Perfect Trust: A Rowan Gant Investigation by M. R. Sellars Read Free Book Online

what she finds in the basement?
The fuckin’ holy torture
chamber . The shrine, the candles, all of it.
Everything just like you described from that vision thing ya’ had.
Even found a copy of that book ya’ kept talkin’ about.”
    “The Malleus
Maleficarum ?” I offered, referencing the fifteenth
century Witch hunting manual the killer had adopted as his
manifesto.
    “Yeah, that’s the one.” He nodded. “So
anyway, the copper that took the call gets a hinky feelin’ and
calls Deckert over at County Homicide. He goes and has a look, then
calls me before he even leaves the place.”
    Carl Deckert was a mutual friend who had also
been assigned to the Major Case Squad during the investigation. He
was intimately familiar with the case, and I’m sure that when he’d
seen the basement of that house it had set off more than one
alarm.
    “So, why didn’t you call me ?”
    “For the same goddamn reason I’ve been
packin’ that friggin’ mug shot around for a week,” he explained. “I
wasn’t so sure it was somethin’ you needed ta’ see.”
    “You’re being overprotective, Ben.”
    “So sue me. Hell, I’m still not so sure I
should be showin’ it to ya’ now.” He sighed and then added, “Why do
ya’ think I’m doin’ it here instead of droppin’ by your place?”
    “Because you don’t want Felicity to know
about it,” I returned, knowing for certain that he was alluding to
my wife.
    “‘ Zactly.” He nodded. “After everything
that happened, I promised ‘er I’d keep some distance between you
and the cop shit. She finds out and she’ll pull ‘er damn face
off.”
    “She’s being overprotective too.”
    “He looks real pleasant,” a feminine voice
came from behind me, interrupting us before Ben could object
further. I looked up to see that the waitress had reappeared at our
table and was looking at the mug shot over my shoulder. “Number
three, scrambled with cheddar,” she continued un-fazed and slid a
plate in front of me. “…And a side of biscuits with sausage
gravy.”
    “Thanks.” I smiled at her while laying the
card to the side, face down and out of sight. I suspect it was just
a reflex on my part, as she didn’t seem bothered by the photo at
all. With the diner being a cop hangout, she’d probably seen and
heard more than her share of things like this—probably even
worse.
    “Kitchen sink omelet with chili and
extra onions.” She stressed the word extra as she planted a steaming plate before Ben
with a wide grin. “Anything else I can get you two? More
coffee?”
    “We’re good. Thanks, Wendy,” Ben
answered.
    As was my habit, I took a moment to twist the
cap off of the pepper shaker and liberally blacken my scrambled
eggs while Ben watched, and then I returned the condiment to its
original state before offering it to him.
    “Jeezus, Row. That stuff’ll kill ya’,” he
told me as he accepted the glass shaker but set it aside without
using it.
    “And what’s on your plate won’t?” I
countered. “So anyway,” I continued, pointing toward the card with
my fork. “That’s him all right. It’s an old picture, but it’s
him.”
    “Yeah, when we compared it to the sketch that
was made from your description, there was pretty much no doubt. We
found enough good prints in the house ta’ get a match through AFIS,
and in no time we had ‘is file from the TDC. Seems ‘e was a guest
of the Lone Star state for a few years. Once we had the file,
everything fell inta place. Blood type, all that jazz.”
    “What was he in prison for?”
    “Aggravated assault and manslaughter,” he
stated in a matter-of-fact tone.
    “So have you notified NCIC or put out an APB
or whatever acronym it is that you law enforcement types like to
do?”
    “A BOLO? What for?” He shrugged.
    “So you can be
on the look out for the guy, maybe?” I stated
incredulously. “I’m assuming that’s what BOLO means?”
    “Yeah, that’s what it means…But Jeez, Row,
you ain’t