hands. Get someone up to Cookeville, to the city police department at the corner of East Broad Street and Walnut Avenue.” He raised his voice. “This is our site! Paras can’t fairly and honestly investigate a crime committed by paras against good, God-fearing people like Stella Mae Ragel. That’s a job for humans.”
“The sheriff is on the way into town now to intervene,” Occam said quietly.
“Not enough,” Gerry said just as softly. “You need to be able to pull rank hard and fast.”
“You ain’t getting to pull lead on this one, Feeb,” Occam said, loudly. “And anyway, from what I understand, Smythe’s mama was a witch. So what makes him any more capable?”
I managed to keep the surprise off my face. How had Occam learned that? And then I realized he was still lying and planting seeds to discredit Smythe. It was quick-thinking and mean and . . . and the churchwoman voice shut up. The new me, the PsyLED special agent me, kinda liked it. I raised my eyebrows in approval at my cat-man. His lips twitched.
“A witch?” Gerry said, sounding stunned.
Occam said, still loud enough to carry clearly, “We’ll provide interdepartmental cooperation when and if we get access to Catriona Doyle.”
“And have you paras prep her? Ain’t happening.”
“We’ll get the PsyLED special agent in charge of the eastern U.S., Ayatas FireWind, involved,” I said quietly. “He’ll provide pushback.”
“Hope it’s not too late,” the feeb said softly. Gerry Stapp turned on a heel and strode back to his car, the epitome of outrage.
Etain said, “Him I like. He’s a right sneaky bastard.” She slanted her eyes to Occam. “So are you, cowboy. You happen to be available tonight?”
I flinched at what sounded as if she was asking him for a date, but she went on.
“I could use help to kidnap ma niece back and break ma sister from príosúnacht.” She sent him a saucy grin. “We could have a pint and a bit of fun after, to sweeten the deal.”
It sounded like a churchwoman bargain, help in return for sex. And I did not like it one little bit.
Occam grinned at her, a lazy twinkle in his eyes. “The rescue part sounds like fun, but I’m taken.” His gaze slid to me. “And she’s dangerous.”
“Oh,” Etain said, looking back and forth between us. “I see how the wind blows. If I break Catriona out, I’ll have to do it on ma own, then.” She sighed in frustration and went back to removing gear from Astrid Grainger’s trunk.
I had a feeling Etain wasn’t joking about the jailbreak, but Occam didn’t look worried. He showed teeth in a grin and called FireWind on his cell, telling the big boss that we had political troubles—not an uncommon thing these days—and rerouting him directly to the Cookeville PD and the recalcitrant FBI special agent in charge.
But unless FireWind had favors he could call in, things were pretty much what Gerry Stapp had said: We had the site. Smythe had Catriona.
I shook my head and left my cat-man talking, putting politics and pretty, flirtatious, desperate Irish girls out of my mind. My job today was database work, talking to the local law, and questioning the band members about where they were, and when. Politics were the problem of the more experienced team members.
Events at the scene crawled on. Deputies and the remaining victims were read by the witches. They all had some measure of the death whatever on them, so groups were herded into the null room trailer.
As the band members finished their half-hour stint in the portable null room, I began to expand on the prelim questioning for the timeline, talking to as many as I could. It was an ethnically diverse group, which I learned was an oddity in the country music scene, including three backup singers, all female, one African, one Asian, and one Caucasian, and Cale Nowell, the tattooed African-American guitarist. He had been one of the first on-site that morning and was with the first group that found Stella, along with the drummer. He turned out to be the man who had waved at me from the ambulance when I arrived. The entire band was visibily shaken and not overly helpful. No one knew anything about how or why Stella died. She seemed to be universally loved and respected.
Initial interviews were usually interesting and challenging, but this time it was sweaty work, outside, in the afternoon sun, in the last hot spell of fall. My clothes smelled like death