Jack looked at Peter as he bit into his cheese and cracker. He could hear the crackers exploding in his head, and hoped the noise wasn’t as obvious to his guests. He was tired and oversensitive. The man’s eyes were a blue-grey colour but peaceful, inviting. Jack looked over at his wife. She had the same peaceful look about her. Obviously not police officers.

“Yep,” Jack said leaning back into the sofa with his mouthful of food leaving the crunching chamber and on its way to his stomach. “What do you do, Peter?”

Peter looked at Jack and gave a warm smile. “I’m a minister at a local church.”

“The one my wife is attending?” Jack fought off a hiccup.

“Yep.”

“Well, it seems to be doing her the world of good.” Jack waited for the invite to church but it didn’t come. “I might have to come along with her sometime. I can’t remember the last time I went to church for something other than a funeral.”

“You do a marvellous thing, Jack. Society would be a total mess without people like you.”

Jack rubbed his forehead and rested his hand on his chin. “To be honest with you, sir, it’s already a complete and total mess.”

The minister’s wife stood up. “I’m going to see if your darling wife needs a hand.” She left without question.

The minister watched his wife stroll off and then returned his focus back to Jack. “It’s hard to know what to say, Jack.” He paused. “From what I’ve been picking up in the news, I’d say you’re coming up against a different type of evil, one that’s not normally exposed—although it’s all related.”

Jack tilted his head slightly. “What do you mean by that?”

“Wicca, witchcraft. It’s more a supernatural thing as opposed to normal evil—if there is such a thing.”

“I thought we camouflaged the link to witchcraft.”

The minister smiled.

“It’s quite different,” Jack said, looking towards the kitchen and then returning his gaze to the minister. “To be honest, I’m getting confused by it all.”

“Could be worthwhile to have a chat sometime. There’s a general feel in the church community that satanic groups and occult practices are on the rise.”

“I’m finding that out. Yes, it could be useful to have a chat sometime. My work partner has been surprising me with her knowledge of such things. The evil stuff is getting worse.”

“I think your current investigation has moved from dealing with moral evil to dealing with supernatural evil—evil that’s influenced by demonic powers.” 

Jack was thankful for the minister’s bluntness.

Peter continued. “The good Lord spent considerable time dealing with demons—it’s something society pushes to the background. But your work has you at the forefront of the battle. You’re being exposed to attack. But I don’t think you know your enemy too well.”

“Mental illness. That’s what we put a lot of it down to. Or drugs.”

“You may be right. But I’ve always had an interest in the study of thoughts. Voices in the head. What are they?”

“I hear them all the time.” Jack smiled.

Peter laughed. “We all do. It’s called self-talk and it’s a fascinating subject. But the problems start when you let something else control your mind. I like to compare us humans to a computer, to remind people of the importance of what they put into their heads. Garbage in, garbage out.”

“I see that with the drug addicts.”

“Don’t forget the alcohol. I’ve seen alarming statistics regarding alcohol and crime and other social problems, but I’m sure you’re aware of such things.”

“Yes, you’re right. It’s the social acceptance and liberalism that helps us to forget that it is a drug and the problems associated with it.” Jack’s thoughts were still on Peter’s comments about demons and the supernatural. He thought back to the events on the island and Churchie, the man who saw those things.

The minister continued. “Anyway, Jack. Let me know if you’d like to have a chat.”

“Will do.” His mind was still on the supernatural. “You know, I met a man recently who claims he can see demons. It sort of kick-started the investigation. He told us that demons seem to hang around nasty characters. Do you think the man really sees them?”

“Oh, yes. I know a man who has that gift—although he doesn’t always call it a gift. He used to come to my church when I was in the city. He’s moved to an island out at the bay and I moved on to a church in the suburbs, so we don’t see each other as much. I should make the effort to visit him.”

“Sounds like the same man.”

“Churchie?”

“Churchie it is.”

“Small world.”

“No, it’s a big world, Jack.” Erica said, walking in with the Jack’s coffee and a sandwich.

Jack’s eyes lit up. Proper food! Erica was such a darling.

“Think she’s hinting a holiday, Jack,” the minister’s wife said.

Jack’s thoughts were muddled. Food, holiday? His phone rang. He looked to see who it was. A private number. “Sorry, but I need to take this.” He stood and headed out of the living room. “Hello, Jack Kinnaird speaking.”

“Oh, hello, Jack. It’s Shoana here.”

53 – Phones and buses

JACK’S HUNGER AND TIREDNESS WASHED AWAY in a rush of adrenaline. Shoana? Why would she be calling?

“Hello, Shoana. How are you going?”

“A bit better thank you. The reason I’m calling is that I’m trying to find my phone.”

She sounded rushed. “Your phone?”

“Yeah . . . I left it in the unit when I ran out. I was in a panic and just ran.”

There was a pause. Jack heard a brief sniffle.

“I’ve just come back to the unit to get some things and I can’t find it so I assumed you guys picked it up for evidence or something. I’d like it back, please. If that’s okay.”

“I’ll have to check that out for you, Shoana. Let me do that. I’ll call you back soon. Will I use this number?”

“Yes, that’ll be fine. Thank you.”

A light bulb exploded in his head. He knew where the phone was. Knew who had it.