Page 16 of Deadly Deception
Leaning in, my chest hovered over the table separating Navarre and myself. “Navarre? Can you hear me? My name’s Erasmus, and I’m—”
“Go away.”
I startled and tried again, “I’m here to help, to try and—”
“Go away. Go away. Go away!” Each reiteration of those two words gained in volume. Raising his head, Navarre’s deep brown eyes appeared wild and unfocused. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was on some type of narcotic. Unfortunately, Navarre’s brand of crazy wasn’t drug-induced, but spirit-induced. Pulling at his restraints, Navarre began rocking violently, tossing his head back and forth.
Officer Witkowski moved toward Navarre while Barbara Van jumped up and finally ran from the room.
“Don’t hurt him,” I shouted, jumping to my feet. Franklin followed my lead and was headed around the table when Officer Witkowski placed his hands on Navarre’s shoulders, his griplooked firm but not painful. Navarre’s rocking slowed until he pulled his feet up again and rested his head on his knees.
Voice quiet, Officer Witkowski said, “I did that earlier and it seemed to calm him. Thought I’d try it again.”
“Thank you.” Those words came out like a whispered prayer.
The three of us stood around Navarre, our expressions variations on the same sad theme. Finally, Officer Witkowski broke the silence. “If he did kill someone, I don’t imagine it was intentional, or at least I don’t think he knew what he was doing. I’ve seen a lot of criminals try and fake mental illness. This guy’s not faking.”
“Sadly, no,” I agreed. “Honestly, I don’t know if Navarre can tell what’s real and what’s not any longer.” I thought about that statement and changed my mind. “Scratch that, the voices he’s hearing are very real to him. He’s not imagining them. What I wonder is if he’s able to tell the living from the dead.”
Franklin’s eyes caught mine and I wanted to fall into the well of sympathy filling them. “The first necromancer I met was on a slab in the morgue. He’d committed suicide.” Franklin inclined his head toward Navarre. “If he was going through anything like this, I can understand why.”
“Isn’t there someone who could help him?” Officer Witkowski asked naïvely. “I mean, it sounds like this is an issue plaguing more necromancers than this guy. You’d think someone would do something about it.”
I rubbed the fabric covering my aching chest. Officer Witkowski was right.Someoneshould have done something. Warlocks and the magical community had centuries to work on the problem, and yet no one seemed to care enough to even keep a record of necromancers, let alone set up some type of assistance.
Fuck, I was lucky.What if my necromancer abilities were similar to Navarre’s? I couldn’t imagine the strain that wouldhave placed on Momma, let alone Pops, although one thing I never doubted was that they would have stood by me. Momma and Pops would have moved heaven and earth to get me the help I needed. Unfortunately, most necromancers didn’t have that type of support system.
My thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. Sara poked her head in and said, “I just got word. A body’s been found. They’re bringing him in now. Sheriff Henson wants you there.” Sara sounded apologetic.
I hated to leave Navarre. Officer Witkowski must have seen my hesitance because he said, “I’ll take him back to holding. Trust me, you don’t want to keep the sheriff waiting.”
Franklin’s palm landed on my shoulder, and he pulled me away. “Come on, I think Navarre’s in good hands.”
I didn’t disagree. Officer Witkowski appeared unusually tolerant. He hadn’t hesitated touching Navarre. Besides, realistically, what could I even do to help?
Reluctantly walking toward the doorway, I looked at Sara and said, “Lead the way.”
Chapter
Six
Franklin
This was the body?I stared at the obviously days-old corpse and wondered what the hell the LaPorte County Sheriff’s Office was thinking. “I thought you said the blood found on Navarre was fresh.”
“It was,” Sheriff Henson answered, words clipped and tone openly hostile. The man was an inch taller than me and far broader. Sheriff Henson looked like he could take down the entire offense on a football field and not break a sweat. His chestnut hair was shorn close to the scalp, and he had what looked like a very old scar pulling at the left corner of his lips. Sheriff Henson was neatly groomed and wore enough aftershave to nearly cover the scent of decomp coming off the body.
I pointed toward the corpse and said, “That guy’s been dead at least five days and I’d bet my badge days longer.” I shook my head. “No way is that the victim you’re looking for if Navarre was brought in forty-eight hours ago.”
Henson’s lips curled into a snarl, revealing a perfect line of glimmering white teeth. Hands fisted on his hips, Henson threw his chest forward. “You don’t know that. Hell, we don’t evenknow if that was the necromancer’s first victim or not. Could be there are more out there.”
Boone shifted next to me and said, “We don’t even know there’s been a single victim, let alone more, Sheriff.”
Henson’s narrowed gaze fixed on Boone. It took everything in me not to take a step to the left, blocking Henson’s hostile glare. “That’s what you’re here to decide.”
“Me?” Boone glanced from me to Henson and back again. “When was that decided?”
“Never,” I answered easily.
