As I walked through the door, McGuire said, "The reverends here have filed a complaint about the lack of cooperation they say they've received from the department as a whole, and our unit in particular. Therefore, Sergeant Markowski, I'm appointing you liaison, so that – what's the matter?"
Ferris and Crane were looking at me as if I'd come in covered in shit. A kind of horrified fascination was in their stares; they recoiled as if I might get it all over them, and even the way they were sniffing gave some credence to the metaphor.
"Anathema," breathed Crane, the younger one, who then said it again, louder: "Anathema!"
"Cursed of God," Ferris said slowly, nodding, then he pointed an index finger at me like it was a loaded gun and he was getting ready to open fire. "Abomination!"
I looked at McGuire if he knew what the fuck was going on, but he seemed as baffled as I was. I opened my mouth to demand some answers, but before I could speak, Ferris turned to McGuire and said, "This man" – still pointing at me – "reeks of accursed black magic. He has been consorting with the minions of the Evil One, and I demand to know why you have allowed such a person to remain not just in this city, but on the police force, for the love of Almighty God!"
I noticed that Crane was nervously touching something through his suit coat. It appeared to be underneath the material, near his right hip.
He's packing? There's metal detectors at every door to the building, the best ones they make – no way could he get in here with a gun.
Or could he?
"All right," McGuire said, "let's everybody just calm down." I assume he meant the reverends, since I hadn't had the chance to get a word in yet.
Once Ferris and Crane had stopped acting like nuns at a strip club, McGuire said to me, "Stan, you got any idea what these… gentlemen are talking about?"
"That's what I came back here to tell you about, boss," I said. "I was approached by Rachel Proctor today – or, rather, Rachel's body with that bastard Kulick in chage."
Crane made one of those snorts that means "Likely story," but at least he didn't start yelling again.
"I'd like to hear about it now," McGuire said. Looking toward the witchfinders, he went on, " without interruption."
They didn't like that, but at least the two of them kept their mouths shut while I ran down my encounter with Rachel/Kulick. As far as I was concerned, I was reporting to McGuire; the witchfinding assholes could listen if they wanted to.
When I'd finished, McGuire asked, "Got that amulet on you?"
"It's half an amulet," I said, "but yeah."
"Let me take a look."
I dug it out and handed it over. McGuire rubbed the metal gently between his fingers, as if he was expecting a genie to appear. "So Kulick gave you his true name, along with this little trinket."
"Had to," I said. "The spell wouldn't work, otherwise."
"You're supposed to hold this, say the name five times, and poof he appears?"
"I don't know if there's a poof involved, but that's about the size of it. Except he'll still be in Rachel's body when he shows up."
"Ridiculous!" Ferris said, as if he couldn't hold himself in any longer. "Lieutenant, your man has obviously fabricated this fairy story to conceal his own involvement with the witch, Proctor. He is probably in league with her – even after she murdered one of his brother officers, and drove the other insane."
He actually said "in league with her." I didn't think anybody talked like that any more.
"Oh, I don't know," McGuire said slowly, and I could tell he was working to keep his temper under wraps. "The sergeant's story is consistent with the other facts we have, such as they are. And he's had an exemplary record of service in this unit. I'm inclined to believe him."
That was the first time he'd ever called me "exemplary" – in a good way, that is.
Ferris glared at McGuire. "All right, Lieutenant. Your faith in your subordinate is touching – so, let us test it."
He looked at me. "Take hold of the amulet, then recite the so-called true name of this wizard-in-awitch's-body. Make him appear here, in this office. Right now."
"Can't do that," I told him.
" Can't, or won't?"
"Both," I said. "If I bring Kulick here, where Sligo obviously isn't, he's gonna be pretty pissed off. He's a powerful wizard, and there's no way to know what spells he's got prepared and ready to go. He could wreck this whole place – and us along with it. I think we can maybe use this thing to trap him, but it's gonna take careful preparation to control him once he shows up."
"What a steaming pile of self-serving-" Crane began, but I kept talking, right on over him.
"Besides, if we tried to take Kulick into custody now, Rachel could be hurt, even killed. I'm not willing to risk that – not even for two people I like and respect the way I do you guys."
I wondered if these clowns even understood sarcasm.
"An interesting story," Ferris said. "It neatly covers all your transgressions – or it would, if Reverend Crane and I were just a little more gullible."
Ferris turned to McGuire. Speaking formally, as if making a public proclamation, he said, "Lieutenant, we believe this man to be willfully withholding information vital to our investigation, which we are undertaking as lawfully constituted witchfinders. We shall therefore take him into our custody and question him at lengntil we are satisfied that he has spoken the truth of this matter."
I felt my testicles try to pull up into my body. I'd heard stories about the "questioning" techniques of witchfinders. Word was, they were modeled on the Spanish Inquisition – which was one of the reasons I didn't want Rachel falling into their bloodstained hands.
Crane reached under his suit coat, and produced a pair of police-grade handcuffs. So that's what he'd been fondling under there. Then he gave me the nastiest smile I'm seen in quite some time. Maybe he did recognize sarcasm, after all.
"Question him?" McGuire said. "Is that a polite term for 'torture'?"
"Torture?" Ferris pretended indignation. "Heaven forefend, Lieutenant. We simply apply proven methods of… vigorous interrogation."
"Taken from the Malleus Maleficarum?"
The Hammer of Witches is a fifteenth century book describing how to torture confessions out of witches. The two guys who wrote it, Kramer and Sprenger, knew nothing about real witchcraft. They were just a couple of sick fucks who liked listening to women scream.
"The source of our methods is irrelevant," Ferris said loftily. "They are all quite legal."
"So's waterboarding, in some circles," McGuire said. "Doesn't make it right." Without taking his eyes from Ferris, McGuire said to me, "Detective Sergeant Markowski, do you willingly agree to accompany these men, and undergo interrogation at their hands?"
I tried to speak, but failed. So I cleared my throat and tried again. "No, Lieutenant, I'd really rather not."
"It seems the sergeant doesn't want to go with you, gentlemen," McGuire said. "And I'm afraid I couldn't spare him, anyway. His caseload is far too heavy."
Ferris drew himself up. "It is not your choice to make, Lieutenant. This man is coming with us. We have the full authority of the law behind us."
McGuire stood up slowly. He pushed his chair back, came around his desk, and stood next to me. He folded his arms across that barrel chest and said, "No, Reverend – you've got the full authority of the law in front of you."
"It's over here, too," a familiar voice said. Karl was in the doorway, and he slowly pushed back the right side of his jacket to reveal the holstered Glock on his belt. He held the jacket back with his forearm, and just stood there, like an Old West gunfighter ready to take care of business.
Karl gestured in the direction of the squad room. "And I think there's some more of it out there, too."
I slowly turned my head to look through the glass. Sefchik and Aquilina were both on their feet and facing us, maybe ten feet apart. As I watched, Aquilina slipped off the blazer she wore on the street to reveal the wide brown leather belt underneath, and the holstered automatic on her right hip. She dropped the blazer on a nearby desk then just stood there, hands on her hips, calmly looking at us. Sefchik left his suit coat on, but he slowly and deliberately hooked his thumbs in his belt, and kept them there, close to the gun you knew he had under the coat. He stood looking our way, too.