“Oh, man, Ben… I’m sorry. I didn’t think…”
“Save it,” he returned. “Let’s just get the fuck outta here while I still have a badge.”
* * * * *
We walked in relative silence down the corridor and past the reception desk. The guard who had earlier been pushing cards around the computer screen in a hot game of solitaire was now just outside the glassed-in front of the building. He pulled open the outer door and held it for us as we exited through the small foyer.
“Rough one?” he asked as the three of us came through the doorway. He seemed totally oblivious to what had been transpiring within the deeper recesses of the morgue.
“Yeah, Joe.” Ben nodded. “But they’re never a cakewalk.”
“Yeah. Damn shame. Sucks.” He nodded in return as he took a deep drag on the cigarette he held between his fingers and then let out a cloud of smoke. “Well, good luck finding the asshole that did it.”
“Thanks, Joe.”
The nicotine-laden cloud hung in the air and gently wrapped itself around me. The pungent smell was more than I could take. The stress of everything I’d experienced over the past hour combined with the guilt I was feeling at having gotten Ben into hot water. When conjoined they became an irresistible catalyst. The omnipresent and still unexplained craving instantly expanded beyond management to become a dire need.
“Excuse me,” the words left my mouth before I even realized what I was saying, “but do you think I could bum one of those from you?”
“Sure,” the guard answered with a quick grin of smoker camaraderie then warned, “they’re menthol.”
“Perfect.” I nodded my head as I pulled a cigarette from the pack he held out to me.
I hadn’t even realized that the craving had been for more than the nicotine, but the moment he had mentioned menthol, the need within me leaped another octave.
“Rowan!” Felicity admonished as she suddenly realized what I was doing.
She was too late. I’d already tucked the filter end between my lips and was touching fire to the other with the guard’s proffered lighter.
Deeply inhaling I felt the volume of smoke surge into my lungs, cool and hot all at once. An immediate nicotine rush expanded just behind my eyes and flooded outward to every nerve in my body. Menthol giddiness warmed me from head to toe then became an icy tingle across my scalp and down my spine. I closed my eyes with a deep feeling of satisfaction as I reluctantly started to let go of the precious smoke.
What should have come out as a simple exhale, sputtered then burst forth as a barking cough. I bent forward and brought my free hand to cover my mouth as I violently hacked for a moment then wheezed air in once again.
“You okay?” Joe asked.
“Yeah,” I answered as I took another deep drag on the cigarette and expelled the smoke, this time without incident. “It’s just been awhile. But I’m much better now.”
* * * * *
“Jeez, white man,” Ben exclaimed, waving with annoyance at the dense scud of smoke hanging around us. “Give it a rest, will’ya? You’ve hot boxed damn near half a pack already.”
He was correct. In fact, I was working on number ten at this very moment, and the ravenous craving had only now begun to smooth around the edges. Upon leaving the parking lot of the city morgue, I had done no less than demand that he pull into the first open gas station we came upon. There followed a few tense moments of opposition from both Felicity and him, however, I won out. I celebrated my victory by purchasing an entire carton of menthol-tipped 100’s and a disposable lighter.
I’d had no choice but to give in to Ben’s refusal to allow me to smoke in his van and, therefore, ended up quickly huffing a pair of the butts before climbing back into the vehicle for the short trip back around the block to our originally intended destination.
We were now parked in an out-of-the-way back corner booth at Chuck’s, not that where we sat really mattered as we were the only patrons at the moment. The three of us were taking turns administering doses of sugar and creamer to coffee that was an hour or so beyond its expiration. Promises of a fresh pot were already reaching our ears as the coffee maker behind the counter audibly spewed hot liquid into a stained Pyrex globe.
“Aye, slow down,” Felicity chimed in. “It’s bad enough you’ve started up with those nasty things again. You don’t have to chain-smoke as well.”
“Maybe you should talk to Helen about this too, Row,” Ben offered. “She’s probably got some psychobabble to help you out with quitting.”
“Yeah, maybe so,” I agreed if for no other reason than to hopefully get them to quit harping on me. I didn’t bother to point out that she was a smoker herself. “I’ll mention it.”
Still, although I was embracing the practice for the moment, I was as disturbed as they were that I’d started up again. It had been almost two years since I’d quit, and it hadn’t been easy to do in the first place. I’d told myself that the occasional cigar was as far as I was going to venture into this realm ever again, and I’d stuck to it—until now. It was true that I’d been under some very severe stress, but I couldn’t see blaming it all on that. Something else was amiss. Some other factor was definitely at work here.
“Were either Debbie Schaeffer or Paige Lawson smokers by any chance?” I asked as the thought rolled in from the back of my brain.
Ben thought about it for a moment and then shook his head. “Don’t think so. I can check into it, but I don’t recall either of ‘em havin’ cigarettes in their personal effects. Why?”
“Are you thinking that you’re channeling impulses from one of them?” Felicity queried.
“Maybe.” I shrugged. “Even when I went through withdrawals back when I quit, I didn’t crave nicotine this intensely. There’s got to be something more to it.”
“Well, I’ll check,” Ben told me. “I’m almost positive it’s a no on Schaffer, but I can’t be completely sure about Lawson. But like I said, I don’t remember any cigarettes with her stuff either.”
“Maybe it’s someone else entirely,” I speculated.
“What?” Ben furrowed his brow. “Like another murder victim?”
“Maybe.”
“Well it’d hafta be another case entirely.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because we’ve already had our quota on serial killers this century.”
I shrugged as I shook my head. “Just speculating.”
“Well speculate somethin’ else,” he instructed.
I stubbed the remaining couple of inches of the cigarette out in the small glass ashtray, and its smoldering carcass joined the other half dozen yellow-brown stained filters. I felt a need to immediately light another but resisted and hoped I’d had enough of a fix to hold me for a while.
“So,” my friend directed us back onto the original topic we’d set out to discuss, “why don’tcha tell me what I just got my ass chewed for?”
“I’m not exactly sure,” I returned.
“That’s not what I wanna hear, Row.”
“I know, Ben, but that’s what I was trying to tell you back at the morgue. It’s all a jumble. I don’t really remember anything coherent.”
He brought his hand up and massaged his neck then sighed. “Lemme cut ya’ a little slice of reality here. We all know that I’m not exactly one for goin’ strictly by the book, so I already walk a thin enough line as it is. Well, tonight just turned that thin line into a fuckin’ tightrope, so you’re gonna hafta give me somethin’. Anything.”
“What if you just start with anything that you can remember,” Felicity ventured. “Maybe we can piece it together.”
“Well…” I thought hard for a moment, trying to pick out something of consequence and settling for whatever I could grasp. “A lot of darkness, and a cheerleader with an attitude for starters.”
“Whaddaya mean ‘attitude’?” Ben asked.
“Exactly that.” I shrugged. “She seemed really cocky… And incredibl
y demanding. But she kept bouncing around, and she was kind of hard to keep track of.”
“What makes you say she was cocky though?” he pressed.
“Well, she kept calling some guy a moron, I remember that pretty clearly. I seem to recall her referring to him as an idiot too.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know. If I had to guess, I’d say it was the guy that killed her.”
“Yeah, no shit. I kinda figured that part out myself. I wanna know who he is. Did’ya’ see ‘im?”
“No.” I shook my head. “I don’t really remember seeing anyone other than her…” I thought hard for a moment. “Although there was this shadowy movement here and there and I heard a male voice.”
“What did he say?”
“He was angry. Something about her crying and her makeup running.”
“What do you think that’s all about?” Felicity asked.
“Search me.” I didn’t know what to say. “I told you I didn’t remember anything that made any sense. I suppose it might not have been the guy that killed her at all. Maybe it was some kind of latent memory. Argument with a boyfriend or something?”
“Maybe her boyfriend is the killer,” she offered.
“We’ve beaten that horse.” Ben shook his head vigorously then took a sip of his coffee. “Boyfriend’s clean.”
“Ex-boyfriend?” I posed.
“There isn’t one. You gotta understand,” my friend explained, “this girl was like right out of a fifties TV show. A regular Stepford kid.” He began ticking items off on his fingers. “Honor roll, cheerleader, never been in trouble, been datin’ the same guy since high school. She’s friggin’ unreal.”
“That sure isn’t the impression she gave me when she was bouncing in and out of my head,” I told him.
“What can I tell ya’?” he shrugged.
“It doesn’t really matter.” I was shaking my head now. “Because you’re right, the boyfriend idea is the wrong track anyway. If it had been her boyfriend, then we’d be talking about a crime of passion, right?”
“That ain’t a given, but it’s pretty likely. Why?”
“Well if it was a crime of passion then it would be an isolated incident. There wouldn’t have been any reason for her to insist on me touching Paige Lawson. Unless, of course, there’s a connection there that we’re missing.”
“We haven’t had a reason ta’ look for one. Lawson is an accidental death… Whoa… Wait a minute, back up… So are you tellin’ me Debbie Schaeffer’s ghost had somethin’ ta’ do with that whole stunt you pulled back there?”
“Exactly.” I nodded affirmation.
“So, she like what, talked ya’ into it or somethin’?”
“No, she actually physically dragged me over there and forced me to do it.”
“She did what?” He stared back at me in disbelief.
“Yeah, I know it sounds bizarre, Ben.”
“That’s one word for it… But I guess it doesn’t matter what ya’ call it… I’ve come ta’ the conclusion you’re whole freakin’ life is just one really long episode of the Twilight Zone, Kemosabe.”
“Just since I got involved with murder investigations. Before that I was pretty normal.”
“Says you,” he grinned, his tone softening.
“Look who’s talking,” I returned the jibe. “Anyway, I wasn’t in control of my actions when I went after Paige Lawson’s remains. That was Debbie Schaeffer all the way. That’s the one thing I can remember clear as daylight.”
“See now, I just figured you were seizin’ an opportunity, and that just pissed me off.”
“Yeah, I kind of had the impression you weren’t real happy with me.”
“Uh-huh, well I was pissed when I turned around and saw ya’ standin’ there holdin’ on ta’ Lawson and screamin’ your damn fool head off. And, after what she’d just walked in on, the Doc wasn’t sure what the hell ta’ think. I can guarantee ya’ it didn’t help matters any.”
“Like she said, we probably should have called her before going down there.”
“Yeah, well we all know what they say about hindsight, now don’t we?”
“Can we get back on the subject, then?” Felicity interjected.
“Yeah, let’s,” Ben agreed. “So you’re sayin’ that there’s some connection between Schaeffer and Lawson?”
“There must be.” I nodded and then took a sip of my own coffee before setting the cup down and pushing it away. One taste was all it took to convince me to wait for the fresh pot. “Why else would she have wanted me to touch the body?”
“I get what you’re sayin’, but everything on Lawson points ta’ accidental death,” he objected. “So if there’s a connection maybe it’s somethin’ besides bein’ killed by the same wingnut.”
“Yeah, I suppose.”
“Ya’ aren’t bein’ much help, Row.”
“Hey,” I shook my head, “I’m doing the best I can. I told you I’m pretty fuzzy on all this.”
“Maybe Paige Lawson knew Debbie Schaeffer somehow.” Felicity said. “Or maybe the killer is a mutual friend or acquaintance.”
“Lawson was a marketing VP for an HMO. What’s she gonna have in common with a college cheerleader?”
“You have a better idea, then?” my wife raised an eyebrow.
“No,” he returned, voice flat as he shrugged. “Maybe they did know each other. If we can’t find a direct connection, then we can make a list and see if any names match up as mutual acquaintances. I know Lawson had one of those electronic organizers in ‘er briefcase. I think Schaeffer had somethin’ too.”
“Do you remember anything else?” my wife pressed, turning her attention back to me.
“Nothing important. Just something about a fashion doll in a prom dress, or something like that.”
“Do what?” Ben looked as confused as ever. Since I was no clearer on what I’d just said than he was, I couldn’t blame him.
“Yeah, it was green and she didn’t like her shoes, or some such.”
“Who didn’t like whose shoes?”
“The doll. Debbie. I don’t know, both of them maybe.”
“You are talking about a toy fashion doll, right?” he asked.
“Yeah, I think so.”
“Rowan,” Felicity asked. “Are you absolutely certain you’re okay?”
I slid number eleven from the pack and lit it up in an unconscious motion. “Believe me, I’ve been wondering that myself.”
CHAPTER 11
“Are you coming to bed or not?” Felicity called to me from the hallway. “We’ve a long day ahead, then. In case you didn’t remember, Yule is day after tomorrow.”
“You mean, Yule is tomorrow,” I called back while in the process of exhaling a plume of smoke through the crack where I was holding the storm door just slightly open. “It’s pushing five a.m., so it’s already today.”
“Aye, don’t remind me,” she called back with a resigned sigh. “We’ve far too much to do, and we’ll need rest if we’re to get everything done before Friday and still be able to tend the fire through to dawn.”
We’d all finally decided that we were far too exhausted to continue the discussion, and since we weren’t getting anywhere to begin with, it wasn’t a hard call. The caffeine was all we were running on, and I think we’d even started becoming immune to its effects in short order. Our bout of speculation was terminated with the idea that a bit of sleep might bring some more of what I’d seen to the surface. While I agreed with the idea in theory, I most definitely wasn’t looking forward to the possibility of yet another Technicolor nightmare.
Upon returning to Ben’s house, we had bid him goodnight, and I had apologized once again for getting him into trouble with his superiors. His response had simply been for me not to worry, they’d get over it. I hoped he was correct.
Like zombies, Felicity and I had piled into her Jeep and then made the trek down Highway 40 to home. By the time we pulled into the driveway, the minut
e hand was already well into its climb toward the top of the coming hour. Fortunately for us, true to what Ben had told me earlier in the evening, Briarwood’s finest had seen to the task of discouraging the media from camping on our lawn. How they’d done it without infringing upon the constitutional freedom of the press, I had no idea—I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted to know either. I was just happy not to have to deal with them right now.
I took a last drag on the cigarette, exhaled, and then dropped the butt in a large can filled with sand we kept on the porch for our friends who smoked. After that I pushed the front door shut and twisted the deadbolt until it gave a dull thunk. “Yeah,” I called out to Felicity as I punched in the code to engage the alarm system. “It’ll be a long night. Not to mention that if you don’t get some rest, everyone is going to think you just got off the boat.”
“What’s that, then?”
“The accent. It’s gotten pretty thick over the past few hours. Kind of obvious that you’re exhausted.”
“I don’t have an accent,” she replied, raising her voice so she could be heard from the bedroom. “You do.”
“Uh-huh. Whatever.” I chuckled. “Are you done in here?”
“Aye. Did you let the dogs out?”
“Yeah, they’ve been out already. And yes, the back is all locked up.”
“Did you check the answering machine, then? I noticed it blinking when we came in.”
“So why didn’t you check it?”
“Because I wanted to go to bed.”
“Uh-huh,” I harrumphed. “Me too. I’ll check it in the morning.”
“I thought you said that it was morning already.”
“How about, I’ll check it later then?”
“I suppose. And, Rowan?”
“Yeah?”
“Best you brush your teeth and gargle,” she instructed sleepily, her voice fading along a deepening arc. “Maybe twice. I’m sure not sleepin’ next to an ashtray, then.”
* * * * *
Perfect Trust: A Rowan Gant Investigation Page 15