Miranda: A Rowan Gant Investigation

by M. R. Sellars

  “I can’t point you to a body if that’s what you mean, but my gut feeling is that she’s killed again.”

  Constance piped up, “I already contacted Detective Storm with the Saint Louis city homicide division, and he alerted the Major Case Squad. They don’t have anything yet, but I’ve worked with Rowan before. If he says…”

  Doctor Jante held up a hand to stop her. “I’m familiar with Mister Gant’s track record.” She sighed then pursed her lips and studied the floor for a moment before looking back up to my face.

  “Hypothetically, if I were to believe this whole story of yours, what makes you think Miranda murdered someone in Saint Louis?”

  “In her own way, she told me she did.”

  She furrowed her brow. “Are you basing that on something she said during yesterday’s interview?”

  “Actually, no. She chose a somewhat more perverse route to get my attention.”

  “What is that?”

  “Believe it or not, she caused me to bleed all over my lunch.”

  “Mister Gant, now you’re making even less sense than before.”

  “I know that’s how it seems, but you’re just going to have to take my word for it,” I said. “Intuition, remember?”

  “Yes, I do. But I also remember that you promised me a coherent explanation, and I’ve yet to hear one.”

  “That’s true, I did. But, I’m afraid this is about as coherent as talking to dead people gets. Honestly, it all comes down to a matter of connecting some unrelated dots.”

  She cast another skewed glare at me and sighed once more. “Again, assuming I accept your story as even remotely possible, whose body did she use? Obviously not your wife’s, as you seem to fear will happen, or I suspect you wouldn’t be this calm.”

  “No,” I replied while shaking my head vigorously. “She didn’t use Felicity, although I can guarantee you that’s her end game with all of this.”

  “So you’ve said. Who then?” Jante pressed.

  “Only Annalise and Miranda know that answer.”

  “And you think you can convince one of them to tell you?”

  “No, actually, I don’t.”

  “Then what exactly is your intention here?”

  “I’m just looking for some more dots to connect, Doctor Jante. Related, unrelated, I don’t care. I just want to stop her.”

  “She’s behind bars, Mister Gant.”

  “No, she isn’t. You took a body off the streets, that’s all,” I replied. “That’s not going to stop Miranda, and she’s on a mission to prove that.”

  She regarded me in silence. I waited several heartbeats then let out a heavy sigh and rubbed my forehead for a moment. I was about to speak when a sharp trill sounded nearby. I glanced over to see Constance pulling her cell phone out and thumbing it on. As she stepped away from us, I heard her say, “This is Mandalay.”

  I turned back to Doctor Jante and found that she was still frowning at me. Rather than continue the stare down and wait to see which one of us was going to flinch first, I simply gave in and said, “Look, I was under the impression you were all for me going back in there with her.”

  “I was,” she replied.

  “By ‘was,’ do you mean you aren’t any longer?”

  “What I mean is that since our discussion yesterday, there have been some concerns raised about your effectiveness in this situation.”

  “By you or by someone farther up the food chain?” I asked.

  “The concerns came from higher up.”

  “Yeah, I’m not surprised.” I shook my head. No longer caring about secrets, I spat, “So since this lab rat isn’t behaving the way you want him to, you’re ending the experiment.”

  She glared at me. “That option is being seriously considered.”

  “Then why the hell am I even standing here arguing with you?” I barked, raising my voice slightly. “Why did you bother to set this meeting up in the first place if you weren’t going to let it happen?”

  I was now attracting the attention of staff as well as a group of other visitors that had entered the lobby area. Jante shot me a hard look then grabbed me by the arm and pulled me aside.

  In a hushed voice she demanded, “Calm down, please. Your lack of self-control is the primary concern.”

  “It didn’t seem to be an issue yesterday.”

  “Actually, it was for some.”

  “Well, if you think this is a lack of self-control, then you haven’t seen anything yet,” I growled. “Now, why don’t you answer my question?”

  “Mister Gant, you’re here because even with the concerns, you still have your advocates.”

  “Lucky me,” I returned, tone still edgy. “Listen, I think I made it crystal clear yesterday that I wasn’t all that excited about being the subject of an experiment to begin with, but now I’ve had enough of this bullshit. So, if you need to take a vote or something, then get on the horn and do it; because, if all we’re going to do is stand here and argue, I’m done.”

  “Excuse me,” Constance said, interjecting herself into the close quarters conversation. “Sorry to interrupt, but I think you both need to hear this. That call was Detective Storm in Saint Louis. They found a body that fits with what Rowan predicted.”

  “And that would be?” Doctor Jante replied.

  “Mid to late twenties with what appears to be a bite mark on her neck,” I announced. “And she will have been exsanguinated.”

  “Yes,” Constance confirmed. “Except it’s he, not she. The victim is male.”

  “Male?” I questioned, furrowing my brow.

  “Yes,” she replied. “I know the gender is a deviation, but listen to me—there are a couple of other things you need to know. Unlike the women killed last month, his body also shows signs of extreme physical tortures which are consistent with the type found on many of Miranda’s victims.”

  “She’s sending a message,” I said.

  Constance added, “And it’s addressed to you, Rowan. There was something protruding from his mouth. An Emerald Photographic Services business card.”

  As if the signs of torture weren’t obvious enough, my wife’s business card drove the point home.

  “Dammit,” I muttered. “Felicity?”

  “Ben already checked. Detective McLaughlin is with her and everything is fine.”

  “Good,” I said then brought a spate of calm sarcasm to bear on Jante. “Well, Doc, is that enough confirmation for you?”

  “Fine,” she said, voice flat. “I’ll have you escorted over.”

  “Great,” I returned, my tone just as businesslike. I looked over at Constance and asked, “While I’m in there, would you mind doing me a couple of favors?”

  “Of course. What do you need?”

  “First, call Ben back and ask if he can get Charlee to stay with Felicity until I get home.”

  “You mean overnight?”

  “Actually, no, that’s the second favor. See if you can either change our tickets to something that will get us out of here as soon as possible, or buy new ones if you have to. I’ll pay whatever it costs.”

  “I can do that,” she replied.

  “Thanks,” I told her then turned back to Doctor Jante. “Where can I get some bottled water and some salt around here?”

  She wrinkled her brow and asked, “Why?”

  “It’s an intuition thing,” I replied.

  “There’s a vending machine on the way over,” she offered, shaking her head. “I’ll have to see what I can do about the salt.”

  “I appreciate it. Oh, and I’m going to need something else from you too.”

  “And that would be?”

  “A waiver of the visitation restrictions because I’m taking the water in there with me.”

  CHAPTER 14

  A smug grin tweaked Miranda’s drawn face as she was led into the interview room. Following the same procedure as the day before, I was waiting for her in my seat at the table. Her escort disconnected her handcuffs
from the Martin chain around her waist and then guided her into the chair opposite me.

  “So…you decided to come back,” Miranda said, cocking her head to see me around the corrections officer who was reconnecting her handcuffs to the ring on the table.

  A purplish bruise wrapped almost halfway around her thin neck. The garish colors were mottled and faded toward the edges, but a solid, dark area of discoloration was evident where my thumb had pressed into her windpipe. It didn’t take any imagination at all to see my own handprint in the outline of the contusion.

  “You knew I would,” I said.

  “Of course. You missed me.”

  I shrugged. “No. Not really.”

  “Face it, little man. You are obsessed with me.”

  “I’ll give you that,” I nodded. “But it’s definitely a different kind of obsession than what you would like to believe.”

  “What do you think?” she asked, executing a disjointed change of subject. She pointed her chin upward and turned her head slightly so as to call attention to the large bruise. “I wore it just for you.”

  “I see.”

  “Tell me, little man,” she continued. “Do you abuse your wife too, or is it just me who gets to be the lucky one?”

  I let out a carefully measured sigh but chose to hold my tongue.

  Without missing a beat, she returned to the original subject. “Getting back to Felicity, how does she feel about this lurid preoccupation of yours? Is she jealous of me?”

  “Actually, she’s okay with it,” I replied.

  “Of course she is,” Miranda replied. “Because she knows you will bring us together again.”

  “That’s not going to happen.” I reached out and lifted the bottle of salt water from the table and unscrewed the cap. I’d downed a full one before ever walking into the room, and something told me I’d likely drain this one before I walked out.

  “Salt water?” Miranda asked, nodding toward the bottle in my hand.

  “Yes. Want some?”

  “I thought we talked about this. That will not work on me.”

  “Doesn’t really matter,” I replied. “It isn’t for you. It’s for me.” I took a long swallow and then carefully replaced the cap, never breaking eye contact with her.

  She didn’t even blink, but I could tell by her silence that this was a move she hadn’t expected. I knew she was trying to get inside me, just as she had done yesterday. I could feel it. My head was throbbing, and there was even a slight tingle pricking my skin. But none of it was anywhere near the intensity of the day before.

  My defenses were up and holding. The pain was manageable so far. It seemed the infusion of salt was working for the moment, but I had the distinct feeling that it was nothing more than a stopgap. Given enough time, Miranda would find a way around it.

  “Don’t you want her to be happy?” she pressed, moving on.

  I dipped my head in a shallow nod. “You know I do.”

  “Well then, why are you trying so hard to keep us apart?”

  “Obviously I’m doing more than just trying.”

  “Which means you do not really love her. If you did, then you would not stand between us.”

  “Why is that, Miranda?”

  “Because I can give her so much more than you. I can make her happy in ways that you cannot fathom.”

  I knew this was only a precursor. Her intent was to bait me into a repeat of my outburst. If I lost control, salt water or not, she would be able to take the reins, and just like before, there would be no turning back. However, I wasn’t going to allow that to happen this time. I steeled myself and simply replied, “So I’ve heard.”

  “I am sure that you have.” She smiled. “In great detail I suspect.”

  “No, not as much as you would imagine.”

  “So I am her secret then. That is even better.”

  “Not a secret, really,” I replied. “She just has a lot more class than you.”

  She ignored the insult and continued her attempt at provocation. “Tell me, little man, does it not make you jealous that I can pleasure her in ways that you cannot?”

  “Can you? It seems to me that you actually just use her as a vehicle to pleasure yourself.”

  “A pleasure from which she benefits.”

  “I think that might be a matter of perspective.”

  “Really? Are you familiar with the remora?” she asked.

  I nodded. “It’s a fish as I recall.”

  “Very good. Yes, it is,” she replied. “You see, the remora attaches itself to sharks, whales, and other large sea creatures. In exchange for the ride, it grooms its host, keeping it free of bacteria and harmful parasites. The arrangement is called mutualism. Both of them reap benefits from the symbiotic relationship.”

  “And so you’re telling me that you and my wife have that same type of relationship I take it?”

  “Of course.”

  “And you fancy yourself the remora, and not the shark.”

  “See?” she replied, saccharine sweet sarcasm glazing her words. “You do understand.”

  “Actually, I don’t, because what I see is something completely the opposite. Like the lamprey eel, you attach yourself to a host then proceed to suck the life out of her before moving to the next and so on. Therefore, you benefit at the host’s expense. That arrangement is called parasitism.”

  “Interesting. I did not know you had a background in marine biology,” she quipped.

  “I had to dissect a lamprey when I was in high school,” I replied. “It left a distasteful impression on me then, just like you have now.”

  “Yet here you are.”

  “Yes. Here I am,” I agreed. “So… How about you? That analogy with the remora seems like a fairly obscure piece of knowledge for a self-involved head case whose waterlogged corpse was found floating face down in the Mississippi back in eighteen fifty-one.”

  I unscrewed the cap on the bottle and took another drink of the salt-laced water while she glared at me in silence. Apparently it was my turn to strike a nerve.

  “I’ve wondered about that for a while now,” I continued as I set the bottle aside. “The newspaper article I found mentioned that you were seen jumping into the river. Why would you do something like that? Or, were you maybe pushed?”

  She continued to stare.

  “I have a theory. Want to hear it? It has to do with your sister, Delphine…”

  She cut me off, announcing in a cold tone, “You never answered my question.”

  “Answer mine and I’ll see what I can do.”

  “No.”

  “That doesn’t seem terribly symbiotic of you.”

  She allowed the gibe to go unanswered and instead, verbally forced the subject back onto the original track. “Felicity and I are meant for one another. You need to come to terms with that, little man.”

  I nodded. “That’s what you keep saying.”

  She gave me a sidelong glance then raised an eyebrow. “You are handling this much better than you did yesterday.”

  “Thank you,” I replied. “However, you seem to be a little more on edge today. Ironic, don’t you think?”

  She ignored the observation and pressed forward. “I am afraid that your visit is in vain. I have decided not to let you speak to Annalise.”

  I harrumphed. “I hate to break it to you, but I knew that yesterday.”

  “But you came anyway.”

  “Well, to be honest I wasn’t going to, but then I got your message.”

  She feigned an innocent smile. “What message?”

  “I think you know the message I mean,” I said, keeping my tone even and calm. “After all, you found it necessary to interrupt my lunch in order to deliver it.”

  “Maybe you should eat faster.”

  “I tried that once. It’s bad for my digestion.”

  “Really. Perhaps you have an ulcer. You should probably have that checked.”

  “Good advice. I’ll do that.”

>   She stared at me across the table, her expression blank. Rather than return the favor, I focused my gaze over her shoulder at a random point on the wall. After a long wait, I forced myself to yawn then stared back at her without saying a word.

  “I still have no idea what message you are talking about,” she finally said.

  “Really?”

  “Why would I?”

  “Because it came from you.”

  “You really do need some rest, little man.”

  “You’ll get no argument from me there. How about you? You’re looking a bit rough around the edges yourself.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Don’t they let you look in the mirror around here? That body you’re wearing is in sad shape, lady. Annalise isn’t looking too well at all, and you know it.”

  “That is because she is weak.”

  “I guess that nap yesterday afternoon just wasn’t enough for her, was it?”

  She simply stared back at me again, expressionless.

  “I know what you’re doing, Miranda,” I told her. “They’ve found the body. But then, you already know that, don’t you?”

  There was a flicker in her eye as she smiled, but other than that she remained silent.

  I nodded. “Still no comment, I see. So, tell me…” I gestured at her. “Is this your grand plan for my wife? Ride her until nothing is left like you’ve done to Annalise. Then move on to the next horse? And then the next?”

  She finally ended her purposeful reticence. “Felicity is different.”

  “I can’t argue with you there. But even she wouldn’t be able to take the abuse you dish out forever. You would eventually burn her out too.”

  “We will see.”

  “No.” I shook my head. “No, we won’t.”

  “I can make them stop, you know,” she said, stressing the sentence heavily.

  The abruptness of the comment, as much as the words and tone, told me she was switching topics in an attempt to regain control.

  “Make who stop?” I asked.

  “Them,” she repeated. “The dead. I can make them leave you alone.”

  “I doubt it.”

  “Why, I made you understand them, did I not?”