Love Is The Bond: A Rowan Gant Investigation (41 page)

I stroked her hair as I gently rocked her.
After a comfortable silence I said, “If I understood Constance
correctly, they should be letting you out of here soon. Then we can
go home.”

“And then?”

“And then I figure out what’s going on and
why it’s happening to you.”

She didn’t answer me right away, but when she
did her voice was a pleading whisper. “Make it stop, Rowan…
Please…”

“I’m trying” was all I could think of to
say.

Friday, November 18

1:27 P.M.

Saint Louis, Missouri

My head was killing me, and the aspirin I had
taken earlier hadn’t even fazed the pain. I knew full well that
generally meant there was something more to it than simple brain
chemistry or inflamed sinuses. However, I had been putting in far
more hours than usual in front of my computer, so it was more than
likely eyestrain. At least, that was what I was telling myself.

Ever since bringing Felicity back home just
over a week ago, researching Voodoo, as well as its related
offshoots and similar religions, had become a near obsession for
me. Every waking moment I had free from my business or other daily
chores, I spent reading, surfing the net, or even making calls in
an attempt to track down information.

It was really all that I could do. I wasn’t
being brought into the investigation any longer, and the last time
I had spoken to Ben had been at his father’s funeral. Even then the
conversation was clipped and stiff. I’d also heard nothing more
about the physical evidence that had been mentioned. I wasn’t sure
whether to be worried about that or simply consider it a
blessing.

Still, I felt I had to do something, and
finding out all I could about Voodoo seemed to be the best use of
my time. Maybe I could find something that would help track down
the actual killer. Unfortunately, while I was now armed with far
more knowledge on the subject than I had been several days prior,
or had ever wanted to know for that matter, I was just becoming
more and more confused.

Certain questions were answered, of
course, such as the heretofore-unrealized significance behind the
murder of Officer Hobbes. I didn’t actually make the connection
right away. Not until I read an in-depth chapter pertaining
to
Ezili Dantó
in one of the
many books I had obtained
.
I
discovered that this particular
Lwa
tended to demand of her followers the sacrifice of a black
pig. I also found out that such an animal was rare here in the U.S.
and was native to Haiti—a bit of trivia I hadn’t known. Suddenly,
the choice of Officer Hobbes as a victim made sense, especially for
a serial killer who was twisting the religion to fit her purpose.
Granted, it was a convoluted and sick kind of sense, but it made
sense all the same.

I had also managed very easily to
verify my identification of the
Papa Legba
veve,
as well as corroborate the sketchy information
given me by the paramedic. The third
veve
, however, remained slightly elusive. I had
been fruitless in my quest to pin it on any widely known
Lwa
, so I had to assume that it
really did signify a personal ancestor or guiding spirit of sorts.
Since the offerings left for it were perfume and lipstick, it was a
good bet that said spirit was also female. I wasn’t terribly
surprised.

After making a sketch of the triskele-like
symbol for Felicity, she had informed me that she’d seen it several
times before, and she wasn’t referring to the Celtic religious
icon. According to her it was yet another emblem of the dom-sub
bondage crowd. She explained that each third was meant to signify a
facet of the subculture—D/S, B/D, S/M. Each dot residing within the
thirds was also important, supposedly holding the individual
meanings: safe, sane, and consensual.

Under the circumstances, I found that last
set of details to be considerably ironic.

On the flip side of the coin, however,
it seemed that more questions were being raised than were being
answered. Just as I had suspected, while dealing with my foggy
memories of what I’d read on the subject,
Lwa
didn’t tend to possess non-followers. They
also didn’t even make a habit of taking over their followers just
for something to do. And, while there were exceptions, spirit
possessions did usually occur within the confines of a
ritual.

That general idea certainly made sense where
the killer was concerned but not necessarily where I was looking to
apply it.

One of the primary questions that still
remained was whether or not Felicity’s preternatural incident had
actually been her body being used as a
horse
by a
Lwa
, or if it was something else entirely? And,
if it was something else, just exactly what was it? Moreover, why
had she been the victim of it in the first place?

It was for all of those reasons, as well as a
host of others, that I once again found myself making a long
distance call to yet another someone I had never met, nor had any
reason to believe would be willing to talk to me, much less answer
my questions.

I tilted my head up and peered at my screen
through the bottom half of my bifocals as I punched in the phone
number listed on the web page before me. Once I entered the string
of digits, I rocked back in my chair and began idly moving the
mouse across the surface of my desk. I watched the pointer move
about the screen in the random patterns I was creating as the phone
began to ring several hundred miles away.

“Louisiana State University Department of
Sociology,” a woman’s voice eventually drawled into my ear. “How
may I direct your call?”

“Doctor Rieth’s office, please,” I
replied.

“Please hold.”

I continued watching the pointer as I nudged
it around the screen. My real attention, however, remained focused
on the hollow sound of the phone as I waited for the transfer to
occur.

A minute or so passed before there was a dull
click at the other end and a new voice issued from the handset.
“Doctor Rieth’s office, this is Kathy, may I help you?”

“Good afternoon, Kathy,” I said as I rocked
back forward and straightened my posture. “Is Doctor Rieth in by
any chance?”

“No sir, I’m afraid she’s gone for the
holiday break. I’m her assistant, can I help you?”

It hadn’t even dawned on me that Thanksgiving
was less than one week away at this point. Considering that, I was
probably fortunate to have reached anyone at the University at
all.

“No offense, but probably not,” I
replied. “I’m calling from Saint Louis, and I need to speak with
the doctor about something in her book,
Voodoo Practice in American Culture
.”

I glanced at the corner of my desk where the
tome was resting atop a pile of other books, all with the same
general subject matter, Afro-Cuban religion and mysticism.

“I’m sorry, sir, but all queries regarding
Doctor Rieth’s books should be made via the University Press,”
Kathy replied, launching into a decidedly prepared sounding spiel.
“The address can be found…”

“I understand that,” I spoke up, truncating
her instructions. “Please understand that I’m not looking for an
autograph or trying to dispute her or anything like that. I’m doing
some research regarding a murder investigation here, and I think
she might be able to help me.”

There was no reply from the other end, but I
could still hear background noise, so I knew she hadn’t hung
up.

“Hello?” I said.

“Yes, I’m here,” the assistant replied. “I’m
sorry. Where did you say you were calling from again?”

“Saint Louis, Missouri, why?”

“Just curious. Doctor Rieth received a call a
year or so back from a police officer in South Carolina regarding a
murder investigation.”

My curiosity was immediately piqued. “Really?
Do you remember any of the details?”

“No,” she replied. “And, honestly, I really
shouldn’t have said anything.”

“That’s okay, I won’t tell,” I replied half
jokingly then moved on rather than risk alienating her. “Is there
any way I can reach Doctor Rieth? It’s very important.”

“I’m afraid not,” she replied. “She is
scheduled to return the Monday after the holiday however.”

I wasn’t excited about the wait, but it was
just that time of year, so there was little I could do. I went
ahead and asked, “Do you think it would be possible for me to leave
a message for the doctor then?”

“Yes sir, I can certainly do that,” she
answered. “Which police department are you with again?”

“I’m actually an independent consultant,” I
explained then took the truth and wrapped it into an interwoven
pretzel before relaying it to her. “I’m currently working with the
Greater Saint Louis Major Case Squad.”

It wasn’t a complete lie, but I hoped that
the doctor didn’t elect to verify my story because I was betting no
one would be willing to back me up. Right now I was apparently
persona non grata, but even when I was actually working with them,
my capacity wasn’t exactly what one could call official.

I finished giving her my contact information
and bid her a pleasant afternoon before hanging up and pondering
what the young woman had just let slip. Hopefully, if and when
Doctor Rieth returned my call, she would be willing to share a bit
more about what she had consulted on in South Carolina.

I picked up a pen and jotted a quick note
about it in a steno pad I had been using for keeping track of my
research. I heard the dogs barking outside and wondered for a
moment if they were wanting back in the house. I started to get up,
but they quieted down before I could get completely out of my seat,
so I figured it must be a taunting squirrel or simply a passerby.
When I settled back into the chair, however, a familiar prickling
sensation crawled across the back of my neck as I felt my hair
pivoting at the roots.

I reached up and rubbed the offending spot as
I looked around the room. I couldn’t imagine a reason for the brief
attack of shivers. It faded quickly so I tried to put it out of my
mind.

Returning to the materials I had at hand, I
shuffled through the stack of books on my desk and withdrew another
one, heavily laden with bookmarks protruding from the end, and
flipped it open to the copyright page. I was just about to begin
typing in the publisher’s website address in search of contact
information for the author when I heard the doorbell ring.

Now I had my answer as to why the dogs had
been barking.

I knew Felicity was downstairs in her
darkroom and probably wouldn’t be able to answer it. In reality,
most of her work these days was digital and didn’t require the
somewhat antiquated processes of chemicals and light sensitive
papers. However, I had the impression that my wife was finding the
familiarity and closeness of her analog workspace a comfort in the
wake of her recent experience. Put simply, she was hiding from the
world, and while I was willing to condone it for a brief period, I
wasn’t going to allow her to do it forever. But, at this particular
moment, I wasn’t going to press the issue.

I tossed the book back onto the pile and
pushed away from my desk. I found that I had to skirt around
Dickens, our black domestic feline, who had elected to take a nap
almost immediately in front of the office door. He opened one
yellow eye and regarded me silently as I stepped over him, but
other than that he didn’t even twitch.

I was making my way down the stairs when the
doorbell pealed once again in a rapid staccato.

“Hold on!” I yelled, not that I really
expected anyone outside to hear me. “I’m coming, I’m coming…”

I skipped the last couple of stairs near the
bottom, making the turn at the landing and almost jogged across the
living room. With a quick turn of my wrist, I unlocked the door and
swung it open.

Ben Storm was standing on my front porch,
along with someone else I thought I recognized as a detective with
the MCS but to whom I couldn’t place a name. Neither of them looked
particularly happy, but I didn’t need to see their expressions to
know something was wrong. I had been feeling the warning signs for
a while now. I had just been too absorbed, and even more unwilling,
to pay attention to them.

I had pretty much forgiven my friend for the
incident involving the gun pointed at my wife, but there was still
a bit of tension between us. Whether it was because of something
yet unresolved regarding that, or if it was simply because Felicity
was still considered a suspect in the eyes of the Major Case Squad,
I wasn’t sure. Either way, I had no choice but to feel it flowing
between us right now as our eyes met.

Ben reached out and pulled the storm door
open and looked at me quietly for a heartbeat or two before saying,
“Do you mind if we come in, Row?”

I definitely didn’t like the sound of his
voice, and my skin started prickling once again.

“That depends, Ben,” I replied evenly. “Do I
have any choice in the matter?”

He reached up and smoothed his hair back,
looked down at the porch briefly, then back up to my face.
“Actually… No.”

“Do I need to call our attorney?” I
asked.

He returned a shallow nod. “It’d be a good
idea, Row.”

Ten minutes later I was standing in the
middle of my living room, a copy of an arrest warrant clenched in
my fist and quiet rage boiling in my chest as my friend applied a
pair of handcuffs to my wife.