“Yeah, sure,” I answered.
“Well, stick him in a skirt and give him a little authority and you’ve got Barbara Albright.”
A loud burst of static sounded ahead of us, overcoming the background chatter that had been issuing from the officer’s radio. The tinny hiss was followed by a questioning voice, “Unit Fourteen?”
The officer thumbed his microphone and answered, “Fourteen.”
“Fourteen, Lieutenant Albright wants to know if Detective Storm has arrived on scene yet. Over.”
“That’s affirmative,” he returned. “I’m bringing them up right now. Over.”
“Fourteen, be advised that Lieutenant Albright is requesting that Detective Storm come up alone. Copy.”
“Say again?”
“Fourteen, switch up.”
The officer reached to his belt and twisted a control knob on his radio, changing to a clear frequency, then spoke again. “Yeah. Go ahead.”
“Yeah, Shelton, she doesn’t want any civilians up here,” the voice answered.
“Tell him they’re consultants,” Ben instructed. “They’re logged and cleared for the scene.”
“Yeah, Detective Storm says they are consultants, and they’re cleared,” the officer relayed into his microphone.
A short burst of static followed then was replaced by silence. We had halted midway up the second set of stairs when the original call came over the radio, and we now waited in the cold darkness a half dozen steps below the second floor.
The pop and crackle of interference once again broke the silence and the disembodied voice of the other officer audibly sighed before continuing. “Shelton, here’s a direct quote, ‘tell Storm to leave his devil worshipper downstairs where he belongs.’”
Ben’s own words came in a slow drone directly behind the echo of the radio. “Fuuuuck me. Just fuuuuck me.”
CHAPTER 3:
I protested, but it didn’t do any good. This time it was out of Ben’s control, and no amount of complaining from me was going to accomplish anything positive. Besides, he was on my side, or at least that is what I thought. In the end, he continued up the stairs, and we were escorted back out onto the street.
The wind had picked up as a storm front rolled in, so we were waiting in my friend’s van with the engine running and the heater on. He had been somewhat reluctant to relinquish the keys, and I guess I could understand why, since he had just gotten it back from the shop a week ago. I’m sure the fact that I was the one responsible for putting it in there to begin with was a big stumbling block for him as well—but that was another story.
I suppose that is probably why when he finally gave up the keys it was to Felicity instead of me, which also was why she was sitting in the driver’s seat.
“You’ve been pretty quiet.” I leaned back in the passenger seat and let my head roll to face her as I spoke. The vehicle’s heater had not yet defeated the chill, and my words vented outward on an opaque cloud of frost. “Are you doing all right?”
Felicity looked back at me with a flat expression. It was apparent that she was tired, but more than that, it was plain to see that she was overwhelmed. “Aye, that would depend on your definition of all right, wouldn’t it, then?”
“Pick one,” I offered.
She took a deep breath and exhaled heavily, then reached to the dash and clicked the controls to dual-duty—vent and defrost. The warm air slowly started clearing the fog that had formed on the inside of the windshield. “I’m not going to throw up if that’s what you’re asking.”
“That’s a start.”
“What about you?” she asked.
“I’m fine.” I shrugged, rolling my head back to face out the window. I watched as the arc of clarity inched its way up the glass from the bottom. “Still have the headache, but I expect that will be with me for a while.”
“Any worse yet?”
“Yeah. Still tolerable, but it’s ramping up.”
She reached out and laid the palm of her hand across the back of mine. After a moment she spoke, “Aye, you’re well-grounded for a change. And without my help.”
My ability, or lack thereof I should say, to center my energies and maintain a solid connection with the Earth had been a concern as of late. In the psychic realm, grounding was your first line of defense and one of the most basic of all abilities. During the past year, Eldon Porter’s attempt on my life had taken its toll, leaving me just about as grounded as a runaway helium balloon. It was only recently that I had recaptured the simple ability.
“Can’t stay dependent on you forever, can I?” I shot her a tired grin.
Our impending moment was interrupted by a sharp rap on the passenger-side window. I turned to see my friend’s face staring back at me. Even though the frost had all but completely cleared from the windshield, I hadn’t noticed his approach. His brow was entrenched in a deep furrow and his jaw clenched so tight it made my headache worse just to look at him.
I quickly rolled down the window. “What’s the story?”
“Don’t ask,” he returned with a curt shake of his head. “You don’t wanna know. So, listen, you think you can come up with somethin’ off this scene?”
“That’s why I’m here,” I replied, somewhat puzzled by the question.
“You’re sure?”
I shook my head and stammered for a second, searching for the words to form an answer. “Well… Ben… You know I can’t say that. You know as well as I do, that’s not how it works.”
He shook his head vigorously and held up a hand. “Just friggin’ tell me if you can get somethin’ off this scene or not.”
“Maybe.” My voice took on a defensive tone. “I won’t know until I try.”
Ben rubbed his eyes then sent his hand back to massage his neck and muttered, “Shit.”
“What’s going on, Ben?” I asked again.
After a moment, he began shaking his head as a decision visibly fell upon him and his shoulders drooped.
“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 g
lance 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 not 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.”
The Law Of Three: A Rowan Gant Investigation Page 4
