“Semantics.”
“Yes. Well, the part about me being a consultant was absolutely true. I work with the local authorities as well as the FBI on cases where non-traditional religious artifacts and symbology are found or thought to be involved.
“When I told you I was working with the police, that’s where it got a bit fuzzy because at the moment I’m not. However, I was up until a week ago. I was originally…”
“Wait a minute,” she said, interrupting. “You’re in Saint Louis, correct?”
“Yes.”
She began repeating my name in a low voice, mumbling the syllables in repetition. “Rowan Gant…Rowan Gant…That’s where I’ve heard of you. I knew it! I knew your name sounded familiar. You’re that guy…you’re the Witch…”
“I don’t know about the Witch, but yes, I’m a Witch.”
“No, I mean you’re the one who caught that psycho a few years ago, aren’t you? That crazy who was going around accusing people of being Witches and then killing them…” Her voice trailed off into a murmur once again. “What was his name? Something Parker…or maybe Palmer…”
“Eldon Porter,” I volunteered, knowing all too well to whom she was referring. “And, actually, the police caught him. I was just…bait…more or less.”
“I think someone forgot to tell that to the media because it was all over the national news.”
“Yes, well you really shouldn’t believe everything you see on TV.”
“As a rule, I don’t, but I seem to recall the FBI themselves crediting you with being instrumental in the capture.”
Dredging up those events from my past wasn’t going to help my mood by any stretch of the imagination. I had made some very heavy sacrifices to end Porter’s spree—a bloody orgy that had seen the deaths of several innocent people, among them two of my friends and coven mates. I had far too pressing a matter at hand to wrap myself up in that pain yet again.
“No offense, Doctor Rieth, but those are some memories I really don’t enjoy revisiting…besides, there’s the issue with my wife and I would…”
“Oh, yes. Certainly. I understand completely. But, I have to admit that your credibility just got an enormous boost.”
“Well, that’s good to know,” I returned. “I would have played that ace from the outset if I had known it was one.”
“So, let me get this straight,” she ventured. “Your wife has been arrested and charged with these murders, and if I’m following your line of questions to me, you believe she was being ridden by a Lwa when they were committed? And, furthermore, that the Lwa is the actual entity responsible for the killing?”
“Close. I do think Felicity was being ridden, but I definitely don’t believe she committed the crimes, while possessed or at any other time. It was someone else entirely.”
“But, I get the feeling you still think the Lwa is directly responsible?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t want to burst your bubble, but since you did read my book you should have picked up on the fact that Lwa don’t purposely cause harm. Granted, they certainly get used as an excuse by individuals who would like for you to believe…for lack of a better phrase, the ‘devil’ made them do it…but, that really isn’t the case.”
“I know that, but I have a strange feeling that this Lwa is different. I’m certain that it actually is somehow driving or directing what the killer is doing. And, that it temporarily possessed my wife, otherwise she wouldn’t have exhibited the behavior she did. The way I see it, if this Lwa was riding someone who was actually willing, then the murders aren’t a stretch at all.”
“Well, even if you’re correct, and some particularly malevolent spirit has been elevated to the status of a personal Lwa by a practitioner of Voodoo, that person must be insane. In any case, you’re still in the same boat. There’s no way you’re going to convince anyone to put an ancestral spirit on trial, Mister Gant.”
“That goes without saying. But, if I can figure out who this spirit is, maybe I can find the real killer. And, if I’m right and the Lwa is driving the individual to commit the crimes…well…I don’t know. I’ll have to cross that bridge when I get there. But, the truth is, if she knows the nature of the Lwa, and she keeps inviting it in, then she’s just as guilty.”
“But, the police are convinced that it is your wife who is the culprit, yes?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“If you don’t mind my asking, why? Do they have some compelling reason to think such a thing?”
“They say they have evidence placing her at the two crime scenes here in Saint Louis, as well as the one in Myrtle Beach.”
“That’s not good. What about the one in New York?”
“Honestly, I don’t know. The first I heard about New York was when you mentioned it earlier. However, the rumor is that they have seven other unsolved homicides throughout the United States with similar characteristics to these, so I suspect that is one of them.”
“Seven?!”
“That’s what I was told.”
“How long has this been going on?”
“A few years, apparently. Since two-thousand three at least.”
“And you were oblivious to it?”
“Of course I was,” I returned sharply. “Why wouldn’t I be? It wasn’t Felicity doing it.”
“Sorry, and I hate to say it, but, if the police have evidence…”
“Well, that’s where it starts moving beyond simply adding two and two,” I interrupted. “I don’t think their evidence is legitimate.”
“Why not? What is it?”
“Well…” I knew what her reaction was going to be, but I couldn’t lie because if she found out, it would do nothing but destroy the re-establishment of trust I’d started to develop with her. “They say they have DNA linking her to the crimes.”
“Remember when I asked about a ‘compelling reason’, Mister Gant? I’d say DNA evidence definitely qualifies as one of those.”
“I realize that, but I have cause to believe it’s bogus.”
“You mean a lab error? Did they re-run it?”
“Three times, actually. But, my contention is that it was planted or purposely tampered with. Long story short, I have enemies who would like nothing better than to discredit me in any way possible. I sincerely believe that they wouldn’t stop at framing my wife for murder in order to get to me, especially given that both of us are, or were, involved in the investigation. This is a perfect opportunity for something like that.”
“You mean you have enemies within the police department?”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
“So you think it’s a conspiracy? I’m sorry, but now you’re sounding like a television show.”
“Trust me, I know that. And, if it wasn’t happening to me, I’m sure I would say the same thing. But, given some of the events that have taken place in my life over the past few years, it’s actually nowhere near as crazy as it sounds. Besides, it’s the only logical explanation I can imagine right now because I know for certain that my wife isn’t a killer.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“She’s my wife, Doctor Rieth.”
“No offense, Mister Gant, but I assume you are familiar with the BTK killer?”
Of course I was. How could I not be? The only way anyone could have remained oblivious to Dennis Rader, self-dubbed BTK for his threefold methodology of binding, torturing, and then killing his victims, would be if they had been living in a total information vacuum. The history of his brutal crimes, his eventual capture and remorseless courtroom confession had held the attention of the nation, off and on, for the better part of the year. But, I knew that his sadistic legacy wasn’t her point. What she was driving at was the fact that in everyday life the man had been a pillar of the community, and that his unthinkable activities had been hidden from his family for nearly two decades.
“Since you mentioned it, let’s not stop there, Doctor Rieth,” I replied. “It’s not at all u
ncommon for the families of serial offenders to be clueless about the secret life their loved one is leading. You can lump John Wayne Gacy and a whole host of others right in with Rader.
“But, the fact remains that I am not a typical spouse wallowing in denial and disbelief as statistics would lead you to believe. Felicity is innocent, and I’ll do whatever it takes to prove it.”
She paused thoughtfully, but this time the silence didn’t have the same hollow feeling as before.
“I guess right about now you’re having trouble finding anyone to believe you,” she finally said.
“You have no idea,” I answered. “There are a couple of people in our corner, but at the moment it’s pretty lonely where I’m standing.”
“Okay then, so your wife is innocent, and it’s up to you to prove it. I suppose we should get back to the part about the Lwa…” she verbally returned us to the impetus for the conversation. “You mentioned that your wife exhibited odd behavior, and this is what leads you to believe she was being ridden. Tell me about it.”
Doctor Rieth listened attentively while I relayed the story of Felicity’s out-of-character actions, including her missing memories and assault on agent Mandalay as well as her violent tryst with the man she had picked up in the fetish club. It occurred to me as I went over the events for what seemed like the thousandth time, just exactly how insane it all really sounded. Of course, I had assumed from the beginning that it probably came off as ludicrous to outsiders unfamiliar with the true nature of the supernatural. But, as for me, I had been there. I had seen it first hand and knew what was happening. The problem was that, even given my own knowledge and experiences, the whole thing was now starting to sound ludicrous to me too.
When I reached the end of the tale, I simply stopped. I had to admit, given my own wavering faith in the story I’d just told, I was fully expecting to hear little more than silence followed by a dull click as the phone was hung up in my ear. However, what greeted me couldn’t have been much further from that if it had tried.
“Just for my own edification, your wife doesn’t suffer from D-I-D, does she?”
“D-I-D?”
“Dissociative Identity Disorder. They used to call it Multiple Personality Disorder.”
“No, she doesn’t.”
“Has she ever displayed odd changes in personality before this recent incident. Most especially childlike tendencies?”
“No,” I said again. “No offense, Doctor, but I thought you were a sociologist who specialized in world religions, not a shrink.”
“I am a sociologist, but as it happens I once had a teaching assistant with D-I-D, so I ended up learning quite a bit about it. I’m simply trying to cover all the possible explanations for your wife’s behavior.”
Her queries reminded me that Ben had used that very ailment as an excuse to defuse a situation with one of the local police departments when Felicity had first fallen under the influence of the Lwa. That was before we knew what was going on, and it had seemed like a reasonable course of action at the time. However, now I feared it was going to become ammunition for the other side even though it was entirely untrue.
“She’s not a multiple.”
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” she prodded.
“I understand, and I agree, but I assure you we can rule it out,” I told her.
“Well then, if we assume that she was truly being ridden, the way I see it is that there has to be some kind of latent connection between your wife and the Lwa. Or, maybe even her and the killer.” Doctor Rieth’s reply was immediate and succinct. In fact, she hadn’t even paused before offering the analysis.
“So, you don’t think this all sounds crazy?” I asked.
“Oh yes, it sounds crazy all right, but that’s not the point,” she answered. “Remember, many of the things I’ve written about in my book sound crazy to the uninitiated.”
“Yeah, I guess they do.”
“So, if we are to assume that your theory about the Lwa is correct, then we have to find the reason it chose your wife as a horse, especially given your contention that it already had one with a far stronger, and completely willing, connection. Knowing that may well provide a clue that will lead back to either the identity of the Lwa or even the original horse, which is the ultimate goal. Correct?”
“Correct. Any ideas on that front?”
“Like I said, it has to be a latent connection that superseded the connection with the other practitioner.”
“Okay, but what could that be? Felicity doesn’t practice Voodoo.”
“She doesn’t? I’m sorry. I just assumed she must because this would all make more sense if she did.”
“I’m sure, but that’s why I called you.”
“Well, then that’s the big question, isn’t it?” she replied with a healthy sigh. “Still, there must be something connecting the two, and it could be almost anything. For instance, does your wife own any antique jewelry she purchased second hand? Especially recently? Something she might have been wearing at the time of the possession?”
“I’m sure she does. Own jewelry like that, I mean. But, I don’t recall her making any recent purchases. I also don’t remember her wearing any of it at the time, although I could be wrong,” I said and then added, “At the point when she had the guy in the motel room, she wasn’t wearing much at all, actually.”
“Second hand clothing that may have belonged to the killer, perhaps?”
“Maybe. She’s been known to visit resale shops. Again, I can’t be certain.”
“Okay, you said she doesn’t practice Vodoun, but has she by any chance dabbled with it at all?”
“No. At least not that I am aware of, and I think that’s something she would tell me. She’s a degreed Wiccan with some strong ties to British Traditional WitchCraft, but no real dealings in any of the Afro-Caribbean practices other than a passing knowledge of them.”
“So, she’s a Witch too?”
“Yes, but that wouldn’t be it, would it?”
“Just speculating. That would definitely make her far more open than your average bystander. Magick begetting magick, maybe?”
“She would almost have needed to work magick that somehow related to Voodoo though, wouldn’t she?”
“Maybe, maybe not. Like I said, I’m just speculating.”
“So, should I assume by the direction this conversation has taken that you are willing to help me?”
“I suppose that’s pretty much how it looks, isn’t it, Mister Gant?”
“Well, if that’s the case, you might want to start calling me Rowan, Doctor Rieth.”
“Then you should probably start calling me, Velvet.”
“Mind if I ask…”
“Burlesque performer. My mother thought it was pretty.”
“I see.”
“No wise cracks.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
CHAPTER 15:
The reflection staring back at me from the two-way mirror on the opposite wall didn’t look much better than the one I’d seen at home. I’d actually taken a few minutes to shave before getting into the shower and then tried to at least make myself presentable. None of those things, however, could mask my exhaustion or my foul mood, and it showed.
I turned my face away from the mirror. I knew someone was watching; they’d told me they would be. I suppose it was better than having a stranger parked in the room with us, which was the normal procedure as I understood it. But even so, it was more than a little disconcerting. I tried to push it out of my mind because I needed to deal with what I had at hand and not unseen distractions. But, I still found it hard to keep the invasion of privacy out of my thoughts. Of course, within these walls, privacy was a luxury that simply didn’t exist.
Shifting nervously in my seat, I returned my focus to the redhead on the other side of the table.
Small talk seemed to have become the order of the moment. Twenty minutes had passed, and thus far we’d been engaged in shor
t bursts of trivial banter. Things of no real import, such as the weather, what bills might have shown up in the day’s mail, or any number of other equally unimportant distractions. The whole of it was making me crazy, and I suppose it was for that reason my mouth began to blurt out something my brain knew would be best left unmentioned. I didn’t do it out of spite. I just needed to get something other than a flat, one word response from my wife.
“I probably shouldn’t even tell you this…” I started but then caught myself before continuing. Getting a response was one thing. Triggering it this way definitely wasn’t a smart move, and I knew it. I shook my head as much out of chastising myself as anything else then said, “No…just forget it.”
“What is it?” Felicity asked. “Tell me.”
At least this time the reply was something besides, “Yes”, “No”, or “Fine”, even if I hadn’t followed through with the statement.
Her voice was still emotionless but heavily saturated with her inherent Celtic lilt. The accent was an omnipresent feature but one that usually resided in the background, noticeable but not overwhelming. It always became more pronounced, however, when she was stressed, tired, or had spent more than a few hours with her family. In some instances, thick was even too weak a word to describe it.
It wasn’t hard to guess that the first two factors were what were driving it at the moment, and they were driving it hard. In fact, if she became any more stressed than she was now, I might well have trouble understanding her; for the brogue would not only start to be peppered with Gaelic, it would become so deeply accented as to almost obscure any English she might continue to use. In other words, we had more or less already arrived at thick and were definitely on our way toward a stronger adjective.
I dismissed her question with only a cursory explanation. “It’s not important. Not right now, anyway.”
“So tell me then,” she pressed. “If it’s not important, it shouldn’t matter.”
I let out a heavy breath and shifted in my seat. Everything mattered, especially now. I knew that for a fact, even if she didn’t. I looked down at the table then reached up to massage my temple. My headache was coming back, not that it had ever completely gone away, but the dull ache had been something I could live with. I definitely didn’t need seriously stabbing pains on top of everything else right now.
All Acts Of Pleasure: A Rowan Gant Investigation Page 14