Harm None: A Rowan Gant Investigation (16 page)

“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.

“Secondly, let me thank all of you for being
here on such short notice. I realize a lot of you came in last
night and haven’t slept yet. Trust me, I know how ya’ feel.”

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.

B
en
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.