“I’m sorry you feel that way,” I returned. “And it bothers me that it hasn’t been that long ago that you thought I was a pretty good guy...Until you found out my religion that is.”
He didn’t answer, his face just grew redder, and he stormed out of the room, angrily slamming the door behind him.
* * * * *
While I could still detect a definite lack of enthusiasm for my presence in the investigation by the rest of the members of the Major Case Squad, there had been no more outbursts for the rest of the briefing. We left the frenetic activity behind as Ben escorted us out of the building, dropping off our visitor’s badges with the desk sergeant before exiting into the bright, sunlit day. The small, nomadic media city from the night before had positioned itself in front of City Hall, and local television personalities were vying for positions from which to do their live reports.
“Looks like a goddammed airhead convention out there,” Ben spat as we walked.
The sun was beating down hard on the pavement, and combined with the moisture from the previous night’s rain, we had the makings of a legendary Saint Louis summer day. The humidity was thick in the atmosphere, and the stillness of the air made the ninety-four degrees on the thermometer seem less than accurate. Felicity peeled off her light jacket and arranged it over the back of her seat when we arrived at the Jeep.
“I have to tell you,” I said to him as I stowed the slide projector and tray, “it went much better than I expected.”
“Yeah, but what was that crap with McCann? I didn’t know you two knew each other.”
“Awhile ago,” I answered. “Back when Mom had that diner. I helped out waiting tables and got to know him then.”
“Oh yeah,” he said. He had been to the diner many times himself. “So I guess he’s outta here.”
“Looked that way,” I said, haphazardly tossing my own jacket into the Jeep and getting a stern look from Felicity. “So, why didn’t you say anything about R.J.?” Knowing my wife’s expressions, I retrieved the jacket and hung it properly over the back of the passenger seat.
“Pretty much ‘cause I’m workin’ on a hunch,” he explained. “You see, the way I look at it, everybody starts with ten bricks in their pile. As the investigation progresses, some of the bricks get moved into the suspicious and/or guilty pile, and the rest stay right where they were and don’t bother anybody. Right now, I’d say R.J.’s only managed to move a couple’a his bricks over to the suspicious pile.”
“When were you planning to talk to him?” I queried.
“I kinda figured on paying him a visit a little later this afternoon.”
“What’s the plan with Devon?”
“We’re sittin’ on his house, and I got a basic description from his cousin out on the streets,” Ben answered.
“Hey,” Felicity interrupted, “in case you two haven’t noticed, it’s hot and muggy out here, not to mention that I’m the only one standing here in heels.”
“Point taken,” I told her and then looked back at Ben. “Do you have a little free time to get us in to the Karen Barnes murder scene?”
“Yeah, why?” he asked.
“I’d like to play a hunch of my own,” I answered. “I want to make sure I didn’t miss something last night.”
CHAPTER 10
Leaving the parking lot proved to be much more of a nuisance than I originally expected. We were exiting ahead of Ben, and the moment our Jeep rounded the corner of the building, the drive was blocked by a swarm of reporters and cameramen. Felicity pressed lightly on the accelerator, inching us through the mob as they thrust microphones at our windows and barked questions made unintelligible by the din of them all speaking at once. Viewing the spectacle, it was impossible to miss Brandee Street, short skirt, trendy hair and manicured nails, as she ruthlessly insinuated herself between the others.
“Mister Gant,” she shouted over the uproar. “What exactly is your role in this investigation?”
Even with the windows up and the air conditioner cranked as high as it would go, I could still hear her singsong voice. I ignored her and reached over to turn up the radio.
“Mister Gant.” She was shuffling along at my window as we inched forward. “Is it true the police have called you in to communicate with the spirits of the victims?”
Suddenly, the crowd parted, and the reason became instantly clear as we saw the flashing red lights and uniformed officers executing much-needed crowd control. With a quick glance in either direction, Felicity shifted gears and gunned the engine, letting out a short squeal from the tires as she propelled us away from the bedlam. I turned and looked out the back window and saw Ben’s van behind us, emergency bubble-light flashing on the corner of the roof. Once we merged with traffic, it switched off, and I saw him reach out and pull it inside.
“Awfully determined young lady, wasn’t she?” Felicity asked as we came to a stop at a traffic light.
“You could call it that,” I answered. “Ben yanked her chain last night, and she threw her microphone at him.”
“You’re kidding,” she stated incredulously.
“Nope. Not kidding. She launched it at him, but she missed.”
“What did he do to her to get that kind of response?”
The light changed, and Felicity nudged the Jeep forward into the intersection then hooked into a left turn.
“Apparently there’s some kind of long running adversarial relationship between the two of them,” I answered. “She follows him around chasing stories, and he won’t give her the time of day. Last night he took the microphone out of her hand and unplugged it, then handed it back to her.”
“Serves him right then.”
“What do you mean?” I questioned.
“Never make a woman angry then be stupid enough to hand her something to throw at you.”
* * * * *
The small cinder block building in the back of the park was cordoned off and locked up just as I had expected. We parked our vehicles and followed the same path we had last evening, this time without the rain and organized pandemonium of the crime scene investigation. Ben produced a key and opened up the restroom.
The pungent aroma of the charred sage and rose oil still hung faintly in the air, mixing with the sharp and musty odors of old disinfectant, damp concrete, and the coppery smell of blood. The heavy door swung slowly shut behind us, creaking on hinges badly in need of oil.
“Once the crime scene unit clears this place,” Ben told us, “someone is gonna have a hell of a mess to clean up.”
Darkening stains smeared the floor where Karen Barnes’ body had laid. Spatters of blood spread forth, rusting from bright crimson to dull reddish brown. Smooth surfaces, such as the basin and walls nearby, were greyed by the powders that had been used in the futile attempt to find fresh fingerprints, and all but the smallest shards of the shattered mirror had been removed from the scene.
“It’s cold in here,” Felicity stated, hugging herself and shivering slightly.
“Whaddaya mean cold?” Ben asked in disbelief. “It’s close to a hundred degrees out here.”
“Not that kind of cold,” she told him. “The cold of death. It’s strong enough for me to feel it.”
“So you’re gonna go all spooky on me too,” he said, then turned his attention to me. “What are you lookin’ for in here anyway?”
I walked around the interior of the restroom slowly and silently. I had no earthly, or even unearthly, idea what I was looking for. I only knew that something had suddenly begun to gnaw at the back of my brain. A relentless nagging that told me I had missed something that had been staring me straight in the face the night before.
“I don’t know,” I answered. “But if it’s here, I’m going to find it.”
I continued to shuffle around the small room, intently inspecting walls and fixtures that had already been perused by eyes more prying than mine. I could feel the same coldness Felicity had mentioned and gave a barely noticeable shiver as it dan
ced subtly up my spine.
“Did I say anything last night when I spaced out?” I asked aloud.
“No.” Ben recalled, “You just kinda went blank and stared off. You weren’t zoned for long before I decided to snap you out of it... With what Felicity said and all... Ya know...”
“It’s all right,” I told him. “I understand.”
“Why do ya’ think ya’ might have said somethin’?” he queried.
“Just a thought,” I replied, still making my way around the stalls. “I’ve just got this nagging feeling that I missed something.” I glanced over at him. “And for some reason, I think that something might be important.”
“Well, guys,” Felicity spoke up. “My feet are killing me. I’m going to run out to the Jeep and see if my tennis shoes are in my gym bag.”
My wife started for the door with a deliberate turn. The gritty shuffle of her shoe soles against the concrete was rapidly followed by a sharp, tinkling sound as she inadvertently kicked a small piece of the broken mirror, sending it skittering across the floor.
“HOLD IT!” I exclaimed. “Don’t move.”
She froze. Ben froze. I froze.
“What is it?” Felicity finally whispered.
The sound triggered a memory, the memory induced a thought, and the thought congealed in my brain as I closed my eyes and listened to an imaginary pane of glass shatter inside my head. Slowly, I opened my eyes and looked to my wife, then to Ben.
“The mirror,” I told them.
“Yeah. You told us why ya’ thought he broke it last night,” Ben stated. “Somethin’ about not wantin’ ta’ trap whatever he was callin’ up, or somethin’ like that.”
“I know,” I returned. “But that’s not what I’m talking about.”
“Then what?” Felicity asked as she relaxed her stance.
“If Karen Barnes was standing in front of the mirror when she was attacked,” I began.
“Then she might have seen the killer’s reflection,” she finished for me, light dawning in her eyes.
“Excuse me,” Ben interjected, “but Karen Barnes is not gonna be givin’ any eyewitness descriptions. In case you’ve forgotten, she’s dead.”
“This is true,” I told him. “However, I might be able to do the same thing with her that I did with Ariel.”
“Channel her?!” Felicity exclaimed. “Don’t you think that’s a little too dangerous?”
“Not if you help me,” I replied.
“Whoa,” Ben interjected. “This ain’t one of those things where you could die or somethin’ is it?”
“Yes it is.” Felicity turned to him quickly. “If it isn’t done correctly.”
“Well I dunno then...”
“Hey,” I interrupted them both. “The operative phrase there is ‘done correctly’. If you help me,” I indicated to my wife, “and we take some precautions, I shouldn’t have anything to worry about.”
“What precautions?” Ben queried.
“An anchor on this plane, for one,” I answered. “Getting me the hell out of there before the moment of death for another.”
They both looked at me as if I had totally lost my mind. I knew it was because they were worried about the possible consequences, and to be honest, I was too—but I was also bound and determined to proceed with the idea.
“We have to stop this S.O.B.,” I told them. “If doing this could keep him from killing someone else, then I would never forgive myself if I didn’t go ahead with it. I don’t think the two of you could either.”
They fell silent, first looking at me, then each other, then back to me, and finally, to the floor.
“I’m going to go change shoes,” Felicity eventually said. “If we’re going to do this, I plan on being as comfortable as possible.” With that, she pulled the door open and headed for the Jeep.
She had only been gone a few moments when Ben broke his thoughtful silence. He broadcast his current state of mind by smoothing back his hair and letting out a short sigh.
“Ya’know,” he spoke, holding his hand at the back of his neck. “Even if you do ‘see’ somethin’, it’s inadmissible as evidence. There’s no way I can trot you in to the D.A. and say ‘here’s an eyewitness’... You realize that don’t ya’?”
”I know,” I answered. “But if I see something, and it gives us a clue or some place to start looking, it’s worth the risk.”
“I can’t ask ya’ ta’ do this.”
“You’re not,” I told him. “I’m volunteering.”
He shuffled about in place. “So, how long is this gonna take?”
“If it all goes as planned, it shouldn’t take more than ten minutes or so.”
“What can I do ta’ help?”
“Make sure no one disturbs us.” I paused for a moment, and then added, “And I wouldn’t be opposed to you keeping your fingers crossed.”
The door once again creaked open, and Felicity reentered minus the pumps and sporting her aerobics sneakers.
“I don’t want to hear it,” she told us as she came through the door. “I know the shoes don’t match the outfit, but they’re comfortable. So, how do you want to do this?”
“Ben,” I said as I turned back to him, “if you’ll just watch the door and take notes if necessary...”
“You got it,” he replied, backing up to the door and taking out his notebook.
I took a position near the washbasin and motioned for Felicity to join me. I selected this point in the room for its obvious proximity to the once-intact mirror. The simple fact was that I wasn’t necessarily ecstatic about what I was going to do either. I wanted to be in and out as quickly as possible, so I planned to use every advantage available. If my idea worked, physically positioning myself here would allow me to enter the vision close to the point I wanted to see and then get out quickly, before Karen Barnes took me into death with her.
“Simple cone,” I told my wife. “Raise it and project a rope. One end of it should be around my waist, and you should have the other end. I’ll try to stay with you, but if necessary, I’m going to let myself fully immerse in the regression, so it’s up to you to pull me out if you sense that I’m in trouble...You gonna be able to handle this?”
“Let’s do it,” she replied, nodding in assent.
We joined hands, left palm up, right palm down. Felicity and I relaxed in unison, our breathing falling easily into sync. We had cast many a circle together, just she and I, and this process had become nothing if not automatic. We both centered ourselves and grounded with the earth, feeling ethereal forces swirl about us in an ever growing, ever tightening, choreographed helix. Energy began flowing from her left arm and into my right. It rushed throughout my body, coursing through muscles, arteries, veins, and nerves, and worked its way around until it completed the circuit, flowing out of my left arm and into Felicity’s right. The connection continued, rapidly increasing until the current appeared to us as a solid blur.
I began imagining a rope fixed securely about my waist, the free end anchored here in the physical plane, held fast by my wife. I knew she would be imagining something very similar within her own mind as well. The image solidified, and it was time for me to go.
“Are you ready?” I whispered.
“I’m ready,” Felicity answered, her own voice held low.
“Do me a favor and don’t let go,” I told her, then allowed my inner self to fall backwards into the void.
Colors came and went in a tumultuous blizzard, much as they had when I had done this at Ariel’s apartment. Sound slowed and faded, melting into the darkness, then returned as a loud rushing in my ears. Light poured in and the scene before me began to coalesce. It formed in harsh blacks and whites, like a picture on a television screen with the contrast turned to maximum. The brightness slowly dimmed, and color flooded into the apparition until it achieved an appearance of something just the other side of normal.
“Buster, settle down,” her voice, my voice, our voice was saying.
A Jack Russell terrier is dancing around our ankles. We’re trying to sidestep him as he rings the leash around our legs.
“Buster, sit!” our voice orders the small dog.
He sits and holds one paw up. He whines lightly.
We’re turning on the water now. The handle on the faucet squeaks. How many times have we heard that before? It’s such a familiar sound. We’ve been here before. We are washing our hands now; Buster is still whining.
A sound. The door is creaking; someone else is coming in to use the restroom. We hope she doesn’t have a dog with her; Buster will freak out. We’re turning off the water. Buster is growling. She must have a dog with her.
“Buster, stay!” our voice orders him.
We’ll be out of here in just a second. DEAR GOD, what’s happening? Let me go! What are you doing? We are struggling. Someone has grabbed us from behind. Buster is barking. Stop that! There is something over our face now. It smells strange. Our ears are ringing. We’re weak. The room is getting dark.
Look in the mirror, Karen, I told her… or myself… or whatever we had become.
He let go. We have to turn around. We have to run. We’re falling. No, push up on the basin. The room is spinning. Ouch, something stuck us on the arm. We’re pushing up on the basin. Our knees are weak. We have to stand up. We’re looking at the mirror. What is that over our shoulder? It’s moving. Who is that?
I strained to see through Karen Barnes’ eyes the reflection in the mirror. I concentrated and let myself enter into the vision with all my being.
Darkness.
Silence.
My head is killing me, what happened? I can’t move. This bed is hard. Light. I can see. Wait a minute. I’ve been here before. This isn’t home, it’s...I can’t remember. I’ve been here before though. Where’s Buster? Why can’t I move? My arms are numb. I wish I could move them. What’s going on? Who am I?
Harm None: A Rowan Gant Investigation Page 14