“Look, you said you’d talked to Ben, and he filled you in on this case.”
He nodded. “You mean this case that you aren’t actually working? Yeah, he did.”
“That’s not the point. What I’m trying to tell you is that the woman I was chasing is Annalise Devereaux. She’s your killer.”
“No, Mister Gant, she is a person of interest to the Major Case Squad in Saint Louis,” he corrected.
“Call her whatever you want, I’m telling you she killed two men in Saint Louis, at the very least one here, and who knows how many more. She’s been implicated in…”
He cut me off. “You aren’t telling me anything I don’t already know. We cops actually know how to work telephones. Some of us even go so far as to use fax machines and email you know.”
“Then why wasn’t someone watching the cemetery? If you knew about her then all of this could have been avoided.”
“Mister Gant, in case you haven’t noticed, we have our hands full around New Orleans. Hell, I’m just down here as a volunteer. I was actually expecting to shuffle papers for a few weeks to help out, but I ended up on the streets working a homicide, and somehow that managed to get me hung with you. All I can figure is that I’ve done something to piss off God because my life normally doesn’t go like this.”
I ignored the sardonic remark and told him, “I’m not the one you need to worry about.”
“Right,” he nodded emphatically. “We need to worry about the mystery woman you chased through traffic.”
“Annalise Devereaux.”
“So you say.”
“She hasn’t come forward and pressed charges, has she?”
He shook his head. “No.”
“She won’t.”
“Statistically, you might be correct. Whoever she is, she’s probably scared shitless to even come out of her house after what you did.”
“That’s not the reason. She won’t come forward because she’s…”
“…Annalise Devereaux, evil killer woman. I know. You’ve told me. So what? You still assaulted her.”
“What I was going to say is that she knows you’re looking for her.”
“How?”
“I told her.”
“You told her we’re looking for her?” he asked calmly, although his expression didn’t fit his tone.
“Yes.”
“Mind if I ask why? And, don’t tell me I wouldn’t believe it if you told me.”
“I don’t know,” I told him.
“Well that’s new and different,” he hmmphed. “Assuming that you are correct, and this woman actually is Miz Devereaux, did it cross your mind that telling her we’re looking for her might make her harder to find?”
“Not at the time, no. Besides, don’t you give that sort of info to the media so it can be broadcast on the news?”
“Not always. And, definitely not right away,” he replied. “This time was one of those definite not yet situations.”
“Well…I guess I screwed up then.”
“You guess? Holy crap, Gant, you’re just a goddamned joy to have around, aren’t you?” he said, his sarcasm expanding to fill the room. “Do you do this sort of shit to Detective Storm too? Because if you do I’m surprised he hasn’t killed you yet.”
“Ben and I work together a little better than you and I seem to.”
“We aren’t working together, Gant. You’re just getting in the way and being a huge pain in my ass.”
“I don’t have a choice.”
“Really? How’s that? What did I ever do to you?”
“I’m trying to help my wife. You already know that.”
“Yeah, I do. I’m just not entirely clear on how chasing after a person of interest in a murder investigation you have nothing to do with is helping your wife.”
“I can’t really explain it.”
“Don’t tell me, let me guess-I wouldn’t believe you if you told me.”
Instead of responding to his sarcasm, I simply replied, “You’re just going to have to trust me on this.”
“I did that once already, and look what it got me.”
“Listen, Detective Fairbanks…”
“No, Gant, you listen. You’ve been in town less than forty-eight hours and you’re already vying for your own position next to Katrina as the worst natural disaster ever to hit this city. You rank somewhere on the order of an empty-handed FEMA bureaucrat at this point, so nobody is really interested in what you have to say.”
“Fine,” I spat. “So what now? Am I under arrest?”
“If I had my way, you sure as hell would be,” he barked in return. “But apparently Storm isn’t the only friend you have in high places, so technically you’re in protective custody.”
“Constance?” I asked.
“I have no idea who,” he replied with a shake of his head. “But, based on the call we received, somebody at the FBI has a vested interest in you for some unknown reason. Hell, we’ve actually been looking for you for them since this morning.”
“Looking for me?”
“That’s right. Apparently, the feds would like for you to come home.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means, as much as we’d like to bury you under the jail right now, we aren’t going to. But, as soon as the doctor cuts you loose, I’m personally sticking your ass on a plane back to Saint Louis and letting them deal with you.”
CHAPTER 16:
Initially, I was adamant that I had no intention of allowing them to admit me to the hospital. However, my argument didn’t last long. To his credit, Detective Fairbanks did give me a choice, limited as it was. The way he explained it, my options were to get on the first airplane bound for Saint Louis, to stay at the hospital until the doctor released me, or to spend the remainder of my time here in New Orleans inspecting the inside of their lockup. Since I was already dwelling on his bad side, I had no doubt he was serious.
Unfortunately, after a short exchange with Doctor Miller, he retracted the option of immediate travel home, which had been my preferred choice. And, since I was technically in police custody, there was no room for me to negotiate that point. Apparently, disliked as I was, they were still intent on me not dying until they were in the clear. I had no doubt this was based solely on an issue of liability rather than any true concern for my continued well-being.
So, while I was no fan of hospitals, the idea of spending the night in jail was even less appealing; therefore, the decision became an instantaneous no-brainer. At least I was going to have a clean bed in which to sleep for a change.
I was also told that my rental car had been impounded, which I’m certain wasn’t going to sit well with the company that owned it, but there wasn’t much I could do. And, of course, it didn’t stop there. They took the key to my room at the Airline Courts in order to collect my luggage and anything else I had felt comfortable with leaving there unattended. I was, however, assured they would be returned to me, as well as the rest of my personal effects, upon my release and once I had been escorted to the airport.
Since the police had already taken Velvet’s statement, and they didn’t see her as the threat they saw me, she was free to leave. She had graciously offered to hang loose for a while once I was settled in, however I was well aware she still had an hour or so drive ahead of her to get back to Baton Rouge. As much as I would have appreciated the company, I felt as though I had disrupted her life more than enough already, so I urged her to go home. Eventually, she gave in, though only after I promised to contact her if I needed any further help. It seemed I had made at least one friend while I was here.
Now, to occupy the void, I had been trying to watch TV. I managed to catch the last half of a re-broadcast episode of Firefly on a cable station, but after that, all I seemed to be able to find were so-called “reality shows” that were worse than a waste of time. After running up and down the gamut of channels, I switched it off. Dragging myself out of the bed for the third time si
nce arriving in the room, I made my way to the bathroom to empty my bladder. They were still running IV’s into me at full bore. While I had insisted after my second trip to the toilet that I must be fully re-hydrated by now, I was informed that I was being flushed out. A catheter was offered if I felt the repeated trips were too annoying, but I declined, promising instead to fill the sample cups each time I went. Fortunately, that seemed to satisfy them.
I finished executing my duty and had just rolled the IV stand back into place next to the bed before sitting down when a nurse came into the room.
“How are you feelin’, Mistuh Gant?” she asked.
“About as good as can be expected,” I grumbled. “By the way, I just left you a present in the bathroom.”
“For me? Why, thank you. Ya’ shouldn’t have,” she replied in a bubbly voice.
“You’re way too cheerful,” I told her.
She ignored the statement and went about checking my IV then my pulse and blood pressure. When she was finished, she asked, “Do ya’ need anythin’?”
“Not that I can think of,” I replied.
“All right then, my name is Adrienne, and I’ll be takin’ care of you this shift. If you need anythin’…”
I held up my hand and interrupted her, my voice somewhat astringent. “Just press the call button, yeah, I know…” When I finished the comment, I sighed heavily then said, “Look, Adrienne. I apologize. That was rude. This just hasn’t been a particularly wonderful day for me, so my mood isn’t what you would call good.”
“I understand,” she said with a smile.
“Thanks.”
“Besides, dawlin’,” she added, grinning. “Dawn already warned me you were a grouch.”
“Yeah, making friends and influencing people. That’s me.”
“I’ll just pick up your specimen an’ I’ll be back ta’ check on ya’ later. Okay?”
“Looking forward to it,” I told her as I twisted around and lay back on the bed.
She headed out, stopping by the bathroom as she went. When she came out I called over to her, “Hey, Adrienne. You wouldn’t happen to know what time it is, would you?”
She glanced at her watch. “Ten to eight.”
“Thanks.”
“No problem.”
When she was gone, I sat back up on the bed and reached over to the telephone. I dialed for an outside line then started punching in the toll free line and pass code of my calling card. Once I heard the fresh dial tone, I stabbed in a number I’d come to memorize over the past week. After a pair of rings, the operator came on the line.
“Felicity O’Brien’s room, please,” I asked.
“Whom should I say is calling?”
“Her husband, Rowan Gant.”
“Mister Gant, please hold,” she replied.
After a short wait the line was picked up.
“Rowan?” Instead of hearing Felicity’s voice, I was greeted with Helen Storm’s issuing from the handset. She seemed calm, but her tone held an underlying note of concern. “We have been trying to reach you for hours.”
“Is something wrong?” I asked immediately, my own concern rising to the surface. “Is Felicity okay?”
“At the moment, she is fine. However, earlier today she experienced a somewhat bizarre psychotic episode.”
“Miranda?” I asked.
“I am not certain. All I can tell you is that for a period of several minutes, she believed someone was chasing her, and she was doing everything in her power to get away. At one point she actually bit one of the staff. Afterwards, she was frantic, asking repeatedly to speak with you.”
I sighed heavily as I hung my head. “It was me.”
“You? What do you mean?”
“I mean she was trying to get away from me,” I said then explained further by filling her in on the details of the afternoon.
“At this point I would say the question is, are you okay?” she said when I finished.
“I’ll be fine,” I told her. “But, unless I find a way to stop all this, Felicity isn’t.”
“You do not know that, Rowan.”
“Yes I do, Helen,” I replied. “This connection between her and Miranda…or her and Annalise…or both…I don’t know…whatever it is, it’s getting stronger.”
“But, this is the first episode she has experienced in several days.”
“Maybe so, but just look at what triggered it.”
“The chase?”
“Not exactly. The fear.”
“A strong emotion.”
“Exactly. I think that is what’s driving all of this. I just don’t know what’s making the connection, other than the fact that Annalise and Felicity are related.”
“Do you think that could be it?”
“I’m positive it has something to do with it, but if it was the only factor then I think Felicity would have started experiencing this before now. If the evidence in all of the unsolved murders adds up, Annalise has been at this for at least two years, maybe more.”
“Perhaps what triggered the connection was her visit to Saint Louis,” she suggested.
“Proximity? Maybe so, but then why hasn’t the connection faded now that she’s no longer there?”
“Maybe once the connection was made that was all it took.”
“I’m not willing to entertain that option.”
“Why not?”
“Because if it’s true then there’s nothing I can do to save my wife.”
“You cannot be certain of that, Rowan.”
“Helen, I’ve read everything about Voodoo and hoodoo I can get my hands on. I’ve even had lengthy conversations with a published expert on the subject. But, I still don’t know enough about how it works to be sure of anything.”
“What did Doctor Rieth have to say about this?”
“Pretty much the same thing she said before I ever came down here. She agrees with me for the most part. While the familial tie is almost certainly fueling this, something from the outside has to be working on Felicity as well. It isn’t completely unheard of for a Lwa to jump from one horse to another, but it isn’t typical or even common. The faithful invite them in, which is what allows the possession to take place. Popping into someone uninvited isn’t their preferred method of corporeal manifestation. And, that’s not even taking into account that a devout practitioner of Vodoun can go an entire lifetime without ever being a horse. So, for this to be happening to a non-practitioner, something external almost has to be involved.”
“However, you have stated yourself that Miranda is not a typical Lwa.”
“That’s true, but she’s still a spirit. She’s going to take the path of least resistance. If they didn’t, everyone would hear them…” My voiced trailed off at the end of the sentence, then I added, “Just like me.”
“And, Felicity,” Helen reminded me. “She is a Witch as well, and she has demonstrated her own propensity for communicating with the dead.”
“Yeah, I know,” I breathed. “But we both know that isn’t the normal way of things. Besides, I’m pretty sure it’s my fault that she’s been cursed with that affliction.”
“You cannot constantly take blame on yourself for the things over which you have no control, Rowan,” she admonished. “We have had this discussion before.”
“We’ll have to save my therapy session for later, Helen. Right now I have to figure out why my wife is being randomly possessed by a sadistic dead woman.”
“Were you able to find anything at the cemetery?”
“Besides Annalise? Actually, I didn’t even get a chance to look at the tomb. I had it in my head to go back and check it out, but that’s pretty much not happening at this point.”
“Can someone check for you?”
“I’m sure I can get Velvet-Doctor Rieth-to do it,” I said. “But, I really hate asking her to do that even though she’s offered. I’ve imposed upon her enough as it is.”
“She might be your only option.”
&n
bsp; “True. But, to be honest, I’m probably grabbing at straws anyway. Felicity didn’t know about Annalise until recently, and by all indications, Annalise has only recently become aware of Felicity-although I’m fairly certain it is only cursory. I don’t get the impression she knows any specifics. So, the odds of her being responsible for any intentional gris-gris directed toward her are pretty low.”
“Who would be responsible then?”
“That’s the big question, Helen. People don’t work magick on someone without a reason. I’m not saying that the reasons are always pure, by any means, but just picking someone at random and working magick on them isn’t terribly effective.”
“So, what other options are there?”
“Just what Velvet mentioned originally. Felicity has something that belonged to Miranda, or possibly Annalise. Something like a piece of jewelry maybe, or it could even be the other way around. Of course, we can obviously rule out Miranda being in possession of any corporeal items falling into that category, so if that were the case, it would have to be Annalise who has something of Felicity’s.”
“And, you have had no luck in that area of investigation?”
“Not really. One would think it would have to be something obtained recently, but Felicity can’t remember purchasing or selling anything over the past few months. Of course, that doesn’t mean that Annalise didn’t somehow come by a piece of jewelry that Felicity sold on an auction website or something in the past. These things do change hands.”
“Could it have been a gift Felicity received, perhaps?”
“Thought of that too. No luck there either.”
“Well, Rowan, if your theory is correct, there has to be something that has bound the two of them together.”
A fresh stab of pain struck deep inside my head, as an all too obvious word echoed in my ears. But, it wasn’t an agony borne of the chronic ache to which I had grown accustomed. It was an emotional pain brought about by a truly horrific realization.
“Rowan? Are you there?” Helen asked.
“I have to go,” I said quickly.
“Rowan? Is something wrong?”
“I’ll explain later,” I replied, rushing to get the words out. “Take care of Felicity. I’ll be there soon.”
The End Of Desire argi-8 Page 13