The Witches’ Bane
by Edward Ahern
Gordon Lormor is a defrocked priest and con man. And something more. He walks a precarious path between light and dark magic. When a former lover calls him, pleading that he help free her from a coven, Gordon leaves his business behind and travels to upstate Vermont.
Death arrives before he does, and Gordon is thrown into a worsening spiral of assaults and murders and the threat of an infant sacrifice. He is joined by his assistant, AJ, and helped by a Catholic cardinal in chipping away at the wall around the witches’ conspiracy. He soon realizes he is teetering ever closer to his own spiritual and physical death.
Chapter 5: Busted
They weren’t smiling. Tassie had the speaking part. “Mister Lormor, we need to bring you in for interrogation. Before we do so, I’m going to read you your rights so there’s no confusion.” As Tassie was reciting, Gordon realized that after years of bad television, he could have recited the words almost as well. He was pretty sure that more teenagers could recite the Miranda warnings than could repeat the Pledge of Allegiance.
Gordon was handcuffed and walked out to the cruiser. Harrowgate did the manhandling, smirking as Gordon’s head bumped against the doorjamb. “Oops, sorry.”
The barracks interrogation room smelled of sweat and bad coffee. Tassie resumed talking. “You weren’t honest with us, Mr. Lormor.”
“I answered all your questions.”
“And forgot to mention that the deceased had a restraining order out against you.”
“In New Jersey.”
“And that she’d sworn a complaint out against you for assault.”
“I was trying to keep her from doing something stupid.”
“Did it work?”
“No. She left New Jersey and me.”
“We also found out that you got thrown out of the priesthood for sexual misconduct.”
“I believe the files say that I was released from my vows.”
“Mister Lormor, we figure you could have arrived at the cabin two or three hours earlier than you said you did. And then there were no signs of a break-in or a struggle, so she knew whoever came in and killed her.
“And then there’s all that black magic mumbo-jumbo. You were right, there were markings on the dock, but you could have put them there. And you were amazingly right again: her throat was slit with a fine-bladed knife, not the Kabar. But guess what? We find out that you’re an expert in the occult... make your living from it, in fact.”
“All true. Doesn’t mean I killed her. Was the phone line cut?”
“Yup, up next to the trail. I’m beginning to like you a lot for this. We’re going to hold you while we check out some other things.”
“I think you can release me now, Lieutenant Tassie.”
Harrowgate actually spoke. “No chance.”
Gordon leaned forward. “Clifton. May I call you Clifton? At the time you say I was at the cabin, I was gassing up in White River Junction. The pump jockey was a kid named Rainaldo. He’s from Matamoros, in Mexico. I’ve been there, and we talked about it for a few minutes. He’ll remember me. Oh, and crumpled up in the cup holder of the Xterra is the credit card receipt, which will confirm the time.”
Harrowgate looked like he wanted to hit him but instead slammed his fist into the metal table top. Gordon grinned. He knew Harrowgate’s knuckles would smart. “I really think you should release me.”
Tassie wore his beatific Buddha expression. “Like Clifton said, no chance. You get one phone call.”
AJ picked up on the second ring. “I got a lot of the information—"
“Don’t tell me anything now. I’m in jail at the Quiet Kingdom barracks, at least for the night. Call Marty Armstrong, tell him where I’m at, and ask him to get me the hell out of here.”
“Marty, huh? He’ll charge you his ‘deep shit’ rates.”
“That’s okay, I’m in up to my nipples.” Gordon told her where he’d gassed up and about Rainaldo and the receipt.
“Listen, jefe, be nice to the cop on duty this evening. If you promise him twenty bucks he should be able to find you a pillow and a decent blanket.”
“AJ, the breadth of your knowledge is staggering.”
“Part of my sorority pledge training.”
The guard did provide pillow and blanket. Now, Gordon thought, if only the toilet had a seat. He fluffed up the pillow, put his softer parts against the steel platform, and went to sleep.
Copyright © 2018 by Edward Ahern
