Harm None: A Rowan Gant Investigation

by M. R. Sellars

  “More than likely she was the intended victim,” I finished the story. “But they were both flight attendants, and they just happened to trade flights that day.”

  “Talk about bad luck,” R.J. whistled. “But what about the little girl?”

  “Her name’s Ariel, believe it or not, but I don’t think that’s her connection. They’re checking, but the guess is that she has a trustee account or something at the same bank.”

  “Well, that would make sense,” Cally mused. “Money, bank accounts, and all that.” She shifted slightly in her seat. “But you’re right. It’s pretty obscure.”

  “So you figure that the killer works at the bank they all used or something?” R.J. ventured thoughtfully.

  “Capitol Bank to be exact,” Ben responded. “And yeah, that’s the theory right now.”

  “Capitol Bank?” Cally echoed. “Wow, that’s weird.”

  Ben shifted his gaze over to her. “Whaddaya mean?”

  “Roger.” She turned to me. “You know, the guy we told you about that was just a poser? Well, he works at Capitol Bank. That’s where he met Ariel.” She gave a visible shudder. “To think he might be working with this sicko. It gives me the creeps.”

  “By any chance,” Ben reached into his jacket and pulled out the familiar, worn black notebook that never seemed to leave his side. “Would either of you know if he happened to move here recently, like say, within the past year?”

  “Yeah, I think he did,” R.J. nodded thoughtfully. “He was from somewhere out West or someplace like that.”

  “I seem to remember him saying something about Washington state,” Cally added. “Why?”

  “Because another one of the clues in the dream was constant rain,” I explained. “When I finally managed to connect that with Seattle, we found out that a murder just like these happened out there about a year ago.”

  “Do you really think it could be Roger?” Cally’s eyes had widened almost instantly.

  “I don’t know,” Ben announced, “but I plan ta’ find out.”

  “What does Roger look like?” I queried.

  “Oh, late twenties, early thirties,” Cally described. “Kind of stocky, about five-eight with sandy hair.”

  “What color are his eyes?” I pressed.

  “Bright blue.”

  “No they aren’t,” R.J. interjected. “Those are contacts. Remember, he lost one at a coven meeting once, and he looked like one of those malamutes or something. He’s got grey eyes.”

  “Yeah, you’re right. I forgot about that,” she agreed and then turned to me. “Is that important?”

  I didn’t answer her directly. I looked over at my friend who was now holding his pen frozen in space inches from his notebook, staring back in amazement. “I saw grey eyes when I channeled Karen Barnes. The killer has grey eyes.”

  We all stared around the room at one another silently for a moment. The pieces of the puzzle had fallen completely into place, making a fully formed image—the image of a young man with light hair and light eyes.

  Ben was the first to break the stunned hush. “I’m gonna use your phone.”

  CHAPTER 21

  Tell ‘im that’s not my problem, and yes we do have a warrant,” Ben roared into the telephone. “Now I want the employee file on Roger Henderson yesterday!” He covered the mouthpiece with his hand and glanced over at me. “President of the bank is throwin’ some kinda black tie thing at his house tonight. He seems ta’ think that it’s more important than... Hell No!” Someone apparently spoke at the other end as he abruptly ended his comment and returned his attention to the handset. “Why don’t ya’ ask ‘im how he’d feel about havin’ a sobriety checkpoint right outside his front door?” The pause was brief while the person at the other end assumedly relayed Ben’s intimidating rhetoric. “Yeah, I thought so. Have a patrol in the area pick it up and tell ‘em to ignore the stop signs... Yeah, Uh-huh. Thanks... Yeah, is Deckert still there? Yeah, put ‘im on...”

  Cally, R.J., Felicity, and I watched wordlessly as Ben continued directing the efforts of the Major Case Squad via the telephone. The device had been cradled between his ear and shoulder for over fifteen minutes while he relentlessly barked questions and orders into it. He stopped only momentarily to quickly shift the handset to the other shoulder and turn to a fresh page in his notebook.

  The atmosphere in the room had stiffened with morbid tension the moment Roger’s name became associated with the murders. The original response had been one of sympathetic horror at the prospect of him working side by side with the killer. That feeling was almost instantly replaced by disbelief, followed by disgust the moment the light of suspicion fell directly upon him. Stunned as I was by the revelation that a member of Ariel’s coven, poser or not, might in fact be the killer, I could only imagine how Cally and R.J. were feeling. They had stood in circle with him, and if I were either of them, it would be making me sick.

  “...Tell me we actually do have a warrant, Deck,” Ben was continuing his conversation with Detective Deckert now. His query didn’t surprise me, as there had been no such document when we left the MCS Command Post, and this was the first contact he had had with them since. “Good, good. Better get the prosecutor on the phone, and have Benson tell the judge not ta’ get too comfortable, ‘cause I’m bettin’ we’re gonna need another one.”

  Ben proceeded to outline the events of the last hour that had caused the few remaining pieces of the puzzle to slip easily into their respective places. The picture was becoming clearer every moment, and I had the distinct feeling that my friend was preparing to frame it and hang it on the wall.

  “...Okay, so you get everyone back in. Let’s see…” Ben glanced at his watch. “It’s seven-ten now, so I should be back no later than seven-thirty... Yeah, I know. Yeah. Yeah. Just tell ‘em ya’ can’t find me or somethin’... Yeah, see ya’ in a few.”

  “If you don’t mind my asking,” I queried as he settled the handset back onto its cradle, “what was that last bit about not being able to find you?”

  He looked around the room letting his gaze flicker uneasily past Cally and R.J. before once again locking with mine. “I guess it doesn’t matter who knows. The media’ll be all over it soon enough. Seems that since there’s an abduction involved, the Feds are all over this thing.”

  “Is that good or bad?”

  “Don’t know yet, but I can tell ya’ one thing for certain…” He let out a frustrated sigh and directed his index finger at me. “They ain’t gonna be real excited about you.”

  “Have they taken over the investigation or something?”

  “Not yet, but they’ve apparently been callin’ every ten minutes lookin’ for me. Hell, I’ve been expectin’ it since the beginning. I’m surprised they waited this long.”

  “How do you plan on handling it?”

  “Right now?” Ben reached up to smooth his hair in his distant manner that bespoke of intense thought. “Right now I need ta’ get back and help Carl take care of all this shit with warrants. As for the FBI, I’ll just hafta cross that bridge when I get to it.”

  “What do you want us to do?” Felicity interjected.

  “At the moment, I doubt there’s anything that ya’ CAN do,” he answered. “Since no one here knows where this guy lives, and accordin’ to the DMV, he never got a license in the state of Missouri, we hafta wait until we get that employee file.”

  “How soon do you think that’ll be?” R.J. posed.

  “All depends on El Presidente,” he sarcastically referred to the bank official. “He wasn’t too excited about leavin’ his little shindig. If he doesn’t screw around, then we should have it within the hour.”

  “What’ll you do once you get it?” I queried, though I was pretty sure I already knew the answer.

  “Check his work schedule against the presumed time of the abduction,” he detailed. “Plus, see if anything matches up with the info from the Seattle PD. If he’s got half a brain though, I’m sure he’
s usin’ an alias.”

  “And if it looks like he’s the one?” I pressed.

  “Then we get the warrant and go kick his fuckin’ door down.”

  “I’m going with you,” I declared flatly.

  “Wait a minute, I don’t know about that...”

  Coming quickly up from the couch, Felicity joined his protest, “What do you mean you’re going with him?”

  “I mean exactly what I said. I’m going along.”

  Our two guests fidgeted nervously in their seats but remained silent. If either of them had an opinion on the subject, it appeared that it wasn’t going to be voiced in the immediate future. Having anticipated the objection, I steadfastly held Ben’s gaze and allowed myself to relax. I knew it was going to take more than just words to convince him.

  “Listen, Row,” Ben put on his best sympathetic cop voice and began his explanation. “I realize you’ve been involved in this thing almost from the beginning, and without you, I don’t know if we’d have gotten as far as we have—at least not this fast—but, servin’ a warrant is a lot different than goin’ over a crime scene. Besides, I still hafta figure out how I’m gonna explain you to the Feebs.”

  “Listen to Ben, Rowan,” Felicity agreed. “It’s too dangerous.”

  “She’s right man,” he added. “What if this asshole has a gun or somethin’? I don’t need to worry about you gettin’ hurt.”

  While the two of them were pleading their case, I was focusing my internal energies. My unwavering stare never left Ben’s own, and as they remained locked, I set mystical wheels into motion.

  “I don’t need to worry about you either,” I told him in a tranquil, even voice.

  “Whaddaya mean?” Ben blinked and looked over at my wife with a questioning glance. “What’s he talkin’ about, Felicity?” His gaze almost immediately returned to mine, drawn back by an unseen force. “It’s my job. I’m trained for it, you ain’t.”

  “You’re trained to deal with normal criminals,” I maintained in the same even tone. “This one definitely isn’t normal. We still don’t know what he’s capable of.”

  “We know he’s capable of torturin’ and killin’ four women—maybe five if you count Seattle. Plus kidnapping.” He shot back, but his eyes stayed locked with mine. “So I think we pretty much have the bases covered there.”

  “That’s not what I mean, Ben. I’m talking about The Craft, or even more likely, ritual magick. He hasn’t played any of those cards yet. Not for real.”

  I felt Felicity ease away from me as she realized what I was doing. To her, and anyone in the room other than Ben Storm for that matter, my speech probably sounded like a dull monotone. To my protesting friend, nothing would have changed. In his mind, we were simply carrying on a conversation through which he would explain to me the reasons I wouldn’t be joining him. He had no idea that in a way, he was being hypnotized. He was experiencing the true meaning of being bewitched.

  “That stuff again?” he asked. “Look, you’ve made a believer outta me with some of this... You know, like the dreams and all that, but gimme a break. What’s he gonna do? Shoot fire out of his eyes or somethin’?” He chuckled lightly. “Even better, turn us all into frogs and make his getaway? Come on Rowan, get serious...”

  “I never said anything like that,” I returned. “And I am serious.”

  “What then?” he demanded. “What’s he gonna do?”

  “I can’t say for sure, but I know there are any number of things that he might be able to do. I doubt you’d believe me if I told you what they were.”

  We had been down this path before. I knew for a fact he wouldn’t believe me. The only way I was going to prove my point was with a demonstration, and as much as I hated to do so, that was exactly what I had been preparing. Through the practiced use of both my voice and my eyes, in the past few moments I had set the stage. I had transfixed him on an ethereal level. Within the next few seconds, I would use the power of suggestion coupled with just a dash of the supernatural to put on the show.

  “Yeah, I thought so. Look, I appreciate your concern and all, but I gotta draw the line somewhere. Since I’m the one with the badge, I’m goin’ and you’re stayin’.”

  Ben moved past me as he made the declaration. I waited until he reached the front door before I released the compact ball of energy I had formed inside my mind. It sailed invisibly along a crackling ethereal arc and enveloped my friend with a light aura of static. Its earthly manifestation came with a familiar electric snap when he reached for the doorknob. The only thing that remained for me to do was make a suggestion.

  “If that’s the way you feel, okay,” I called after him. “By the way, what’s that crawling on your arm?”

  Ben looked down at his sleeve absently, and his eyes suddenly grew wide in horror. His face began to pale as he slapped at his arm and let out a surprised yelp. The rest of us in the room saw nothing. Only I knew what he was witnessing, and that was only because I had been the one to create the illusion. An illusion that took advantage of my friend’s irrational fear of spiders and was done in the name of making my point.

  “Jeezus!” he shouted aloud as he whipped about, quickly slipping himself out of his sport coat and shaking it violently. “Holy fuckin’ shit! How the hell did that goddamn thing get on me?!”

  “Calm down, Ben,” Felicity told him. “It’s gone.”

  She was correct. In truth, it had never actually been there. What he had seen had only been in his head, and that spectre could last no more than a few brief seconds. It was definitely gone.

  “Whaddaya mean gone?” he shouted, still slapping his jacket against the door. “Did you see that fuckin’ thing? It was huge! It was a goddamn tarantula!”

  “She’s right, Ben, it was never even there,” I expounded. “It was just a glamour.”

  “There’s nothin’ glamorous about it!” he shot back, still visibly shaken but starting to calm. “It’s a friggin’ spider.”

  “No, Ben,” Felicity corrected, “a glamour, not glamorous. It was an illusion. A phantom image. All courtesy of your best friend here.”

  “Whoa, cool,” R.J.’s voice came from behind us, followed by Cally sternly shushing him.

  “You mean like it was a spell or somethin’?” he asked as he gingerly inspected his jacket, holding it at arms length.

  “You could call it something like that,” I explained. “It’s really just some basic hypnosis, the power of suggestion, and admittedly a little psychic energy thrown in for good measure. Sorry, but I figured you’d be a little more receptive to the idea if you experienced it first hand.”

  “You’re tryin’ to tell me that this asshole might be able to do somethin’ like that?” He was carefully slipping his sport coat back onto his large frame, still appearing somewhat uneasy and keeping an eye out for the imagined spider.

  “Maybe. Maybe not. I just don’t know.”

  “So what if he can? What’re you gonna do about it?” he queried.

  “Catch it before it happens. Try to block it. Warn you,” I outlined. “I don’t know. In any event, I’ll be much better prepared to recognize a glamour than you will.”

  “Well, as long as I ignore spiders crawling on me, I should be okay,” he protested.

  “He would most likely do something worse. Remember, I just scared the hell out of you, and I’m your best friend. Like I said, I used only a small”—I laid heavy emphasis on the word small—“amount of the psychic energy I could muster. I doubt he’ll be anywhere near as nice.”

  “Is he shittin’ me?” Ben asked Felicity seriously.

  “As much as I wish he was,” she frowned, “no. He’s telling you the truth.”

  “Lovely. You know I oughta kick your ass for that stunt,” Ben told me with a slight grin then glanced back to my wife as if for approval.

  “Hey, it’s between you two.” She held up her hands in a mock leave-me-out-of-it gesture and then suddenly grew earnest. “Do me a favor, Ben. If you�
�re going to take him with you, this time don’t bring him home with any stitches.”

  “Count on it.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I mumbled.

  “She just knows your track record, white man,” he turned back to me. “Just one question. Why’d you hafta pick spiders? You know I can’t stand the things.”

  “Actually, I didn’t, you did. All I said was ‘what’s that crawling on your arm?’ Your own fears and imagination did the rest of the work for me.”

  He shook his head. “Just what I needed ta’ hear.”

  * * * * *

  I was still clipping my visitor’s badge onto my pocket when Carl Deckert met the two of us at the door to the MCS command post. His normally laid back demeanor had been replaced by one of frantic urgency as he held the door open and hustled us into the room.

  “I’ve got something you might want to have a look at,” he told us as he excitedly waved a sheaf of papers at us. “You’re not gonna believe it.”

  “What?” Ben queried, following him to a nearby desk. “Whaddaya have?”

  Shadows fell darkly across the corner area from the flickering fluorescent tubes in the ceiling lights as they dimly sputtered away towards uselessness. Deckert reached out and craned the flexible neck of a small lamp forward and switched it on, effectively illuminating at least part of the desk’s scarred surface.

  “I just got this right after you hung up,” he spoke rapidly as he shuffled through the papers and slid an eight-by-ten photo beneath the puddle of light. “The lab lifted this from the little girl’s vinyl book bag.”

  The black-and-white-toned image depicted a curving pattern of lines arcing around into what might have been a tight whorl. Might have been, because they abruptly ended in a blank, smeary looking splotch.

  “This one is from the Barnes woman,” he continued and slid a similar grey-toned image in next to the original.

  “Son-of-a-bitch,” Ben slowly enunciated the words as he leaned forward to inspect the fingerprint photos more closely.