I turned back to her and adopted a deliberate tone. “And that’s where you’re dead wrong. To my knowledge I’m the only damn person in this room with anything really at stake here, so I’m far more serious about this than you even imagine. But, the simple fact is I’ve already been manipulated as much as I’m going to allow, by both you and Miranda. So either have Constance arrest me, or tell me what’s really going on. Your choice.”
She pursed her lips and cocked one eyebrow slightly upward as she studied my face. The silence in the room became so thick that I could easily hear the second hand on the analog desk clock dutifully announcing the precisely measured expiration of time.
Eventually, Doctor Jante forced out a quiet harrumph and then addressed Doctor Clayton. “William, would you give us a few minutes please?”
Though still terse, her tone was noticeably more cordial toward her peer.
“Certainly, Ellie,” he muttered. “I’ll be in my office when you’re finished.” As he turned toward the door he glanced at Constance and me. “Mister Gant, Special Agent Mandalay.”
Jante watched him go then addressed me again. “Before we begin I would like to suggest one more time that you reconsider your wish to have S.A. Mandalay present.”
I snapped back at her. “I thought we’d…”
She cut me off quickly, holding up her hand in a stalling gesture. “I am merely making a suggestion, Mister Gant. But you need to be aware that I am doing so for your sake.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked.
“It simply means that what I am willing to say will be tempered by who is in this room.”
“Sounds to me like someone is covering her ass,” I spat.
She dismissed my comment with a shrug and then made one of her own. “If you really want an answer to your questions…”
With the sentence still hanging in the air, purposely unfinished, I stared back, searching her face for any indication that would tell me if I could push her any further. I saw none.
“It’s up to you, Rowan,” Constance told me. “I can wait outside.”
“Yeah…” I murmured, nodding my head and then raising my voice to a more audible level. “Yeah, I give up. Maybe you’d better.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yeah. I’ll be fine.”
Constance reached out, lightly squeezed my shoulder and said, “Okay. I’ll be right outside in the hallway.”
Once her fellow agent had exited and the door was shut behind her, Doctor Jante carefully perched herself on the corner of the desk. Looking down, she smoothed her skirt in a deliberate motion, picked off an imaginary piece of lint, and then focused her attention back onto me.
“She’s obviously very fond of you.”
“My wife and I are very fond of her as well,” I replied, a hard edge in my voice. “She’s a good friend to both of us. But you already knew that.”
“I didn’t mean to imply anything else.”
“It makes sense now though,” I mused aloud. “I mean, why you so easily agreed to her escorting me on this trip instead of some other random agent. I actually couldn’t figure out why I even needed an escort up until just now. You knew I’d request Constance, and you think having her here gives you leverage against me if you need it.”
“That sounds rather like paranoia.”
“Is that an official diagnosis or a friendly observation?”
She smirked. “For someone who appeared to be in a state of severe psychological distress during that interview, you seem to be holding your own now, Mister Gant.”
“Trust me, the distress was real.”
“But you’re fine now?”
“I still have a headache from hell,” I replied. “But yeah, I got a second wind.”
“Apparently.”
“Listen Doc, the crazy bitch in the prison khakis already put me in a seriously foul mood, as I’m sure you’ve noticed. And our little skirmish hasn’t exactly helped either, although no offense here, but dealing with you is a friggin’ cakewalk compared to her. But, you said it yourself; all this posturing is getting us nowhere. So, can we just stop circling each other like a couple of rabid dogs and get down to it? Otherwise we’re going to be here forever.”
She sighed heavily. “All right then. First, I need you to understand that what I am going to say to you is completely confidential.”
“I pretty much figured that part out when you started clearing the room,” I replied.
“Should you repeat any of what I tell you, rest assured, I will deny this conversation ever took place.”
“Who’s paranoid now?” I asked.
“Not paranoid, Mister Gant. Careful.”
“Like I said, someone’s covering her ass. Fine. I get it. Confidential. Top secret. Eyes only. This tape will self destruct. Just between you and me… Can we get on with it?”
“Good,” she acknowledged. “In answer to your earlier question, the focus of this case study has always been Annalise Devereaux. However, as of late, you have been under observation as well.”
“Okay. I think I pretty much had that one pegged. Although, the rhetoric sounds generically clinical,” I said.
“It is meant to.”
“I assume ‘as of late’ means this has been going on a little bit longer than just today?”
She nodded as she uttered, “More or less.” Neither her tone, nor her noncommittal words inspired confidence in the ambiguous answer.
“Okay, so the admission was a nice overture to start, but how about telling me something that I haven’t already figured out? Like maybe why I’m being observed? Am I under some kind of super secret criminal investigation or something?”
“No, nothing like that. Not since prior to our meeting in Saint Louis.”
“But before the meeting I was?”
“Yes, of course,” she replied, a slightly confused expression on her face as she shook her head. “Given the circumstances of Devereaux’s crimes and your wife’s apparent connection to them, both of you were the subjects of an investigation. But you already knew that.”
I shook my head and quietly snorted. “Yes, I did. But, something told me that whole meeting with you was a ration of bullshit from the word go.”
“Not entirely. You’d both been cleared prior to that meeting.”
I repeated her words. “Not entirely… Which implies you weren’t completely truthful about its purpose then, which means I’m right about it being bullshit. So am I to assume that’s when the observing started?”
She remained silent, and her expression neither confirmed nor denied my question.
I pressed, “Okay, so if I’m not under some sort of criminal investigation, why don’t you tell me what all this observing is about?”
“It’s for the purpose of evaluation.”
“Of what?”
“Potential, for lack of a better explanation.”
“Okay, I’ll bite. Potential what?”
She shifted slightly and began to explain. “As I’m sure you are aware, a good portion of your exploits are a matter of record.”
“By exploits I guess you mean my helping with murder investigations?”
“Exactly. And since there are some very detailed reports, as well as some obviously sanitized accountings, you have become a bit of a curiosity. In any event, the depths of your talents have not escaped the notice of the bureau, and in particular the BAU.”
“So what you’re saying is that the FBI is treating me like a lab rat because I’m a Witch?”
She gave me a shallow nod and said, “Actually, Mister Gant, in a very real sense, yes.”
CHAPTER 8
While my talents, as she put it, had not escaped the attention of the FBI, at this particular moment in time, they were most certainly escaping mine—at least as far as anything precognitive was concerned. I had to admit, I was fully expecting her to laugh in answer to my last question, and therefore, this turn in the conversation wasn’t one I had fore
seen. Not entirely sure what to say next, I sat mutely staring back at the psychologist.
“Allow me to elaborate,” she said.
I nodded. “Please do.”
“You, Mister Gant, have an amazing capacity for connecting dots no one else can see in order to find a killer. That is something of a rare talent.”
“Not really.” I explained. “Dead people talk to me, Doctor Jante. That’s it. I know you think that’s crazy and that it sounds like a Hollywood cliché, but it’s the truth. And it’s also definitely not what I’d call a talent. In fact, I personally view it as a curse.”
“Whatever explanation you wish to believe is up to you. Still, it has captured the attention of the bureau.”
“Yeah… Well to be honest I don’t see what the big deal is here. I thought the whole criminal profiling thing was what the Behavioral Analysis Unit was all about?”
“It is.”
“Okay. So don’t you have all sorts of highly trained people, like you for instance, running around connecting the imaginary dots?”
“Yes, we do,” she agreed. “But not as many as you think.”
“How many could you possibly need?”
“More than you would imagine.”
“Why don’t either of those answers surprise me,” I sighed. “Well, what does any of this have to do with me?”
“Very few people have a natural talent for creating a profile from a crime scene. It can be learned, yes, but only the truly exceptional have an innate ability such as yours. Fewer still have your particular affinity for seeing beyond the visible scope of the scene and making the necessary leap wherever the science fails to provide a bridge.”
“I believe they call that intuition,” I replied.
“Yes, Mister Gant, I am well aware of what it is called. My point being that it is something with which you appear to be blessed in abundance.”
“Well, like I just told you, what I do isn’t intuition, or science either for that matter. I can’t take the credit for what the spirits of homicide victims insist on screaming into my ears.”
She gave me a dismissive roll of her eyes. “As I said, however you wish to explain it to yourself is your business. We are primarily interested in the results.”
“I’ve never held anything back,” I said. “So what’s the problem?”
“Your territory.”
“My territory?”
“Yes, Mister Gant. It is a bit limited, geographically.”
I cast a sidelong glance at her as the words sank in. Finally I said, “Wait a minute… Let me get this straight. What all this really comes down to is that I’m being evaluated by the FBI for a friggin’ job?”
Jante simply stared back at me without offering a reply.
I sighed. “This is nuts.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because for one thing I already have a job.”
“Your software consulting firm.”
“Yes.”
“Business hasn’t been all that brisk lately, has it?”
“Business has been fine.”
“Yet your income has dropped off.”
“And you know this how?” I asked.
“That’s confidential.”
“Yeah. Figures. Well, I have plenty of consulting work to keep me busy, thank you.”
“But somehow you’re still free to spend an excessive amount of time helping the Major Case Squad in Saint Louis with their investigations? That can’t be good for business.”
I shrugged. “I wouldn’t say excessive.”
“I would,” she replied. “Especially for someone with plenty of consulting work to keep him busy.”
“I guess it all depends on your definition of the word ‘excessive,’” I told her. “Besides, I only get involved when I don’t really have any choice.”
“You always have a choice, Mister Gant.”
“Yeah, well try telling that to a pissed off spirit of a murder victim. When they find someone on this side of the veil who can actually hear them, they tend to latch on and not take no for an answer.”
“I will have to take your word for that.”
“I’ve got scars to prove it,” I spat.
“So I’ve read,” she replied.
“Is that it?” I asked.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean is that it? This whole FBI headhunter, recruit the Witch thing… That’s what was so top secret that everyone had to leave the room?”
“There are circumstances that dictate extreme discretion where this is concerned.”
“Yeah, whatever,” I said, unconvinced. “So, here’s a question. Why do you have me talking to Annalise? You already have your case against her. Wouldn’t it be a better test of my potential,” I made quotes in the air with my fingers to offset the word, “to see what I can do with an unknown?”
She nodded. “Yes, but the mutual fixation between Devereaux and you is one of the things that has us curious.”
“About what?”
“Why the fixation, of course.”
“If I’m remembering my freshman psych class properly, it’s not all that unusual for sociopaths to fixate on objects, or people they objectify, especially if they are afflicted with a paraphilia like she is,” I said. “But I’m not telling you anything new, am I?”
“Of course. That, however, doesn’t explain your fixation with her, unless, of course, you are a sociopath as well.”
“Maybe I am.”
“I think we both know better than that, Mister Gant.”
“Well, I would think it’s pretty obvious, especially to a psychologist. She tried to kill my wife and me both.”
“A logical consideration,” she agreed. “But, no. Not in this case. There’s something more. When we first met in Saint Louis, you told me you needed to make Miranda go away.”
I huffed out an exasperated breath and massaged my forehead for a moment. The headache had settled somewhat but was still more than enough to make me wish I’d stayed home. Finally I said, “Yes. I did. So are we switching gears? Is that what this is about now?”
She nodded. “Partly. It is obvious that your belief in the Miranda personality being some sort of malevolent spirit is what has compelled you thus far. And, moreover, why you are here now.”
“I’ve never kept that a secret, but by the same token I’ve never expected anyone to understand it. If you did you’d know Miranda is exactly what I say she is. Besides, that doesn’t answer my question. What I personally believe doesn’t explain why you are so intent on me going back in there and talking to her. What more do you think you’re going to learn?”
“Actually, Mister Gant, that’s what we were hoping you were going to tell us.”
“Well then, we’re both screwed,” I replied. “Because in case you missed it, right now Miranda is the one with all the answers, not me. And, she’s in no big hurry to hand them over.”
* * * * *
“…So, there you have it. Apparently I’m in the process of being recruited by the FBI,” I said while dipping the end of a wedge-shaped French fry into a puddle of catsup on the edge of my plate. “What I really don’t get is why all the cloak and dagger about it.”
“Good question,” Constance replied while attacking her much healthier lunch selection with a fork.
“And why was Jante so worried about anyone else knowing?”
“Actually, that’s easier to answer. It’s probably a by-product of the overall secrecy. Like you said to her back at the office, she’s covering her ass. And, she’s doing so because she and whoever else is involved in this are violating bureau protocols left and right. She might even be covering for someone higher up the food chain. It’s hard to say. In any case, she probably didn’t want anyone who would realize this is all out of bounds to be a witness to what she was saying.”
“It’s that big a deal, huh?”
She shrugged. “It really depends. The fact that she mentioned your business being slow
tells me you’re being looked at pretty hard. That information may well have come from the prior criminal investigation when Felicity was confused with Annalise, but it shouldn’t be applied here. Technically, it still equates to an unauthorized background check.”
“Which isn’t good, I take it?”
“No, it’s not. It isn’t the end of the world, but it would most likely be enough to get her censured. Although, I really doubt much more would come of it than that, unless it could be proven that your constitutional rights had been willfully and intentionally violated and that you had suffered harm because of it. Other than that, it could definitely open the FBI up to a lawsuit.”
“Well, I don’t know about that. I do feel pretty manipulated though.”
“I can understand that,” she agreed. “And speaking of being used, just so you know, I came pretty close to violating your rights myself, and you would have had bruises to prove it.”
“Yeah, for a couple of minutes there you didn’t seem very pleased with me. Sorry about that.”
“I understood where you were coming from, but just do us both a favor—don’t put me in that position again, or I will hurt you,” she said, then flashed a wry grin.
I nodded. “I promise.”
We were parked across from one another in a booth at the restaurant connected to our hotel. It was late enough that the lunch rush was over but still far too early for dinner, so we had the place almost completely to ourselves. We’d been dropped off here less than an hour ago after officially declining the earlier lunch invitation we’d received. I don’t know if the food would have been any more upscale, but in my opinion the company would have been almost intolerable. Given all that had transpired, by the time my conversation with Doctor Jante ended, I’d had more than enough of her for one day; and I was fairly certain the feeling was mutual. Sharing a meal with her really wasn’t an appealing option as far as I was concerned.
However, since Constance and I were both running on coffee and the quickly waning benefits of an overpriced airport breakfast back in Saint Louis, sustenance was definitely in order. Therefore, we checked in, dropped our luggage in our rooms, and headed straight back down here.
Miranda: A Rowan Gant Investigation Page 8