“Not here,” he said, then shifted his gaze over to Felicity. “You better get in the back unless you’re drivin’.”
*****
“Okay, I give up. What’s going on?” I asked. My frustration had finally festered to a point of eruption.
“Settle down,” Ben ordered with a hushed voice and a stern glance.
The drive had been short but conspicuously wordless. In complete silence, we had traversed slightly more than a mile of block-long jaunts and eleventh-hour ninety-degree turns. Fortunately, less than five minutes passed before we arrived at our final destination, which turned out to be a small diner at the intersection of Seventh and Chouteau. Still, even five minutes can seem like forever when you are sitting next to a taciturn cop who outwardly appears to be pissed off at the world, you included.
I was no stranger to “Charlie’s Eats,” and neither was Ben. In fact, this is where he had first shown me the case file that proved Eldon Porter’s identity. But, that wasn’t its only distinction. With its proximity to police headquarters, officers frequented it at all hours. There was even a pair of parking spaces on the lot designated specifically for patrol cars. The standing joke was that, other than the food itself, “Chuck’s” was probably the safest place in the entire city to have a meal.
Joking aside, the truth was that while the fare was far from four-star gourmet, it was good, with sizeable portions, and reasonably priced. Anything from a doughnut to a cheeseburger, or even the house specialty-appropriately dubbed “The Kitchen Sink Omelet”-was available 24/7. On top of that, everything on the menu came complete with a bottomless cup of coffee.
“Look, Row,” my friend continued after I reluctantly followed his instruction and sat back in the booth with deliberate heaviness. “I know where you’re at, really I do, but you gotta listen to me for a minute.”
“I’d like to, but you haven’t been saying anything,” I fired back.
“Jeez, Felicity, could you kick ‘im or somethin’?” He aimed his glance at my wife as he made the rhetorical statement.
“Aye, I doubt it would do any good,” she answered anyway.
“Heya, Storm,” a bear-like man with a wild bush of a red beard called to Ben from the other side of the counter then nodded in my direction. “Rowan.”
I dipped my head in acknowledgement and did my best to replace the frown I knew I was wearing with at least some semblance of a smile.
“You ever go home, Chuck,” Ben asked the man.
“What for?” The man chuckled as he re-tied the string on his stained apron. “This your wife, Rowan?”
“Felicity, meet Chuck.” I made the introduction. “Chuck, Felicity.”
“Nice to meet you,” my wife said with a lilt, following the words with one of her winning smiles.
“Same here,” Chuck agreed.
“Little slow this morning?” Ben asked.
Chuck cast an eye at the clock and shook his head. “Nah, shift change comin’ up. Just the calm before the storm. Heh-heh,” he chuckled. “But I guess the ‘storm’s’ already here, huh?”
“Yeah, Chuck.” Ben shook his head. “Friggin’ hilarious.”
“Gimme a break, it’s early. So, can I get youse guys anything?”
“Just coffee,” my friend told him.
“Make that two,” I said.
Felicity added, “Three.”
Chuck reached under the Formica-sheathed counter, and when he withdrew his large hand, a trio of ceramic coffee mugs were hooked on a single index finger. He set them down, then in a swift motion snatched up a full Pyrex globe of java and filled them all with a single practiced pour.
Ben slid partially out of the booth and in a pivoting motion ferried the steaming mugs to our table.
“Youse gonna be here for a bit?” Chuck asked.
“A while, probl’y,” Ben returned. “Why?”
The large man behind the counter hooked his thumb over his shoulder. “I gotta go in the back and check in a delivery. Wendy oughta be here in a bit. You wanna yell back there if someone comes in before she gets here?”
“We can do that.”
“I ‘preciate it.” Chuck nodded as he turned, then called back over his shoulder before disappearing into the back of the diner, “If youse want any more coffee, help yerselfs.”
A quiet lull ensued, broken randomly by the noise of Chuck shifting boxes in the back room and Felicity stripping open packets of sugar. The static-plagued tune of the Talking Heads “Psycho Killer” fell in behind the duet as it wafted from the speaker of a tinny radio behind the counter.
Considering what was happening a few blocks away, I suppose the song was appropriate.
“Can you tell me what’s going on now, Ben?” I finally appealed.
“There ain’t no other way to say this. You’ve been banned from any investigations involving the Major Case Squad.”
I blinked. I waited for him to tell me he was kidding. He didn’t, so I spoke. “Excuse me? Banned? Why?”
“Listen,” he started again. “That’s what I was gettin’ ready to tell ya’. With Bee-Bee runnin’ the show, there’s not a hell of a lot I can do.”
“Who’s Bee-Bee?” I asked, shaking my head. “I thought somebody named Albright was in charge.”
“That’s Bee-Bee. Bible Barb,” he explained. “Lieutenant Barbara ‘fuckin’ holier than thou’ Albright.”
“But, I thought you were running this investigation,” Felicity said.
He shook his head. “I’m just the investigating officer of record for the original case.”
“Well doesn’t that carry any weight?” I asked.
“For gettin' me outta bed in the middle of the night, maybe, but that’s about it. It’s pretty simple. She lieutenant, me lowly detective, and that’s the size of it.”
“Banned?” I repeated again.
“Yeah, Row. Banned.”
“Aye, but you seemed to be running things before,” Felicity interjected.
“Yeah, well it doesn’t usually happen that way. It did then, but only because I was originally assigned the case, and the powers that be gave me some breathing room.”
“So why aren’t they now?” I asked.
“Well, let’s see…” He rolled his eyes and huffed out a breath. “For starters, the lieutenant I reported to with the Major Case Squad retired.”
“And this Albright woman is the replacement?” my wife half asked, half stated.
“Exactly.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong,” I posed, “but I was under the impression that lieutenants were basically management and that they didn’t get that directly involved in investigations.”
“Yeah, pretty much,” he agreed with a nod. “But not always. Some of ‘em get involved. As it happens, Bee-Bee is a real hands-on, stir-the-shit type.”
“So can’t you go over her head?” I pressed.
“Not really. I dunno if you missed it, but in the past year we’ve gotten a new mayor and a new police chief in the city.”
“Yeah, so?”
“Yeah, so, there’s been a change in management my friends, and I’m not exactly considered a model employee right now.”
“Why is that?” Felicity asked.
“Does a little nocturnal incident at the morgue a few weeks ago ring a bell?” he asked.
Unfortunately, it did. During the hunt for the serial rapist, I had convinced Ben to get me into the medical examiner’s office to view the remains of a victim from an overlapping investigation. Normally, this wouldn’t have been a problem, except that I had talked him into doing so in the middle of the night. The chaotic psychic events that ensued from there had caused quite a bit of commotion in this realm and my friend a generous share of trouble at the time. Apparently, they still were.
“Well, what if I had a talk with her?”
He scrunched his brow and looked confused. “What about?”
“About me and what I can do to help.”
“Were you just n
ot listening?” he asked incredulously. “The woman flat out said for me to ‘leave my devil worshipper downstairs where he belonged.’ News flash, Kemosabe. She was talkin’ about you.”
“I realize that, Ben, but she doesn’t know anything about me.”
“Oh hell yes she does,” he returned. “At least she thinks she does anyway.”
“How can she?” Felicity chimed in.
“Neither one of you is particularly low profile,” he answered.
“You mean the papers?” I asked.
“…And the TV.” He nodded.
“But that’s just media hype,” I told him in a dismissive tone. “That’s not going to tell her anything.”
“Well, guess what?” he chided. “She’s read ‘em and watched ‘em all, and as far as she’s concerned, they’re gospel. And she didn’t get the nickname ‘Bible Barb’ for nothin’. She’s drawn her conclusion, white man. You’re the wicked Witch, and that’s all there is to it.”
“But that’s just her,” I objected.
He countered with a statement I hadn’t expected, “And a few others.”
“Who?” Felicity asked. “Arthur McCann?”
“He’s one, obviously. But there’re more… A handful of uniforms. Couple of detectives… Couple of the higher-ups, including the new chief…”
“What about my track record?” I asked.
He started shaking his head again, “I got news for ya’, Row. Your track record has a few potholes, which is another reason why you aren’t scorin’ any points. Right now you’re kinda looked upon as a loose cannon.”
“What?”
“Yeah,” he continued. “Chasin’ after Porter on that bridge, the thing at the morgue…”
“What about you?” I asked with a nod in his direction. “What do you think?”
He fell silent for a moment, looked away, then sighed before bringing his eyes back to meet mine.
“After what you did a few weeks back, I think maybe you might be a bit of a danger to yourself, yeah.”
He was talking about the fact that I had deliberately run his van through a set of plate-glass windows in order to get inside a building.
“That was different, and you know it,” I argued. “The sonofabitch had Felicity in there.”
“Yeah,” he rebutted. “And that’s the only reason I let it go, white man. If you’ll remember correctly, I lied about what really happened on my report.”
I didn’t have a comeback for the comment because I knew he had done exactly that.
“Listen, Row,” he started after an uncomfortable silence. “You’ve still got friends in the department, and I’m one of them.”
“Even though you think I’m a danger to myself,” I volunteered with a slightly sarcastic edge to my voice.
“Yeah, even though,” he echoed. “Cut me some slack here. I know what you can do. I’ve seen it first hand. And I’m even willin’ to trust you if you wanna know the truth.”
“Trust me to what?”
“To help stop this bastard.”
“That will be hard to do if I’m cut off from the investigation.”
“I know.”
My friend turned to stare out the window, and I allowed my gaze to follow his. Our muted reflections stared back from the pane of glass, mirroring our weariness like an overexposed snapshot. The darkness of night was still holding its ground and seemed in no hurry to relinquish its position. A quick glance at my watch told me that there was a pair of hours yet to go before the morning would ooze in above the heavy clouds.
“So, where do we go from here, then?” Felicity piped up again.
“Back to the beginning. Back to what started this whole conversation.” He turned his gaze to her, then to me. “Do you think you can come up with somethin’ worthwhile off that crime scene?”
“That’s kind of a moot point isn’t it?” I shook my head as I asked the question.
“No. No it’s not,” he replied.
“But you said I was banned from the investigation.”
“Officially you are.”
“Aye.” My wife cocked her head to the side and raised an eyebrow. “What are you saying?”
“What I’m sayin’ is that if I’m gonna take a chance on losin’ my badge, I need to know it’s gonna get us somewhere.”
I never got a chance to answer my friend’s question.
CHAPTER 4:
The muffled electronic wail of a pager began sounding from somewhere across the table. By the time it had completed its second demand for attention, it was joined by the steadily rising trill of a cell phone vying for the same.
“Jeeeez…” Ben complained aloud as he pulled the beeper from his belt and fumbled with it until he managed to switch it off and then peered at the display while sending his other hand to rustle through his coat pocket. “It’s Albright,” he told us as he laid the pager on the table and withdrew the screaming phone.
Before he could thumb the button on the second device to answer the call, the beeper began pulsing once more, prompting him to clumsily stab at it again.
“Yeah, Storm, hold on…” he barked into the phone while struggling to mute the pager.
The device was swallowed by his large hand, and his searching fingers were no match for its relatively diminutive size. Felicity finally reached out, snatched the noisemaker from his palm, and pressed the appropriate button. He quickly mouthed the word “Thanks” in her direction before turning his attention to the voice at the other end of the cell phone.
“Uh-huh, yeah, I’m here,” he said as he sent his free hand on another fishing expedition, withdrawing it from his pocket a moment later and laying his notepad on the table. “Yeah… Yeah…”
My friend held his pen poised over the paper as his eyes closed, and his face noticeably slackened. He dropped the pen and sighed heavily.
“Yeah, okay. You’re sure? Uh-huh. Yeah, great… No, I’ll take care of that. Jeez, I don’t fuckin’ need this… Yeah, I know. Okay. Yeah.” He picked up the pen, and his hand began moving as he scratched out a jumble of letters that were legible only to him. “Can ya’ spell that? Yeah…Yeah…Uh-huh…t-i-g-k-e-i-t. Yeah. Two S’s? Okay…Got it.
“Okay, yeah. You sendin’ someone?” He shook his head as he spoke into the phone. “Yeah. Yeah. No problem. He’s with me now. We’ll be there in about ten. Yeah. Later.”
He pulled the device away from his ear and immediately began stabbing at buttons in an ordered fashion.
“What’s going on?” Felicity asked.
“Just a sec,” he told her as he tucked the phone against the side of his head once again. “Yeah, Osthoff, it’s Storm… Yeah, tell me about it. Listen, there’s a file folder in my desk, middle drawer. Yeah…Yeah…Got it? Good. So there’s a list in there. Yeah. So, I need you to call Ackman and feed him the numbers. Yeah, yeah… It’s not good. No, he’s with me. Yeah, I know. No, he’s on scene so call his cell. You got the number? Great. Thanks. Yeah, I’ll tell him. Bye.”
The cell phone beeped as he pressed a button to end the call and then stared across the table at us with an eyebrow arched and a pained frown deepening the fatigue lines in his face.
“What?” I finally asked.
“I’m thinkin’” was his reply.
“Uh-huh,” I returned. “Now tell me something that isn’t obvious.”
“Chill, Row.” He reached up and rubbed his forehead. “This ain’t good.”
“What is it, Ben?” Felicity asked, her voice carrying far more concern than had mine.
“Well, that was Ackman back at the scene. Albright had him call. Looks like she wants you there after all.”
“Why the change of heart?”
“Seems Porter left you something.”
“What?”
“A note. But they aren’t sure quite what it says. Well, not all of it, anyway.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, it’s apparently a page from a book,” Ben explained. “Or a copy o
f a page. His handwritten note reads ‘Gant-your wife has lovely hair.’”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I shook my head and frowned.
“Beats me, but the rest of the printed text is in German, so until it’s translated we won’t know much. Albright did recognize a few words; apparently, she took German in high school or somethin’. Prossneck, Deutchland, Folterung, Hexefertigkeit and the year sixteen twenty-nine.”
He stumbled over the pronunciations, but I’m not sure I could have done much better.
“According to Bee-Bee they roughly translate as Prossneck, Germany, torture, and WitchCraft.”
Felicity audibly caught her breath and jerked, dropping her coffee cup in the process. Hot java splattered across the table, spilling over the edge. The ceramic mug bounced once from the wet surface before falling to its demise on the tile floor. Ben jumped back in his seat and instantly began extracting handfuls of paper napkins from the metal holder next to the window. In his haste, he sent the salt and pepper shakers spilling into the seat and a bottle of catsup rolling toward me. The condiment-filled vessel came to rest against my own coffee cup with a sharp plinking noise, which is fortunate, because I wouldn’t have caught it. I was otherwise paralyzed by the words my friend had just recited.
“You okay, Felicity?” he asked as he began mopping up the spill.
My wife’s normally pale complexion was washed to stark white as she sat frozen, staring across the table at Ben. Her green eyes were wide, and it didn’t take a Witch to literally feel the fear coming from her.
“Felicity?” Ben called her name again and then shifted to me when she didn’t answer. “Row? What the hell? What’s going on?”
The throb in my head moved up the scale a pair of notches, instantly becoming far more than a nuisance. Fear-induced nausea welled in the pit of my stomach and sent a bitter burn into the back of my throat. I slipped my hand along the edge of the table until I reached Felicity’s and then clasped her fingers tight.
“It’s not going to happen,” I said, fighting to mask my own distress.
“What?” Ben pressed as he threw more napkins onto the puddle of cooling liquid. “What’s not going to happen?”
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