Sizzle and Burn

She held the phone away from her mouth to speak to Zack. “It’s Bradley. He says they’ve got the witch hunter.”
    Zack whistled softly. “That was fast.”
    “This time he didn’t have a chance to destroy the evidence with fire.” She pulled the phone closer to her mouth to talk to Bradley. “Is the killer a Shelbyville resident?”
    “Yes. New in town. Burton Rosser. Maybe you remember him. Worked the front desk of the B and B where you stayed.”
    “Oh, my God. When I think of all the times I walked past him in the lobby—” She broke off. “How did Langdon nail him?”
    “Found the souvenir photos of the victims on Rosser’s laptop. In addition there was a belt in Rosser’s bedroom that was identical to the one that was with the girl in the storage locker in your aunt’s basement. They’re running a DNA analysis on some hair they found in your aunt’s house now. Should have the results soon.”
    “What made Chief Langdon look at Burton Rosser as a suspect in the first place?”
    “Rosser came up on the radar screen right away. Langdon had been keeping an eye on him because he knew that Rosser had done time for rape and burglary. When Langdon started to question him, Rosser tried to run.”

Forty-one
    P andora’s lips moved but Raine couldn’t hear what she was saying. She leaned across the small table and eased the earplug out of her right ear.
    “What did you say?” she yelled above the thundering music coming from the band on the stage.
    “I said, why did Zack leave you here with me this evening?” Pandora shouted.
    “I told you, he’s an investigator. He’s off investigating. Couldn’t take me with him this time. Didn’t want to leave me alone at the condo.”
    They were sitting in a black vinyl booth in Café Noir. Pandora was drinking espresso. Raine had ordered an herbal tea. The club’s name was no accident. Just about everything inside was draped in black, including the walls and the ceiling. Glowing neon sculptures in strange shades of green, purple and red provided an otherworldly lighting effect. It was one-thirty in the morning and the place was crowded. Raine was very aware of the fact that she was the oldest person in the room. Even the bouncer out front and the bartender were younger.
    She was pretty sure she was also the only one in the place wearing earplugs. The young people would regret not taking care of their hearing when they got older, she thought, feeling elderly and righteous. On the other hand, the crowd was having a lot of fun, at least as much fun as a group of goths could allow themselves.
    Like the clientele at the Alley Door, everyone in Noir wore a lot of black. The difference was that instead of the traditional coffeehouse/ jazz-club style of attire favored at the Alley Door, the denizens of Noir went in for black leather accented with steel jewelry. There were a lot of elaborate tattoos. Hair color tended to be either jet black or platinum white, although electric blue showed up here and there.
    Heavy metal music boomed out of the speakers. The members of the band were dressed a lot like the audience. The lead singer wore an unfastened leather vest that displayed the coiling demons and snakes on his arms and chest to interesting effect.
    Raine felt decidedly underdressed, as usual, in a pair of black pants and a black pullover but Pandora was a work of goth art in a long, flowing gown that would have graced any vampire queen. The dress was slit to mid-thigh to display her black fishnet stockings and sky-high black platform heels. The high, flaring collar framed her artificially pale face and dramatic makeup.
    Pandora raised her pencil-thin black brows and put her mouth close to Raine’s ear. “Sure glad they caught that freakazoid in Shelbyville.”
    “Not nearly as glad as I am.”
    “Lots of times those serial killers get away with murder for years. They would never have caught this one if it hadn’t been for the information you gave them. I still say you should get more credit.”
    “No thanks.”
    “Gordon and Andrew are going to have a fit when they get back and find out what’s been going on.”
    “Tell me about it. I’m already working on my story for them.”
    “You know,” Pandora said, “I used to think it was cool working for a psychic who helped the cops find murderers. Never really considered that there was a possible downside to your little hobby.”
    “Neither did I,” Raine said.

Forty-two
    S t. Damian’s was a