The End Of Desire: A Rowan Gant Investigation (12 page)

I looked in the direction of the voice and
saw a very young-looking blonde motioning to me with one hand as
she used her other to rewind a roll of film.

“Yeah?” I grunted.

“I’m done here if you need the machine,” she
offered.

As I had noticed with Detective Fairbanks,
her voice held none of the clipped affectations I had become used
to hearing since I had arrived in the city. It made her seem almost
as out of place as I felt. But, given the fact that she was young,
as well as casually dressed in jeans and a hooded sweatshirt, I
figured she was probably a college student from out of state.

“Yeah, thanks,” I said in a tired drone,
giving her a shallow nod.

I pushed the unused chair back beneath the
table then walked over and stood next to the reader and waited
patiently. The young woman removed the spool of film then tucked it
back into a box. Gathering up her notebook, she hefted her backpack
from the floor and slipped it over one shoulder before stepping
aside and giving me a smile.

“You kind of have to coax it a bit
sometimes,” she told me. “It sticks every now and then.”

I nodded. “Yeah. I had to use this one
earlier. Thanks.”

“Soooo…Genealogy?” she asked.

“Huh?” My question came out more as a grunt
than a word.

I wasn’t really paying attention. I already
had my own spool of aging film in my hand and was pushing it onto
the feed spindle when she made her query. Truth is, my mind was
wandering, and it had settled on the fact that I hadn’t done
research by microfilm since I was in college myself, which was
longer ago than I really wanted to think about.

“I was just wondering if you were maybe doing
genealogical research,” she pressed on, apparently unfazed by my
woolgathering expression. “You know, investigating your roots. That
sort of thing.”

“Yeah,” I said, glancing back and giving her
a tired nod. “Yeah, I guess you could say it’s something like
that.”

I turned back to the task at hand and pressed
the plastic spool inward until I felt it snap. Then I tugged on the
free end of the film and started to thread it beneath the
glass.

I couldn’t help but feel the girl was still
standing behind me. I wondered for a moment if I should reach back
and check on my wallet. But, malicious energy wasn’t what seemed to
be coming from her. Actually, it felt more like a bizarre mix of
curiosity and arousal. Of course, with everything that was
bombarding me, I didn’t even want to hazard a guess as to whether
or not those feelings were coming from her or somewhere across the
room. Instead I just tried to ignore her and hoped that she would
go away.

“Yeah, I figured as much,” she finally said.
“I’ve been watching you.”

Obviously, ignoring her wasn’t going to work.
I glanced back over my shoulder again. “Yeah? Why’s that?”

“Well, I mean…” She paused for a moment then
shrugged. “You look kinda old to be a student.”

“Thanks,” I replied, my voice flat.

Turning back to the machine, I fished the
loop of brittle film through the guide plate and hooked it onto the
take-up reel.

“Oh, that wasn’t meant as an insult,” she
said, backpedaling.

I replied without turning this time. “No big
deal. I wasn’t offended. I realize I’m old as compared to you. That
part of my brain still works.”

I felt something touch me, and I looked down
to see that she had leaned in close, actually bringing her ample
chest against my arm. I had the distinct impression the physical
contact wasn’t an accident. She proved that out by dropping her
voice even lower and infusing it with a sultry sweetness.

“The truth is, I really like older men…a
lot…know what I mean?” she whispered as if sharing a secret.

Now the hairs on the back of my neck were no
longer at rest. I stopped what I was doing and hung my head for a
moment then sighed.

Finally, I said, “Please tell me you aren’t
trying to pick me up.”

I could hear the nonchalance in her voice as
she replied, “Well, hey… You’re kind of cute. I was thinking maybe
we could go get a cup of coffee or something and see where things
go from there?”

I turned to face her and she eased back,
flashing me a shy smile that was too brazen to truly qualify as
coy.

“I’m betting I’m old enough to be your
father,” I said.

“Yeah, probably. So what? That’s the
point.”

I opened my mouth to comment on that
observation but decided against it. I certainly had no right to
judge whatever her proclivities were. Instead I bolstered my
objection with, “I’m also happily married.”

“Yeah. Okay. But, she isn’t with you right
now is she?” she countered. “You’ve been alone since I’ve been
here.”

“Actually, she’s the entire reason I’m here
at the moment, but that’s not the point…”

“Hey, I won’t tell if you won’t.”

“Look, young lady…”

“Erika.” She interrupted me then thrust out
her hand. “And you are?”

I ignored her gesture but returned with a
sigh, “Rowan.”

“Rowan. That’s an interesting name. I like
it.” She continued holding her hand out waiting for me to take
it.

“Thanks,” I replied, still ignoring the
offered appendage. “So, listen, Erika, you’ve got to know that
you’re playing a dangerous game here. You have absolutely no idea
who I am.”

After a silent pause, she finally allowed her
hand to fall back down to her side. “Yeah. Well, that’s part of the
turn-on too.”

“Uh-huh. Well, I could be some kind of sicko
for all you know.”

“You look pretty safe to me.”

“Most sociopaths do,” I told her. “And, I’ve
actually got some experience in that area.”

“Really? How so?”

“Trust me, you really don’t want to
know.”

She paused again and gave me a once over as
if she were sizing me up. “Okay. So, tell me. Are you a
‘sicko’?”

“Again, that’s not the point.”

She pursed her lips, thrusting the lower one
out in an exaggerated pout while giving me an obviously practiced
come-hither gaze. “So what is it then? Are you just not into
blondes?”

“Listen, Erika, is this some kind of game
show? Is there a hidden camera somewhere? Because, honestly, I
don’t have time for this.”

She chuckled. “You’re funny too.”

I held up my hands in mock surrender as I
huffed out a heavy breath. “All right, look, I’m flattered… At
least I think I am… Anyway, this just isn’t going to happen.
Understand?”

She blinked and shook her head. To me, her
expression looked as if reality had just walked up behind her and
given her a swift kick.

“You’re serious,” she said, a wisp of
incredulity in her voice.

“Yes. Yes, I am.”

“You really don’t want to…”

“No. No, I don’t.”

“Well… Okay. It’s your loss.”

“I’ll just have to take your word for
that.”

“Well, you know…” she began, as she opened
her notebook and started pulling a pen from the spiral binding. “I
could give you my number in case you change your mind…”

It was my turn to do the interrupting, “That
isn’t necessary. I won’t.”

She looked at me curiously then shoved the
pen back down and closed the notebook. “Okay. Well, never know
until you try.” With a shrug she added, “Good luck with whatever
you’re doing there, I guess.”

“Yeah. Thanks. You too.”

With a shake of her head, she finally walked
away.

I took in a deep breath and shook my own head
as I let it out. This was the second time I had been propositioned
in as many days. Even less if you considered that the first had
actually been fewer than twenty-four hours ago. Granted, that one
had been a hooker, but I had to wonder just what it was about me
that was attracting the overtures.

Turning back to the machine, I decided to put
it out of my mind and get to work. If the rest of the day continued
along the same lines as my morning, I still had a lot of searching
ahead of me. Even then I was beginning to wonder if I would ever
find what I was looking for, especially since I didn’t really know
exactly what that was.

Cocking my head over against my shoulder, I
stared at the image on the marred base of the film reader. Winding
the celluloid slowly, I located a reference frame. I glanced over
to my steno pad and read a note I had scrawled across it then
returned my gaze to the dimly luminous image and started winding
the lever. The film stopped moving after a moment, so I gave the
side of the machine a hard rap with my knuckles to re-engage the
slipping gears then started winding it again. After a few seconds I
slowed, advancing the film frame by frame until I found the date I
had written in my notes.

Using both hands, I twisted the projection
head and turned the image of the better than 150 year old newspaper
90º, which would allow me to hold my head at a less painful cant.
Sitting down, I adjusted the magnification and began turning the
focus ring. It took me a minute of fiddling to get it to a point
that was at least readable, though a long way from what one could
call sharp.

Picking my way through the scratches and
dropout, I scanned the almost undecipherable blobs, trying to make
sense of the vernacular of the day. I was on the verge of giving up
when something caught my eye.

Reaching up, I pulled on the positioning bar
and centered the frame. Tilting my head up, I focused on the words
through the lower half of my bifocals. Tracing beneath them with my
finger, I read silently to myself, although I could feel my lips
moving slowly as I digested the words.

When I finished, I went back to the top of
the paragraph and read them all again. It was at that point my
heart skipped a pair of beats and vaulted into my throat.

I
t took reading the small,
almost hidden public notice for a third time before my heart let
itself slide back down into my chest. Even at that, it kept racing,
fueled by a fresh dump of adrenalin.

I sat back in my chair and let a hot breath
escape slowly through pursed lips, then rubbed my hand across the
lower half of my face, ignoring the sharp stubble that by now must
have had me looking like a bum. Pushing my glasses up, I closed my
eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose between my thumb and
forefinger, simply sitting there and allowing the information to
soak fully into my grey matter. Whether I was suffering from a bout
of subdued elation or exhaustion-induced insanity, I didn’t know,
but I heard myself let out a small chuckle.

When I finally opened my eyes, I looked to
make sure the words were still displayed on the base of the reader
and hadn’t merely been a figment of my exhausted imagination.
Finding that it was quite real, I muttered to myself, “Miranda, you
bitch.”

I leaned forward then snatched up my pencil
and scribbled a couple of quick notes. Scooting the chair back, I
stood, and with a rapid spin turned the crank until the film had
rewound completely onto the spool. Popping it off the feed shaft, I
made my way quickly across the room to the microfilm imaging
station. My timing was fortunate, and there wasn’t a wait for this
more sophisticated piece of equipment.

Loading up the roll, I quickly advanced it to
the noted page. When it was centered to my satisfaction, I punched
print, and a moment later the large format laser printer nearby
hummed to life. I zoomed in and bracketed off the text then printed
enlarged versions of it as well, just to make sure I had myself
covered where readability was concerned.

Less than five minutes later, I was returning
the spools of film to the tops of the storage bins where they
belonged and then collecting the rest of my belongings.

“I made these three copies,” I said to the
archive librarian behind the desk as I splayed them out on the
counter for him to see. “What’s the damage?”

“A dollar-fifty,” he replied. “Did you find
what you were looking for?”

“Yeah, you could say that,” I answered
absently, digging through my wallet and extracting a pair of dollar
bills. “An interesting part of it, anyway.”

“Let me get your change,” he said as he took
the money.

I didn’t wait. I had already folded the
papers, stuffed them into my backpack, and was three steps toward
the elevator by the time he finished the sentence.

“Keep it,” I called over my shoulder, not
bothering to look back or even slow down.

I now had a brand new piece of the puzzle. I
just had to figure out where it fit and what to do about it.

* * * * *

“W
hy the hell haven’t you
been answerin’ your goddamn phone?!” Ben demanded.

He wasn’t going out of his way to contain his
anger, but right now I didn’t care. As long as I held the phone far
enough from my ear, I was good.

“I was in a library,” I told him calmly. “So
I had it turned off.”

I was telling the truth, for the most part
anyway. My cell phone had really been off the entire time I was in
the library. However, the real truth was that I had switched it off
much earlier. The minute I pulled off the lot at the Southern
Hospitality motel, in fact. Primarily, because I expected he would
constantly be trying to get hold of me, and I wasn’t yet ready to
be bothered.

My expectations were dead on because as soon
as I was outside and punched the power button, the device began
chirping with voice mail alerts. Five minutes later, when I reached
where I had parked my car, it was warbling with an incoming
call.

This time, however, I was still riding on the
adrenalin high of my new discovery, so I gave in and answered
it.

“Yeah?” he barked. “So why the fuck didn’t
ya’ just set it ta’ vibrate?!”