Harm None: A Rowan Gant Investigation

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Harm None: A Rowan Gant Investigation Page 13

by M. R. Sellars


  “As Detective Storm told you,” I began nervously, “my name is Rowan Gant. I have been consulting with him on the investigation of Ariel Tanner’s murder, and more recently...”

  “Where’s your broom?” a disembodied voice interrupted from the back row.

  A grating laugh rippled through the room. Ben started forward, ready to admonish the speaker and anyone else in the room, or so it appeared. I thrust my arm out and stopped him, then looked over and shook my head. He stepped back without a word, though I could feel him seething beneath his silent facade. I took in a deep breath and turned back to the seated officers. Apparently, there was to be no dancing around this problem, and hiding behind Ben definitely wouldn’t help. This was something I would have to handle myself if I wanted to gain any respect from them.

  “Actually, my broom is at home,” I told them sarcastically, indignance replacing the trepidation. “We came here on my wife’s Hoover Deluxe... Now, since you all want to act like a room full of school children,” I looked around, making eye contact with as many of them as I could, “are there any more smart-ass comments before I continue?”

  I remained silent, staring out at them, continuing to meet their eyes and hold them. Some of them looked quickly away. Some fought to hold fast, then folded as the others before them.

  “Why the hell should we listen to you?” the voice came from the back row again.

  This time I pinpointed him. He was a young cop—younger than the rest anyway—with dark, styled hair and the rugged features that often graced print advertisements for men’s cologne. He fixed his blue eyes on mine and held my gaze. He was not going to be easily persuaded.

  “Could you come up here, please?” I asked him, motioning him toward the front.

  “What the hell are you doin’?” Ben hissed at me.

  “Let me handle it,” I whispered back over my shoulder.

  By the time Ben and I had completed our exchange, the young detective had come to the front and was looking back out at his colleagues with a wide grin. He was obviously quite pleased with himself, and the other detectives were enjoying the spectacle as well.

  “What’s your name?” I asked him.

  “Bill,” he answered, still pleased.

  I motioned to the corner of the room. “Detective Deckert, could you get the lights please?”

  He nodded and switched off the overhead lights. Felicity picked up on the cue and responded by switching on the slide projector.

  “Let’s step over here out of the way, Bill,” I told the young detective as I slid the rostrum to one side.

  Once we had moved, Felicity tapped a switch on the slide projector’s remote control, and the tray advanced, audibly dropping a transparency into the beam of light. The auto-focus kicked in, and a larger than life image of the Pentacle from Karen Barnes’ murder scene glowed back at us.

  “Can you tell me what we’re looking at, Bill?” I asked him.

  “It’s a star,” he told me. “What Detective Storm said, ya know, a Pentacle.”

  “Very good,” I said. “And what does it mean?”

  “Whaddaya talkin’ about?” he asked, his voice somewhat less confident than before.

  “What is the inherent meaning of the symbol, Detective?” I asked again.

  “Oh, yeah, that.” He shuffled slightly. “Well it means worship the devil and Satan and stuff like that.”

  “Sorry,” I stated apologetically. “Wrong answer.”

  I motioned to Felicity in the dim light provided by the image reflecting from the screen, and the slide changed. Now the words that had been inscribed on the walls of both murder scenes brightly stared back at us.

  “And these words, Detective,” I continued, “‘All Is Forgiven.’ Can you tell me why the killer inscribed them at both scenes?”

  “That’s easy,” he returned. “He’s forgiving the victims.”

  “Hmmm. A little closer but sorry, wrong again. Next slide please.”

  Suddenly the wall was lit up with the sickening image of Karen Barnes’ flayed torso, her glazed eyes gaping back at us.

  “Can you tell me why the killer excised the victim’s skin, Detective...?” I received no answer. “Detective?”

  I turned and saw the young man facing away from the image, breathing heavily and obviously fighting back nausea. I decided that I had made my point and that he was no longer nearly as pleased with himself. I motioned across the room; the lights came back on and the projector shut down.

  “Go back to your seat,” I told him, then turned and took my place back at the podium.

  Ben was grinning at me when I looked up at him, and Detective Deckert flashed me a smile with a surreptitious thumbs up. The rest of the detectives in the room remained quiet as my heckler returned to his seat. A good number of them looked just as green as he did.

  “That,” I began, “is why you should listen to me. If you want to catch this guy, you need to know why he is doing what he is doing. And, that is what I’m here for.

  “I’m going to be straight up with you. I really don’t give a damn if you like me or not. I don’t expect you to believe in my religion or follow its covenants. What I do expect is for you to give me the respect that I deserve and recognize the fact that I just might be able to answer some questions that you can’t. I’m here to help you, not entertain you.

  “Look, I’ll be the first one to admit that I’m not an expert criminal psychologist or anything like that. What I have to say is simply my interpretation of the facts available based on my knowledge of the Wiccan religion. As I said, knowing the whys and wherefores behind what the killer is doing just might prove useful in catching him.” I paused to let my words settle. “Now, I’m sorry if I made you look like an ass, Bill, but you seemed rather intent on acting like one even without my help... So, can we get down to business and figure out a way to catch this son-of-a-bitch before he kills again?”

  A grumble of assent rolled through the room. I could tell that the majority of them still weren’t happy about having me involved in the investigation, but at the same time, I think they realized I might be able to shed some light on certain aspects of the cases.

  “Fine,” I continued. “I’ll begin with telling you something that I am sure you already know. You are dealing with a very unstable individual. The second thing I will tell you is what you aren’t dealing with here... What you aren’t dealing with is a Witch.”

  I paused and waited for the chairs to quit shifting and the whispers to subside.

  “If you will allow me to explain,” I told them. “I am not saying that the person committing these murders is not attempting to practice some type of ritual magick, in fact, I definitely believe that that is exactly what he is doing. I also believe that he thinks the rituals used by a practitioner of The Craft play some part in it. This is very simply not true. An actual practicing Wiccan, or Witch, holds to a very specific covenant within the religion. That covenant is to Harm None. Witches do not, I repeat, DO NOT sacrifice people or animals in their rituals. The reason I’m telling you this is that it’s going to be very easy for you to point your finger at anyone who might happen to be a Wiccan practitioner, simply because this killer is mimicking one of our rituals. I really would like to avoid that. Not only would it cause undue grief for innocent individuals, it would be extremely counterproductive. For example, just because lemons are yellow and tennis balls are yellow, it doesn’t mean you can make lemonade out of tennis balls...What I’m really trying to get at is that just because one mentally unstable individual is using the symbols of the Wiccan religion and committing violent murders, it doesn’t mean that all Wiccans are psycho serial killers. Don’t put blinders on and follow that kind of distorted logic because it’s not going to get us anywhere.”

  They were looking back at me a bit more attentively than earlier. I didn’t know if I had convinced them, but I hadn’t lost them, and at this stage of the game, I had the feeling that this was all I could hope for.

/>   I motioned to Detective Deckert and Felicity once more, and again the room was pitched into darkness. Instantly, the slide projector came to life, clicking rapidly as my wife backed the tray to the beginning.

  “This, as we have already established, is a Pentacle. In this position, with a single point at the top, it represents man and life. It is a very common symbol in the Wiccan religion. If this were to be turned one hundred-eighty degrees so that there were two points on top, it would then be referred to as a Pentagram. Some cults have taken it upon themselves to assign a meaning of evil and darkness to the Pentagram, claiming it represents Satan. Notice the horns and the pointed goatee.” I indicated the various points on the screen, “Factually, this is inaccurate; however, it has become widely accepted as true over the centuries. That’s probably where you got your misinformation, Bill.”

  I stepped away from the podium and into the path of the slide projector. The image took up a large portion on the wall, and I was able to physically point out aspects without entirely blocking the beam of filtered light.

  “In this instance, an upright Pentacle was inscribed as part of a ritual known as an Expiation spell. This spell, or ritual, is particularly Wiccan and is the one that the killer has mimicked with some notable variations. Next slide please...” The projector clicked and chunked as the first image was ejected and the second one dropped in its place. “These words, ‘All Is Forgiven,’ are also a part of this ritual. The Pentacle and the words were all inscribed at both crime scenes. As Detective Storm already told you, the victim’s blood was used to draw the symbol and letters. This would be one of the deviations I mentioned a moment ago. The other would be that instead of using wine or water for the spell, the killer once again used the victim’s blood...The fact that this was done, shows that this second ritual was performed after the murder. This correlates with the fact that an Expiation spell is used as something of a ‘self-atonement’ ritual—similar to penance given in a confessional. This leads me to believe that the killer is feeling remorse for what he’s done and is seeking to relieve the guilt.

  “Next slide.” Once again the projector rotated the tray and displayed the grisly image of Karen Barnes’ mutilated corpse. “The method of killing has involved ritual flaying in both cases, followed by cutting the throat in the case of Ariel Tanner and removal of the heart in the case of Karen Barnes.”

  “What’s the point?” a voice asked. “Is he some kind of sadist or something?”

  “While that wouldn’t surprise me,” I answered, “the point behind skinning the victim is to bring them to a heightened sense of pain and fear before their death. From what I have been able to research, our killer appears to be attempting to invoke, or call forth, some spirit or daemon. This, he apparently believes, requires a human sacrifice and requires that the sacrifice be aware of the process. Whatever it is that he desires to call forth apparently feeds on pain and fear.”

  “I thought you said you Witches didn’t do shit like that” another voice came out of the dark.

  “We don’t,” I replied. “Like I said, he isn’t a Witch.”

  “Then where’s he coming up with this stuff?” the same voice asked.

  “Fiction,” I answered. “Horror movies. Novels. Perhaps even any number of texts available on the subject of Black Magick, both accurate and inaccurate. It wouldn’t surprise me to find a little of the Spanish Inquisition mixed in as well.”

  “So,” a different voice piped in, “what you’re sayin’ is that all this is just a ration of shit, and he’s just a sick bastard goin’ around killing people.”

  “Yes and no,” I returned. “I definitely agree with the ‘sick bastard’ part of your comment, but his rituals aren’t just some ‘ration of shit’ as you put it. First off, a ritual is nothing more and nothing less than you make it. It is a way of focusing one’s energies, and it can be something that you make up yourself. It doesn’t have to be some pre-prescribed set of instructions that were written by someone else.”

  “Hold the phone,” another voice chimed in the dark. “You aren’t actually suggesting that this wacko is going to bring some beast or demon here from hell or something are you?”

  “What I’m suggesting,” I told them, “is that a ritual is used to focus one’s energies to make something happen—like praying or the chants that monks sing. If you’re asking if I personally believe that he’s going to invoke something, just let me say that I think there are forces out there that are better left alone, and we’ll leave it at that.”

  I waited wordlessly while my last statement soaked in. There were a few whispers among the group but to my surprise, no recurrence of the earlier heckling, so I continued.

  “Now, I realize I haven’t really told you much about the killer, and unfortunately, I’m not able to do much more than speculate based on the existing evidence.

  “First, as I said, he’s not a Witch, but he appears to be intimately familiar with The Craft. He might have been a member of a coven at one time or another, but if he actually practiced, I would think it more likely that he was solitary. It’s possible that his knowledge of Wicca was or is derived mainly from literature available at almost any bookstore.

  “Second. Because of the lack of various components, I have reason to believe that Ariel Tanner’s murder was done out of his need to practice his ritual. Karen Barnes’ may well have been an actual performance of the sacrifice. I can’t be absolutely positive about that because as I told you, he’s making up his own ritual here. The basic components of it tell me generally what he’s trying to do, but so far, he’s left nothing behind that points me to anything specific. Based on what was done to Karen Barnes, my guess would be that it was the real thing for him, but I don’t believe he’s finished. Until he at least perceives that he has conjured whatever or whomever he seeks, then he will continue to execute the ritual.

  “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.”

 

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