“Tell that to a judge and see how far it gets ya’,” Ben replied. “Besides, nobody has convicted the kid yet. I’m just gonna ask him some more questions.”
As much as I wanted this to be over, and even with my feelings that R.J. was hiding something, I found the thought hard to comprehend. We hadn’t known him long, but I trusted my wife’s instincts as well as my own. The morose silence that followed Ben’s announcement was abruptly punctuated by Salinger as he leapt to the table and let out a sudden, mournful yowl.
Felicity and I followed Ben, driving in her Jeep. I had imitated his mode of dress by affixing a tie about my neck and wearing a lightweight, tweed sport coat over my jeans. My wife had opted for her no-nonsense look, donning a grey summer suit and black pumps. She also wore glasses instead of her normal contact lenses, which only served to enhance the businesslike appearance she had assumed. The back seat of our vehicle contained a carousel tray loaded with a small selection of slides from the roll I had shot last evening, as well as our slide projector.
“So what do you think about this whole thing with R.J.?” Felicity asked me as she shifted gears and merged with the traffic.
“I don’t know,” I answered. “Ben makes it sound pretty convincing, and I did have that feeling last night…You said you felt it too.”
“Yes, I did,” she stated. “But it wasn’t that malevolent.”
“True,” I responded, “you would think that someone evil enough to do what this guy has done would be giving off some seriously bad energies.”
“That was my thought.”
“What about Salinger and Dickens?” I questioned. “Something about him really turned them off last night. I could maybe understand Salinger, but Dickens? He loves everybody.”
“Maybe R.J. has his own cat or something,” she speculated. “If they smelled another animal on him, then that might have set them off.”
“That’s a possibility,” I agreed. “I know Ben says he just wants to talk to him,” I continued, “and I hate to say this, but I think he’s had it in for R.J. since the very beginning.”
“It’s his nature to be suspicious,” she told me. “And I’m sure he’s just being thorough. Just doing his job, you know. Don’t worry, Ben won’t railroad R.J., or let anyone else. You know him better than that.”
“I know you’re right about Ben,” I told her. “But I don’t know if he’ll be able to control the rest of them. You can bet he’s getting pressure from the top on this.”
Felicity looked over at me sadly for a moment and then returned her gaze to the road. I knew she didn’t want to consider the possibility that Ben could succumb to the public-opinion-guided wishes of his superiors when a young man’s life was at stake.
“Shut your window then. The wind is messing up my hair” was all she said.
The command post for the Greater Saint Louis Major Case Squad had been set up in some conference rooms at the Weston city hall, which also housed the small township’s police station. Since we lived nearby, the drive was short. According to my watch, it was approaching eleven when we arrived.
“I’m gonna warn ya’,” Ben said as we walked with him across the parking lot, “these guys have already seen the paper.”
“I suppose they’re expecting some kind of weirdo then,” I returned, referring to myself.
“I expect you’re gonna get some blank stares and snide remarks,” he told me. “But if ya’ keep the Twilight Zone stuff just between us, I think it’ll be okay. I’ll be there ta’ back you up.”
“Well, I appreciate that.”
Ben led us down a long, tiled hallway and signed us in with a dour-faced desk sergeant, who from all outward appearances, should have retired ten years earlier. He less than enthusiastically provided Felicity and I with visitors badges, and we proceeded on with no interruption. Ben opened the door to a conference room then motioned us in. We were greeted full force by what can only be described as an ordered chaos.
The room was a fissure of activity within an otherwise silent structure. Cafeteria tables were erected against walls, doubling as desks, copier stands, and phone banks. Chipped, blue metal folding chairs clinked as they were being set up. Some squeaked as they were propelled across polished linoleum tiles by the innumerable police officers and support staffers teaming within the confines of the room. The discord of already ringing phones mixed with the murmurs of voices to form a tumultuous racket.
“How many people have you got working on this case?” Felicity asked, taking in the riotous scene.
“Hell, I’ve lost track,” Ben answered. “Other than the core officers assigned to the MCS, all the municipalities involved are giving up whoever they can spare, and then there’s the support personnel… Hell, I don’t even try to figure it out anymore. What’s really scary is, until around midnight last night, this was an empty room.”
We advanced farther into the activity, all but ignored by the bustling members of the Major Case Squad. Making our way through the crowded space, we found a place to store the slide tray and projector we had lugged in. Continuing to follow Ben like two strangers brought to an unfamiliar party by a friend, we proceeded to a table set up with coffee and much to my chagrin, doughnuts. We had just begun filling our typical white Styrofoam cups from a large urn, Felicity lamenting about the biodegradability of them, when we were approached by someone known to Ben and me both.
“Hi, Ben. When did you get here?” Detective Carl Deckert approached us and scooped a coffee cup into his hand.
“All of about five minutes ago,” Ben replied, then turned toward us. “You remember Rowan Gant, and this is his wife Felicity.”
“Nice to meet you,” he said with a smile, lightly shaking Felicity’s hand, then taking mine firmly. “Hell of a hatchet job they did on you in the paper this morning.”
“Well…” I half stuttered, trying to choose my words carefully, “I can’t exactly sue them for libel.”
“Hell,” Deckert returned, “I pretty much figured you were some kinda psychic or something last night anyway. You were comin’ up with too many things that nobody else could see.”
“Excuse me if I seem surprised,” I asked, “but what was said in the paper doesn’t bother you?”
“The only thing that bothers me is that the media decided to sensationalize it,” he told me as we all took turns doctoring the bitter brew with packets of sugar and powdered creamer. “Truth be told, my mother used to have what she called ‘visions’. Everyone in the neighborhood used to call her a Witch, but they listened because her ‘visions’ always came true. I don’t recall her ever being involved in all the stuff you talked about in that interview, but I’ve seen stranger things. If it helps catch this asshole, I don’t really care.”
“It’s nice to know we have another friend with a badge,” I told him. “They’re pretty rare.”
“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t expect many more outta this group. Ben and I are probably it.”
As I looked about the room, I started noticing the cold stares and whispers among the members of the Major Case Squad. I was sorely afraid that what Carl Deckert had just said would soon prove to be true.
At 11:30 we accompanied Ben, as well as the rest of the officers, to an adjoining conference room. Here, the tables were lined in neat rows, and at the head of the room stood a small podium. Felicity deftly set up the slide projector and mounted the tray of transparencies, then seated herself to one side with Ben and I. There remained a dull murmur as detectives took their places at the tables and talked among themselves. Once everyone who belonged in the meeting was seated, Ben stationed himself at the podium and waited. It took only a moment for a quiet hush to fall over the group, broken only by the sharp sounds of ballpoint pens clicking and notebooks being opened to fresh pages.
“First off,” Ben began, his voice tired but clear, “for those of you who don’t know me, I’m Detective Ben Storm with the city homicide unit. I am the investigating officer on the Tanner case.
A light, weary chuckle randomly skipped through the room.
“Everyone here should have copies of the case files on Ariel Tanner and Karen Barnes,” Ben continued. “If ya’ don’t, then let me know after the meeting and I’ll get them to ya’. I wanted to go over some of my notes with ya’ and field any questions you might have. I’d also like to compare notes on the Barnes homicide from last night.
“Look.” He paused and let out a deep sigh. “We all know there’s a psycho asshole out there, and he’s killed two women so far. It’s our job to find him and put a stop to it.”
I watched on as Ben looked down at the slanted top of the podium and opened a file folder.
“Here’s the basic run down,” he stated, looking back up at the group. “Ariel Tanner, Caucasian female, twenty-six years of age. Her body was found in ‘er apartment last Wednesday evening by her neighbor who noticed her door was propped open. There was no sign of forced entry. Her hands were bound behind her back with duct tape, her throat was cut, and her upper torso had been skinned. This latter procedure was done while she was still alive people… Just so you understand.
“Upon arriving at the scene, we found the words ‘All Is Forgiven,’ inscribed on the wall with the victim’s blood. Also drawn on the wall was a Pagan symbol referred to as a ‘Pentacle’. Finally, a wine goblet was found, containing residue of Miz Tanner’s blood. All of this leads us to believe that the murderer performed some type of ritual sacrifice.
“There were no witnesses, and the neighbor wasn’t home. Coroner’s report turned up a puncture wound that is consistent with an injection, so it appears that our bad guy is drugging his victims. Also, there was no evidence of rape. Any questions?” Ben shuffled the papers back into order as he looked out over the seated detectives.
“Did she have a boyfriend?” a voice called out from the back of the room.
“Not as far as we have been able to determine, no.”
“Had there been any cult activity in the neighborhood?” someone else asked.
“We checked that out,” Ben answered. “All we found were a few high school kids tryin’ to put a ‘hex’ on a teacher. They were harmless, and we scared the hell out of them.”
Once again, a mild chuckle rolled through the otherwise somber room.
“The report indicates,” a stone-faced detective near the front of the room spoke up, “that the first victim was involved in the occult. In particular, she was the priestess of a Witches coven. What did that turn up?”
“We have, in fact, spoken to her coven. It seems they kicked a member out a few weeks ago, so we’re lookin’ at the revenge angle, but that doesn’t seem likely now that we have a second murder. The ex-member’s name is Devon Johnston… So far, we’ve been unable to track ‘im down. I’ve got the other member’s numbers, and we can check them out…”
I was holding my breath, waiting for Ben to say something about R.J. He looked over at me for a moment, then back to the sea of faces.
“…Any more questions?” He scanned the room with a long, silent pause. “Good, then I’ll turn you over to Detective Carl Deckert.”
Ben stepped away from the podium and took a seat with us once again. Detective Deckert winked at us as he trundled by and filled the void behind the rostrum. He hitched up his pants and cleared his throat, then addressed the gathering.
Deckert’s diatribe went much as Ben’s had, including a general summation of the facts surrounding Karen Barnes’ case, followed by a short question and answer session. When he was finished, he and Ben traded places at the front of the room once more.
“Now that we have that out of the way,” Ben told everyone, “I’d like to bring up a consultant that has been working on the Tanner case with me.” He turned and gestured toward me. “Rowan, would you like ta’ join me up here.”
Judging from the stares that suddenly came my way, I knew immediately that I wouldn’t.
I wouldn’t like it at all.
CHAPTER 9
Ben remained behind and slightly to the right of me as I positioned myself at the stand. I looked out over the numerous detectives seated at the tables, and as I had been warned, they all stared back at me blankly. I noticed a copy of the day’s newspaper resting prominently atop the notebook of one of the officers in the front row. The newsprint was neatly folded to display the front page, picture and headline. It may have been coincidence, but it definitely appeared deliberate. My heightened senses easily detected suspicion and disapproval seeping from the group, and from the corner of my eye, I saw Felicity shift nervously in her seat. She could feel it too.
“As Detective Storm told you,” I began nervously, “my name is Rowan Gant. I have been consulting with him on the investigation of Ariel Tanner’s murder, and more recently…”
“Where’s your broom?” a disembodied voice interrupted from the back row.
A grating laugh rippled through the room. Ben started forward, ready to admonish the speaker and anyone else in the room, or so it appeared. I thrust my arm out and stopped him, then looked over and shook my head. He stepped back without a word, though I could feel him seething beneath his silent facade. I took in a deep breath and turned back to the seated officers. Apparently, there was to be no dancing around this problem, and hiding behind Ben definitely wouldn’t help. This was something I would have to handle myself if I wanted to gain any respect from them.
“Actually, my broom is at home,” I told them sarcastically, indignance replacing the trepidation. “We came here on my wife’s Hoover Deluxe… Now, since you all want to act like a room full of school children,” I looked around, making eye contact with as many of them as I could, “are there any more smart-ass comments before I continue?”
I remained silent, staring out at them, continuing to meet their eyes and hold them. Some of them looked quickly away. Some fought to hold fast, then folded as the others before them.
“Why the hell should we listen to you?” the voice came from the back row again.
This time I pinpointed him. He was a young cop-younger than the rest anyway-with dark, styled hair and the rugged features that often graced print advertisements for men’s cologne. He fixed his blue eyes on mine and held my gaze. He was not going to be easily persuaded.
“Could you come up here, please?” I asked him, motioning him toward the front.
“What the hell are you doin’?” Ben hissed at me.
“Let me handle it,” I whispered back over my shoulder.
By the time Ben and I had completed our exchange, the young detective had come to the front and was looking back out at his colleagues with a wide grin. He was obviously quite pleased with himself, and the other detectives were enjoying the spectacle as well.
“What’s your name?” I asked him.
“Bill,” he answered, still pleased.
I motioned to the corner of the room. “Detective Deckert, could you get the lights please?”
He nodded and switched off the overhead lights. Felicity picked up on the cue and responded by switching on the slide projector.
“Let’s step over here out of the way, Bill,” I told the young detective as I slid the rostrum to one side.
Once we had moved, Felicity tapped a switch on the slide projector’s remote control, and the tray advanced, audibly dropping a transparency into the beam of light. The auto-focus kicked in, and a larger than life image of the Pentacle from Karen Barnes’ murder scene glowed back at us.
“Can you tell me what we’re looking at, Bill?” I asked him.
“It’s a star,” he told me. “What Detective Storm said, ya know, a Pentacle.”
“Very good,” I said. “And what does it mean?”
“Whaddaya talkin’ about?” he asked, his voice somewhat less confident than before.
“What is the
inherent meaning of the symbol, Detective?” I asked again.
“Oh, yeah, that.” He shuffled slightly. “Well it means worship the devil and Satan and stuff like that.”
“Sorry,” I stated apologetically. “Wrong answer.”
I motioned to Felicity in the dim light provided by the image reflecting from the screen, and the slide changed. Now the words that had been inscribed on the walls of both murder scenes brightly stared back at us.
“And these words, Detective,” I continued, “‘All Is Forgiven.’ Can you tell me why the killer inscribed them at both scenes?”
“That’s easy,” he returned. “He’s forgiving the victims.”
“Hmmm. A little closer but sorry, wrong again. Next slide please.”
Suddenly the wall was lit up with the sickening image of Karen Barnes’ flayed torso, her glazed eyes gaping back at us.
“Can you tell me why the killer excised the victim’s skin, Detective…?” I received no answer. “Detective?”
I turned and saw the young man facing away from the image, breathing heavily and obviously fighting back nausea. I decided that I had made my point and that he was no longer nearly as pleased with himself. I motioned across the room; the lights came back on and the projector shut down.
“Go back to your seat,” I told him, then turned and took my place back at the podium.
Ben was grinning at me when I looked up at him, and Detective Deckert flashed me a smile with a surreptitious thumbs up. The rest of the detectives in the room remained quiet as my heckler returned to his seat. A good number of them looked just as green as he did.
“That,” I began, “is why you should listen to me. If you want to catch this guy, you need to know why he is doing what he is doing. And, that is what I’m here for.
“I’m going to be straight up with you. I really don’t give a damn if you like me or not. I don’t expect you to believe in my religion or follow its covenants. What I do expect is for you to give me the respect that I deserve and recognize the fact that I just might be able to answer some questions that you can’t. I’m here to help you, not entertain you.
Harm none argi-1 Page 12
