“They shot me?” I muttered.
“Hey, look at it this way, white man,” he offered. “You just joined an elite club. That friggin’ vest you were wearin’ saved your ass.”
“But they shot me,” I said again, confusion permeating my voice. “Why?”
“Row, what the hell? You got amnesia or somethin’? They didn’t have much choice. You were gettin' ready to stab Porter to death with a big ass butcher knife. Don’tcha remember?”
His words triggered the mechanism that released the lock on the cell door, opening it wide to allow the urgent memories of the evening to flood back in. Everything rushed to the front of my brain and then vied for my undivided attention. One item stood out from all the others, and I seized on it immediately.
“Star?” I asked. “How’s Star? Is she okay?”
My friend stayed conspicuously silent and simply looked away.
My brain was adjusting to the blurry picture being fed to it by my uncorrected vision, and I watched as he brought his left hand up to smooth back his hair then massage his neck.
“Let’s talk about that later,” he said.
“Tell me she’s okay, Ben,” I insisted.
He hung his head down and continued to work his fingers against a muscle in his neck. His only audible answer was a heavy sigh.
The stark memory of the wet sound just before Porter and I crashed through the floor returned to echo in my ears. The phantom odor of urine and feces sharply tingled my nose, and I instantly realized I had been standing next to Star when she had died.
I wanted to cry, but my body refused. It had nothing left to give. Not now, anyway.
“They should have let me kill the sonofabitch,” I muttered.
“I’m sorry, Row,” he returned quietly.
“At least tell me they shot him too,” I said, my voice a mixture of pleading and demanding.
“No,” he shook his head as he uttered the word. “He’s already been transported to the hospital.”
“Critical?”
“No. He’s worse off than you,” he replied, “but not critical. He’ll make it.”
“Too fucking bad,” I said.
“He’s off the street, Row,” he offered. “It’s over.”
“Yeah. Tell that to Randy and Star.”
“Row…” he let his voice trail off.
“What happens now?” I asked.
“Whaddaya mean,” he replied with a shrug. “We’re sittin’ here in the back of an ambulance. They’ll be takin’ you to the hospital in just a few.”
“So that’s where we are,” I said.
“Man, what did they dope you up with?”
“The way I hurt? Nothing.”
“The way you sound? Something,” he replied.
“So which one?”
“Which one what?”
“Which hospital?”
“Oh, yeah. I already asked ‘em to transport you to University.” He picked up on where he thought my mind was going. “Felicity will be waitin’ for ya’.”
“Where did they take Porter?” I asked.
“Not there, so don’t worry.”
“Where then?”
He shook his head. “No way, Row.”
“So maybe I’m just curious,” I returned.
“Uh-huh, yeah, sure,” he grunted. “I know better. You ever hear the term ‘malice aforethought’? How about ‘premeditation’?”
I stewed in silence for a moment.
“You know, this is gettin' to be a pattern with you,” he announced. “This is the second person you’ve tried to kill in less than a month.”
I knew that the other person he was referring to was the deranged rapist who had kidnapped Felicity on Christmas Eve. I had come very close to pulling the trigger on the gun I’d had aimed at him that night. Fact is I did pull the trigger; I just managed to point it somewhere else first.
“Can you blame me?” I asked.
“Hell no.” He shook his head as he answered. “But like I told ya’ last go around, you need to keep that to yourself ‘cause not everyone is as open-minded as me.”
“Yeah, right,” I grunted and then came back around to the original question. “So, hospital, then what?”
“Home I guess,” he returned.
“Just home?” I questioned. “So I’m not under arrest or anything?”
“Shit, Row,” he exclaimed as he began massaging his neck again. “Not as it stands now, but I can’t really tell ya’ what’s gonna happen at this point. This whole scene is a clusterfuck.”
“How so?”
“Did you happen to catch that big boom just before you went runnin’ across the street like the wild man of Borneo?” he asked.
“Uh-huh. What was that all about?”
“Flash-bang grenade,” he told me. “Special ordinance, used by SWAT entry teams for the element of surprise. Seems that one went off in the front seat of a highway patrol Interceptor.”
“How did that happen?”
He shook his head again. “You’re askin’ the wrong Injun, Kemosabe. Nobody knows. Hell, nobody even knows what it was doing there to begin with. Right now the SWAT commander is crawlin’ all over the guy who was in charge of the van because accordin’ to the inventory, that’s apparently where it came from. The hubcap chasers are pointin’ fingers at City and SWAT. City is pointin’ fingers back at ‘em since it went off in their car. The Feebs are pointin’ fingers at EVERYONE and claimin’ that Federal shit don’t stink. And to top it all off, since Albright’s site commander, she runnin’ around spoutin’ crap about chargin’ everybody with everything.”
I groaned. “Including me I’ll bet.”
“Yeah,” he confessed. “She’s taken your name in vain a few times, but I wouldn’t worry too much about it.”
“So what about her?” I asked. “Is she so above reproach?”
“You mean tonight?” He scrunched his face.
“Now, earlier, any of it,” I replied.
“Well, she’s site commander so the buck stops with her,” he offered. “But she can bury the whole fuckin’ thing and lay it on someone else, which is what she’ll do, guaranteed.”
“What about earlier?”
“We’ll see,” he returned. “I’m talkin’ to IAD in the morning.”
“You think they’ll listen?”
“Dunno,” he confessed. “All I can do is try. It might take you pressing charges to get anything done.”
A paramedic climbed into the back of the ambulance with us and pulled the door shut then quickly checked my restraints.
“We’re getting ready to roll,” he said. “How are you feeling, Mister Gant?”
“How do I look?” I asked.
He grinned back. “Okay, sir, we’ll have you at the hospital in just a few minutes.”
“Feel free to take the scenic route,” I quipped.
“Ignore ‘im,” Ben told the paramedic. “He ain’t exactly natural.”
I rolled my gaze back to my friend. “So what we were talking about…”
“Yeah?”
“If that’s what it takes, let me know, and I’ll do it.”
“Okay.”
I turned my face back to the ceiling and tried to relax as we began moving. Settling in, I noticed an extra set of pains coming from my left forearm. I slowly cocked my head at an angle and saw the edge of an inflatable splint encasing the appendage. Then I remembered the snapping sound of the bone and felt slightly queasy.
Flashes of memory whirled around inside my skull, always seeming to come back around to Star hanging from the end of the rope. I wondered, if I hadn’t hesitated, would it have been different? If I’d just been there a few seconds sooner, could I have stopped it all from happening? Or at least gotten her down before she choked to death?
As random thoughts tend to do, something that Agent Kavanaugh had said flitted past, and I latched onto it in an attempt to divert my mind. I mulled the comment over for a moment then twisted m
y head back to face my friend.
“Did Porter have a gun?”
“The scene hasn’t been cleared yet,” he returned. “But they haven’t found one yet, no. Why?”
“Something Agent Kavanaugh said.”
“About the bum from this morning.” He gave me a knowing nod as he made the statement. “Yeah, I heard. Even if they don’t find one, that doesn’t mean anything, Row. He coulda ditched it. Probably did in fact.”
“But he didn’t have one.” I tossed his original answer back to him.
“Not that we’ve found.” He cocked his head and looked at me. “Is there somethin’ I should know?”
“No,” I said in a dismissive tone. “Not really. Just do me a favor. If you see Kavanaugh, explain Twilight Zone to her and let her know I was right.”
“Jeez, Row.” He shook his head. “You and your hocus-pocus.”
“Yeah, me and my hocus-pocus,” I muttered.
The ambulance rocked as it bounced over what was probably a curb then listed slightly as it hooked into a turn. Ben reached out to steady himself, and I saw his right hand was tightly wrapped in gauze once again.
“So how is your hand, Tonto?” I asked.
“Hurts like a motherfucker.”
CHAPTER 40:
“An overwhelming sense of apathy and withdrawal is not that uncommon, Rowan.” Helen Storm’s friendly but analytical voice filtered into my ear from the telephone. “It does not mean that you are unsympathetic.”
The clock on the coffeemaker read 6:58 a.m. I had fully expected to connect with the answering service when I dialed the number to her office. I knew it was early, but I had gotten tired of waiting for business hours to roll around. I had to admit that I felt an almost cathartic sense of relief when she actually answered instead of them.
“But if I had been there ten seconds sooner, Helen…” I submitted.
“It probably would not have made a bit of difference,” she told me. “Rowan, understand that you are human. There is only so much that you can do. Millicent’s loss is a horrible tragedy for you to contend with—both of you. However, you cannot and should not obsess over something of which you had no control.”
It had been a little less than thirty-six hours since my life had run headlong into the floor of the abandoned building at the corner of Ashley and Second Street. At least, that is how I was feeling.
Felicity and I had talked, and she had certainly helped me, but I wondered if I had done her any good. We both had a lot to work through, on many levels. Our relationship had never been more solid, but emotionally we were both chewing our fingernails. We had agreed that we shouldn’t try riding it out alone, especially not after everything that had happened.
“Her parents called me last night,” I murmured.
“How did that go?” she asked.
“It wasn’t pleasant,” I returned with a sigh. “As far as they are concerned, their daughter would still be alive if she had never met me.”
“Rowan, you must understand that they are grieving a terrible loss, just as you and Felicity are. Anger is a stage of grief. They will reach a point where they will realize that you are not at fault.”
“I don’t know, Helen,” I replied. “That should have been me not her.”
“You know full well what Eldon Porter’s intent was all along, Rowan. What you are experiencing is normal, but still, you cannot torture yourself for an act that someone else committed.”
“Survivor guilt,” I returned softly.
“Precisely,” Helen acknowledged. “Now, when can the two of you be here?”
“I don’t know,” I answered. “Ben is supposed to show up any minute to help us move things back over to the house. Felicity has already gone to pick up the dogs, and we’re supposed to pick up the cats this afternoon.”
I gingerly cradled the phone between my shoulder and ear, wincing as it found a bruise to rest on. Using my right hand, I tugged the carafe out of its niche on the coffeemaker and topped off my cup. There were still a few inches of brew left in the Pyrex globe, but they probably wouldn’t last long considering how fast I was going through it.
The much-worshipped java machine was the last thing left to pack, really. We hadn’t brought that much with us when we’d been sequestered here to hide from a madman. Our suitcases were already packed, and a half-dozen medium-sized boxes stuffed with various personal comfort items now rested on the small, dining room table. The last box was sitting on the kitchen counter patiently waiting for the coffeemaker to occupy a space within.
After I crammed the carafe back onto the hotplate, I picked up a spoon and jammed the handle beneath the cast on my left arm and dug gently at an insistent itch.
“What about this evening then?” Helen asked.
“We don’t want to impose on you, Helen,” I told her.
“You won’t be,” she returned with an almost cheerful nonchalance. “I will come over to your house, and we will order out pizza.”
“But, Helen…” I began to object.
“No buts, Rowan. The two of you need to deal with this. Trust me, I am a doctor. I know these things.”
I couldn’t help but allow just a hint of a smile to pass across my lips. “Okay then. If you insist.”
“I do,” she replied. “If it will make you feel any better, you can buy.”
The smile grew larger, and I even chuckled lightly. “Deal.”
Her voice took on a mischievous tone, “Do you like anchovies?”
“I love ‘em, Felicity not so much,” I replied.
She chuckled. “So you will have to buy two pizzas then.”
“I think we can do that,” I replied. “And Helen, we really appreciate this.”
“I know you do,” she assured me. “How does seven sound?”
“Seven is perfect.”
“Seven it is. I will see you both then.”
“Okay, bye.”
“Bye.”
There was a forceful rap on the door just as I dropped the handset into the cradle. I took a quick sip of my coffee then set the cup back on the counter before exiting the kitchenette, hooking around the table then moving through the small living room.
I undid the deadbolt then unlatched the door and pulled it open. As expected, Ben was standing on the other side, a familiar flat box resting in his hand like a platter.
He looked me over then said, “You look like shit.”
“Yeah, nice to see you too,” I replied as I stepped aside and allowed him to come in. “There’s some coffee left if you want it.”
“Got a cup?”
“Look in one of the boxes on the table.” I waved as I shut the door. “There should be some travel mugs in there.”
He had set the box of donuts on the counter, so I flipped it open and dug out one that looked as though it might have jelly or something injected into it.
“They were outta glazed, can ya’ believe it?” Ben asked rhetorically as he drained the coffeepot into a large plastic mug bearing the logo of a particular film Felicity often used.
“Just stick it in the sink,” I told him as he started to stick the carafe back on the burner. “I need to rinse it out before I pack it.”
He nodded as he twisted then set the pot down in the sink. Turning back, he snapped the lid onto the mug with his good hand.
I swallowed a bite of the donut as I held up my cast-encased arm then said, “Looks like we have one good pair between us.”
“Yeah, well at least you broke your left,” he returned. “I shoot with my right you know, so now I have to fly a desk for at least six weeks.”
“I thought that was all you did anyway,” I jibed.
“Yeah. Funny.” He rolled his eyes. “So where’s Firehair?”
“Picking up the dogs.”
“At seven in the morning?” he asked. “Did she miss ‘em that much?”
I nodded. “Yeah, we both did I guess. But the real reason is that Joe and Terri both work Saturdays, and she wan
ted to pick them up before they left. It just works out easier that way.”
I finished off the jelly-filled pastry in a series of quick bites as I moved in past him. Stopping at the sink, I twisted on the faucet and then began rinsing out the carafe.
“That’s cool.” He shrugged, turning to face me, and then he took a sip of coffee. “Not like you have that much to move anyway.”
“True story,” I agreed.
“By the way,” he said suddenly, thrusting the coffee mug at me like a pointer. “Talked to Deck. He said for you to get your sorry ass up to the hospital and visit him.”
“Carl Deckert said that?” I chided.
“Okay, so he didn’t say that exactly, but I know he’d appreciate the visit.”
“Yeah, we will. How is he doing?”
“Good.” Ben nodded. “He’s good. They had to do a triple bypass, but he’s feeling good. Looks like he’ll be taking an early retirement.”
“How is he feeling about that?” I asked.
Ben shifted to the side as I reached around him and began disassembling the coffeemaker—emptying the grounds into the trash and rinsing the various parts.
“I don’t think it’s settled in yet, but he seems okay with it. Said something about opening up a PI shop or doing some consulting.”
“He’d be good at that,” I offered as I shook the excess water from the filter basket then began reassembling the device for easier transport. “How about Constance? Any word from her?”
“Yeah, she’s gettin' out today. She’ll be on desk duty for a while, but that’s what she normally does anyway.”
I finished stuffing the coffeemaker into the box on the counter, affecting the task one-handed, then hooked my arm around the cardboard container and moved it in with the others on the table.
“So, Ben,” I started as I turned back to face him. “Something has been nagging at me.”
“Whassat?”
“When we met Carl over at that house, he showed me the Witch jar,” I outlined.
“Yeah. That was friggin’ disgusting,” he replied as he screwed up his face for a moment.
“Whatever.” I dismissed the comment. “But there was something else. I was supposed to see some drawings or something that Porter had made?”
The Law Of Three: A Rowan Gant Investigation Page 32