Heat of the Moment - Lori Handeland Page 0,48
sign.”
Reitman cast him an annoyed glance. Owen found it interesting that Becca had seen the marks and not the “specialist,” though this was her second view of the crime scene.
“The evidence is too badly burned and decayed to identify much without a microscope. I’ll need to take everything to my lab.” Reitman looked around. “Did the officer show up yet?”
“His car’s here. I’m sure he will be soon.”
“You think if you find out what the brand is, it could point to whoever did this?” Becca asked.
“Could.” The professor had gone back to poking.
Becca lifted her gaze to the five-pointed star on the wall. “Why would someone draw a symbol for a group that harms none directly above so much harm?”
“That isn’t a Wiccan symbol.” Reitman straightened.
“Isn’t it a pentagram?”
“Yes. The Wiccan pentagram is usually drawn with a circle connecting the points. Some call it a pentacle. The Wiccan symbol has an ascendant point.” He jerked his thumb upward. “To represent spirit and the Wiccan belief that spirit is more important than earthly concerns. The four other points on either side and to the bottom represent the four elements—fire, air, water and earth.”
Owen contemplated the five-pointed star on the wall. The single point faced downward not upward. “What is that?”
“Point descendant favors earthly over spirit concerns.” Reitman chewed the inside of his lip. “Satanism.”
Considering what the thing had been drawn over, Owen wasn’t surprised.
“I asked around to see if there’ve been any whispers of kids messing with that.” At Owen’s incredulous glance, she continued. “Black animals. Halloween. Sacrifices. Weird star.” Becca pointed at the wall. “It added up.”
“Then what did you need him for?” Owen wondered. They both ignored him.
“What did you find out?” Reitman asked.
“Nothing.”
“Even if kids were screwing around,” Owen said, “they wouldn’t admit it.”
“No.” Reitman’s gaze returned to the table. “But I don’t think this is kids.”
“Why not?”
“I’ve investigated this kind of thing before.”
“Hence our need for him.” Becca didn’t stick out her tongue, but Owen could tell she wanted to.
“Kids go about things half-assed,” Reitman continued. “Dead animals are one thing. The pentagram, the fire, the brands.” He chewed his lip some more. “This is serious stuff.”
“Someone was trying to raise Satan?” Owen felt like laughing, and then again he didn’t.
“You aren’t going to get Satan with the souls of animals. Most people don’t believe animals have souls.”
“Bullshit,” Owen said.
“I concur.”
Becca’s lips twitched. Owen’s wanted to. The guy had a stick up his butt that he couldn’t quite seem to yank out.
“If you aren’t going to get Satan with this”—Owen waved at the table—“what are you going to get?”
“Practice.”
Becca and Owen exchanged a glance before Becca asked, “Practice for what?”
“People.”
Owen blinked. “Say what?”
“Raising Satan would require people.” At their continued blank expressions, he elaborated. “Human sacrifice.”
“Deb did think someone was gearing up to be a serial killer,” Becca said. “I just thought she’d read too much Tami Hoag.”
“I’m not following.”
“Serial killers usually start with animals. I never considered someone was practicing. I didn’t like to consider what was going on here at all.”
“Witches. Serial killers. Satanists. Sacrifice.” Owen threw up his hands. “How do you know all this stuff?”
“It’s my job.” Reitman straightened as if the stick had suddenly been jabbed in farther. “Also a hobby and a calling and a birthright.”
“How is being a forensic veterinarian a birthright?”
“It isn’t. Being a witch is.”
Owen laughed. Reitman didn’t. Owen glanced at Becca. “Did you know that he thinks he’s a witch?”
“I am a witch. My mother was one too.”
People had called Owen’s mother a witch. Sometimes, when she was really, really high, or off her meds, or both, she believed it. Once she’d used their broom to try and fly off the roof.
Becca set her hand on his arm. She remembered too. They’d been eight, playing at the creek, building a mud castle. The screaming had brought them back to the house. Becca had run to her parents and gotten help. Owen had stayed here and tried to keep his mother from walking on a compound fracture.
That wasn’t the first time Owen had spent a few weeks in foster care. But it was the last. After that, when his mom went away, Owen stayed at the Carstairs’ place.
“Are there a lot of witches in Wisconsin?” Owen asked.
Becca coughed, then cleared her throat, which meant she was smothering a laugh. Witches in Wisconsin was kind of funny.
“What’s a lot?” Reitman asked.
“Two,” Owen muttered.
“Then, yes. I belong to a coven in Madison. There’s one in Eau Claire. There might be