“So listen, Rowan,” he began. “I’ve got this case I’m workin’ on, and ta’ be honest, it’s really got me screwed up. It’s not normal…there’s somethin’ real strange about it.”

“Something to do with a Pentacle, I assume?” I asked, already knowing it to be true.

“Yeah,” he continued. “The theology expert the department called in can’t seem to make up his mind. His theory changes every time we try to talk to ‘im. A couple of the old timers on the force say the whole thing reminds them of a Satan-worship-slash-cult-murder they worked a few years back. That’s why I called you Wednesday night.”

“I’m not sure I follow.”

“I was almost ready ta’ agree with ‘em about the cult stuff, but somethin’ kept eatin’ at me,” he explained. “I’m sittin’ at my desk thinkin’, ‘where have I seen this star thing before?’ All of a sudden it hits me…” Ben pointed at me and waved his hand about. “Hangin’ around YOUR neck.”

The fact that he had been able to match me with the symbol suddenly made sense. The quarter-sized pendant I wore was for all intents and purposes a part of me, for I almost never took it off; much as one who wears a Crucifix or the medallion of a patron saint. For the most part, it remained hidden behind the fabric of my shirt, and I had honestly never given any thought to the fact that he might have noticed it, but obviously, he had. Of course, what good is a cop if he’s not observant?

“So you called me to find out if I was in a cult or something?” I posed.

“Hell no, I knew better than that. I called ya’ because I figured ya’ just might know a little more about what it means than the wingnut the department hired.” He let out a frustrated sigh. “Now the problem is I’m even more confused.”

“Why’s that?”

“Well, if this star is a good thing, I don’t get why it was at the scene.”

“If I’m following you, you’re talking about a murder, correct?” I asked.