Crone's Moon: A Rowan Gant Investigation

by M. R. Sellars

  “We’ll need to go before too long, then,” she murmured. “I have papers to grade for class tomorrow.”

  I knew she wasn’t fully conscious of what she had just said. I had been in such a state before, myself. She was simply repeating a memory that wasn’t even her own. While it was a far cry from the ‘work’ Ben said I needed to show, in my mind her words served to verify the revelation I had just espoused.

  I slowly turned my face back to Ben but didn’t utter a sound. I allowed my wife’s comment to stand alone as my personal vindication. He looked over at Felicity for a moment then back to me.

  “She’s teachin’ a photography class somewhere, right?” he finally asked, but I could tell from the tone of his voice he already knew the answer.

  I just shook my head.

  My friend’s hand slipped up to his forehead, as if on automatic pilot, then slid slowly back, smoothing his hair. When his fingers came to rest on his neck he spoke. “Okay. Fine. I don’t know what good it’ll do, but I’ll make some calls.”

  * * * * *

  Felicity was still sleeping when the phone rang the next morning. I had just finished filling my coffee cup for the third time and was walking out of the kitchen when the device emitted its annoying demand for attention. I took a step back and plucked the receiver from the cradle without even looking at the caller ID box.

  “Hello?”

  “I wake you up?” Ben asked at the other end.

  “Nope. Neither has the coffee,” I quipped.

  “That’s ‘cause you don’t make it strong enough. You need some cop coffee.”

  “I’ll pass. I think that cup I had yesterday is what kept me up last night.”

  “See what I mean?”

  “Because it was eating a hole in my stomach,” I added.

  “Shoulda had another doughnut. They soak up all the bad shit.”

  “Yeah, right. I’ll still take a pass on it.”

  He chuckled. “Your loss.”

  “That’s a matter of opinion, Ben,” I told him then took a sip of my java. “So what’s up?”

  “You want the good news or the bad news first?” he queried.

  “Depends. How bad is the bad?”

  “Bad enough. I’ve been re-assigned to the Major Case Squad.”

  “I thought that was a good thing?” I questioned.

  “Yeah, well, it’s the good news too.”

  “Ooo-kaayyy,” I replied slowly. “I’m assuming there’s an explanation to go with that?”

  “Good news, I’m back on the MCS. Bad news, I’m workin’ the Brittany Larson abduction with the Bible Bitch.” He offered the matter-of-fact explanation like someone who had not quite come to terms with having been condemned.

  “Lucky you.”

  “Yeah,” he agreed sarcastically. “Lucky me.”

  “So what brought this on do you think?” I asked.

  “Who knows?” he replied. I could almost see him shrugging at the other end. “Got the call this morning. I’m thinkin’ maybe the fact that Mandalay’s the lead agent coulda had somethin’ to do with it.”

  He was referring to Constance Mandalay, a mutual friend and special agent assigned to the FBI’s St. Louis field office. It stood to reason that the Federal authorities would have been called in since it was a kidnapping. And, considering that they had worked together before, Constance might well have requested him to be a part of the team from local law enforcement. In a sense, that was slightly amusing itself, because the first time the two had met they had absolutely despised one another.

  Still, it was surprising that Lieutenant Albright would be willing to give in, considering her personal mandate regarding Ben’s involvement with the MCS; unless, of course, she had her own motives, that is.

  “Makes sense,” I acknowledged, then voiced my thought. “But, what about Albright?”

  “Search me,” he replied. “But you’d better bet I’ll be watchin’ my back. Somethin’s hinky with that if ya’ ask me.”

  “Yeah. Good idea,” I agreed. “But, hey, at least you’re back in the fold. That’s good news.”

  “Yeah, I guess. I’m not so sure I’m all that excited about a Feeb fightin’ my battle for me though.”

  “Look at it as reinforcements,” I offered.

  “Yeah, sure.” He didn’t sound convinced.

  I decided to maneuver away from what was obviously a sore spot. “So do they have any leads yet?”

  “They’re workin’ on a couple, but I haven’t got the full run-down. Headin’ in for a briefing in about forty-five minutes.”

  “What about the car? You got the license plate number, right?”

  “Car was found abandoned in North County,” he replied. “No fuckin’ idea how they got that far without gettin’ popped, but they did. Both it and plates were on a hot sheet. Car got jacked in Racine, Wisconsin. Plates were off a van registered to a homeless shelter in Chicago. Both of ‘em were stolen weeks ago.”

  “Great,” I offered with a healthy dose of sarcasm. “No evidence though?”

  “The crime scene guys have been all over it. Found Larson’s blood in the trunk. Some hairs. Plenty of prints but still no hits on AFIS yet.” He referred to the automated fingerprint identification system. “So yeah, there’s evidence all right, but this ain’t a TV show. Evidence helps convict, not necessarily find.”

  “Yeah, you’ve pointed that out before.”

  “The thing that’s got ‘em worried right now is that we’re comin’ up real fast on twenty-four hours, and there hasn’t been any contact from the kidnapper yet.”

  “That’s unusual I take it?”

  “Yes and no. Usually if you’re gonna get a ransom demand, you get it within the first twenty-four.”

  He didn’t have to tell me what it meant if no such demand was forthcoming. My own tortured imagination was taking care of that just fine.

  “But there are exceptions, right?” I asked.

  “Hell, there’re always exceptions,” he sighed. “But the odds do a big nosedive if ya’ know what I’m sayin’.”

  “Yeah,” I replied. “I know what you mean.”

  “So listen, Row, there’s another reason I called.” He proceeded to steer the conversation back onto the original path. “About the whole Tamara Linwood thing from last night.”

  “Yeah, do you have something?”

  “Nothin’ you’re gonna like,” he continued. “I made some calls, but it ain’t good. The real deal is I’m not tight with anybody who’s workin’ it.”

  “Nobody?”

  “Nope. Nobody. The case has actually aged enough with no new leads that it kinda got back-burnered for a while. There’re only a coupl’a coppers assigned to it at this point, and they’re disciples of her holiness, Bible Barb.”

  “Okay, so what about the remains? Did they make an ID yet? Wouldn’t that get them rolling?”

  “They’re still waiting for results,” he answered. “There wasn’t much left, so it might all come down to DNA.”

  “I seem to remember DNA takes awhile,” I remarked.

  “Yeah. Could be a coupl’a weeks.”

  “What about dental?”

  “Between you and me?”

  “Sure.”

  “Seriously, Row,” he pressed. “What I’m about to tell ya’ is not for public consumption.”

  “I understand, Ben,” I acknowledged. “What is it? Did the killer pull her teeth or something?”

  “There’s no head,” he replied succinctly.

  “You mean…” I allowed my voice to trail off.

  “I mean whoever killed her sawed her head off, and it didn’t get buried with the rest of the remains,” he answered.

  “Gods…” I muttered.

  “Yeah.”

  A memory flitted through my brain, and enough of it made an immediate impression on me to spark a question. “Wasn’t there another murder similar to that awhile back?”

  “Sarah Hart,” Ben answered. “Di
sappeared from the same parking lot. Remains turned up in a wooded area several months later. No head. That’s why that info hasn’t been released about the Linwood case yet. Not until we get a handle on it at least.”

  I let out a heavy sigh. “Haven’t we had our quota of serial killers yet?”

  “Guess not.” His voice held a disgusted tone. “Shit, Row, statistically there are more of ‘em out there than you imagine. The connection between crimes just doesn’t always get made right away.”

  “Maybe so, but I still want to know what’s making me a magnet for their victims.”

  “Yeah…” he responded, voice quiet.

  I stared at the floor for a moment, listening to the silence that had swollen between us. In the edge of my vision I could see a quarter-sized pentacle resting against my chest. The five-pointed star enclosed by a circle was dangling from a chain around my neck, and I couldn’t remember the last time I had taken it off. It was a symbol of man, spirit, and the elements— a symbol of my faith. It was a constant reminder of the path I had chosen long ago and of my identity as a Witch.

  At this particular moment, I wished that I could take it off and shed that identity in a bid to stave off the horrors I knew were soon to come. But, as surely as I knew they were coming, I also knew the piece of jewelry was only a physical symbol. I could not change what I was or what I was destined to do that easily. In fact, I doubted I could change it at all.

  “So it all hinges on the identity of the remains right now?” I finally asked.

  “Yeah,” he replied. “The general feelin’ is that it’s her. They’re workin’ on that assumption, but until it’s official, no one’s jumpin’ to any wild conclusions. Right now they’re workin’ a partial print but dunno if that is gonna go anywhere.”

  “So where does that leave us for now?” I asked.

  “That’s the thing, white man,” he replied. “It kinda leaves us nowhere. Pretty much me working the Larson abduction and you doin’ your thing with computers.”

  “This is really going to heat up if those are in fact Tamara Linwood’s remains, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah. Yeah it is.”

  “So, what about the seizures?” I asked.

  “What about ‘em?” he asked rhetorically. “I told ya’ the deal on that last night.”

  “But what if Felicity has another one?” I pressed. “What if I have another one?”

  He huffed out a sigh and then said, “There’s nothin’ I can do, Row. If there was, you know I would. So… So, maybe you two shouldn’t be doin’ any drivin’ for a while.”

  CHAPTER 10:

  “You know, you’ve been avoiding talking about this all day,” I said to my wife.

  It was now rapidly approaching seven-thirty in the evening, and she was rushing around the house haphazardly stuffing ritual items into her nylon backpack. As usual, she was running late.

  Physically, she had bounced back from the episode the previous evening much better than I had expected. In fact, on the outside, if I hadn’t been a witness to it, I wouldn’t have been able to tell anything had happened. Still, I knew something had to be going on behind those green eyes, and she wasn’t being very forthcoming. Scratch that; she was all but denying it.

  I had filled her in on the conversation I’d had with Ben, but much to my dismay, she had simply taken it all in with calm detachment. I’m sure it was largely due to the seizure she had experienced, but the radical shift in her personality was disconcerting to say the least.

  “There’s nothing to talk about,” she told me matter-of-factly.

  “I know better than that, Felicity,” I replied. “Think about who you’re talking to. I’ve been there, remember?”

  “Exactly, so you know there’s nothing to talk about,” she returned.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Nothing.” She shrugged. “I saw nothing. Just like you.”

  “You must have seen something,” I countered. “What about the grading papers thing?”

  “I don’t even remember saying that, Row.”

  “But you did, whether you remember it or not.”

  “Okay, so I said it. Your point is?”

  “That you were channeling the spirit of Tamara Linwood,” I said. “Or her memories at least, which means recent experiences can’t be far behind.”

  “So?”

  “So you have to have seen something, it’s just not in your conscious mind.”

  “Good.”

  “What do you mean, ‘good’?”

  “I mean, good. Maybe I don’t want it to be in my conscious mind.”

  I shook my head harshly. “You aren’t like that, Felicity. You and I both know it. You aren’t going to run from the responsibility.”

  “Maybe I don’t want the responsibility,” she spat back. “Did you ever think of that?”

  “Do you think I wanted it?” I returned. “It pretty much just got dumped in my lap.”

  “And it’s been fucking up our lives ever since,” she stated with enough bluntness to give me pause.

  “I haven’t exactly got control over it you know,” I replied sharply.

  “That’s not what I’m talking about,” she answered.

  I shut my eyes and rubbed my forehead for a second before reopening them and letting out a heavy sigh. “You’re right. This whole conversation has gotten off track.”

  She looked back at me wide-eyed, gave her head a slight shake, and shrugged again. “Has it?”

  “Yes it has. My original question in all of this is why. Why is this happening to you now?” I submitted. “Why you instead of me?”

  “Not instead. It happened to you too.”

  “You’re being evasive, Felicity. You know what I’m talking about.”

  “Coincidence. Sympathy. Destiny.” She offered the words in a quick stream and then followed them up with a quick change of subject. “Can you hand me that copy of Everyday Magic on the table there?”

  I looked at her in silence, inspecting her face carefully. There was something just not right about the way she was acting and moreover, the way she felt to me, and I didn’t mean the current argument.

  She had erected an ethereal wall about herself, creating a shield against the outside. It was something she had automatically done the moment the psychic episode had ended last evening. I knew it was an act of self-preservation, and it was exactly what any Witch in her position would do. That, in and of itself, was a good thing; but, she was keeping me out as well, and that bothered me.

  I kept telling myself that the enforced distance was just because of the newness of the situation and though she wouldn’t directly admit it, because of the fear I knew she must be experiencing deep down inside. I had lived with the very same emotion swirling in my gut for long enough to know the pain.

  Still, I couldn’t help but feel there was something more going on. I just couldn’t get it to sit still long enough to peg exactly what it was.

  She looked back at me questioningly and raised an eyebrow. “It’s right there. Behind you. Please?”

  I twisted and picked up the book then slowly handed it to her.

  “Thank you,” she said as she took the tome from me and then stuffed it into her backpack. She continued flitting about the room as if the previous conversation had never occurred.

  I continued watching her and resigned myself to the fact that I wasn’t going to be able to pressure her into talking to me about this. I suppose it wasn’t all that much different the first time it had happened to me, but that didn’t make it any easier to take.

  “After what happened yesterday, I’d still be a lot more comfortable if you rode with someone,” I finally said.

  “Okay,” she replied. “I’ll ride with you.”

  “Funny,” I told her. “Very funny.”

  “I was being serious,” she answered without looking at me.

  I borrowed a page from her current playbook and ignored the comment. “Maybe you should beg off and just stay home
. They’ll be fine without you for one evening.”

  “Can’t,” she told me. “I’m the one giving the lesson tonight.”

  “So postpone it.”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I don’t want to. Besides, what good is a Coven meeting without a Priestess?”

  “Felicity…”

  She turned to face me, shuffling things in the knapsack and then zipping it shut. “Come with me.”

  I shook my head. “You know I can’t do that.”

  “Rowan…” she spoke my name then looked away while chewing at her lower lip. She brought her gaze back to my face and adopted an almost pleading tone. “This was your decision alone. No one in the Coven wanted you to leave.”

  “I had to,” I answered succinctly.

  “No you didn’t,” she appealed. “No one blames you for anything that happened.”

  “I don’t know about that.”

  “I do,” she shot back. “You are the only one to hold yourself in contempt. You had no control over what a crazed maniac did.”

  “He did it because of me,” I replied.

  “If it hadn’t been you, it would have been someone else who was openly Pagan. You know that.”

  “But it wasn’t someone else. It was me, and he killed them to get to me.”

  “So?” she spat. “That doesn’t make it your fault.”

  “It’s my fault that I didn’t stop him.”

  “You DID stop him.”

  “Not in time to save Randy or Millicent.”

  We stood looking at one another. A gelid hush frosted the air between us, expanding out to fill the room. The rhythmic tick-tock of the swinging pendulum on our wall clock clacked dully out of time with my slow breaths as I watched my wife. The passing seconds kept appending themselves to the end of the measure, lengthening the painful silence with each beat. As if pre-ordained to mark the end of the torture, the hammer on the timepiece drew back with a mechanical whir then fell hard, striking a single blow against the chime. The initial sharpness of the bonging sound slowly flowed through the room, softening as it faded to nothingness.