Both Ben and I stood frozen, completely dumbfounded by what we were witnessing. We had all seen Agent Mandalay display an almost frightfully hard edge in the past but always with an even temperament. Explosive anger of this order was something entirely new.
“You putrid little bastard!” she spat as she held him pinned against the wall with the edge of the wooden table. “You make me sick!”
“Whoa, Mandalay!” Ben quickly stepped forward and grasped her shoulder with a large paw. “Back off.”
Still brimming with a full head of steam, she twisted away from his grasp and gave the table a furious shove before letting go. One side lifted slightly, and the legs made a dull clack as they bounced down against the floor. Wheeling around, the red-faced FBI special agent exited the interview room in a tempest of wordless emotion, making certain to slam the door on the way out.
“What the hell ya’ think that was all about?” Ben asked me as he looked after her.
“Did you see that?” Allen Roberts coughed as he finally regained his breath. “She assaulted me! You’re my witnesses!”
“I didn’t see anything,” Ben spat back without turning.
“That bitch assaulted me! I’m pressing charges!”
“Shut up, Roberts,” Ben instructed in no uncertain terms.
“I think I’d better go see if Constance is okay,” I offered.
“Yeah, that’s prob’ly a good idea,” my friend agreed.
“Fuckin’ dyke bitch” came a muttering voice from behind us.
“I thought I told ya’ ta’ shut up, Roberts.”
Another disparaging epithet exited the man’s lips just as I was leaving the interview room. Before the door had fully closed, I caught a calm query from my friend that managed to do what the earlier no-nonsense instructions had failed to accomplish.
“Look asshole, do ya’ want me ta’ cuff ya’ to the chair and let ‘er back in here with ya’ for a while? ‘Cause I’ll be happy to arrange it…”
* * * * *
Outside the interview room, at the far end of the hallway, a low wooden bench lined the wall. Tucked neatly into the corner, Constance Mandalay now occupied a small section of the worn real estate. She was pitched forward, elbows resting on her knees and her forehead cupped in her hands. The distance between us was short enough that I could clearly see that she was trembling.
A uniformed officer with an armload of file folders rounded the corner and shot the young woman a cursory look as he passed. He did a double take then threw his gaze back and forth between the two of us. As I made my way steadily toward her, I simply nodded then gave him a thin-lipped smile when we met and then passed one another in the chilly corridor.
While the cop continued on his way, I paused for a moment before a dented vending machine and thrust my hand into my pants pocket. After rummaging around for a moment, I extracted a small handful of loose change along with my car keys. After picking out the quarters, I shoved the keys and remaining silver back into my pocket.
A quick once over of the large blue and white appliance told me what my options were as I dropped a trio of coins into the slot. An electric hum followed by a hollow cardboard thunk elicited from the device as I held my fingers splayed out against the round buttons labeled double cream and double sugar. After a moment or two of steamy hissing and watery sputtering, the paper cup overflowed onto the stainless steel grill where it sat. I slid back the splattered Plexiglas door and tilted the cup to pour off some of the excess then placed it carefully atop the machine and repeated the entire process.
On the second go around, I was forced to prematurely open the translucent shield and straighten out the cup before the coffee began to dispense. The hot liquid barely missed my fingers.
Drinks in hand, I continued the few steps down the corridor to the bench and placed one of the cups next to Constance before taking a seat a respectful distance away. Remaining silent, I took a cautious sip of the instant java and found much to my satisfaction that it was just as bad as I thought it would be. Even so, it was a cut or so above the tar I’d had in the Homicide squad room earlier in the day, so that was a plus.
“Looks like I’ve got a pair of Kings, Queen high,” I finally announced while holding the paper receptacle at eye level and inspecting the dull image of a poker hand that graced it. “I didn’t look at yours. Wouldn’t have been fair.”
After a moment, Constance leaned back with a sigh, picked up the coffee I’d set next to her, and peered into the muddy brown liquid. “I usually take mine black.”
“Me too,” I said as I nodded. “But it’s been my experience that coffee from one of those machines tastes like something on the order of hot water poured over pencil shavings, so I figured the cream and sugar might help. Just pretend it’s a cheap latté.”
“Thanks.”
“Not a problem.”
We continued to sit in silence as she sipped at the coffee and absently picked at the rim of the paper cup with her thumb and forefinger. I could still feel a flow of anger coming from the federal agent, though it had greatly subsided and was still decreasing. The waves of emotion appeared now as a dull aura enveloping her petite frame. This was, at the very least, an improvement over the fiery-eyed, vermilion monster that had been gnashing its teeth in the interview room earlier.
“Three aces,” she eventually muttered.
“Guess I should have looked,” I answered.
Again, a less than peaceful quiet embroidered the atmosphere of the hallway. I held my own voice, allowing the stillness to work in my favor.
“Well, I guess I blew that one,” she sighed when the desire to express herself finally surfaced. “I’ll probably be up in front of Bartlett before the evening is out.”
“Your word against Roberts,” I replied calmly.
“You and Storm were in there. You both saw me lose it.”
“Ben says he didn’t see anything.”
“What about you?” she asked in a dull voice.
“Me?” I paused and gathered my words. “I saw a friend in distress is about all.”
“Neither one of you need to be lying for me,” she admonished.
“Look…” I stared thoughtfully into my own coffee cup for a moment before continuing. “Roberts isn’t injured in any way, and I expect by the time Ben gets through talking to him, he won’t be pressing any charges. I’m not defending your actions mind you, but we all have a breaking point. For some reason you obviously hit yours.”
“Yeah.” She nodded. “You’re probably right. Still, I shouldn’t have let him get to me.”
“Would you like to talk about it?”
“You’ve got enough to deal with without me dumping on you,” she contended.
“Truly good friends are a rarity, Constance,” I offered in return. “I count you among mine, and I always have time for my friends.”
She allowed a weak smile to play across her lips and shot me an embarrassed glance then brushed her hair back and sighed, “It was the whole lesbian thing.”
“I kind of picked that up.” I nodded then took a sip of the overly sweetened brew. It had now cooled enough to drink without fear of a scalded tongue, so I toned down my original caution. “Does homosexuality bother you?”
“What? No, no, nothing like that,” she explained. “Just assholes like Roberts that get off on watching two women together and make a big deal of it.”
I mulled over her comment before replying, “Okay.”
“That doesn’t make much sense to you, does it?”
“Not entirely. I’ll grant you it’s not my thing either, but I try to be open minded about that sort of stuff. Either way, it’s not my place to judge the feelings and opinions of others, so if it bothers you…”
She let out an exhausted sigh, and I could feel her reluctance to speak fading into the background. Her anger had quelled, leaving only a sad emptiness in its wake. It was a pain dulled by time but still in possession of sharp barbs that, if brushed against, co
uld open the wound anew.
“This stays between us, right?” She stared at me with deadly serious concern glazing her eyes.
“Of course,” I answered.
There was a short interlude where she searched my face and found only truth behind my answer. She then stared at an unseen spot on the floor while nervously fidgeting the rim of the paper cup between her fingernails. Finally, whatever courage or imagined approval she sought within came into being and she spoke.
“I had an older brother, Rowan,” she began flatly. “His name was Brandon and he was gay.”
“Had?” I couldn’t help but notice the emphasis on the past tense. “Was it HIV?”
“No, not AIDS. I almost wish it had been.” She breathed the acronym as if it could have been a welcome friend. “I know that probably sounds insane but in a lot of ways that would have been much easier to cope with...to understand.”
Constance drew in a deep breath then, like taking a bitter dose of medicine, rushed headlong into the explanation. “Around four years ago Brandon was locking up the bookstore he managed. It was late and he was alone… Classic setting for something to happen I suppose—in fact, to this day when I talk about it, it doesn’t seem real. It sounds like a scene from a made-for-TV movie…
“Anyway, before he ever got his key out of the door, he was jumped from behind by a liquored up homophobe who beat him to death with an aluminum softball bat.”
Her pragmatic explanation poured into the quiet hallway, starkly revealing her personal tragedy for me to witness. A simple dissertation unblemished by the heavy emotions she had incarcerated deep within.
“I’m sorry,” I told her after a solemn pause, then as if to add to the surreal cliché of the stories fold, I automatically asked the obvious. “Did they ever find the guy who did it?”
“Oh yeah,” she replied with a quick nod. “They found him. He was too drunk to cover his tracks or even bother with getting rid of the bat. The police followed his bloody footprints right back to his apartment which, as it happens, was two doors down the hall from Brandon’s.”
She paused and looked over at me with the vacancy of cold grief in her eyes then continued, “The one thing that I’ll always remember is what the sonofabitch said when they arrested him. He said that if Brandon had been a gay woman instead of a gay man, then he wouldn’t have killed him. In his words it was because, ‘a couple of hot lesbos are a turn-on but two fags is just sick.’”
CHAPTER 20
So did ya’ find out what was eatin’ at Mandalay?” Ben asked as we headed toward the building’s exit.
The troubled federal agent had left police headquarters well before Ben had finished with Allen Roberts. Now, more than three hours later, this was the first opportunity that had presented itself for him to ask me about her. She had still been engaged in a lethargic wrestling match with her anger when she aimed herself homeward; however, this was far better than the ten round pugilistic event she had exhibited earlier. I had no doubt that what she really needed at this point was a healthy cry and a good night’s sleep. Unless I missed my guess, some portion of that catharsis was probably taking place at this very moment.
“Yeah, we talked about it,” I said, dragging on my coat as we approached the door. “But it’s something I can’t really get into.” I left my comment at that in hopes he wouldn’t force the issue.
When it came to Ben Storm, I should have known better than to rally behind such a hope.
Muteness oozed from my friend to form an expectant bubble of quiet around us for a measured beat. Just as he opened his mouth to pump me for details, the door swung open and a pair of uniformed officers bustled through. Ben exchanged a quick nod with them as they continued past us with a frosty wind trailing along behind. The rush of cold spilled a full twenty feet into the room before the door was once again completely shut. With the darkness of night, the reprieve of sunshine was over and winter’s breath had returned.
“Yeah, uh-huh. So what’s the deal?” he pressed when he felt they were out of earshot, his words forming an ephemeral cloud of white on the lingering chill.
“Seriously, I promised her it would stay between us,” I replied.
“That’s fine. I’m not gonna tell anyone.” He gave me an animated nod. “Now really, what gives?”
“I’m not kidding, Ben. I promised Constance I wouldn’t talk about it.”
“Look, Row…” He paused as he brought his fingers to bear on the tension in his neck, but only after an unconscious smoothing of his hair. “I admire your loyalty, I really do, but for all intents and purposes Mandalay physically attacked a suspect.” The last words of his sentence were enhanced by the fact that they were spoken in an urgent whisper. His eyes quickly darted to reassure himself that we were still out of earshot. “The brass really frowns on that kinda stuff, not ta’ mention what the media could do with it.”
“I know, Ben, but she didn’t actually hurt him, did she?”
“No.”
“Is he going to be pressing charges?”
“No, I don’t think so. Besides it’d be his word against hers, and there wasn’t a mark on ‘im so they’d have a hell of a time makin’ it stick.”
“Okay then,” I shrugged.
“No, not ‘okay then.’” My friend stabbed a finger at me. “She got lucky this time, but that’s not the point. The point is that she attacked a suspect without just cause.”
“I know she was out of line, Ben, but she was provoked,” I appealed. “You saw how Roberts was getting under her skin, and he just kept pushing even after you told him to stop.”
“What? You mean all that lesbo fetish stuff?” His eyes grew wide as he looked back at me, his index finger still hanging in the air between us. “Is Mandalay a lesbian? Is that what this is all about?”
“No, Ben, she’s not gay. Not that I’m aware of anyway. Besides, what difference would that make?”
“None, but what’s goin’ on? I don’t get it.”
“I’m telling you I can’t say.” My voice had taken on the imploring tenor of my emotional appeal. “I made a promise, and if there is one thing a person has in life it’s his or her word. I cannot and will not break my word to her.”
Ben was growing impatient with me. I could not only see it in his eyes but feel it flowing outward from him as well. I truly wanted to explain to my friend what had made Constance snap like she did. Consciously I knew that simply telling him would most likely get this all over with in a heartbeat. That, however, was not the only thing I was conscious of. What resided most in the forefront of my mind was the fact that I could not betray the trust of a friend— even if it was for another.
“Listen,” he sighed heavily then proceeded to detail his case in a stern, clipped voice, “I hafta work with this woman. I may very well hafta count on ‘er ta’ keep me from endin’ up sleepin’ under a rock with my name chiseled on it. Do you understand that?”
“Yes.”
“Now, I respect your standin’ by your promise, and I know it’s somethin’ that’s very important to ya’. I also have a lotta respect for Mandalay. She’s a good kid even if she’s a Feeb. But the bottom line is that I don’t know ‘er well enough ta’ make a judgment call, so right now that respect hasta take a back seat ta’ reason… What I’ve gotta know is if she’s got some kinda problem that’s gonna affect ‘er ability to do ‘er job.”
“I don’t think you have that to worry about, Ben.”
“You ‘don’t think?’” he demanded. “Think isn’t good enough, Rowan. What I saw in that interview room looked like a potential problem ta’ me, and the last thing I need right now is an unstable Fed on this team. You’ve gotta give me somethin’ more than that.”
“What if I tell you it’s a feeling?”
“No.” He shook his head quickly. “No hocus-pocus, Row. I know that Twilight Zone stuff works, but I need somethin’ more on this one. If you know what’s up ya’ need to tell me.”
“If I could t
ell you what it is, you know I would. I’m sorry, but you’re just going to have to trust me on this.”
“I’m dead serious here, Row. I don’t need ‘er havin’ a meltdown and fuckin’ up this investigation. I haven’t got time for it. Hell, none of us do.”
“She’ll be fine.” I let out my own weighty sigh. “Really. What she needs right now is exactly the same thing we all need—a decent night’s sleep and something to eat besides donuts and bad coffee. That’s all I can say.”
“Yeah… okay…” he finally aquiesced, shaking his head all the while. “But I’ve gotta tell ya’, Row, I’m not feelin’ real good about this at all.”
He continued to work his large hand on the back of his neck as he fell silent. He had made it perfectly clear that he was not at all convinced of Agent Mandalay’s stability. I knew from past experience that his grudging acceptance of my reassurance was going to continue to eat away at him. At the moment it was a prominent, but still small, bother. Very soon it would grow into a malignant vexation that would further poison his perception of the federal officer.
“I know you prefer to shy away from anything you consider touchy-feely, Ben,” I offered, “but, you could call her and ask her yourself, you know.”
“Me ask her what’s up?” he asked rhetorically. “I’m no good at that crap.”
“Well, that’s my only suggestion if you want to know anything more than I’m at liberty to give you.”
After a moment of quiet thought, he took in a deep breath and huffed it out. “So what if I do call ‘er? Is she just pissed or is she gonna cry or somethin’?”
“She might. I don’t know.”
“Jeez, Rowan. I vapor lock when Allison starts ta’ sniffle. I can’t do that cryin’ shit.”
“Ben,” I appealed. “It’s obvious that this is going to keep working on you until you get an answer. You know that I can’t give it to you, but if you talk to her, maybe she will.”
Never Burn A Witch: A Rowan Gant Investigation Page 27