasn’t too far out in left field. The Major Case Squad is running
the show now.” Ben told me as he carefully propelled the van down
dark streets through a thickening veil of white. “Carl and I are
both assigned to it. Big surprise.”
    During my brief absence, the crime scene unit
had finished gathering and cataloging anything remotely resembling
evidence. The weather had not been a friend to them, and the
aforementioned items had been few. Of course, little had been found
at the scene of Brianna Walker’s death as well. Inwardly I pondered
the fact that no Bible, or even Bible verse, had been found at this
latest homicide. I had fully expected one and even hoped that it
might help to determine a pattern. Perhaps a clue as to the way the
victims were chosen, some tangible connection between them other
than their religion, or his perception of such.
    Very simply, I was looking for anything.
    The idea that the