relationship with the police. By my consulting agreement, ownership of any sins I extracted from murder victims for identification transferred to me. And Lord knows I enjoyed a small but very tasty supplement to my regular consulting income when I sold the best of the little buggers on the open hamartiaphily auction markets. I took a deep breath and calmed myself down. There was one good thing, at least: It didn’t matter if Henderson knew about my relationship with Gerd Vanderhout. Gerd had never made any pretext of hiding his involvement in the craft. After all, it wasn’t an illegal activity. He was above reproach. And, while he might be questioned in the matter, Gerd was under no legal obligation to cooperate. The courts had been clear on that. Clear in more ways than one, actually. Physical sins couldn’t be admitted as evidence in any court of law. Who but a few could even see them? And how could a judge 37 - Crimson Fog
objectively believe a person’s claims to be able to do so? Likewise, any descriptions, classifications, or analyses relating to the sins, even by persons known to be “expert seers,” were inadmissible. One might as well admit court testimony from a palm reader or a clairvoyant. We in the craft were fairly well insulated from the law, and
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for the love of sin