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 of 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?”
I turned my gaze to him but continued to hold Felicity’s hand tightly. “The page is most likely from a book by Wilhelm Pressel,” I recited. “It’s pretty obscure, but most anyone who’s studied the Witch Trials of the Burning Times is familiar with it. It didn’t dawn on me at first, but the minute you said Prossneck, Germany, well, that’s a bit of a giveaway. Anyway, if it is in fact a page from Hexen und Hexenmeister, then the text is an actual accounting of the first day of torture inflicted upon an accused Witch in the year sixteen twenty-nine.”
“Okay. That’s the kinda thing that would fit with this wingnut’s profile. But, what’s with the comment about Felicity’s hair?”
“The first thing the hangman did to this woman,” I explained, “was to bind her hands, attach her to a torture ladder, and cut her hair off.” I swallowed hard before continuing. “He then doused her head with alcohol and set it on fire to burn the rest of her hair off down to the roots.”
“Aye,” Felicity muttered quietly as she regained her voice. “And that was only the beginning.”
“He’s taunting me,” I stated as anger began to creep into my voice. “The sonofabitch is telling me what he plans to do to my wife.”
“Jeezus… Goddamnit…” Ben whispered. “And I thought I was takin’ the easy out. So much for breakin’ it to you gently.”
“You couldn’t have known,” I offered with a shrug.
“No,” he returned. “But the note is only half of it.”
“What else,” I asked with a grimace.
“Aww man, Jeez…” He rested an elbow on the table then dropped his head into his hand and closed his eyes. “They ID’d the victim…”
The portent in his voice was unmistakable, and it struck both Felicity and me with no less force than a physical slap across the face. I could almost guess what was coming, and I am certain Felicity could as well.
The ache inside my skull took on the properties of root canal sans anesthetic. I braced myself for the news, not truly wanting to hear it but unable to escape its reality.
“Oh, Gods…” Felicity murmured into t
he silence between us, audibly broadcasting her dread.
“Yeah,” Ben returned. “Randy Harper. He took out a member of your Coven.”
“Dammit,” I spat the curse. “Isn’t this how I got involved in all this shit to begin with?”
My reference wasn’t lost on him. The first investigation I’d helped Ben with had been the murder of Ariel Tanner. She had been one of my students in The Craft as well as a good friend. Moreover, she had been the priestess of the Coven Felicity and I had since adopted.
“Yeah. Déjà vu and all that crap,” Ben returned.
“Gods…” Felicity moaned, and her eyes grew wide. “What about everyone else? If he knew about Randy…”
“That was the second call,” Ben said as he nodded. “I’ve kept a list in my desk since this all started. Ackman is going to contact them, and we’ll go from there.”
“What about Nancy?” my wife appealed. “Someone should be with her. Unless…”
She caught her breath as the thought struck. She didn’t have to voice it for us to know what it was.
“Don’t panic,” Ben told her. “Ackman is making the calls. We don’t know anything yet, so let’s just assume that she’s okay.”
Felicity closed her eyes and took a deep breath as she nodded affirmation. I gave her hand a squeeze but wasn’t certain how reassuring it would be. I knew she could easily sense that I was just as worried as she was. I dropped my chin to my chest and stared at the table as a solemn hush blanketed our little corner of the diner. Even the radio behind the counter was spewing only dead air.
“I’ve had enough nightmares this decade,” I finally muttered. “Will someone please wake me up.”
* * * * *
“Here she comes.” Ben canted his head toward me and whispered, “Play nice and keep the Twilight Zone stuff to yourself.”
It was obvious that we had not only been expected but that our arrival on scene had been announced. We had just barely topped the metal stairs leading to the roof access of the warehouse a few seconds prior to his comment. Before we could get our bearings, we were greeted by the sight of a woman wearing a heavy trench coat walking purposefully toward us from several yards away.
The assortment of circumstances combined with the raging pain in my skull had centered my mood somewhere between foul and just plain pissed off. “What if I don’t?”
“I’m not kidding here, white man. She’ll kick your sorry ass outta here,” he snarled under his breath. “And I’m damn liable to help her. Got me?”
“Listen to him, Rowan,” Felicity demanded as she squeezed my arm. “This isn’t the time. Not now.”
“When will it be the time?” I asked, my voice flat. “Tell me that.”
“I don’t know. But not now. Please.”
She was still frightened, and I couldn’t blame her. The written threat was enough by itself, but backing it up by torturing and killing a member of our own Coven drove the point past home. It fueled the horror and urged it across the line that separated intimidation from violence. Omen from action.
While I still felt some of the same fear that enveloped my wife, mine was rapidly turning to calculating anger. Still, they were both correct. I needed to keep myself on an even keel, or I wasn’t going to get anywhere.
“Yeah,” I muttered. “Okay.”
“I’m friggin’ serious here, Row,” Ben said.
“I know. I know.”
Lieutenant Barbara Albright reminded me of someone’s mother. She didn’t resemble anyone in particular, actually. She just fit the appearance of a generic, prim and proper, sixties sitcom mom who had been strategically updated to fit the style of the decade—but only where absolutely necessary. She was slight of figure and wore her white hair in a shoulder-length coif that was just traditional enough not to be out of vogue but wasn’t exactly riding the cutting edge either. She looked to be in her mid-fifties, but that, in and of itself, could have been an illusion. She was very simply just that nondescript.
The one thing that stood out about her appearance was the thin-lipped expression she now wore. According to Ben, it was how she always looked. At any rate, it was the kind of mask a card player would kill for, and I was betting she knew exactly how to use it.
“Mister Gant, we need to get some things straight right now.” She started talking three steps before she reached us. “I am not exactly sure what went on during my predecessor’s time in charge, but I know for a fact that I do not like the things that I have read.”
She came to a halt directly before us and took a firm stance before thrusting her gloved hands into her pockets. She stared at me with glacier blue eyes, unblinking and unwavering, never taking a moments attention away from my face nor acknowledging the presence of Ben or Felicity. At the V where the lapels of her dark grey trench coat overlapped, a yellow-gold, cross pendant stood out against her sweater in a blatant display.
“I also do not like you or what you represent,” she continued her speech. “Your involvements in previous investigations were a travesty and an embarrassment to the Major Case Squad. It is only by the grace of God Almighty that no officers were injured or killed because of your antics. You should also know that I am of the opinion that had you stayed out of it and allowed us to do our jobs, there would have been far fewer victims. Not to mention that Eldon Porter would now be incarcerated.”
“Exc…” I started to make an objection, but the first word was cut off by Felicity’s instantly tightening grip on my arm. Even in the midst of her apprehension, she was remaining logical and level headed, something at which she was very practiced, until you pressed the correct button, of course. If that occurred, well, let’s just say that your only hope would be if your deity of choice happened to be listening.
“Yes, Mister Gant?” Lieutenant Albright cocked her head and frowned even more, which is something I hadn’t thought possible.
“Nothing,” I answered flatly.
“Now then,” she started again. “You need to understand that you are here only because Porter left a message specifically for you. Otherwise, I would have you arrested if you came within a mile of a crime scene. The truth is that I want you to see what you have caused through your interference, and I am not the only one who sincerely hopes that it haunts you for the rest of your days.”
“Lieutenant, you don’t even begin to know,” I returned with a cold edge in my voice.
She ignored my comment. “Be aware that any further involvement you have in this case will be at my discretion, and you can rest assured that I will exercise it to the fullest extent. I intend to keep you on a very short leash, Mister Gant. VERY short. Am I making myself clear?”
I stared back at her for a long moment, remaining mute. The temperature atop the building seemed even colder than it had down on the street, but that was most likely an effect of the company rather than the climate. The expectant lull was filled with forlorn sighing noises as the wind weaved its way through broken windows on the floor below us then gushed up the stairwell and out through the open door.
In my head, I flipped through several responses for her question, but unfortunately, not one of them was particularly appropriate, given the circumstances. They would have made me feel better, most definitely, but would have served only to get me cuffed and processed just for good measure. I finally decided on a one-word answer. I took a deep breath and fought to ground my ire, or at the very least, keep the brunt of it out of my voice.
“Perfectly,” came my response.
“Good,” she returned. “I am glad to know that we understand one another. Now if you will kindly go back downstairs, I am going to have Detective Storm here escort you to the medical examiner’s office. I will meet you there in due course.”
“Wait a minute.” I shook my head and blinked as I felt my forehead automatically crease from the sudden feeling of confusion. “Aren’t we going to look at this crime scene?”
“We have been looking at it, Mister Gant,” she told me as she
turned on her heel. “You, however, are not.”
I started toward her as she began walking away, and felt not only Felicity’s grip tighten, but also Ben’s barrier-like forearm thud across my chest as I ran into it.
“Then what the hell did you call me up here for?” I shouted after her.
She stopped in her tracks and stood with her back to us for a measured handful of seconds before twisting slightly and looking back over her shoulder at me.
“I thought we had already established who is in charge here, Mister Gant” was all she said before turning and continuing on her way.
CHAPTER 5:
“I can’t believe she did that!” I punctuated the angry comment by slapping my open palm hard against the side of Ben’s van. The force of the impact joined with the frigid sheet metal to send a loud thump in one direction and a jarring sting up my arm in the other. I instantly regretted the action but did it again anyway. In fact, I did it twice more and would have continued had my friend not circled his hand about my wrist and stopped me mid-swing.
“Calm down,” he barked. “My friggin’ van didn’t do anything to ya’.”
I turned to face him, my infuriation seething outward in hot waves. “Dammit, Ben, she called us up there just so she could try to intimidate me.”
“Yeah,” he nodded. “That’s her style. Whaddaya want me to tell ya’? Now shut up and quit makin’ a scene.”
I took quick notice that my outburst had, in fact, attracted attention from some nearby uniformed officers and crime scene technicians, but I didn’t really care.
“Who the hell does she think she is?!” I demanded as my voice rose well above any necessary volume.
A sudden swath of blue-white light fell across us, struggling to fend off the darkness and expose us to the world. It slashed drunkenly back and forth, growing brighter with each pass. The varied sounds of interested commotion blended with frenzied footsteps at an ever-increasing volume.
The Law Of Three: A Rowan Gant Investigation Page 5
