All acts of pleasure argi-7

by M. R. Sellars

  “Row, are you forgettin’ what she did to that asshole she picked up in the club?”

  “She didn’t kill him.”

  “Yeah, well she damn near did.”

  “She was possessed at the time. You know that.”

  “I know you keep sayin’ it, but dammit, Row, it doesn’t make it true.”

  “So now you’re calling me a liar?”

  “No, what I’m really tryin’ ta’ say is so what? I wanna believe ya’, but come on…how’re ya’ gonna prove she was possessed?”

  “Like I said, by finding the Lwa. ”

  “And then what? You gonna have a nice chat with it and convince it to confess? Somethin’ tells me even you ain’t that good at the hocus-pocus, Kemosabe.”

  “This Lwa is either a personal ancestor or someone who ended up on an altar by mistake, Ben. If I can track down the Lwa, then I’ve tracked down the real killer.”

  “Do I hafta remind you that we can’t arrest an evil spirit? Not to mention that you’re never gonna get a court ta’ listen to ya’ with a story like that.”

  “I don’t mean the spirit itself. What I’m saying is the Lwa needs a corporeal being in order to manifest physical actions on this plane.”

  “Do what?”

  “It needs a body. It has to possess someone in order to commit the murders.”

  “Yeah, well, I hate ta’ tell ya’ this but you just got finished tellin’ me that it possessed Firehair. Ain’t ya’ kinda diggin’ your own hole for her with that approach?”

  “Hers was a collateral possession, Ben. Felicity doesn’t practice Voodoo. Hell, she doesn’t know any more about it than I did when this all started. No…this Lwa is sitting on an altar somewhere, and the practitioner who belongs to it is your killer.”

  “That’s a great theory, Row, even if it is all Twilight Zone and shit…but, even if ya’ could get a judge ta’ listen to ya’, you’re still forgettin’ one thing.”

  “What?”

  “The DNA. It’s the smokin’ gun that puts Firehair at all three scenes. I dunno how you’re gonna get around that, even if ya’ do find this whacked out ghost you’re chasin’.”

  “I still say they’re wrong, Ben,” I insisted.

  “Row, I told ya’ they ran it three times.”

  “So maybe they got the samples mixed up.”

  “That’s not real likely.”

  “Maybe not, but it’s possible.”

  “Yeah, well anything’s possible, but you’re grabbin’ at straws here.”

  “Well, the only other explanation is that someone purposely tampered with the evidence.”

  “Actually, the other explanation is that she’s…”

  “Don’t say it,” I snarled.

  “But…”

  “I said, DON’T SAY IT.”

  “Yeah fine… So, what you’re tryin’ ta’ say is that…well…‘you know who’ is the one who did this?” He deliberately used the verbal evasion in place of Albright’s name. Considering the location, and recent shifts within the department, he couldn’t really be sure about the exact loyalties of all of the other cops in the diner. An outright mention of her wasn’t what you could term a stellar idea; of course, anyone who might be listening and knew my history could have figured out exactly whom he meant.

  The truth was, Ben had already taken a huge risk simply by being seen talking to me at such length. Once word made it up the chain of command, he was probably going to have hell to pay, especially considering that I now suspected he had done more than just call in markers to keep himself involved in this case. In fact, he probably owed more favors than I wanted to know about.

  “Can you think of anyone else with a reason?” I asked.

  “Jeez, Row, I know you two are at odds, but to go so far as to frame Felicity?” He shook his head. “That’s pushin’ a whole ‘nother envelope.”

  “Are you forgetting she tried to use me as bait for Eldon Porter? And, as I recall she was actually overheard saying that if I got killed in the process…what was it? Something like, too bad, so sad?”

  “Yeah, but she had a way outta that. She could get caught real easy if she tampered with evidence. Besides, like I said, there were tests done at the Feeb’s lab in DC anyway.”

  “So? The evidence still originated here.”

  “Yeah, but not the evidence from Myrtle Beach,” he reminded me. “It went from them to DC. Never even saw Saint Louis, much less her.”

  “Speaking of Myrtle Beach, how did that even get into the mix to begin with?”

  “NCIC hit,” he explained. “The bondage aspect along with the ritual stuff. When our two homicides got entered into the computer, that’s what got spit back out.”

  “Great.”

  “Yeah, well, I didn’t wanna tell ya’ this, but you’re prob’ly gonna find out sooner or later. The homicide in South Carolina wasn’t the only hit.”

  “What are you saying?” I knew full well what he had just implied, but I couldn’t stop the words from tumbling out of my mouth.

  “NCIC returned seven other unresolved cases in various states that have similar characteristics, datin’ back as far as oh-three. The kinky shit, the mutilation, and in a couple of ‘em some of the Voodoo stuff…” He allowed his voice to trail off as he ran through the list.

  “Are they trying to say Felicity committed all of these murders?”

  He nodded. “They’re definitely lookin’ into it. Right now Myrtle Beach is the only department to provide physical evidence that links. That, and they can positively place her there in the city at the time of the murder from the subpoenaed airline records.”

  “Dammit…” I muttered.

  “Just so ya’ know, they’re followin’ up on all her travelin’. Even if they don’t get any more matches with physical evidence from the other states, if they can show that she was in those cities around the times of the other murders…Well, circumstantial or not, put it together with what they already got, an’ it’s gonna make a major impression on a jury… And, it ain’t gonna be a good one, Row.”

  I pondered what he had just said and felt my blood run cold. Instead of getting answers that would help me clear Felicity, I was just getting more and more signs pointing directly to her guilt. However, they were all detours I didn’t intend to follow. I knew my wife was innocent; I just had to prove it to everyone else. Given what Ben had told me over the past few minutes, it was obvious that I needed to do so very soon.

  “You know that question you asked me earlier?” I finally asked.

  “Which one?” he grunted.

  “About if I was feeling better,” I replied.

  “Yeah, what about it?”

  “Well, I thought about it and right now I want to hit you again.”

  CHAPTER 12:

  Intent and want can be very fickle concepts. More often than not, they are two completely different things, even though we might try to convince ourselves they are one and the same. This is true for both the practice of magick and everyday, mundane life as well. Right now just happened to be one of those classic instances of diametric opposition.

  Put plainly and simply as possible, no matter what I had just said, I really had no intention of taking another poke at Ben. He knew that, and so did I. In fact, I’m fairly sure my fist couldn’t have handled it anyway, so the verbal jab would simply have to suffice.

  On the other hand, want is a very strong emotion in and of itself. Considering that I felt like the man whom I had long called my friend was still at odds with me and wasn’t listening to reason, I definitely wanted to gift him with a black eye to go with the welt on his jaw.

  Of course, having established that as being out of the question, and what with me being a magickal practitioner, I had to admit that other forms of retaliation had crossed my mind. For instance, if a bag of coffin nails were in my possession at the moment, I’d be hard pressed not to go ahead and slip a handful of them into his coat pocket along with a few muttered words of di
sdain. Not to kill him as one might surmise but just to make him miserably ill for a while. Either way, it was an act that wouldn’t exactly adhere to the generally accepted concept of “Harm None”, but what the hell. I had already thrown a punch in the physical realm; I might as well go for broke and take a swing in the ethereal.

  All things considered, I suppose it was probably a good thing I didn’t really have those nails handy.

  Of course, whether I wanted to admit it or not, the situation was without a doubt one of those proverbial Gordian knots. If I took a moment and put myself in Ben’s place, I’m sure that what I was calling “reason” certainly sounded like an outlandish fantasy. And, as usual, that pretty much seemed to be the way of things in my peculiar world. It was no wonder he used the term Twilight Zone in reference to me as often as he did. My life definitely played out like a marathon episode with no end in sight.

  Still, I didn’t make any secret of the fact that even I didn’t consider the overabundance of ethereal happenings in Felicity’s and my life to be normal. But, be they normal or not, that didn’t make them any less real. I suppose it came down to the fact that I was just far more open-minded with regard to accepting that the events simply were what they were, and no amount of rationalizing or postulating on my part could change that. To paraphrase the worn out truism, magick happens. Much to our dismay, however, it just isn’t always the magick we want.

  Fortunately, as I sat there mutely pondering what items might be readily available that I could substitute for coffin nails, common sense got a much-needed boost from the insistent warble of my cell phone. Shadowy emotions were instantly shoved onto the back burner once again, and considering just exactly how dark they had been getting, that was a very good thing.

  “Rowan Gant,” I said into the mouthpiece as soon as I dug the device from my pocket, thumbed the answer button, and tucked it up to my ear.

  “Rowan, it’s Jackie,” my attorney’s voice came back across the line. “Where are you?”

  “At Forty, the diner right across the street. Do you want me to come over? Can I get in to see Felicity now?”

  “Just stay right where you are,” she replied, circumventing my second question. “I’ll be there in just a few minutes and we can talk about that.”

  The line clicked off without so much as a goodbye, so I hung up and laid the phone on the table in front of me.

  “Lawyer?” Ben asked with a thrust of his chin toward the device.

  “Yeah, apparently she’s on her way over here right now.”

  “Well, then I guess I’d better get outta here,” he replied, gathering up his coat. “You’re gonna wanna talk to ‘er without me around.”

  I shot a quick glance to the side and then over my shoulder. In less than five seconds I counted three cops who were easily within earshot, and those were just the ones wearing uniforms. I looked back over to Ben and said, “Yeah, well, we’ll probably want to go somewhere else to talk anyway.”

  “Yeah,” he grunted as he slid out of the booth and stood up. “Prob’ly not a bad idea.”

  Ben slipped into his jacket, shrugged it up onto his shoulders, and then took a moment to adjust his holster rig beneath its folds. Even after he was finished, however, he continued to stand next to the table, staring out through the window at Clark Avenue and the half dozen or so squad cars diagonally parked against the curb in front of police headquarters. After a quiet moment, he looked down toward me with a thoughtful stare.

  “Listen…Row…Are we gonna make it? I mean…Is this…”

  “I’m still pissed at you, Ben, if that’s what you mean,” I replied, meeting the clumsy question head on. “That’s not going to go away overnight.”

  “Yeah…” he mumbled. “I pretty much figured that. But what I wanna know is are we gonna be able to make it right between you an’ me?”

  “I honestly don’t know yet.”

  “Fair enough,” he sighed. The heavy breath seemed to broadcast a sense of depression. He waited a second then added, “So, is there anything I can do ta’ fix it?”

  “Yes. You can help me clear my wife.”

  He shook his head slowly. “I dunno what I can do on that front, Row.”

  “I’m not sure either, but it might help if you’d just start believing she’s innocent.”

  “Yeah.” He let out what might have been a curious half-chuckle. “Well, I know you’re not gonna believe this, but Constance told me the same thing a coupla’ hours ago.”

  I had been wondering how she was doing. The last time I had seen her was at the funeral, and she had been just as distant as Ben. I assumed it had to do with the ongoing investigation, but considering her run in with “Felicity in Miranda’s clothing,” I couldn’t help but worry that her forgiveness had worn off. Based on what Ben had just stated, obviously, it had not.

  “So, she believes Felicity is innocent?” I asked.

  “Yeah, actually, she does,” he replied with a nod. “And she’s been lettin’ everyone who’ll listen to ‘er know it.”

  “Good to know we still have someone on our side.”

  He ignored the overtone of the comment and responded purely to its face value. “Yeah, well I gotta tell ya’, the water she’s swimmin’ in is startin’ ta’ get real hot.”

  “Is she in a lot of trouble?”

  “Not yet, but after the toes she stepped on ta’ get Firehair released and make the assault charges disappear…well, put it this way, she’s runnin’ short on friends and long on enemies.”

  I hadn’t had much room to house any compassion for others over the past few hours, but Constance truly had gone out of her way to make some potentially damaging charges against my wife vanish into thin air. I was aware she had called in some favors, but at the time, I had been so wrapped up in the situation that I had no idea she might be seriously jeopardizing her career in the process.

  “Is it really that bad?” I asked.

  “Let’s just say if she ain’t careful she might end up dustin’ off ‘er law degree for use in the private sector.”

  “I didn’t know…”

  “And you still don’t. I wasn’t s’posed to say anything to ya’, so just…ya’know…keep it to yourself.”

  “Yeah…Okay…” I agreed.

  Ben snorted and shook his head before saying, “Just a feelin’.”

  “What?”

  “That’s what Constance said… The reason why she doesn’t think Felicity is the killer. It’s just a feelin’.”

  “Sounds familiar.”

  “Yeah, well she’s probably just gone shoe shoppin’ with Firehair too many times. Some of that spooky ass shit musta rubbed off on ‘er.”

  “You say that like it’s a problem.”

  He harrumphed. “I got enough a’ your Twilight Zone stuff in my life as it is, Row. Don’t need ta’ be datin’ one of ya’ on top of it.”

  “I seem to recall you telling me awhile back that cops get feelings about things too…inexplicable hunches. ‘Hinky feelings’ I think is what you said.”

  “Uh-huh, yeah. Guess I shoulda known tellin’ ya’ that would come back ta’ haunt me.”

  “Are you saying you don’t really believe it?”

  “You know better’n that.”

  “So maybe you need to listen to your gut, just like she is.”

  “My gut ain’t talkin’ right now.”

  “But Constance’s is, and she believes Felicity is innocent even after everything that happened.” I offered the words more as an admonishment than a question.

  “Yeah, Row, I get it. If Mandalay thinks she’s clean, why can’t I?”

  I didn’t reply. I didn’t really feel the need to because he had said almost verbatim what I had been thinking.

  Ben turned his face back to the window and stared into the growing darkness of the evening as he let out a long sigh. “Like I said, white man. My gut’s not talkin’. I’m just not gettin’ a feelin’ on it, either way.”

  “Then
give her the benefit of the doubt.”

  “I’m tryin’…” He shook his head. “Believe me, I’m tryin’…”

  “Maybe it’s just that you’re too close.”

  “Yeah, maybe.”

  After a long pause I offered, “Felicity once said something about you that you might like to know. She told me she felt that when it came to your friends you were loyal to a fault.”

  “I try.”

  “Well, I’ve never had a reason to disagree with that assessment…until now.”

  “Ya’think I’m not feelin’ guilty enough about it on my own, Row?”

  “Maybe you are,” I replied. “But I think we both know I’m not in a terribly forgiving mood right now.”

  “Yeah,” he grunted. “No shit.”

  The bell on the diner’s door jangled, and I glanced back over my shoulder to see Jackie coming through the opening.

  “Well, your mouthpiece is here,” Ben offered as he scooped the still-wrapped burgers from the table and cradled them in one large hand. “Guess I’d better go so you two can talk.”

  “Don’t give up on Felicity, Ben,” I returned. “Just…just believe.”

  Without looking back down, he spoke in a low voice that sounded almost like a plea. “Gimme somethin’, Row. Dammit, just gimme a reason I should believe.”

  “You don’t need a reason from me, Ben,” I replied. “You already know in your heart that she’s innocent. You just have to stop being blinded by the evidence.”

  “I’m a cop, Row. We live and die by the evidence.”

  “Then stop being a cop for a minute. Stop looking at what someone else is calling evidence and take a long, hard look at the truth.”

  Saturday, November 19 10:05 A.M.

  Saint Louis, Missouri

  CHAPTER 13:

  I gave up and simply stopped paying attention to the angry voice that was currently bellowing from the speaker of the answering machine in the living room. Given that it was my father-in-law, calling yet again to place blame and scream epithets at me, I didn’t feel that his diatribe warranted very close consideration on my part. It wasn’t as if I hadn’t already heard everything he had to say more than once. I’d even made the unfortunate mistake of blindly picking up on the initial ring the first two times he’d called, so I’d twice been on the receiving end of every name and insult he could think of-and, some that I suspected he’d just made up. Of course, my grasp of Gaelic extended only as far as my wife’s commonly used phrases, so I couldn’t be positive about anything other than the fact that he’d repeatedly damned me to hell for all eternity.