Blood Moon: A Rowan Gant Investigation

by M. R. Sellars

  I shook my head. “Yeah, I know. But Chuck doesn’t serve liver and onions. Metro does.”

  “Liver and onions… Having a craving are we then?”

  “Yeah, actually… I think maybe I am.”

  “I’ll pass on that,” she added. “I think maybe I’d be happy with a BLT or something of that sort myself.”

  “I’m pretty sure Metro has them on the menu.”

  We stopped at the curb and waited for a car to cross in front of us. The sun was shining between a light scattering of clouds, and there was a soft breeze blowing. We were at the tail end of the unusual warm spell, so the temperature had only crept up near fifty and probably wasn’t going to climb much farther. Closer to typical for a Midwestern March, but then, this was Saint Louis. Weather always seemed to be a roll of the dice here, no matter how hard the meteorologists tried to nail it down. Even so, to me it seemed almost springlike.

  As we waited for a second vehicle to roll by, I shrugged out of my jacket and slung it over my shoulder then slipped my arm back around Felicity. Once the lane was clear, we stepped off the curb and aimed ourselves toward her Jeep.

  After a moment she spoke up again. “Do you think they’ll actually go for it?”

  “Who go for what?”

  “Letting you speak to Annalise.”

  “Oh, that,” I replied. “I guess we’ll have to wait and see. They definitely didn’t seem sold on the idea, did they?”

  She shook her head and pursed her lips as she frowned. “Even if they change their minds and will arrange it, I can’t imagine her attorney would be too happy about letting you then.”

  “True story,” I agreed. “But, if she decides she’s willing to talk to me, and it’s her choice, then maybe there’s a chance. If the people with the badges will go for it.”

  She fell quiet until we split apart, and I ushered her in front of me between a pair of parked vehicles.

  “And what you need to talk to her about is the necklace,” she said over her shoulder, offering the words as a statement rather than a question.

  “Yes.”

  She slowed then stopped and turned to face me. “So do you maybe want to explain that to me now, or is it still a big secret?”

  “Want, yes,” I replied, shaking my head. “But like I said, I can’t…not just yet.”

  “Why not?”

  “I made someone a promise.”

  “Who?”

  “Honey, I can’t really say…”

  She studied my face for a moment then let out what sounded to be an abbreviated version of an exasperated sigh. “It’s a good damn thing I trust you, Rowan Linden Gant.”

  “Yeah, believe me, I know.”

  I felt a tickle on my side, somewhere even with my beltline. The soft vibration was quickly followed by a short chirp and a muffled feminine voice. I reached down and pulled my cell phone from its holder then glanced at the display. As I suspected it was notifying me that I had several new voicemails. I flipped the device open and scrolled through the missed calls. Every single one came from the same familiar number.

  “Ben,” I said aloud, turning the display toward Felicity and holding it up for her to see.

  “Aye, no surprise that.” She nodded, glancing at the LCD. “Better call him back before he works himself into a snit.”

  I half chuckled. “This is Ben you’re talking about. I’m sure he already has…”

  She turned and continued walking the dozen or so steps to her Jeep. As I followed along, I thumbed the button so the cell would dial the most recently missed call then placed it against my ear.

  “It’s about time,” Ben’s voice issued from the speaker following the first half of the third ring. “I been tryin’ ta’ call ya’ back for two hours, but all I got was your friggin’ voicemail.”

  “Whatever happened to just plain hello?” I asked.

  “Simple. Our fast-paced lives and caller ID made it obsolete.”

  “Listen to you…” I jibed. “Mister high tech social commentator.”

  “Not a chance… I just heard some asshole say that on the news the other day. I think he was talkin’ about manners or somethin’, but it sounded like it would fit.”

  “Yeah, I should have figured as much,” I grunted. “Well, I’m sorry for the delay in calling, but apparently I wasn’t getting a signal for the past couple of hours, so I just now got the voicemail notifications.”

  In that moment anything resembling lightheartedness fled from his voice. “So listen, Row, did I understand your message right? You’n Firehair actually had a meetin’ with the Feebs this mornin’?”

  “Unfortunately, yeah. We just got out of it as a matter of fact.”

  “Unfortunately? That doesn’t sound good… So what’s the deal?”

  “Long story short, Miranda is still trying to get to Felicity.”

  “Yeah, you’ve been sayin’ that’d happen. But what’ve the Feebs got ta’ do with it?”

  “Well, it seems that at the moment her plan of attack is to implicate Felicity in the murders.”

  “Fuck me… We’ve already been down this road…”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “So they ain’t buyin’ into ‘er story, are they?”

  “I don’t think so. At least, they say they aren’t, but I really don’t know for sure. We were talking to a pair from the BAU, and they weren’t exactly forthcoming with the whole story in the beginning. It took a bit to drag it out of them, and I’m still not convinced they aren’t leaving something out.”

  “Not surprisin’. So, that just a hunch or did ya’ get a hinky feelin’?”

  “A little of both, I think. Something weird is definitely going on. I just don’t know what it is. I’m not freaking out just yet, but I’m definitely just this side of worried.”

  “Great… So, weird how?”

  “Weird like maybe someone behind the scenes is calling the shots.”

  “Could it just be chain of command?”

  “Maybe, but I don’t really think so. It seems more like a pay no attention to the man behind the curtain sort of thing. You know, like the whole episode with the cops in NOLA suddenly dropping the charges against me because someone at the FBI requested it.”

  “Okay, yeah. I get it. See why I hate the Feebs? You can’t trust ‘em.”

  “Yeah, so what about Constance?”

  “She’s the exception, not the rule. Speakin’ of Constance, you want me ta’ have ‘er make some calls and check some shit out?”

  “Well, I’ll admit I’d sure like to know who it is I’m indebted to before he or she suddenly decides to collect,” I replied. “So, if you think she’d be willing I’d really appreciate it.”

  “Yeah, well you know how she is. All I gotta do is mention it and she’ll start snoopin’. She may still be on medical leave but that sorta shit’s never stopped ‘er before. B’sides, it’ll give her somethin’ to do. She’s climbin’ the walls right now, and she’s still got two weeks left before they’ll even think about lettin’ ‘er back on the job.”

  “I know, but please tell her not to get herself into any trouble over this. It’s mine and Felicity’s problem, not hers.”

  “Yeah, like she’s gonna listen ta’ me. Get real.”

  “I know, I know… It’s just that we owe her so much as it is. I don’t want her screwing up her career any more.”

  “You ain’t gonna be able ta’ stop ‘er, Row. She’s kinda attached ta’ you two in case you ain’t figured that out yet.”

  “Well, the feeling is mutual.”

  “Yeah…okay… So let’s change the subject before this turns all fuckin’ sappy and shit,” he urged. “Listen, you doin’ all right today?”

  I shrugged out of reflex. “As well as can be expected under the circumstances, I guess. I mean, I’m annoyed, but…”

  He cut me off. “No, Kemosabe, I mean with the Twilight Zone and all.”

  “Yeah, pretty much I suppose, why?”

&n
bsp; “So, no bleedin’ or anything?”

  “No, Ben, just a bit of a headache.”

  “Aspirin kinda headache or…”

  This time I interrupted him instead. “Yeah, Ben, it’s a la-la land headache, but it’s not a bad one. Just your average, everyday ‘Rowan’s talking to dead people again’ headache. Is that what you’re wanting to know?”

  “Well yeah, actually…”

  “Okay, so what’s up?”

  “You still downtown?” he asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Both of ya’, right?”

  “Uh-huh,” I grunted. We had arrived at the Jeep several minutes ago, and Felicity was already belted in behind the wheel. Out of habit I was still standing next to the passenger side with the door hanging open. “In fact, I’m looking at Felicity right now. She says hi.”

  “Yeah, whatever. So where are ya’ exactly?”

  “On the FBI’s parking lot, why?”

  “Good, then you ain’t far away,” he said.

  “Ben, are you going to tell me what you are going on about, or do I have to guess?”

  He huffed out a sigh. “R’member that freak job with the metal band Wendy was tellin’ us about the other day?”

  “Yeah… What was her name… Desiree or something like that, right? Don’t tell me she was murdered.”

  “No, she’s not dead. Turns out ‘er real name is Margaret Lucas, but that ain’t the point. What is the point, however, is that she reported ‘er girlfriend missin’ last night.”

  “Missing as in…”

  “We don’t know. But, it looks suspicious, and she’s apparently been missin’ better’n forty-eight hours.”

  “Are you certain?”

  “No,” he replied, oozing sarcasm. “We’re runnin’ around with our thumbs up our asses and throwin’ darts at a board. Any more stupid questions?”

  “Sorry…” I said. “I’m still in that suspicious mindset.”

  “Yeah, me too,” he apologized. “I shouldn’t have snapped like that. It’s just been a long day already.”

  “I can imagine. So how did homicide get involved?”

  “Goddamn computer did somethin’ right for a change. Listed under identifyin’ marks is a tattoo of a black swan just over ‘er heart. When they were enterin’ the info, it raised a flag and got kicked over to Major Case.”

  “Dammit,” I muttered.

  “Yeah, that’s kinda what I said,” he agreed. “Looks like our bad guy got ‘imself a fresh victim.”

  “The question is, how long before this one turns up in a dumpster somewhere…”

  “E’zactly,” he replied. “So listen, had our own meetin’ with the Feebs about forty-five minutes ago and things are startin’ ta’ get busy if ya’ know what I mean. On top of that I got my brass buggin’ me about you. I told ‘em you were on board, so now they’re kinda wantin’ ya’ to weigh in on this. If ya’ could put in a little face time down here it’d be a good thing.”

  “You know, I still don’t get that. When the hell did I become their golden boy?” I asked. “It hasn’t been too long since I was a pariah. And before that I had Albright on my ass at every turn.”

  He hesitated for a moment then replied with what seemed to be a cautious note in his voice. “Yeah… You got me, Row… I know what you’re sayin’… But like I said last night, they know you get results…”

  “Is something wrong?” I pressed.

  “No, why?”

  “You sound a bit strange all of a sudden.”

  “Sorry… Just a bit preoccupied with some shit… So anyway, if it’s any consolation, the word from on high is that they definitely don’t want ya’ talkin’ ta’ anybody but me about this…‘specially not the media clowns.”

  “Keeping it compartmentalized, eh? More or less a help us, but don’t embarrass us scenario…”

  “Yeah, that’s about it.”

  “You sure there’s nothing wrong?” I pressed again.

  “Yeah. It’s all good. Just a lot of shit goin’ down right now, and I’m swimmin’ in it.”

  I didn’t have to see him to know he was probably sitting at his desk, massaging his neck with his free hand as he ruminated over that very fact himself. I couldn’t help but wonder if the invisible puppeteer that seemed to be controlling my destiny where the FBI was concerned also had a few strings attached to local law enforcement as well. Of course, the more I thought about it the more I wondered if I was finally losing my ability to entertain rational thoughts in favor of conspiracy theories. I hoped I hadn’t, but I figured if I started seeing black helicopters from the corner of my eye, it would be time to check myself into a padded cell under Helen Storm’s care.

  “Hold on a sec…” I told Ben.

  I covered the mouthpiece on the phone and looked in through the open door of the Jeep at Felicity. I started to speak, but before I could form the first word she nodded and said, “Aye, I’ll take a rain check on the movie, but let him know he’s buying lunch and fast food doesn’t qualify.”

  CHAPTER 19:

  When we arrived at City Police Headquarters, we were lucky enough to grab one of the parking spaces directly in front on Clark Avenue. Felicity nosed her Jeep in at an angle to the curb then set the parking brake and switched off the engine before looking over at me. We hadn’t really talked much on the way other than me giving her a quick rundown of the conversation with Ben; of course even with traffic, the drive had taken less than five minutes, so there hadn’t been much time for anything more in-depth.

  “What now?” she asked.

  “He said if we don’t see him to just stay where we are and give him a call on his cell,” I replied.

  I glanced around but didn’t see the towering Native American anywhere. In fact, pedestrian traffic was so light that I noticed only a single pair of uniformed officers walking across the street. Judging from their direction, they appeared to be heading for a cop hangout diner called 40 that was located diagonally across from where we were now parked. I twisted in my seat to scan the area but saw no one else.

  Turning my eyes back front, I followed Ben’s instructions, dug out my cell phone and gave him a call. I wasn’t sure if this was all some clandestine part of keeping me away from the press or what. I certainly hadn’t noticed any news vans nearby when I was looking around, but at this point I was just speculating anyway.

  When my friend picked up, he seemed rushed, and therefore, our conversation was clipped. In fact, it really didn’t qualify as a conversation as much as a quick interrogation.

  “Where are you?” Ben asked immediately, again bypassing any form of salutation.

  “We’re parked right out front,” I replied.

  “Stay put, I’ll be right down.”

  Then, as quickly as he had answered, he was gone without even a goodbye.

  “Well, what did he say?” Felicity asked as I folded the phone and tucked it away.

  “He said he’s coming down. I don’t know why,” I replied.

  Twisting slightly in my seat, I gazed past her at the diner on the other side of the street. I wasn’t overly hungry, but for some odd reason I was feeling inexplicably drawn to food at the moment.

  I had eaten at 40 with Ben on a few occasions. It had actually started out as a coffee shop and had enjoyed a steady, if not exactly brisk, business for what seemed like ages. But in the past few years, it had flourished under new management after adding actual food to the menu.

  After a quick mental inventory of what I remembered about their selections, I sighed then mused aloud, “Hmmm… I’m pretty sure Forty just does sandwiches… I don’t think they serve collard greens, so that won’t work either.”

  “Collard greens? Where did that come from?” Felicity asked, shooting me a confused look. “What happened to liver and onions?”

  “I’m pretty sure they don’t serve that either,” I muttered absently.

  “So now you want both?”

  “Yeah, actually… I do.” />
  My wife shook her head. “If you were a woman, I’d wonder if you were pregnant.”

  “If that was the case wouldn’t I be craving pickles and ice cream?”

  “That’s a…”

  “I was kidding,” I said, cutting her off as I half chuckled. “Just kidding.”

  “All right then, I’ll let it go this time,” she replied, then chewed at her lower lip for a moment before musing, “Well, obviously this must be because of the stress—just look at everything you’ve been through. But I wonder if it’s connected to the bleeding somehow…”

  “What, you mean the cravings?” I asked.

  She nodded. “Aye. You seem to be obsessing over foods rich in iron. Liver, collard greens… How would you feel about broccoli then?”

  “Actually, it sounds pretty good at the moment,” I said, nodding agreement. “I’ll take all three.”

  “That must be it then because you do seem a bit preoccupied with food and that’s not like you.”

  “Makes sense to me. Like you said, stress, bleeding, iron… But yeah, the funny thing is I’m not even all that hungry at the moment.”

  During the conversation, I had been keeping an eye on the front entrance of police headquarters, waiting for Ben to show. I gave my watch a quick glance then huffed out a sigh.

  “I say we give him another five minutes,” I grumbled. “Then if he hasn’t shown I call again.”

  “Irritability is a sign of an iron deficiency too,” my wife announced.

  “Should I start calling you Doctor O’Brien?” I asked, humor in my tone.

  “Not right now,” she replied, cocking her eyebrow. “But maybe we could still play doctor later.”

  “Hmph… What happened to the damper on your mood?”

  “I guess it went away.”

  I shook my head and snorted. “Aren’t we a pair? I’m obsessing about food, you’re obsessing about sex, and neither of them is what we need to be worrying about at the moment. ”

  She chuckled lightly. “Aye. You’re right. I think maybe we both need a break.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “All right then, what do you think about taking a vacation?” she asked.