Ben was obviously telling his tale in order to force him to crack. I knew that it wouldn’t be long before he started plugging R.J.’s name into the story here and there to turn the screws.
“So when Mister Sicko feels bad, he hides behind a little religious ritual he learned,” Ben continued, “and whaddaya know, BAM! He forgives himself, and everything’s okay again. You know that little ritual, don’t you, R.J.?”
“I didn’t kill anyone” was his measured reply.
“Now, it all starts out when our asshole gets himself a crush on a young lady who, shall we say, attends the same church. Let’s call this young lady, Ariel, just for the sake of argument. Now, Ariel doesn’t like Mister Asshole the same way he likes her, you see... Just a second... You had a crush on a young lady named Ariel, didn’t you? What a coincidence.”
“I didn’t kill Ariel,” R.J. insisted, raising his voice. “How many times do I have to tell you, I didn’t kill anyone?”
Ben paused and engaged himself in a tremulous staring contest with R.J. When the young man finally shifted his gaze downward, Ben looked quietly from Deckert’s face to mine. I managed to find a small bit of solace in the fact that my friend’s expression showed me without a doubt that he wasn’t enjoying what he was doing to the young man.
“Let’s skip the rest of the story,” Ben finally said. “How about if we get back to a few questions.” He pulled out his small notebook again and began leafing through it, eventually stopping at a page and tucking the others back. “So, are you familiar with a Miz Ellen Gray?”
R. J. bolted upward from the chair, his red-rimmed eyes widened and wild. I could physically see his muscles tense throughout his body as he fought to bring himself under control.
“Why are you asking about her?” he demanded. “What happened?”
Deckert rested his hands on R.J.’s shoulders once again and gently but firmly guided him back to his seat.
“Tell me!” he appealed.
“She was the girlfriend you were trying to protect, wasn’t she?” I broke my self-imposed silence, as the reason for his feelings of guilt became instantly clear. “You two were having an affair, weren’t you?”
He never answered me. I could feel his anguish and confusion as he silently held his head in his hands. If it wasn’t obvious to Ben and Deckert, it was at the very least obvious to me. R.J. was not the killer. Of this, I was completely sure.
“She’s dead, isn’t she?” R.J. finally asked, lifting his head slowly. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that Ellen Gray had been the third victim, but the tone of his voice told me that he had already figured that out. I could only look away as he stared sullenly into space.
“Now I want a lawyer,” he stated flatly.
The solemn atmosphere of the room was disturbed suddenly as a key audibly turned in a lock, and the heavy steel door was pushed open, revealing the hardened face of the guard.
“Detective Storm,” he stated with businesslike brevity. “Phone call.”
Ben excused himself and left the room. Detective Deckert and I remained behind, locked in with a stubbornly silent R.J. His gaze remained fixed upon an invisible spot on the wall behind me. Deckert and I simply stared at one another.
Only a few brief moments passed before Ben returned to the interview room. His jaw was set grimly, and his eyes held more than just slight concern.
“Carl,” he addressed Deckert. “Can you see that our friend here gets his phone call? I’ve got somethin’ ta’ take care of.”
“Sure,” Deckert replied coming instantly more alert. “Is everything okay?”
“I’ll let ya’ know,” Ben told him, then turned his attention to me. “C’mon, Rowan, I need you ta’ come with me.”
I was perplexed at first, then morbidly hopeful as the thought that another murder might have occurred crossed my mind. I disdained the concept of such a thing happening, but it would go a long way in clearing R.J. of the crimes.
“What’s up,” I asked as Ben and I hurried up the hallway. “Has there been another murder?”
“No,” he replied as he signed us out and slipped his weapon back into its holster. “Not another murder.”
“Then what?” I pressed. “What was that call about?”
“Let’s just get goin’,” he ordered, grabbing my shoulder and nudging me forward.
“What the hell?!” I exclaimed. “What’s going on Ben?”
He let out a heavy breath, and his hand shot up to smooth his hair back and then came to rest massaging his neck.
“That call was Allison,” he finally said.
“Yeah,” I urged, instantly feeling concern for him and his family. “Is everything okay? Is the little guy all right?”
“They’re fine,” he answered without concern. “They’re just fine.”
“Then what’s going on?” I demanded.
“Allison’s on duty today,” he finally told me. “She called because an ambulance just brought Felicity in to the E.R. at her hospital.”
CHAPTER 14
I never knew that Ben had an actual siren in his van, that is, until now. He had wasted no time, quickly attaching his red magnetic bubble light to the roof of the vehicle and plugging it into the cigarette lighter as we flew from the parking lot. Soon, we were careening down the highway, siren screaming from behind the grill. Ben pushed the van to its limit, as if the sooner we arrived at the hospital, the quicker we could make everything better. As if simply by being there, we could magically prevent whatever had happened, even after the fact.
“What did Allison say?” I appealed still struggling with my safety belt.
“Just that an ambulance came in, and Felicity was in it,” he answered, still keeping his attention on the road.
“Did she have any idea what was wrong with her?” The metal finger on the seatbelt finally slipped in with a satisfying click.
“No,” he replied as he hooked the van around the slower traffic. “You sons-of-bitches! Can’t you hear the siren!” he screamed at the other drivers and then turned back to me. “No, she didn’t. She said she was conscious when they brought her in though.”
The pains in my stomach were growing more intense with each passing moment. I began to realize that it wasn’t R.J. that I was feeling empathy for. It was my wife.
“She was fine when I left her,” I volunteered. “Just a little morning sickness. Hell, I’ve only been gone for a couple of hours. What could have happened?”
“I dunno,” Ben offered, “but like I said, Allison told me she was awake when they brought her in, so that’s a good sign at least.”
“It has to be something to do with the baby,” I asserted.
“You don’t know that. I’m sure everything’s fine.”
“No. It’s not.” I held fast as another burst of pain shot through my abdomen. “I’ve been having pains in my stomach for about an hour now.”
“So?”
“So, it’s called empathy,” I told him. “At first I thought I was getting it from R.J. because he was nervous and all that, but now I know better. I’m feeling Felicity’s pain.”
“Like some kinda psychic thing or somethin’?” Ben half asked, half remarked. “Jeezus, you guys are unbelievable.”
The siren continued warbling loudly as he quickly cranked the steering wheel to the right, sending us into the cloverleaf from Interstate 64 to exit onto Kingshighway. The hospital was within sight now, only the sluggish traffic barring our way. Ben drove the van halfway up onto the inside shoulder in order to skirt around the cars that were slowly moving out of our way, and the engine groaned in protest at the abuse it was taking. The vehicle buffeted wildly and rocked on worn suspension when the tires finally leapt from the curb and once again contacted level pavement. Moments later, we broke through the lethargic traffic, and Ben propelled us forward without heed to the signal lights and signs.
We quickly traveled the two short blocks running alongside the hospital, whereupon we hooked right, sl
iding at first then accelerating out of the turn. At the end of the short sprint, Ben jammed on the brakes, forcing the Chevy to screech to a halt before the entrance to the emergency room.
“Go. GO!” he urged as I wrestled my way out of the seatbelt and flung my door open.
I jumped from the van and ran the short distance to the entrance. The automatic doors instantly began to open, though not fast enough in my mind, so I turned sideways, forcing my way through as the gap widened. The cold, conditioned air, reeking of antiseptic, slapped me hard in the face as I pushed my way through a second set of doors and stumbled to a stop at the admitting desk.
“O’Brien,” I insisted. “Felicity O’Brien. Where is she?”
A blank-faced nurse quietly stared back at me and seated herself at a computer terminal behind the desk. Reaching up, she slid a clipboard and pen toward me.
“Fill this out and return it to the desk,” she stated mechanically and without emotion.
“Dammit, I don’t need treatment!” I pushed the clipboard hard across the counter, and it slid off onto the floor with a raucous clatter. “I’m looking for my wife, Felicity O’Brien. She was brought in here a little while ago!”
By now, Ben had joined me, leaving the haphazardly parked van where it was, red light still flickering wildly. He had at least taken the time to turn off the clamoring siren.
“And your name is?” the nurse questioned like an automaton.
“Rowan. Rowan Gant,” I returned impatiently.
“Relation?”
“I told you already!” I shouted. “She’s my wife!”
“Ben, Rowan!” The exclamation came from our immediate right.
We both turned quickly to face the direction from which the voice had issued and were presented with the somber face of Allison Storm, Ben’s wife. Her white uniform was obviously rumpled more than usual. A long strand of her fine brown hair hung wildly across her face, and she gently brushed it away with the back of her hand.
“Where’s Felicity?” I asked roughly. “What happened?”
“Calm down, Rowan,” she told me. “She’s okay. She’s going to be fine.”
“The baby?”
She just looked down at the floor then back at me. “I’m sorry.”
“What happened?” I appealed, fighting back the emotion that was continuing to well inside me.
“Why don’t you come with me,” Allison soothed. “I’m on a break right now. We’ll go see Felicity, and we can talk.”
I desperately wanted to know what had happened to my wife, but at the same time I knew Allison was right, I needed to calm down. I knew she wouldn’t give me the run around, so I simply nodded and forced myself to remain quiet. Ben and I followed her down the long hallway, twisting and turning until we reached a bank of elevators. The three of us waited in silence and once the polished metal doors slid open, stepped inside and rode upward. I was too preoccupied with my concern for Felicity to even notice which floor we finally arrived at. A few short stretches of corridor mixed with a couple of quick turns, and we entered a private room.
The first thing to catch my eye was my petite wife, innocent and childlike as she peacefully slept in the hospital bed. An IV bag hung from a stand nearby with the long plastic tube leading from its base to the back of her hand where it was neatly and firmly taped in place. I quietly made my way farther into the room to the side of the bed and gently caressed her cheek.
“She’s sedated,” Allison volunteered. “She needs to rest for a while.”
“I won’t wake her,” I whispered and then turned to face Allison. “Now, can somebody please tell me what happened?”
“It’s my fault,” a slightly familiar voice quietly admitted from behind me. “I’m sorry, Mister Gant.”
I turned to see the owner of the voice, and my eyes fell on Cally’s face. She had been seated in the corner of the room the entire time, unnoticed, and now stood, uncertainly staring at me. Her face wore the expression of a school child that had just disappointed a respected teacher.
“What do you mean it’s your fault, Cally?” I asked, turning fully to face her.
“I couldn’t reach Detective Storm.” She began gushing, tears welling in her eyes and rolling across her flushed cheeks. “They said he was in a meeting and couldn’t be disturbed. I tried calling you, but Felicity said you were with the detective, so I told her and she came over. I never should have called.”
She was crying harder now, burying her face in her hands, shoulders beginning to heave.
“Told her what?” I prodded anxiously. “Come over where?”
“To my house,” she whimpered. “I told her Devon was on his way over and that I couldn’t reach Detective Storm, so she came over to my house.”
Ben, ever the cop, immediately pulled out his notebook and flipped to a fresh page in preparation for taking notes. I strode the few steps between Cally and myself and then took her gently by the shoulders.
“Easy Cally, calm down.” I slowly guided her back into the chair then retrieved a small packet of tissues from the table and knelt beside her. “Now, take a deep breath, ground and center. I know you can do it.”
A hot, tingling sensation washed over me, and I instantly realized that I needed to heed my own advice. I placed my hand on hers and continued to soothe her with calm encouragement, easing her—and myself—into a relaxed breath. When her shuddering stopped, and she dabbed the last of the tears away with a tissue, I continued. “Now, tell me what happened.”
“Like I said,” she outlined, watching my face studiously, “I couldn’t reach Detective Storm, so I tried to call you. I wanted to tell someone that Devon called me and said he was on his way over. He knew the police were looking for him because of his neighbor or something. Felicity said you were with Detective Storm, so I told her about it. She took down my address and told me to just stay put. She said she would be over in a few minutes and not to worry about anything.”
Ben was scribbling rapidly when I looked over at him. Allison, having already heard the story, was dutifully tending to Felicity, checking her IV and pulse.
“Go on,” I urged.
“Well, Devon got there before Felicity did,” Cally continued. “He was acting pretty wired, like he was scared and all. He kept asking me if the police had talked to me.”
“What did you tell ‘im?” Ben questioned.
“I told him no,” she turned her face to him, “but I don’t think he believed me. He kept asking if I was lying.” She turned back to me. “Anyway, when Felicity got there, she rang the doorbell, and Devon went crazy.”
“How do you mean?” I demanded. “What did he do?”
“Just spastic, you know,” she went on. “He accused me of calling the cops and started yelling a lot. He wouldn’t let me answer the door.”
Ben’s voice came from behind me. “Did he attack you?”
“No,” Cally told him. “Not really. He just stayed between me and the door and kept yelling about the cops and the ASPCA, and all.”
“So, I’m still not clear on what happened to Felicity,” I expressed, biting back my growing impatience.
“I guess she could hear Devon yelling and got worried or something,” she ventured, “because all of a sudden she came through the door. I guess it was unlocked, and she just decided to try and help me, you know. Devon thought she was a cop, and I guess he was trying to get away because he just took off for the door. He ran right into her and slammed her into the wall real hard.” She started slowly weeping again, sniffling as she spoke, “It’s my fault. If I hadn’t called her, this never would have happened.”
“No, Cally.” I forced my voice to remain calm. “It wasn’t your fault. You did the right thing by calling.”
Ben’s practiced voice came again. “Did anyone else show up? Any cops?”
“Yes,” she answered. “They chased after Devon. I don’t know why they came. I guess Felicity called them.”
By now she had returned to full
y involved sobbing, and no amount of reassurance from me was going to convince her that she was not to blame. I glanced back at Allison and motioned for her to trade places with me, which she did assiduously. This done, Ben and I quietly retreated from the room.
“I thought Felicity knew we had the place covered,” Ben stated low-voiced once we were in the hall. “Why the hell did she go over there?”
“I don’t know,” I puzzled. “Maybe she forgot? Maybe she just wanted to help Cally. Only she can answer that. Do you think they caught the bastard?”
“I’ll call in and find out,” he replied. “He couldn’t get far if he was on foot. Whaddaya make of that bit about the ASPCA?”
“Yeah, I noticed that. The ASPCA,” I echoed, “like maybe he thought the police were after him because of the whole incident with sacrificing the dog.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
“If he committed the murders, it seems like that would be the furthest thing from his mind,” I ventured.
“Yeah, I think you’re right,” Ben agreed. “We’ll still talk to him though.”
“You still think R.J. did it, don’t you?”
“I think I’ve got a lot of evidence that points straight at ‘im. A lot of it is circumstantial I admit, but there’s the fingerprint on the candle, the blood type, and the hairs. DNA test’ll show for sure if he was with Ellen Gray.”
“But that’s just on the latest victim, and we know he was having an affair with her,” I maintained.
“He never admitted to that.”
“Come on, Ben. You saw how he acted when you mentioned her name,” I pointed out.
“What I saw him do was clam up and ask for a lawyer.”
“I would have too,” I contended. “Besides, you still can’t connect him with Karen Barnes.”
Harm None: A Rowan Gant Investigation Page 19
