“Yes. And we know the fate of those who practice witchcraft—the fiery lake of burning sulphur.”

“Funny, got a whiff of something like rotten eggs last night. That’s sulphur, isn’t it?”

“Yep. It’s the mangroves and the breakdown of the organic matter with the mangroves providing a large portion of the matter. It could be stronger, but we’re out of the smelly season at the moment.”

“You know everything, Churchie.”

“No, I don’t, Wal.” He took a sip of his tea. “Could you imagine what that poor girl could smell buried in that ground, in that soil.”

Wally gave a small cough. “Hope she’s okay.”

“Hopefully we can spend some time with her and slip in a prayer of comfort.”

12 – A step into the unknown

THE OVERCAST SKY ENHANCED the outline of the grey metallic Water Police barge against the smaller white craft moored in the marina—a menacing presence of strength and power. The barge could transport two vehicles but today just one Toyota Land Cruiser sat stationary on the lower deck.

Detective Sergeant Jack Kinnaird stood with his partner, Detective Catherine York, on the top deck of the barge looking at the dark cloud hovering over the bay island awaiting their visit. He hoped it wasn’t a rain-bearing cloud. He heard chatter and looked down at the two officers from the Forensic Services Group leaning on the bonnet of the vehicle. One gave him a wave.

The barge moved at walking speed as it made its way out to the bay, held back like a dog on a leash, wanting to unleash its power out in the open waters. Jack looked towards the waterside house estates. What did they think of the roaring sound of the barge’s large engines as it raced past in full flight. He’d been told that water amplifies noise. Something to do with no obstructions, no building or trees, and the cooler air slowing down the sound waves increasing the volume. 

As he returned his gaze towards the island a sense of gloom came over him. A heaviness. Dark clouds on the horizon. He told himself to be positive, but it was getting harder the longer he spent in the force. Fifteen years now, and ten as detective. Some days, he felt past his use-by-date. Especially days like today—this case looked like a serious incident meaning more time away from the family.

With his thoughts on his partner, he looked at her. “I suppose it beats sitting in the office like we’ve done for the last few days, Cath.”

“It does, Jack. But then it’s Sunday.” 

“You missing church or something?” 

“Funny, ha ha.” Catherine gave him a soft punch. “What do you make out with what we know so far?”

“These things are on the rise, Cath. Witchcraft-related things. I’m thankful it’s not a child abduction. But still someone has been a victim. To be buried alive . . . how do you get over something like that?”

“Not sure if you do.”

“And why would someone do this? It’s like humans are losing the plot.”

“Confusion. Jealousy. Selfish ambition,” Catherine said. “The usual. People believing their own wisdom—which is mostly earthly, unspiritual, or demonic. It’s all about what’s in it for them.”

“Where’d you get that idea from?”

“The Bible.”

“I didn’t know you read the Bible.” Jack was intrigued. He’d always considered the book outdated. But the demonic reference . . . interesting. Did that have anything to do with the drug epidemic sweeping society?

“It talks about how people become selfish, obsessed with themselves, as if they’re the only inhabitants on planet earth, the only person who matters. And they do horrible things. Things God hates.”

“And we get to pick up after those things.” Sex, drugs, money. So many minds altered by drugs and alcohol. They drove people to unbelievable actions—vile practices. Jack couldn’t believe the depths some people went to—enough to drive him to the drink. The demon drink. He needed to watch that. Maybe Cath was right. Maybe there was a spiritual demonic dimension to it all. 

“We help, Jack,” Catherine said. “We’re important. But a lot of people forget who we are: the peacemakers.”

They passed a café filled with patrons sipping their coffees on a deck overlooking the entrance to the bay. A little boy waved enthusiastically at the barge, while his mum tried to pull his arm down. The water amplified the mother’s words, so Jack heard her telling the boy not to be silly. Jack waved at the boy. Maybe he’d be a policeman one day, or a captain on a large cruise ship. The latter would be a better choice.

“That was nice, Jack.”

“Sad world we live in, where you have people who would want to harm such an innocent thing. We’ve got to look after our young ones.”

“That’s why we do what we do.”

“It is.”

“How’s your boy?”

They were out in the bay now. Jack gripped the security bar. His boy? The boy and wife were good but Jack wasn’t. This mixed-up, crazy world was affecting him. Why was the world in such a mess? Law enforcement seemed to play a secondary role now—people were losing respect for the police for some reason. Even more distressing were the crazy people coming out of their caves—it was getting like that TV show, The Walking Dead. And even more distressing was the extraordinary strength the crazies had—as though something possessed them.

“The boy’s good, Cath. Thanks for asking.” That motor was loud and he needed to compensate for it. He rubbed his hand along the safety rail and gave a soft cough, as the increase in his voice level had left a tickle in his throat. “Just getting harder to disconnect from work these days. Tend to take it home with me. I need to deal with that.”

“It’s getting loud out here, let’s go sit in the cabin.” 

“Good idea. I’m already hoarse.”

He and Cath had been partners for just over twelve months, and they’d grown to respect each other after a testy beginning. Now, a good friendship had evolved.

They sat in two metal chairs behind the captain. Far enough away not to distract him. “It’s getting to the point where people think we’re robots,” Jack said. “Mechanical beings with no feelings, no emotions. But as you say, that’s why we do what we do. Imagine the world without us.”

“Couldn’t. But maybe we’ll find an island out here we could escape to.”

“I’d like that.” And he wouldn’t mind spending time on a deserted island with Cath.

“Enough of your wrong thoughts.”

She read his mind. How did she do that? Doesn’t matter. Thoughts, that’s all they were. 

He was a loyal husband but his wife had become distant over the past few years. Erica was dealing with her own emotional issues, with the loss of her parents and sibling rivalry. He loved her and accepted these things, but sometimes . . . sometimes the thought of a younger and more positive partner appealed to him. Cath knew him well enough and avoided situations of temptations but then she slipped with her comment about the island. And then his work . . . well . . . 

“Wiccan,” Catherine said.

“What? Wiccan?”

“Yes, the incident report mentioned Wiccan.”

“I attended a seminar a while back covering cults and Satanism. From memory, I think Wiccan is a type of religion tied in with freemasonry. And they dabble in witchcraft. In general, my observation from the seminar was that witchcraft ceremonies do happen, but it’s not rampant. And nothing like this.” 

“A lot of teenagers get into the occult,” Catherine said. “Especially the heavy metal types. I even read that the old Dungeons and Dragons game was considered a recruiting tool for Satanism.”

Jack had never played the game. “The office put out a newsletter on Satanism and witchcraft not too long ago. Maybe we should retrieve it and refresh our memories.”

Catherine removed a tablet device from her backpack. “Might do that.”