Harm none argi-1

by M. R. Sellars

  “I told you we aren’t going to answer any questions,” I repeated. “Now can you please leave us alone?”

  I cast a glance in the direction of the station wagon and noticed that the driver was still positioned behind the wheel. The sun visor blocked the upper half of his face, and his hand obscured the lower half, as he appeared to be speaking into what I assumed to be a hand-held tape recorder. I wondered to myself if Felicity had managed to contact Ben.

  “Mister Gant, is there any truth to the rumor that there is a suspect in custody?” Another reporter, Dirk White, quickly rattled off the question then pushed his microphone at me.

  “Are you people deaf?” I appealed. “How many times do I have to tell you we aren’t going to answer any questions?”

  I was only seconds away from throwing my hands up in utter exasperation and retreating to the interior of my home. Now, more than ever, I understood why Ben always referred to the media as vultures. Mere moments before I sought an escape, a patrol car from the Briarwood police department rolled to a halt on the opposite side of the street. The light bar adorning the top of the marked sedan flickered to life, and a thick, uniformed officer complete with mirrored aviators emerged, citation book in hand. With a sly grin, the cop nodded and gave me a silent wave. He opened his trunk and rummaged around for a moment, then finding what he was after, set about the task at hand. I almost couldn’t contain my amusement when I noticed that he was adeptly attaching boots to the front tires of the news vans, rendering them immobile, presumably until a towing service arrived.

  “Do your stations cover towing expenses?” I asked the swarm of reporters.

  “Excuse me?” one of them returned.

  “I was just curious,” I continued. “Getting a vehicle out of the impound lot can be a little pricey, especially when you add in the towing costs.”

  One by one at first, then almost as a collective, realization set in, and they turned in their tracks. Various muttered expletives filtered to my ears, and I noticed that Brandee Street let out a small, angry shriek and stamped her foot as I had seen her do two nights before. I was momentarily forgotten as they all began to stride purposefully to their vans. A cameraman I recognized as Ed, the collector of Brandee’s temper tantrums, hung back from the group. He grinned widely and flashed me a quick thumbs up.

  “Good one” was all he said before sauntering off to join the rest.

  I was certain that the officer had his hands full with the crowd of whining prima donnas and was hesitant to bother him, but I wanted to be sure he was aware of the grey station wagon parked at the corner. As I debated how to get this information to him, I looked over to see if the car was still there. I was greeted with the sight of the vehicle’s occupant as he strolled across the street toward me, gingerly balancing a baking dish in his hands. Instead of another reporter as I had suspected, I was surprised and relieved to see Detective Carl Deckert, grey hair flying on a light breeze.

  “I thought you were another reporter when you pulled up over there,” I admitted, motioning to the bickering throng as he trundled up my driveway.

  “I’ll bet,” he responded. “Sorry I didn’t get here sooner.”

  “No problem. Seemed pretty quick to me.”

  “How’s Felicity doing?” he asked as he reached me. “I heard what happened from Ben.”

  “Doctor gave her a clean bill of health. I’d expect she’s going to be a little sore though.” I fell into stride with him, and we continued up the flagstone walk. “Mentally, she seems okay. She’s a pretty strong individual. I’m sure she’ll be fine.”

  “Good. Good. Glad to hear it.”

  We climbed the stairs, and I opened the front door for him.

  “Honey, where are you?” I called out as we entered the living room, and I shut the door. We were greeted only by the cool air and calm atmosphere. “We have a visitor.”

  “I’m in the kitchen. Who is it?” she called back. She met us halfway as we proceeded through the dining room in her direction. “Detective Deckert,” she smiled, “this is a surprise.”

  “Carl, please. Just call me Carl.” He offered the baking dish to her. “I hope this doesn’t seem silly, but I told my wife about what happened and all…Anyway, she made lasagna and insisted I bring it over to you two.”

  “It’s not silly at all.” Felicity took the dish from him and motioned for us to follow her. “Come on in. Tell your wife thank you very much. It’s very nice of her.”

  “No offense intended, Carl,” I showed him farther into the kitchen and offered him a seat at our breakfast nook while Felicity stored the dish in the refrigerator, “but I was expecting Ben.”

  “None taken. He asked if I would handle it,” he explained as he sat down, absently brushing his disheveled grey hairs back into place. “I wanted to come by and deliver the lasagna anyway.”

  Felicity was working at preparing a pitcher of herb tea, and I interposed myself between her and the cabinet as she strained to reach an upper shelf. “Why don’t you sit down, and I’ll finish this up.”

  “I’m fine,” she objected.

  “I’m sure you are,” I rejoined. “But I’ve got this really intense desire to make tea, so why don’t you let me do it?”

  I’m sure she would have argued more had Detective Deckert not been there. Since he was, however, she quietly resigned herself to the fact that I was going to coddle her for a while and joined him at the table. I had scarcely managed to begin transferring the sun-brewed liquid into the ice-filled pitcher when our guest spoke up.

  “This is probably none of my business,” he blurted hesitantly. “But you two are pretty close with Ben and his wife, aren’t you?”

  “Definitely,” I answered. “Ben was my Best Man. We’ve known the two of them forever.”

  “Why do you ask?” Felicity looked over at me as she spoke, then back to Detective Deckert. “Is something wrong?”

  I continued what I was doing but kept my attention on the conversation.

  “You could say that,” he sighed. “Like I said, it’s probably none of my business, but I couldn’t help overhearing him on the phone last night… Then he asked me to come over here when you called a little while ago.” He nodded his head at Felicity.

  “I noticed that he was a little distant,” she agreed. “What did you overhear?”

  “Well,” he explained, “I only heard one side of the conversation, but I got the gist of it.”

  “He and Allison are having problems because of the hours he’s been putting in, right?” I volunteered.

  “They’ve got a problem all right,” he told us. “But his work schedule isn’t it. Near as I can figure, Ben’s wife blames him for Felicity’s miscarriage.”

  “She what?!” I exclaimed.

  “Why would Allison do that?!” Felicity appealed.

  “Hey,” Deckert held up his hands defensively, “from what I overheard, he agrees with her.”

  CHAPTER 16

  It’s not his fault,” Felicity voiced adamantly. “I’m the one that made the choice to walk through that door. He had nothing to do with it.”

  “You know that, and I know that,” Deckert nodded, “but he still feels responsible. He seems to think that if he never got you two involved in this investigation, you never would have gotten hurt.”

  “That’s just plain ridiculous,” I stated. “All he did was ask me the difference between a Pentacle and a Pentagram because he’d seen this hanging around my neck.” I hooked a finger beneath the silver chain and lifted the small pendant from behind my shirt. “Other than that, I volunteered. Hell, he was against the idea of me getting involved in the first place. I had to talk him into it.”

  Deckert shrugged and echoed my sentiments, “I know, I know, but he’s your friend, and he feels responsible for you.” He let out a long sigh. “Shit, it’s part of being a cop. You feel responsible for everyone.”

  At that moment, Detective Carl Deckert looked far older than his years. It was clea
r that he and Benjamin Storm had been cut from the same cloth when it came to loyalty to their friends and loved ones-when it came to loyalty to their careers as well. In a way, I felt I was seeing my best friend’s future being played out before me by the man seated at my kitchen table.

  “We need to have a talk with those two,” Felicity ventured. “We’ve got to get this straightened out.”

  I had finished preparing the mint tea and placed the full pitcher along with glasses on the table then slid in next to my wife. “Any ideas on how we should do that?”

  “We need to speak to them when they’re together, for one,” she posed.

  “Sure, but that’s going to be a little hard to accomplish with this investigation going on. Ben’s hours are a little unpredictable right now.”

  Detective Deckert cleared his throat, and we both turned our attention to him. “I doubt that’ll be a problem. He should be home at a decent hour tonight.”

  “Why’s that?” I queried.

  “That’s another piece of news I need to give you.” He looked distantly out the window of the atrium then back at us. The deep furrow in his brow revealed the fact that he was struggling with exactly how to go about it.

  “R.J. is being charged with the murders, isn’t he?” Felicity intoned flatly.

  “Not yet, but don’t be surprised if it happens within the next day or so,” he echoed. “For the murder of Ellen Gray at least. We got the warrant and searched his place early this morning.”

  “What did you find?” I wasn’t sure I wanted him to answer the question.

  “Black and white candles. A lot of ‘em,” he detailed. “And a set of artists pastels among other things.”

  “There has to be some kind of logical explanation.” I shook my head. “What about the dirk, Ariel’s athame. Did you find that?”

  “The knife?” he echoed, shaking his head. “No. Not yet, but we’re still looking.”

  “You’ve got the wrong person, Carl,” Felicity implored. “I can’t give you tangible proof, but I just know R.J. isn’t guilty.”

  “I know you two think he’s innocent, but so far, the evidence points to the opposite. I think you might be backing the wrong horse.”

  “The candles don’t mean a thing,” I declared. “If you searched our house, you’d find a ton of candles. Witches use them for everything, so we have a tendency to buy them in bulk.”

  “Especially if you find them on sale,” Felicity added. “And as far as the pastels go, maybe he’s an artist.”

  “Since you mention it,” Deckert returned, “he did take a few art classes at the community college, and guess who his instructor was…one Karen Lewis, better known to us by her married name, Karen Barnes.”

  “He knows all three victims,” I muttered to myself.

  “Looks that way,” he continued. “So if you add that in with the candles, the pastels, and his familiarity with your religion…”

  Neither of us had a convincing argument to offer. We sat glumly, firm in our belief that the young man was innocent of the crimes but completely unable to prove it.

  “Well, what did HE have to say?” Felicity almost demanded.

  “We haven’t talked to him about it yet.”

  “Well then, he might have a logical explanation for some of the things you found,” I expressed. “You won’t know until you ask.”

  “Look,” Deckert intoned after a long pause. “I’m sorry I had to be the one to tell you all this, but to be honest, I don’t understand why you two are so sure this kid’s innocent. Hell, from what I understand, you just met him a few days ago.”

  “That’s true, but at the risk of sounding cliche,” I explained, “it’s a Witch thing. It’s just a gut feeling.”

  “What about Devon Johnston?” My wife was on a mission, and she wasn’t about to give up. “We haven’t heard anything yet. Isn’t he still a suspect?”

  “He pulled through, but he’s gonna be laid up for a good long time,” he answered. “We talked to him this morning, and Ben checked out his alibi. Except for killing a dog, the assault on you, and a couple of trespassing charges, he’s in the clear.” Once again he stared past the small jungle of potted plants and out through the atrium window. After a short pause, he let out a sigh of resignation and then continued in a fatherly tone, “Trust me, I’d like to believe you guys, but like I said, there’s a lot of evidence, even if it is circumstantial. It’s the fingerprint you found on the candle that really clinches it.”

  “I wish I’d never seen it,” Felicity muttered in a dejected tone.

  “And if R.J. really is guilty?” Deckert asked her rhetorically. “How would you feel then? Look, I don’t want to see an innocent kid go down either, but I’m not so sure that’s what’s happening here. The shrink says it looks like the kid got himself a crush on these women and then got rejected. It just kept building, and he finally snapped and carved ‘em up. Got himself a vicious circle going. Kill a woman then feel guilty. Fix it, in his mind anyway, with that expulsion thing of yours and then do it all over again.”

  “Expiation spell,” I corrected. “And as pat and logical as that all sounds, it doesn’t feel right.” The hair rose on the back of my neck, and a tingle ran down my spine as I voiced my next thought, “R.J. being unjustly accused isn’t our biggest worry right now though.”

  “What is then?” he questioned.

  “If we ARE right, and he IS innocent,” I expressed grimly, “then the real killer is still out there, and that means another young woman is going to die.”

  The waxing moon was creeping steadily toward fullness and had just begun its trek across the cloudless, early evening sky as we parked in front of Ben and Allison’s home. Nestled snugly within the confines of the historic district of the city, the stone structure rose upward two stories from the well-kept lot to a steeply pitched, slate tile roof. The two of them had spent the first few years of their marriage restoring this house, and Felicity and I had been there to help them put it all together. Now, the two of us felt as if we were, in a figurative sense, responsible for tearing it apart. We weren’t about to let that happen.

  After Detective Deckert left earlier in the day, I called Ben at the MCS command post. He had remained distant and guarded during the conversation, much as he had the day before, but I was determined in my desire to resolve the situation and effectively invited Felicity and myself over for a visit. Before he could object, I said goodbye and hung up.

  Allison met us at the front door wearing a thin, disconcerted smile and kept silent as we entered. Ben was wearily lounging on the sofa, tie undone, and fingers twined around the neck of a full bottle of beer.

  “Can I get you something to drink?” Allison offered mechanically.

  “No thanks,” I responded, “I’m fine at the moment.”

  Felicity just shook her head. Allison fidgeted nervously, reminiscent of a trapped animal. It was as if our declining her offer had somehow cut off an avenue of escape, leaving her no choice but to face that which she was working so hard to avoid. After spending a tense moment recalculating her options, she hesitantly positioned herself on the couch. She took a seat noticeably distant from Ben but close enough to give the outward appearance that nothing was wrong. Still, the strain with which this was done would have been palpable to even the most oblivious stranger. The fact that we knew them as well as we did turned the small sign into a lighted billboard.

  “Where’s the little guy?” I asked as Felicity and I found chairs opposite them.

  “He’s sleeping over with his friend across the street,” Allison replied, seeming to ease somewhat at the benign question.

  “I guess Deckert told you ‘bout R.J.,” Ben interjected, unceremoniously changing the subject.

  “He did,” I answered, “and while we have our own views on the subject, that’s not the first thing on our agenda.”

  “Agenda?” Ben repeated. “Are we havin’ a meetin’?”

  “You could say that.”


  The two of them simply stared back at us sullenly. We sat and allowed the thick silence to envelope the room and the four of us with it. Felicity and I had troubled over this conversation the entire afternoon, and though we had discussed and rehearsed everything we wanted to say, when it came down to the wire, the memorized script was forgotten.

  “Look, Felicity, I’m sorry,” Ben suddenly gushed. “If there was anything I could do, I would. I wish I had never mentioned this case to you guys.”

  “So Deckert was right,” I asserted. “You really do blame yourself for what happened.”

  “If the shoe fits,” Allison muttered.

  “Are you serious?” I faced her. “You actually believe Ben is at fault?”

  “What the hell is wrong with you two?” my wife blurted, unabashedly taking the bull by the horns.

  “Whaddaya mean?” Ben’s expression changed from guilt to shock at Felicity’s candor.

  “What I mean is, what gives you the right to feel responsible for my miscarriage?”

  “If Ben hadn’t…” Allison started.

  “ Cac capaill! ” My wife spat a Gaelic profanity. The gates were open, and Felicity was living up to the stories about redheads and their tempers. “Ben had nothing to do with it!”

  “I got you involved in this whole mess,” Ben insisted. “If I’d never asked Rowan to help, you never would’ve lost the baby.”

  “You didn’t ask, Ben,” I expressed evenly. “I volunteered. So did Felicity.”

  “She didn’t volunteer to have some asshole slam ‘er into a wall,” he shot back.

  “I went over to Cally’s house of my own accord,” my wife interjected slowly and with more than a hint of anger. “You can’t possibly be responsible for my actions. And you, Allison.” She shifted her blazing stare. “How can you possibly blame Ben for something he had no control over?”

  “Maybe he didn’t cause it directly,” Allison returned. “But he never should have brought you into this.”