The Law Of Three: A Rowan Gant Investigation

by M. R. Sellars

  “Aye, are you sure?” She gazed back at me with even more concern. “You haven’t eaten all day.”

  “I’m sure.” I gave her a shallow nod. “Ben might want something though. You know how he is.”

  “He’s already gone.” She shook her head then reached up and pushed a loose strand of auburn curls back behind her ear. “Constance made him go. She’s going to stay with us tonight instead.”

  I started to reach for a towel, and she quickly stepped forward to get it for me.

  “That’s good,” I told her. “He needs some rest too.”

  “Aye, now.” She shook her head and widened her jade green eyes. “Do you really believe that Benjamin Storm will be resting?”

  “Probably not.” I agreed with what her words implied. We both knew how Ben had a tendency to push himself until he dropped. “Not unless Allison makes him.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Maybe she will,” I mused.

  “We can only hope,” Felicity said. “He did say he was going to go home and get cleaned up.”

  I began drying myself slowly, gently patting at my face with the fresh cotton towel. “Any word on Carl?”

  “Aye. Ben said to tell you that the reason you two were having trouble finding out anything is that Carl was taken to a different hospital. He’s in the cardiac care unit at Christian. He’s stable at the moment and they’re planning to run some tests in the morning.”

  “So he’s going to be okay?”

  “I hope so.” She shrugged. “I’m afraid that’s all they would tell him.”

  I nodded. “Okay. At least he’s all right for now.”

  The multi-toned harmonica whistle of a Chantal teakettle started low and rose in volume on the other side of the door. Felicity wasn’t a big fan of microwaves when it came to making tea, or much else for that matter, so the kettle was one of the few cooking implements we had brought along with us. Since the bathroom in this apartment backed up against the kitchenette, even with the door closed, the not-quite-harmonious chord was loud.

  My wife stepped back toward the door and allowed her fingers to rest on the lever-like handle. “I found your spare glasses and put them on the dresser in the bedroom… And I laid out some fresh clothes for you on the bed. Are you sure there’s nothing else I can get for you?”

  “I’m sure, honey,” I told her. “Thanks. I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

  She opened the door and started through, then stopped and looked back at me with what could have been sadness in her eyes; or perhaps it was relief, I wasn’t exactly sure. “I love you, Rowan Linden Gant. You know that, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, honey, I know. Same here.”

  * * * * *

  “Feeling better?” Special Agent Constance Mandalay asked, looking up from her coffee as I trudged into the room and eased myself into a chair.

  Mandalay was petite and wore her brunette hair in a stylish, shoulder-length crop. Still in her late twenties, on the surface she appeared to be just a fresh-faced youngster. She looked as though she would be right at home on any college campus, chasing after a handful of letters to park behind her name, or waving pom-poms and cheering the home team on to victory. Descriptors such as pretty, cute, and perky immediately leapt to mind in conjunction with the young woman.

  To me, her youthful countenance sometimes made it hard to believe that she already possessed a law degree from Cornell and had joined the FBI right out of school. However, I knew all too well that beneath the façade there was a hard-nosed femme fatale packing a forty-caliber Sig Sauer along with the finely honed skill to use it.

  “Yeah,” I answered her. “About as much as I can at the moment.”

  “That’s good, because you look like hell,” she offered with a sweet smile.

  “Thanks, Constance,” I returned with an amused grin. “Nice to see you too.”

  We had first been introduced to Agent Mandalay when she had exerted her federally bestowed authority to assume the helm of an investigation Ben had been leading. The initial contact between the two of them had been just short of explosive; as for me, well, I was on the top of her list from the get-go. I’m not talking about the good list either. The adversarial interaction between us all had continued right through to the very end of that case.

  Fortunately, various events from the investigation—negative though they were at the time—served to enlighten her as to my usefulness as a consultant even if my methods tended to run perpendicular to the established norm.

  Since that time, our relationship had grown beyond the boundaries of work. In fact, we had all actually become very good friends. Even Ben, who regarded the FBI with great disdain, habitually calling them “Feebs,” and vocally lamenting their involvement in any investigation he was connected with, had come to treat her like any other cop.

  “Here you go,” Felicity said as she set a large ceramic mug in front of me. “Drink it all, and I don’t want to hear any complaints about the taste.”

  I slowly waved my hand in a circular motion over the top of the mug, wafting the steamy aroma upward to my face. I still had the smell of burning wood and plastics embedded in my nose, but I was able to pick up a few recognizable odors from the pungent brew.

  “Willow bark… Ummm… Valerian root… And something else,” I offered aloud. “I’m not sure what.”

  “Chamomile,” Felicity returned.

  I easily recognized the analgesic and calmative properties of the herbs that comprised the tea. “I’m already tired, sweetheart,” I told her. “You don’t really need to sedate me, you know.”

  “Aye, I’ll be the judge of that now,” she replied. “I’ve some honey if you want a spoonful or two to mask the taste.”

  “No, that’s okay.”

  “You’re sure, then?”

  “Felicity, please.” I shook my head. “You’ve got to be exhausted yourself. Sit down. Relax.”

  “I will in a minute,” she answered. “I need to put a fresh pot of coffee on for Constance.”

  “Don’t worry about that, Felicity, I can do it,” Mandalay offered, starting up from her seat.

  “You sit down, then,” Felicity instructed her. “I’ll see to it.”

  “Her maternal instinct gland is stuck in the on position,” I said to Mandalay as an offer of explanation. “She gets like this sometimes.”

  “I can hear you, Rowan,” my wife called back from the kitchenette behind me. “Shut up and drink your tea.”

  I arched an eyebrow at Constance and silently mouthed, “See what I mean?” Then I raised my cup and took a small sip. The tea was still too hot for me, considering the condition of my tongue after the two seizures. I blew on it for a moment then set the mug back on the table to let it cool.

  “So, how did you get elected to be babysitter tonight?” I asked.

  “I volunteered, actually,” Mandalay replied. “After I got a look at Storm, it seemed like the thing to do.”

  “What about our Coven? Porter might go after one of them again.”

  She shook her head as she reassured me. “Don’t worry. All taken care of. Between federal agents and local police, there’s no way he can get to any of them.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Trust me, Rowan. It’s covered.”

  “Okay,” I said. “It’s just that… Well, what with Randy and all…”

  “Don’t worry, I understand. It’s okay.”

  “Well, I want you to know that I appreciate it. Especially you staying with us.”

  “It’s not a problem, Rowan,” she shrugged as she spoke. “It’s my job.”

  “Maybe so, but after today…” I hesitated for a moment, feeling awkward at voicing my weakness to her. “After today, I think I’ll sleep better knowing that you’re here.”

  We sat in silence for a moment then I spoke again, a hint of embarrassment in my voice, “I guess that sounded pretty corny, huh?”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  I tilted my head
down and looked back at her over the rim of my glasses for effect. “This is me here, Constance.”

  “Okay, yeah,” she smiled. “It sounded corny, but I know what you mean.”

  “Well thanks for not laughing.”

  The telephone on the wall in the small kitchen trilled, and I slid my chair back.

  “I’m laughing on the inside,” Mandalay replied with a smile.

  “Yeah, I figured as much.”

  Felicity called out to me as I stood up. “Stay put, Rowan, I’ll get it.”

  “I’m not an invalid, Felicity,” I responded as I turned and reached around the corner, snatching the phone from its cradle just before my wife’s hand reached it.

  I shot her a tired grin, and she rolled her eyes at me before stepping back to the counter and sliding the freshly rinsed coffeepot into its base.

  I tucked the phone up to my ear and said, “Hello?”

  There was no formal greeting in return. Just a cold, familiar voice reciting in monotone, “If a man abide not in me, he is cast forth as a branch, and is withered; and men gather them, and cast them into the fire, and they are burned.”

  CHAPTER 22:

  My face was hot in an instant, and I could literally feel my heartbeat thumping in my ears as I flushed with anger. My first inclination was to explode, lash out as I had done earlier in the day. My emotional reaction bolted from its corner and landed a solid punch on the jaw of logic as the bell sounded. The contest had begun.

  Hateful words formed on my lips, and I clenched my teeth to keep them at bay. Blood rushed in my ears as I took a deep breath, searching for a solid ground to which I could attach. The opposing sides of my brain were engaged in an all out brawl with the prize being control of what would come out of my mouth in response to his selected verse.

  It all came down to a fight between my overwhelming compulsion to explain to him in minute detail exactly how little regard I held for his life and the need to remain rational. I have to admit that rationality was looking very weak at the moment.

  The pause was lethargic, and my mute struggle continued as I simply stood there with the phone pressed against my ear. I was just about to spew a stream of vile adjectives into the mouthpiece when he spoke again.

  “I know that you are there, Gant,” he said. “I can hear you breathing.”

  Again, his voice oozed into my skull from the handset. The very sound of it made me feel physically ill, and I swallowed hard to push back the column of bile I felt climbing up my throat.

  The mouthful of expletives rammed against the back of my teeth in an attempt to break free, and I drew my lips into a tight line. I started to tense then felt myself connect to the ground I had sought. I don’t know how I managed it, but I wasn’t about to refuse the link. A calm washed over me, and I let my hot breath out in a slow stream. My logical half rallied and landed its own sucker punch to my emotional side then took over—for the time being, at least.

  My first rational thought was to appeal to his sense of morality, as much as it existed within the confines of his malformed psyche. We had already established that he had not exhibited the same restraint regarding the safety of those he perceived as guiltless as he had during his last spree. Still, it was worth a try.

  “You almost killed an innocent man today, Eldon.” I turned to face Agent Mandalay as I spoke, clenching my fist and concentrating on keeping my voice even.

  Her eyes widened as she immediately picked up on the cue. Behind me, I heard Felicity gasp, and I turned quickly, trying my best to paint a reassuring mask onto my face.

  “Detective Deckert?” he asked.

  “Yes.” I held my initial reply to a single syllable lest I lose what little control I was exerting over my temper. Accomplishing that, I forged ahead with an entire mouthful. “Or even Detective Storm for that matter. Neither of them are Witches.”

  I could hear Mandalay in the background as she pushed away from the table and began whispering into her cell phone.

  “Both of them are your friends, aren’t they?”

  “Yes they are.”

  Porter actually chuckled at my answer before saying, “Then for you to claim that they are innocent is ridiculous.”

  “Guilt by association then?”

  “Of course,” he replied. “If you are not part of the solution, Gant, then you are part of the problem.”

  “I don’t remember that from the Bible, Eldon,” I offered.

  “But now I have written unto you not to keep company, if any man that is called a brother be a fornicator, or covetous, or an idolater, or a railer, or a drunkard, or an extortioner; with such an one no not to eat.” He laid heavy emphasis on the word idolater as he recited the passage.

  “You don’t think that you are taking that out of context?”

  The earpiece chirped once, and the phone went to hollow silence punctuated by distant clicking. I pulled it away from my ear and turned back to Agent Mandalay.

  “He hung up,” I told her. “Or we got cut off, I don’t know which.”

  “He’s on a cell,” she told me as she twisted her own away from her mouth. “The signal dropped before they could pinpoint it on the grid.”

  “Dammit,” I spat. “How did he get this number anyway? How did he know where we are?”

  “Believe me, Rowan, I’m wondering the same thing myself,” she told me. “But don’t worry, we’ll… What?” She stopped abruptly and twisted her phone back up to her mouth then looked at me and held up a finger. “Hold on a second.”

  I nodded, then turned back, and dropped the handset back into its cradle on the wall. I looked over at Felicity and saw that her fear had now surfaced and was evident in the form of a hard edge stricken across her soft features. I was just opening my mouth to reassure her when the phone rang again.

  I snapped my head around and stared at the device. On the second ring, I picked it up and placed it against my ear without a word.

  “I was beginning to think you planned on leaving the phone off the hook all night, Gant,” Porter said.

  “What happened,” I asked with a heavy note of sarcasm. “Did you go through a tunnel?”

  “Don’t try to play that game with me, Gant. I know you’ve figured out that I’m on a cell phone. I’m not stupid.”

  “I didn’t say you were, Eldon.”

  “Then you know that the reason we were cut off is that I hung up. I know how this works.”

  “So you think you can’t be tracked,” I spat back. “Good for you.”

  “You know better than that, Gant,” he instructed me. “I know that I am being tracked. I hung up so that Agent Mandalay would at least have a challenge.”

  I turned to Constance and motioned her over.

  “Enough of that, Gant,” Porter continued. “Let’s get back to our little talk. What I follow is scripture. There is no context, only truth.”

  “Don’t you mean that you are simply being self-serving and ignoring the context?” I contended.

  I grabbed a notepad from the countertop and looked frantically for a pen. Coming up empty I glanced over at Constance and snatched one from her breast pocket then scribbled “he knows you are here” on the top sheet and handed it to her. She looked back at me with a surprised expression and then nodded affirmation.

  Porter was still talking to me. “…So you see, the ends justify the means.”

  “That’s pretty narrow-minded of you, Eldon,” I said. “But then, I don’t suppose I should expect much from someone of such a limited scope.”

  His voice hardened. “I thought we’d established that I’m not stupid. I was expecting something a little more eloquent. Insulting my intelligence is beneath you, Gant.”

  “What about killing you?” I asked. “Is that beneath me?”

  “Why, Gant,” he took on a tone of mock surprise. “You sound angry. What happened to your little claim of being good and nature loving? What is it you always say? An ye harm none. You don’t sound like you are practicing wha
t you preach.”

  “I asked you the same thing regarding the commandments of your God,” I replied.

  “My path is clear.” He fired his response back with an audible thread of anger playing through it. “Is yours?”

  “Where it concerns you, yes it is.”

  “And what of YOUR commandment to ‘harm none’? Or is that merely another of Satan’s tricks?”

  “It doesn’t apply here.”

  “So why don’t you tell me who’s ignoring context now?”

  My temper was on the edge of flaring, and I had to pause for a moment before finally answering, “I’m not interested in arguing semantics with you, Eldon.”

  Once more, the phone chirped and went dead. I shot it a disgusted look then slammed it back onto the cradle before glancing back over to Mandalay.

  “He hung up again,” I told her.

  “He’s using multiple cell phones,” she explained. “The first call was on the one he used earlier today. They’re still tracking the ID on the second one, but it was definitely a different signal.”

  “Guess he doesn’t feel like taping any more pay phones together,” I volunteered with a tinge of sarcasm. “This is insane. First Randy and Nancy’s number, then Felicity’s cell, now here. How is he getting this information?”

  “Well, the Harper’s number is easy enough to explain,” Constance volunteered. “He probably got that one from Randy or something he had on his person. What about your cell, Felicity, is that a published number?”

  “Aye, it’s on my business cards,” Felicity acknowledged from behind me, trepidation thick in her voice.

  “Are those readily available to the public?” Mandalay asked.

  “Aye,” Felicity said. “I’m freelance. Every camera and photo supply store in Saint Louis has a stack of them for referrals.”

  “So that would explain that,” Constance said in a thoughtful tone. “Either he got Felicity’s number from a business card or maybe even that came from Randy as well. But, the number here is private and unpublished. There should be no way he could get his hands on it. Did you give it out to anyone?”