* * * * *
Sleep was a welcome commodity to us all, although for me, it was nowhere near as restful as I would have liked. Even though my conscious mind knew Felicity was safe and was lying beside me in the bed, my subconscious had elected to unload the emotional baggage of the past few hours.
My slumber was plagued with more than one nondescript, but horribly intense, dream of loss and despair: each cycle driving me upward into wakefulness, only so I could dry my dampened cheeks on the pillowcase then roll over and repeat the process, or so it seemed. I’m not sure how long it took before I fell into something resembling actual sleep, but in the end, even that was shallow and fitful. I suppose that is why I’m the one who heard the noise.
I’m not sure which sound I heard first, the dogs barking or the banging on the door. In either case, there was enough racket to pluck me out of the twilight sleep I’d finally become semi-comfortable with and deposit me face first into the harsh world of the awake.
I opened one eye and saw that the bedroom was dimly lit by sunlight that was forcing its way between the slats of the closed mini blinds. I lifted my head and cast my monocular glance in the direction of the clock and saw that it was 3:43 in the afternoon. I closed my eye and let my head fall back onto the pillow then listened for a moment. All I heard were the muffled reports of various Sunday afternoon outdoor activities— children playing, lawnmowers running in the distance, an occasional car passing by, the usual stuff.
I struggled to think about it for a moment. Firstly, there was nothing more than ambient noise meeting my ears. Secondly, I really didn’t want to get up yet. And, thirdly, Ben was in the living room. We had convinced him not to drive, since he was surely as tired as we both were, so he had crashed on the couch. It stood to reason that if there had been any such noises as barking dogs and door banging, he would have heard it first and gotten up. My foggy brain tallied the column and then decided that since I wasn’t hearing anything now that I hadn’t actually heard anything before.
Besides, considering the abnormally busy expressway running between my conscious and subconscious, whatever it was I thought I’d heard couldn’t be real anyway. It was most likely yet another dreamlike terror come to wreak havoc upon my already abused psyche. I’d had more than enough of that and didn’t plan on dealing with any more, so I simply rolled over and pulled the pillow up over my head.
I didn’t even have a chance to get comfortable when the banging sounded again and was followed by our doorbell ringing in a rapid staccato. The entire disorganized symphony was underscored by the dogs wildly yapping and growling. This time, however, there was an added thud as Ben’s feet hit the living room floor, and I could hear him muttering something. While I couldn’t make out the actual verbiage, I had a fairly good idea of the content because I was considering a few expletives myself, and I’m pretty sure they were the same ones.
“Aye,” my wife mumbled in a tired voice. “Who do you think it is?”
“Who knows,” I muttered.
“Are you going to get up and see?” she asked.
“Let Ben get it.”
“That would be rude. It’s not Ben’s house, then.”
“He’s family.”
“Rowan.”
“He’s closer to the door.”
“Rowan…”
“All right, all right…” I was already moving as I spoke the words.
I sat up on the edge of the bed and let out a yawn as I rubbed my eyes. After a quick stretch, I slid on a pair of pants and then pulled a t-shirt over my head as I trudged around the end of the bed toward the door. I could hear movement and voices out in the living room and knew that Ben had already answered the door, so I didn’t rush.
“Listen,” I said. “He already got it.”
“Go and see who it is,” my wife mumbled as she rolled over on her side.
“Why me and not you?”
“Because you’re already up,” she muttered.
“Yeah,” I huffed. “Because I’m already up. Go figure.”
I was just reaching for the door handle when there was a hard knuckled rap on the bedroom door.
I followed through, giving the handle a twist and then swung the wooden barrier open. As expected, I was greeted by the disheveled countenance of my friend. His clothing was rumpled, and his hair was protruding from his head at odd, pillow-induced angles. He was standing there massaging his neck and staring at me with surprisingly clear eyes. Even though his outward appearance bespoke of recent intimacy with sleep, he was obviously far more alert than I.
“You two better get cleaned up,” he said simply. “Mandalay’s here. Looks like ‘Bible Barb’ wants you both downtown.”
CHAPTER 27:
“Constance, why don’t you go home and get some sleep, then,” Felicity said.
We were all seated in an interview room at St. Louis City police headquarters. This wasn’t the first time I’d been in one and probably wouldn’t be the last unless my life made a very drastic change and dead people suddenly stopped talking to me. Unfortunately, I didn’t see that happening any time in the near future. Still, this was a bit different. I was used to being on the metaphorical other side of the table. Being the interviewee was yet another new experience to add to my résumé.
We were waiting for Lieutenant Albright to arrive and had been for better than fifteen minutes. I knew that making us wait was nothing more than a stalling tactic intended to set a mood. It was a blatant textbook attempt to make us nervous and give her an upper hand. What she failed to realize was that not only was there nothing for us to be nervous about, we were still simply too tired to care.
“Maybe when this is over,” Mandalay returned in a spent voice.
She was slouched in a chair, head tilted back and eyes closed. She hadn’t had the same luxury of sleep as had we, and in the past quarter hour, she had nodded off at least once.
“You look like hell, Constance,” I said.
“Yeah, probably,” she agreed, then chuckled. “But have you looked in a mirror lately, Rowan?”
She was correct. We had done our best to get ourselves together, but both Ben and I were just to the other side of folded, spindled, and mutilated. Not the good side, mind you. Even Felicity was showing some signs of wear around the edges, and that was unusual when you considered that she always looked like a perfect china doll even when she had just crawled out of bed.
The ragged FBI agent tilted her head down with a yawn then slowly pushed herself upright in the chair. She gave us a sleepy glance and then spoke again. “So, did you manage to get hold of your attorney?”
“She wasn’t in,” Felicity answered. “I left her a message though.”
“You said when you picked us up that we weren’t being charged with anything,” I offered.
“Not that I’m aware of,” she replied. “Like I said, she didn’t tell me what this was about. But, I’m not putting anything past Albright. I really think your attorney should be present for this.”
“I’m sure she’ll call as soon as she picks up her voice mail,” Felicity offered.
“Well, until then, I’m staying,” Constance replied.
“I know you have a law degree, Constance,” I told her. “But wouldn’t that be a conflict of interest?”
“Fuck it,” she replied. “Friends don’t let friends get railroaded.”
“You’ve been hanging around Ben too long,” I quipped.
She nodded. “Yeah, tell me about it.”
“‘Bout time ya’ learned ta’ speak English,” Ben said. “I knew I’d rub off sooner or later.”
“Wouldn’t having an attorney here just make us look like we were trying to hide something?” my wife asked, still dwelling on the earlier thread of the conversation.
“It doesn’t matter with this bitch, Felicity,” Mandalay replied. “She’s got it in for you two. That’s all there is to it.”
“Ya’know she’s prob’ly on the other side of the window listen
in’ in right now,” Ben said.
“Yeah,” Mandalay agreed. “She probably is. So what?”
“So she prob’ly just heard ya’ call ‘er a bitch.”
“Good,” she replied as she twisted in her chair and looked toward the one-way glass. I watched her reflection as she stuck out her tongue and then twisted back around to face us. “I sure as hell wouldn’t want her to get the wrong idea.”
“I think you’ve made your position clear,” I said, surprised by the somewhat juvenile display but writing it off to her lack of sleep.
Mandalay gave a tired chuckle. “We can only hope.”
“Jeez, Mandalay,” Ben said. “I’m likin’ you more every day.”
“Cool it, Storm,” she replied. “You’re a married man.”
“Yeah, at the moment maybe.”
“Aye, what’s that supposed to mean?” Felicity asked, puzzlement in her voice.
“You still haven’t…” He waved his finger between Constance and Felicity but directed the unfinished query at me.
I shrugged. “When have I had time?”
Mandalay visibly straightened in her chair and cocked her head to the side as she focused her gaze on Ben. “Is that it? Is that why you’ve been so flaky, Storm? Are you and Allison…”
Her question was interrupted as the door to the interview room swung open, and Lieutenant Albright followed it inside. A stack of files, several inches thick, was tucked in the crook of her arm, and she held them close as if they were a prized possession.
“I’ll tell ya’ later,” Ben offered quietly to Constance and Felicity and then turned his attention to Albright.
The lieutenant was still wearing the scowl that seemed to be a permanent adornment for the lower half of her face, but there was definitely something different about her. I couldn’t put my finger on it at first, but unless I missed my guess, she was ruffled.
I suppose it could have been that she actually had overheard Mandalay’s epithet, but that sort of thing had never seemed to faze her before. This was something different, and you didn’t have to be a Witch to feel the chaotic energy emanating from her.
She half-turned, pushed the door shut, then strode purposefully over to the table and simply glared at me. She opened her mouth to speak, hesitated, then closed her mouth and found a way to frown even harder than before. After a moment, she angrily tossed the file folders onto the laminated surface.
Crime scene photos, notes, and official reports peeked out of their manila sheaths as the folders slid a few inches and partially spilled their contents.
“These do not leave the building,” Albright announced. The deliberate control she was exercising on her voice was plainly audible.
“Okay” was all I could think of to say.
I glanced down at the photos and caught a quick glimpse of a headless female corpse paper-clipped to an autopsy report. A similar photo was protruding from one of the other folders as well.
“Understand right now that I am against this,” she continued. “However, the mayor seems to think we should utilize your so-called talents regarding these cases. I did my best to convince him otherwise, but his emotions are getting the better of him at the moment. I am sure he will eventually come to his senses.”
I don’t suppose I was surprised by the callous attitude she was displaying, but that didn’t keep me from finding it utterly abhorrent. I had plenty I wanted to say to her in response, but I knew starting yet another argument would accomplish nothing, so I picked the most innocuous of the replies that flitted through my head. “So Felicity was right. Those were Brittany Larson’s remains.”
“Yes” was her monosyllabic response.
“And because of her, you have a very fresh crime scene,” I pressed, unable to help myself.
She hesitated and then replied again, almost choking on the word. “Yes.”
Without thinking, I allowed my next thought to escape in the form of audible words. “You know, where I come from people say thank you.”
She leaned forward, placing her hands on the table and locking her gelid gaze on me. “Do not patronize me, Mister Gant. Trust me, if it were not for the fact that one of the victims is his daughter and that you found her body by whatever godless means your kind employs, I can guarantee you that this would not be happening.”
“Godless? Our kind?” I started. “Look, I’ve got no idea what I did to you that makes you hate me so much, and honestly, I’m not sure I want to know.”
She simply continued glaring at me without a word.
Getting no response, I resumed speaking. “And, apparently you aren’t going to tell me anyway… Well, Lieutenant Albright, if it’s any consolation at all, I’m not particularly excited about having to work with you either.”
“Understand, Mister Gant, that we are not working with one another.” She placed more than the lion’s share of emphasis on the word ‘not’. “We are simply working on the same case whether we like it or not. And, I for one, do not.”
“Then I guess we’ll just have to make the best of it for the duration,” I offered flatly.
“Rest assured that with the exception of locking you in a cell, something I would relish mind you, I would just as soon have no contact with either of you whatsoever.”
“Aye, the feeling is mutual,” Felicity snipped.
“And, as for you…” Albright began, looking over at my wife.
“Fine,” I interjected before the two of them could go at it full force. “I think we all agree that we don’t much care for one another, so let’s drop all the bullshit here and now. What, exactly, is it that you want from us?”
“Review the files, strike whatever deal with Satan you usually make, and then find the killer,” she said, ticking off the short list in a perfunctory fashion.
“Just like that,” I replied.
“Is that not how you normally do things?” she spat sarcastically.
“Well, for one thing,” I replied. “Satan is a Judeo-Christian entity. He’s your boy not ours. But, I doubt I can convince you of that.”
“Spare me your double-talk, Mister Gant,” she growled. “I have dealt with devil worshippers before, and you cannot fool me.”
“I’m not trying to fool anyone, Lieutenant.”
“The wicked worketh a deceitful work: but to him that soweth righteousness shall be a sure reward. Proverbs, chapter eleven, verse eighteen.”
The hair rose on the back of my neck, and I felt a cold chill run up my spine as the words struck my ears. The last person to quote Bible passages to me had been Eldon Porter, and he was trying to kill me. I had been convinced for months that Barbara Albright was intent on the same end, though perhaps not in such a blatant way as he. This just served to cement my belief in that fact.
“I’ve read your book,” I told her. “I don’t need a Bible lesson.”
She didn’t let it go. “Set thou a wicked man over him: and let Satan stand at his right hand…”
“…When he shall be judged, let him be condemned: and let his prayer become sin,” I replied, continuing the verse for her just as I had done when confronted by Porter. “Let his days be few; and let another take his office. Let his children be fatherless, and his wife a widow. Shall I continue? Book of Psalm. Chapter one-oh-nine. I already told you, I know the drill.”
Her voice moved up a notch. “Do not mock me!”
“Yeah, whatever.”
“Just make it happen, Gant!”
Albright had been flustered when she entered, but she was practically livid now. As if I didn’t already press all the wrong buttons in her life, I’d obviously just found one labeled do not touch.
“Look, it ain’t like that, Lieutenant,” Ben spoke up in a well-intentioned attempt to defuse the situation.
“I was not speaking to you, Detective Storm,” she snapped, turning her hard stare on him.
“He’s right,” I said. “That’s not how it works.”
“I don’t care how it works,”
she replied, and then turned back to face me before continuing, her voice still a mark or two above the necessary volume for the small room. “In fact, I don’t even know if I believe that it works. All I do know is that the mayor insists that you be brought into the loop, and that is what I am doing. From this point forward, I expect you to stay out of my way.”
“With pleasure,” I told her.
“Good. I am glad that we understand one another.”
“So,” I asked. “Since I’m obviously persona non grata, what do you want us to do if we come up with something?”
She regarded me silently for a moment, boring a hole through me with her stare, then pushed back from the table and stood fully upright. She reached into a pocket on her jacket and withdrew a rectangular, gold-tone case. Flipping it open, she slipped a business card from it and tossed it onto the table before me.
“You can leave any information you have on my voice mail,” she said tersely. “Make certain that you do not waste my time, Mister Gant.”
“Yeah,” I grunted. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Lieutenant.”
She turned on her heel and started purposefully toward the door. Before she’d made it two full steps, my wife spoke up.
“Lieutenant Albright,” Felicity called out, a demanding note in her voice.
The lieutenant stopped and turned to face her, then snarled, “What is it, Miz O’Brien?”
“I’ll be having my Jeep back now,” Felicity stated, staring coldly at the woman and not even bothering to pretend her words were a request.
Albright was noticeably annoyed by the demand. She looked at my wife as if she were sizing her up for a fistfight, then finally returned sharply, “Have Detective Storm show you to the impound lot.”
That said, she wheeled around and left the interview room, slamming the door in her wake.
Ben looked over at me. “Jeez, white man. You sure got under her skin that time.”
“Bible verses,” I muttered.
“Yeah, Rowan,” Constance spoke up. “Are you sure you didn’t memorize the whole book?”
Crone's Moon: A Rowan Gant Investigation Page 21