For a time, I made an almost hourly ritual of mutely begging the Lord and Lady to reassure me that I was wrong. When it became obvious that my pleas were to be left unanswered, I gave up.
Truth be told, what I really needed to be doing right now was forgetting about it all and taking some time to relax. Whatever it was that was coming was still an unknown, and there was simply nothing I could do to stop it. Not at this stage of the game anyway. I was just going to have to ride it out. On top of that, a new calendar year was almost upon us, and the more mundane tasks in my life would soon multiply. January tended to be one of the busier months for my consulting business, for with a simple turn of the year, annual budgets magically refreshed and people started renewing support contracts and planning system changes. With that being only a week away, the lull in my day-to-day grind had already started to dissipate and would soon be coming to an end. Once that happened, if I was still dealing with a plague of ethereal horrors, I was going to be a complete wreck—as if I wasn’t one already.
For the moment, I had no place to be and nothing much to do. I really needed to take advantage of the situation. It would be a perfect day for some quiet meditation and grounding exercises, especially considering that I could have the whole house to myself with no distractions.
Today being Christmas Eve, Felicity—fully decked out as one of Santa’s helpers—was visiting a local children’s home with her nature photography club. And I do mean she was fully decked out. In fact, I was actually finding it hard not to think about how she’d looked when she left the house. To the kids I’m sure she simply appeared to be a rather perky elf, but to your average red-blooded adult male… Well, let’s just say her costume wasn’t “standard issue” for the North Pole, and she did it justice in ways Father Christmas hadn’t originally imagined, if you know what I mean.
The visit was something that her group did every year at this time—handing out donated toys, clothing, and coats. Every holiday season the event managed to garner more and more press, which in turn created more demand from various charitable organizations. Thankfully, the added press also brought more donations. So as word got around, what had originally started a few years back as a small party for some underprivileged kids had now grown into a huge affair, encompassing not only the children’s home but visits to local hospitals, retirement homes, and shelters as well. It was a great cause, and even though it was hard work, they loved every minute of it.
Considering the list I’d seen of this year’s scheduled visits, Felicity definitely wouldn’t be back for the rest of the day, so I had plenty of time to just vegetate. In the end, I think it was that volatile combination of idleness and nervous energy that had finally set me in motion. In short, she hadn’t even been gone for two hours before I went in search of trouble.
And now, here I was, parked in front of City Police Headquarters and staring out my windshield in a semi-catatonic stupor. Considering my original intentions though, this might very well be a good thing.
I had actually started out from the house with the plan of revisiting the wooded area on Route 367 where Debbie Schaeffer’s body had been found. Subconsciously, I suppose that like most, I found some comfort in the daylight. I really don’t know why because time of day really had no bearing on the unique curse of visionary abilities that had been terrorizing me for the past two years. Truth was, I had no idea what had any bearing on them because they certainly weren’t under my control. In any event, my automatic pilot had engaged almost as soon as I backed out of the driveway, and I was three quarters of the way here before it dawned on me that here wasn’t where I’d originally planned to go.
Sitting there, I felt a shiver run up my spine, and I forced back yet another soft-core image of my wife in her costume as my brain shuffled through the random thoughts it had kept waiting in the wings. Then I frowned at the provocative cogitation.
Felicity and I had a perfectly healthy and even fairly imaginative sex life. While the male of the species supposedly has sexual thoughts every two minutes, I was really starting to wonder about myself. This constant fantasizing about her, while perfectly enjoyable in most respects, was becoming troublesome—especially considering recent events. I made a mental note to mention this constant obsession when my next appointment with Helen rolled around. This, of course, triggered remembrance of other mental notes I’d made and then promptly forgotten—such as the whole fantasy episode surrounding Felicity’s hair when we were at the morgue. Then there was the episode in the elevator that I’d had when leaving the counseling office. In retrospect, I really should have called Helen about that one immediately. Of course, it had seemed driven by an outside force, though I wasn’t even certain about that. Truth is, it really didn’t make much sense at all. None of it did.
I suppose that if I was somehow becoming overly obsessed with sex, then the lurid thoughts could very well be my own. But even that didn’t seem correct to me. There really seemed to be an outside presence. I was almost certain that I could feel it. Moreover, it had something to do with Debbie Schaeffer and Paige Lawson.
Unfortunately, everything that happened at the morgue that night after I connected with Debbie Schaeffer was still an out of focus jumble. What little I’d been able to pick out here and there was completely nonsensical. Dolls in prom dresses, makeup, a smart-mouthed cheerleader, flashing lights… Then there was Paige Lawson. Where did she fit into all of this?
If the outside presence that was forcing all of the lurid thoughts into my head was the one responsible for either of their deaths, then maybe the crime—or crimes—were motivated by sex. But one was a kidnapping and the other appeared to be a robbery gone awry. Maybe Paige Lawson was just an anomaly—a piece of a totally different puzzle that I was trying too hard to make fit into a blurry and indistinct picture.
But then, every time I had one of these semi-pornographic fantasies, there was the thing with red hair. Both Debbie Schaeffer and Paige Lawson were blondes. So was the woman in the elevator. So that almost had to come directly from me. I mean I had to admit that I personally had a thing for red hair, so that could make it highly likely that it was just my own preference overlaying itself with the imagery.
Likely? Probably? Or just maybe?
It was starting to get very confusing again. I’d been mulling it all over so much that it was giving me a headache.
If Ben was correct, I was just chasing my tail anyway, and I needed to direct my energies toward something more productive. I finally gave up on my attempt at analysis and decided to leave it to Helen. After all, as she’d pointed out, she was the one with the degree in psychology. Since all of the incidents seemed linked by sex, and that was apparently a driving force for me these days, maybe I’d remember to mention all of this at the next appointment.
After a moment I let out a purposeful sigh and muttered to no one but myself, “Yeah, right.” Then before getting out of the truck, I made yet another mental note to start writing this stuff down so that I was no longer depending on my easily sidetracked brain.
I’d have to start doing that later though. Right now I just wanted to smoke another cigarette or two before going inside.
* * * * *
“Merry freakin’ ho-ho-ho,” Ben said as I dropped myself into one of the ancient molded-plastic seats next to his desk. “Wanna cuppa?”
“I don’t know…” I shook my head, mentally gagging on vivid recollections of the caustic liquid the homicide division called coffee.
“Hey,” he exclaimed. “It’s Christmas freakin’ Eve, Kemosabe. We actually washed the pot this mornin’.”
“Yeah,” I chuckled. “Whether it needed it or not, right?”
“Exactly.” He grinned.
I couldn’t help but notice an nth generation photocopy gracing one corner of his desk blotter, especially since it was positioned so that I could easily read it. A blurred but still recognizable pair of mug shots dominated the page, showing a rotund, bearded man in an instantly recognizable su
it. The text beneath outlined a wrap sheet stating that the individual was wanted for breaking and entering, cookie theft, and illegal dumping. It further went on to say that he was known by such aliases as Saint Nick, The Jolly Elf, Santa Claus, etcetera, and could often be found in the company of elves. Last seen fleeing in a late model sleigh pulled by eight reindeer. Consider armed with candy canes. Approach with caution.
“Sounds like a real tough guy,” I said, indicating the novelty on his desk.
“Yeah,” he nodded and laughed. “The asshole dumped a whole pile of crap at my house last year, and I ended up holdin’ the bag for all the batteries. If I ever catch up with ‘im I’m liable ta’ kill ‘im.” Leaning back, he took a sip of his coffee and watched me carefully for a long moment. “So what’s up? Why ain’t you with the little woman?”
“She’s out doing that annual charity thing with her photography club.”
“Yeah, I know. She was just on the news about forty-five minutes ago givin’ ‘em an interview.” He let out a low wolf whistle. “Nice outfit.”
“Uh-huh,” I grunted, not really needing the reminder.
“So explain that one to me.”
“What? Her costume?”
“Hell no, that was pretty self-explanatory, ya’ lucky bastard,” he said. “I’m talkin’ about ‘er doing the whole Miz Santa Claus thing. How’s that fit in with what you were celebratin’ the other night?”
“It doesn’t really,” I told him. “Yule is a religious holiday, just like Christmas or Chanukah. Santa Claus, however, while associated with Christmas, isn’t a religious figure. In his current incarnation he’s actually an icon of commercialism created by a soft drink company.”
“Yeah, I read somethin’ about that already, smartass,” he grinned. “What I’m askin’ is if you Witches celebrate Christmas too?”
“In the sense of it being a commercialized, secular holiday, sure, many of us do. But it doesn’t bear any religious significance for Pagans like it does for most everyone else.”
“So ya’ get like two holidays in one,” he stated as much as asked.
“You could look at it that way, but Christmas is the generally accepted holiday by society as a whole. I doubt you’ll find many employers who give winter solstice as a paid holiday. So it’s kind of a trade off. Besides, the actual date for Christmas was pilfered from the Roman celebration of Saturnalia anyway…”
“Saturn-who?”
“Forget it. You’ll just end up accusing me of boring you with a bunch of details.”
“Yeah, I s’pose you’re right,” he nodded almost thoughtfully as he chuckled. “Anyway, the real reason I asked is Allison and I wanted ta’ invite you and Firehair over ta’ the house tonight if ya’ aren’t doin’ anything.”
“I thought you were having a family get-together this evening?”
“Yeah, we are. Helen’s comin’ over, but that’s about it. Besides, you two are like family anyway.”
“Well, we aren’t doing anything with our families until tomorrow,” I conceded. “I’ll have to check with Felicity, but I’m sure she’d love to come over. If you’re certain we wouldn’t be intruding.”
“I wouldn’t’ve invited ya’ if you’d be intruding, now would I?”
“Okay. I’ll talk to her about it, but you can probably go ahead and just count us in.”
“Good deal. I’ll let Al know. So now that we’ve got that outta the way, let’s get back ta’ the original question. What gives, Row? I know damn well ya’ didn’t blow off a chance ta’ follow Felicity around today…” He paused and gave his head a quick shake before adding, “‘Specially today… Just ta’ come down here an’ explain the meanin’ of Christmas to me. So what’re you doin’ here?”
“Would you believe I just stopped in to say ‘Happy Holidays’?”
“I just told ya’ a minute ago that I saw Firehair on TV, so I think I pretty much just said no ta’ that.”
“Yeah, didn’t think so.”
The telephone on his desk pierced the ensuing lull with a sickly trill. My friend motioned for me to wait a second then leaned forward and snatched up the receiver. “Homicide, Storm.” Even as he spoke he kept his eyes on me expectantly. “Yeah…uh-huh…sure, I’m here. Okay. See ya’ in a few.”
He dropped the handset back into its base and leaned back once again, making the heavy-duty springs in his chair groan in protest.
“Do you need to leave?” I asked.
“Nope. ‘Nother copper is droppin’ by for somethin’. Charlee McLaughlin, you might remember ‘er,” he said.
“Sure,” I nodded. “I remember Charlee.”
Detective McLaughlin had been assigned to the Major Case Squad earlier this year when Eldon Porter had engaged in his one-man revival of the Inquisition. I had gotten to know her when she had volunteered to work a secondary job guarding Felicity and me after it became obvious that I was one of Porter’s targets.
“So you gonna tell me what’s up?” he pressed.
“I would if I knew, Ben.”
“And that’s s’posed ta’ mean?”
“I don’t know.” I shrugged. “I didn’t actually set out to come here. It’s just where I ended up.”
“Where’d ya’ start out for?”
“You don’t want to know.”
“Jeez, Row.” He shook his head. “What’re ya’ up to now?”
“I wish I knew,” I answered him. “Something just doesn’t feel right about everything that’s been going on.”
“Yeah, well, that’s not exactly news, white man.”
“No, that’s not what I mean.” I shook my head vigorously. “Ever since Friday night…”
“Whoa.” Ben held up a hand to stop me. “If this is about the phone call, I already told ya’ I’m not goin’ there.”
“It’s not about that,” I stammered my objection. “Not really… Well, maybe…a little…but not entirely… I’ve just got a weird feeling. It’s been way too quiet for the past couple of days.”
“What? Like no disturbances in the Twilight Zone?” He followed up his comment with an abbreviated whistle of the old TV show’s opening theme.
“Something like that.”
“Yeah, so?” He shrugged. “In my book, quiet’s good.”
“But it’s been too quiet.”
“Ya’ sure you’re not just lettin’ your imagination run away on ya’?”
“I don’t think so. Not this time.”
“So ya’ got somethin’ ta’ work with?” he asked with more than just a hint of sincerity in his query this time. “One of those hinky visions? Some more fucked up poetry? Anything?”
“No. Not at the moment. Like I said, it’s been quiet. What I’m talking about now is just a feeling.”
“That doesn’t really help me, Row.”
“I know, Ben. It doesn’t exactly help me either.”
“Hey, Chief,” a voice came from behind me.
“Yo, Chuck,” Ben returned, looking past me. “How’s Sex Crimes treatin’ ya? Gettin’ any?”
“More than you, would be my guess,” Detective Charlee McLaughlin joked as she came into view. “And I’m being treated about as well as a sex crime can treat anyone I suppose.” With that she turned her attention to me. “Hey, Rowan. I didn’t know you were here. How’re you doing?”
“I’m good, Charlee,” I acknowledged. “You?”
“Can’t complain.” She shot me a quick grin. “Speaking of sex crimes, I saw Felicity on the news a little while ago.” She punctuated her comment with a whistle. “I’m surprised you aren’t out there playing bodyguard. I think the reporter was sweet on her.”
“I’m sure she can handle herself,” I chuckled then asked, “How’s your daughter doing?” I was almost grateful for the sudden distraction the chitchat provided.
“Great. She’s planning to transfer up to UM Columbia after the spring semester.”
“Terrific. Still planning to major in journalism?”
&nb
sp; “Yep. That’s the plan.”
“Good deal.”
“So what brings you down here?” she asked and then continued with a good-natured chuckle. “Storm dragging you into something else he can’t figure out?”
“Hey now,” Ben interjected with a grin, “I’m not the one that transferred outta Homicide to go slummin’ in Vice.”
“I just got tired of seein’ your ugly face every morning, Storm,” she told him.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he waved her off, “so what brings ya’ up here?”
“Chasing a hunch, actually.” She turned serious. “You got a minute?”
“Do you two need me to leave?” I asked.
Ben gave Detective McLaughlin a questioning look, and she shook her head.
“No, I trust you. Just don’t repeat anything you hear, okay?”
“Of course not.”
“Then grab some real estate,” Ben said as he motioned to another of the 70’s era plastic chairs that was positioned next to a desk behind her. “Whatcha’ got?”
“Rumor is,” she began as she slid the seat over and parked her small frame in it, “you’ve got a dead blonde with a stun gun welt on her neck.”
My friend nodded acknowledgement. “Yeah. Sure do. Looks like a robbery-assault gone south. What about it?”
“Well, I assume you’ve been watching the news and have heard about the serial rapist?”
“Yeah. Kinda hard ta’ miss. You workin’ that one?”
“Yeah, I’m up to my ass in it. Anyway, we’ve been playing some of the facts close to the vest.” She looked him square in the face. “And like I said, this is just a hunch… But the deal is, as of this past Thursday morning I’ve got eight very confused, very blonde rape victims. All of ‘em with stun gun welts and testing positive for Roofies.”
Detective Benjamin Storm’s chair canted forward with a slow rumble, sliding smoothly along with the groan of the springs beneath until all motion finally halted. The inevitable stop was announced with a dull thunk, followed immediately by the proverbial pregnant pause. He shot me a quick glance then leveled his gaze on McLaughlin.
Perfect Trust: A Rowan Gant Investigation Page 22
