“While it may seem painful at first, Miranda,” I offered, keeping the measure of my voice even, “filling in those blanks can offer closure.”
She turned her gaze back to me and brought her eyes to rest directly on mine once again. I continued to stare, unblinking as I spoke, “And with that closure can come peace of mind.”
She was beginning to relax as I soothed her with my voice. I could feel a connection beginning to flow between us, and I prepared to press forward. Ben, however, immediately figured out what I was about to do. He had seen me enter into such a hypnotic state before, and he wasn’t going to allow it this time around.
My friend cleared his throat with almost over-animated gusto and bumped against me. I was betting the move was no accident.
“Excuse me,” he offered the bogus apology, grabbing my arm as I stumbled. “Clumsy of me. Sorry ‘bout that, Mister Gant.”
When I caught his eye I knew I’d won my bet. But it didn’t matter. He’d done what he set out to do. The thin connection was broken and Miranda Hodges, wearing a mildly bewildered expression as if she’d just awoke, shook her head and blinked.
“I want you ta’ know I appreciate ya’ talking to us,” Ben offered, stepping farther forward and insinuating himself even more prominently into the scene.
“So why are you interested in this, Detective Storm?” Miranda turned her attention to Ben as she took a hit from her cigarette. “Did…did the sonofabitch that raped me kill someone too?”
“We don’t know for sure,” he told her. “But I’ll be honest, yes, that is a possibility. That’s why I wanted to talk to you.”
Her reaction was instantaneous and not all that unexpected.
“Oh my God,” she whimpered as she brought her hand up to her mouth. She rolled her eyes up to the ceiling and blinked hard before squeezing them tightly shut. She let out a low, nasal whine as she began trembling. Large tears proceeded to roll down her cheeks, and we all stood in awkward silence.
I personally erected a shabby wall of ethereal defense against the woman’s burgeoning emotions as I felt a lump begin to rise in my throat. Apparently the empathy I had been missing seemed to have chosen this inopportune moment to return.
I managed to stave it off, thankful that the distress wasn’t aimed directly at me because I still wasn’t all that well grounded. Right now, I needed to take things one at a time.
Charlee found a box of tissues and offered it to the young woman. She took them and sniffed loudly as she dabbed at the tears, and then looked up at us and weakly uttered, “I’m sorry.”
“S’okay,” Ben told her. “Can we get ya’ anything? Maybe somethin’ ta’ drink? Coffee? Soda? Water?”
“A soda,” she nodded. “A soda would be good.”
“Particular kind?”
“Anything diet.”
“How about you, Chuck?”
“Coffee’s good. Two creams, four sugars.”
“Okay, one diet soda and one coffee, two by four,” Ben repeated. “Come on, Rowan, why don’t ya’ come with and gimme a hand. Ladies, we’ll be right back.”
* * * * *
“Just what the fuck was that?” Ben snarled at me as we entered the corridor and rounded the corner toward the vending machines.
I didn’t answer and just kept walking.
“You were tryin’ ta’ do one of those hocus-pocus things, weren’t ya’?” he continued angrily.
I felt his large hand come down in a firm grip on my shoulder, and with a quick jerk he twisted me around. “Goddammit, Rowan! Don’t walk away from me when I’m talkin’ to you!”
“Back off, Ben,” I spat.
“Me back off?” he asked, incredulity coloring the question. “I talked to ya’ about this before we went in there. You promised me ya’ wouldn’t do any of that shit.”
“I didn’t promise you anything,” I shot back. “I said I’d try. That’s it.”
“Ya’ didn’t try very fuckin’ hard!”
The few people that were in the hallway were giving us wide berth as each of them selected the nearest escape route. Ben was seething, and the very sight of him like this tended to strike fear directly into the heart. He hadn’t been willing to make a scene in front of Miranda Hodges, but apparently once the door to the interview room had closed he had no problem at all with us being center stage.
“Guess again! I’ve been trying ‘very fucking hard’ for a week now. Maybe it’s your turn!”
My comment took him completely by surprise. He just stared at me dumbfounded with his jaw hanging open. Whatever biting comment he’d been prepared to hurl at me had instantly evaporated into nothingness. After a moment he spoke, this time with a little less fire in his voice. “So what the hell is that s’posed ta’ mean?”
I sighed and consciously forced some of my own anger to drain away. “It means that it’s time you started trusting me again.”
“When haven’t I trusted you?”
“For the past week, at the very least,” I told him. “Ever since I walked in here with that notepad it has been like pulling teeth to get you to listen to me.”
“Yeah, well, I thought I had a damn good reason for that.”
“Fine. I’m willing to accept that. But start adding it up, Ben. How much more do I have to do to prove to you that I’m right? Do you really still have reason to keep shutting me out on this?”
“You mean besides the fact that you ain’t a copper and have no authority here?”
“That’s never stopped you from listening before.”
“I promised Felicity.”
“And we saw how that ended up, didn’t we?”
“Yeah, well that wasn’t entirely my fault.”
“I didn’t say it was.” I shook my head. “It was nobody’s fault. But it’s a moot point anyway. All the promises in the world aren’t going to keep these nightmares out of my head.”
“But if I keep ya’ out of it, I can keep ya’ safe.”
“Not from the visions, you can’t.” I shook my head.
“That’s Felicity’s end of the deal.” He held up his hands in surrender. “I just handle what I can see.”
“That’s just it. It’s not what you see that’s doing the harm. It’s what I see,” I appealed. “And even she can’t protect me from these things, Ben. I think you’ve both realized that by now. If you haven’t, then you’re blind.”
“Jeezus, Rowan.” He shook his head and rested one hand on his hip while sending the other up to smooth back his hair and begin massaging his neck. “Man, if I had a freakin’ time machine…”
“You’d do what? No, let me guess. You’d go back in time and never get me involved in the Ariel Tanner case?”
“Yeah, somethin’ like that.”
“We’d still end up right where we are now, Ben.” My voice softened as I spoke. “She was a friend of mine, and I would have gotten involved anyway. You know that. If you hadn’t shown up that night to ask me about the Pentacle at the crime scene maybe someone else would have. Or I would have heard about it somewhere. Even I don’t believe in pre-ordained destiny, but I know I was meant to do this. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have these visions.
“You need to get over this guilt of yours. The real truth is that neither of us is responsible for this. I know you don’t necessarily believe it, but there’s something bigger at work here, and it’s what keeps dragging me into these things; not you—or even me for that matter. And whether either of us like it or not, that’s my problem, not yours.”
“Yeah, tell that to my conscience.”
“That is your problem, not mine,” I told him with a grin.
He huffed out a heavy sigh. “Shit, white man, every time ya’ get involved in an investigation we end up arguin’ about somethin’.”
“It’s been a bit worse this time around, hasn’t it?” I acknowledged. “Good thing we’re friends.”
“Yeah,” he grunted. “So why the hell do we do this?”
“Probably
because we’re both strong-willed individuals who, although we’re seeking the same result, have diametrically opposed ways of going about achieving it.”
“You have been hangin’ around my sister too much.” He returned his own grin.
“So have we cleared the air?” I asked after a moment.
“I’m still not exactly happy with ya’ blindsidin’ me in there like ya’ did,” he returned.
“Would it help if I apologized?” I asked.
“Right now? Not much. Later, prob’ly.”
“I can live with that,” I said. “So can we get back to the business at hand?”
He gave me a long, hard look then rubbed his chin with the back of his hand before pointing a finger at me. “Can ya’ do this without Felicity here ta’ nail your foot ta’ the floor?”
“Yeah, I should be okay.”
“Don’t try ta’ snow me.”
“I’m not,” I answered with genuine sincerity. “We’re not talking about channeling a spirit here, just a bit of interactive hypnosis. There really shouldn’t be a big problem.”
“What if the stuff she remembers is graphic? Couldn’t that be a problem?”
“It probably will be graphic,” I conceded. “But apparently not violent. She’s alive and she obviously wasn’t tortured or anything, so it should be okay.”
“Nothin’ funky?”
“Well,” I shrugged as I spoke, “depending on what I see, it could get a little spooky.”
“Yeah, that’s what I figured,” he nodded. “Better let me fill McLaughlin in before this goes any farther.”
“So you’re actually going to let me try it my way?”
“I dunno yet,” he said. “Lemme think about it.”
CHAPTER 20
Detective McLaughlin was only inches from colliding with us as we entered through the squad room door on our way back to the interview room. There was an almost wild look contorting her face, and the level of energy she was exuding was physically palpable.
“Whoa!” Ben jumped back, juggling a pair of hot coffees. He had stuffed the unopened can of soda into his pocket. “Where’s the fire?”
“Forget about Hodges,” Charlee announced the matter-of-fact statement. “She’s gone.”
“Do what?” Ben exclaimed. “Whaddaya mean gone?”
“She left,” she continued, obviously worked up about something. “You guys weren’t gone for two minutes, and she bolted. Said she was sorry, but all she wanted to do is tell me she remembered something about a dress.”
“It wasn’t because of me was it?” I asked.
“I doubt it,” she spoke in a rapid fire staccato, her voice building into a near frenzy. “She was still way too spooked when she showed up. I’m surprised she stayed as long as she did to be honest. But anyway, that’s not important.”
“Not important? But…” Ben started to object.
“No, listen to me.” Charlee shook her head vigorously and gestured. “I just now got off the phone with University Hospital. They’ve got a thirty-two-year-old blonde rape victim sitting in Emergency right now.”
Ben stopped cold and looked at her. “You pretty sure it’s our guy?”
“Can’t be positive, but according to the doc, her neck is bruised up, and she can’t remember where she’s been since Saturday night.”
Ben quickly looked around for a place to dispose of the drinks he was carrying. Finding none, he shoved the cups of coffee into the hands of a uniformed officer who was walking past, giving no explanation other than a muttered, “Here. Merry Christmas.”
His attention remained focused on Charlee, and I could almost feel the surge of adrenalin that kicked into him as he ramped up to her level. We were already hurrying through the sex crimes squad room as he spoke, “Get the CSU on the horn now. Tell ‘em ya’ need an evidence team at this woman’s residence immediately if not sooner. We need ta’ hit this before anyone can screw with the scene.”
“Already done,” she answered as we jogged.
“Did they tell ya’ who’s runnin it?”
“No.”
“Call ‘em back and tell ‘em ya’ want Murv. I don’t care if they hafta drag his ass outta the shower or what. We want the best on this, and I’d almost swear that guy could lift a print off a fuckin’ puddle of water if he had to.”
“Got it.”
“I’ll go check in upstairs and let ‘em know what’s up, then we’ll meet you out back. I’ll drive.”
“See you in ten,” she told us as she peeled off toward her desk.
“Make it five,” Ben called after her.
I had to break into a near run to keep up with my friend as he hooked around the desks and shouldered open the door leading to the stairs.
“Why are we in such a rush,” I asked, following him through into the stairwell but lagging behind as he took the stairs two at a time.
“Because I wanna get ya’ together with the victim while everything’s still fresh,” he said.
“This is kind of an about-face. I thought you were still a bit leery about all that.”
“Oh, I am,” he called down. “I’m just taking my turn.”
“What?”
“My turn,” he repeated, his voice starting to fade in the distance as it echoed from the concrete walls. “You said it was my turn ta’ trust ya’ for a change. Well, I’m gonna trust ya’ ta’ figure out who the sick asshole is that’s doin’ this.”
He had already disappeared from view, and I could hear the creak of the door slowly closing behind him. I forged on, and finally topping the first flight of stairs, I rounded the landing and started up the next set, only to halt dead in my tracks.
Seated on the top stair was a blonde in her early twenties, clad in a cheerleader’s uniform. Her arms were crossed, and she was leaning forward with them resting on her knees. The toes of her unnaturally white sneakers pointed slightly in toward one another, and she was staring at me quizzically.
After a brief interval of motionlessness, her mouth began to move. A short measure later, completely out of sync with her lips, words began glancing from the walls with a phase-shifted quality that I’d come to expect from the earthly manifestations of spirits.
I’m dead, She’s dead.
D-E-A-D, dead.
She’s dead, I’m dead.
D-E-A-D, dead.
Her head bobbed back and forth in time with the ditty as she spoke, making the lack of synchronization between the movement of her mouth and the words just that much more disconcerting. Her eyes remained locked with mine, unblinking, and I could do nothing more than return the stare.
The past two days of quiet had lulled me into a sense of complacency where such ethereal visits were concerned, and her sudden appearance here took me by surprise, especially since I was used to hearing the dead, not necessarily seeing them. At least not while I was awake.
I simply stood there, unsure of what to say.
She continued the piece of morose poetry, picking up the disharmonious pace as she went.
Rowan, Rowan, he’s our man!
If he can’t do it, nobody can!
She’s dead, I’m dead, what to do?
Find the killer, we’re counting on you!
Eeny, Meeny, Miney, Moe,
Catch the killer, don’t let him go.
Eeny, Meeny, Miney, Moe,
Make him suffer, don’t you know.
If he screams, well we don’t care,
If he cries, then we’ll be there.
We want him to hurt, and to be afraid.
We want him to die in this bed he’s made.
Now go catch the killer,
We’ll make him pay.
And pay, and pay,
And pay, and pay,
And pay, and pay, and pay, and pay, and pay…
The vengeance laced words continued to echo inside my head as they faded in concert with the rapidly dissolving image of Debbie Schaeffer. I felt a hard knot in my stomach and nausea gripped
me. This wasn’t good at all.
Debbie had literally taken over my body once before, and even though I was in better shape now than I had been that night, if I wasn’t careful she could do it again. The last thing I needed was for her to use me to commit murder—even if the victim was a killer himself. There’s no way in the world I’d ever be able to convince a jury that my physical body had been possessed by the spirit of a dead cheerleader with a hunger for revenge. No, this was worse than not good. This was just plain bad.
I’m not sure how much time I spent standing there contemplating this fresh threat, but it couldn’t have been long. I started with a violent jerk as the door at the top of the landing bumped open with a heavy thud and Ben stuck his head through the opening.
“Hey, Rowan,” my friend called down to me. “You comin’ or what?”
* * * * *
The doors leading from the ambulance bay slid open before us to reveal something resembling an all-day-long progressive holiday celebration in halting swing. The on-again, off-again nature of the work here was managing to consistently interfere and prevent the festivities from ever making it to the status of a full-blown party.
As we entered, for the second time this week the antiseptic atmosphere of an emergency room assaulted me full force; but at least this time I wasn’t a patient. The sweet smells of cookies and candies mingled with the savory aromas of cheese and cold-cut trays on the cool air. They were in turn undercut with the sharp fumes of isopropyl alcohol and other medicinal preparations. The entire mélange was bound together by the peculiar plastic odor of adhesive bandages.
Fortunately, it didn’t appear to be too terribly busy at the moment—yet another calm before the storm considering that, statistically, holidays bring out the worst in some people. Still, even with the lull, the staff wasn’t exactly twiddling their thumbs either. The nurse behind the desk was involved in paperwork, presumably from a recent admission. Here and there, others could be seen taking care of various tasks or simply snatching a cookie from one of the many plates.
Perfect Trust: A Rowan Gant Investigation Page 25