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

funded PD for an
attorney. Just couldn’t get the jury to go for the insanity
defense.”
    “So you think he was insane?”
    “Who knows?” He shrugged. “I think any
asshole that goes around killin’ people is insane, but then I also
don’t think they should get off scot-free because of it.”
    “I’m inclined to agree with you, but I’m not
sure I follow.”
    “That’s ‘cause you haven’t heard the really
hinky part yet.”
    “And that is?”
    “When they put ‘im away he ended up in
a special kind of cell block. Somethin’ called a God Pod .”
    “God Pod?”
    “Yeah, it’s a cell block that’s run by a
prison ministry. Rehabilitation by gettin’ religion.”
    “That’s not entirely a bad thing, Ben,” I
said. “Faith can be an important part of a person’s life. It can
provide a moral compass to those who need direction.”
    “Yeah, but this is some pretty strict shit,
Row,” he returned then scooped up a forkful of the dangerous
looking omelet. “They pretty much brow-beat the inmates with the
holy scripture.”
    “And you think that if he was insane to begin
with…” I let my voice fade, leaving the end of the sentence
unspoken. It wasn’t that I didn’t know what to say. It was the fact
that the thought of the penal system having created this monster
suddenly overtook me, and my earlier brush with nausea was
returning.
    Ben picked up where I left off, expressing
his own thoughts aloud. “What I think is that if ya’ got a mentally
unstable fruitcake who’s that open ta’ suggestion, and ya’ subject
‘im to Bible study and prayer meetins’ from sunup ta’ sundown,
seven days a week, somethin’s bound to snap. Maybe it snaps good.
Maybe it snaps bad. I think ya’ can guess which direction I think
this wingnut went.”
    “Don’t tell me,” I shook my head in
disbelief, “They preach Evangelical, Old Testament.”
    “From what I understand, yeah. Why? That mean
somethin’?”
    “It would explain a slight discrepancy that
bothered me.”
    “What’s that?”
    “Well, he embraced the Malleus Maleficarum along with a
very old, very outdated, and no longer accepted Catholic ideal—that
being the literal eradication of heretics. He even went so far as
to dress as a priest,” I explained. “But, in my encounter with him,
he seemed to come at things from a far more fire and brimstone
approach, as opposed to the calmer, ritualistic trappings of
Catholicism. The words he spoke were more than a sectarian ceremony
for him. He was, for all intents and purposes,
preaching.”
    “Like I said, that’s one screwed up wingnut,”
Ben offered. “But I guess it’d be a hell of a sermon.”
    “Exactly.” I nodded.
    “Guess it’s a good thing he’s history then,”
he stated before shoveling a portion of the formidable breakfast
into his mouth.
    The twinge that had lanced through my
shoulder earlier now returned with a treble hook of barbs trailing
in its wake. The pain deep in the joint burrowed its way up the
side of my neck and joined with that unforgiving itch in the back
of my brain.
    Now I had two problems to worry about. But
for now they were mine—and mine alone.
    I didn’t say a word.
     
     
     
     
    December 18
    Saint Louis, Missouri
     
     
     
     

CHAPTER 2
     
    I was trying very hard to remember exactly
what it was that I was doing here. For some unknown reason, I was
at a complete loss. Truth was, I didn’t even know how I had come to
be anywhere other than my own warm bed, and it was more than just a
little disconcerting. Still, it certainly wasn’t the first time I’d
experienced this phenomena recently, although the sickening feel of
personal defilement was conspicuously absent this time. While
somewhat of a consolation, that fact still did nothing to quell the
oncoming panic, so I forced myself to remain calm and try to think
it through.
    Cognitive reasoning isn’t exactly an easy
task when you feel like a refugee from the amnesia ward. My
thoughts