The Law Of Three: A Rowan Gant Investigation (5 page)

The uniformed officer stifled what might have
been a knowing or perhaps a nervous laugh. Maybe even both. It was
hard to tell. “Yeah. That’s the one.”

“Shit! What the hell did I do to deserve
this?”

“
What’s the problem, Ben?” I asked back
over my shoulder as we began ascending the next flight of
stairs.

“Well, I know ya’ know Arthur McCann with the
county police,” he offered.

There wasn’t a Pagan in St. Louis who didn’t
know McCann. He was a devout Christian with a badge who claimed to
be an expert on occult religions, and he used his position within
the police department to preach his own brand of intolerance and
hatred. I’d had more than one run-in with him myself.

“Yeah, sure,” I answered.

“Well, stick him in a skirt and give him a
little authority and you’ve got Barbara Albright.”

A loud burst of static sounded ahead of us,
overcoming the background chatter that had been issuing from the
officer’s radio. The tinny hiss was followed by a questioning
voice, “Unit Fourteen?”

The officer thumbed his microphone and
answered, “Fourteen.”

“Fourteen, Lieutenant Albright wants to know
if Detective Storm has arrived on scene yet. Over.”

“That’s affirmative,” he returned. “I’m
bringing them up right now. Over.”

“Fourteen, be advised that Lieutenant
Albright is requesting that Detective Storm come up alone.
Copy.”

“Say again?”

“Fourteen, switch up.”

The officer reached to his belt and twisted a
control knob on his radio, changing to a clear frequency, then
spoke again. “Yeah. Go ahead.”

“Yeah, Shelton, she doesn’t want any
civilians up here,” the voice answered.

“Tell him they’re consultants,” Ben
instructed. “They’re logged and cleared for the scene.”

“Yeah, Detective Storm says they are
consultants, and they’re cleared,” the officer relayed into his
microphone.

A short burst of static followed then was
replaced by silence. We had halted midway up the second set of
stairs when the original call came over the radio, and we now
waited in the cold darkness a half dozen steps below the second
floor.

The pop and crackle of interference once
again broke the silence and the disembodied voice of the other
officer audibly sighed before continuing. “Shelton, here’s a direct
quote, ‘tell Storm to leave his devil worshipper downstairs where
he belongs.’”

Ben’s own words came in a slow drone directly
behind the echo of the radio. “Fuuuuck me. Just fuuuuck me.”

I protested, but it didn’t do any good. This
time it was out of Ben’s control, and no amount of complaining from
me was going to accomplish anything positive. Besides, he was on my
side, or at least that is what I thought. In the end, he continued
up the stairs, and we were escorted back out onto the street.

The wind had picked up as a storm front
rolled in, so we were waiting in my friend’s van with the engine
running and the heater on. He had been somewhat reluctant to
relinquish the keys, and I guess I could understand why, since he
had just gotten it back from the shop a week ago. I’m sure the fact
that I was the one responsible for putting it in there to begin
with was a big stumbling block for him as well—but that was another
story.

I suppose that is probably why when he
finally gave up the keys it was to Felicity instead of me, which
also was why she was sitting in the driver’s seat.

“You’ve been pretty quiet.” I leaned back in
the passenger seat and let my head roll to face her as I spoke. The
vehicle’s heater had not yet defeated the chill, and my words
vented outward on an opaque cloud of frost. “Are you doing all
right?”

Felicity looked back at me with a flat
expression. It was apparent that she was tired, but more than that,
it was plain to see that she was overwhelmed. “Aye, that would
depend on your definition of all right, wouldn’t it, then?”

“Pick one,” I offered.

She took a deep breath and exhaled heavily,
then reached to the dash and clicked the controls to dual-duty—vent
and defrost. The warm air slowly started clearing the fog that had
formed on the inside of the windshield. “I’m not going to throw up
if that’s what you’re asking.”

“That’s a start.”

“What about you?” she asked.

“I’m fine.” I shrugged, rolling my head back
to face out the window. I watched as the arc of clarity inched its
way up the glass from the bottom. “Still have the headache, but I
expect that will be with me for a while.”

“Any worse yet?”

“Yeah. Still tolerable, but it’s ramping
up.”

She reached out and laid the palm of her hand
across the back of mine. After a moment she spoke, “Aye, you’re
well-grounded for a change. And without my help.”

My ability, or lack thereof I should say, to
center my energies and maintain a solid connection with the Earth
had been a concern as of late. In the psychic realm, grounding was
your first line of defense and one of the most basic of all
abilities. During the past year, Eldon Porter’s attempt on my life
had taken its toll, leaving me just about as grounded as a runaway
helium balloon. It was only recently that I had recaptured the
simple ability.

“Can’t stay dependent on you forever, can I?”
I shot her a tired grin.

Our impending moment was interrupted by a
sharp rap on the passenger-side window. I turned to see my friend’s
face staring back at me. Even though the frost had all but
completely cleared from the windshield, I hadn’t noticed his
approach. His brow was entrenched in a deep furrow and his jaw
clenched so tight it made my headache worse just to look at
him.

I quickly rolled down the window. “What’s the
story?”

“Don’t ask,” he returned with a curt shake of
his head. “You don’t wanna know. So, listen, you think you can come
up with somethin’ off this scene?”

“That’s why I’m here,” I replied, somewhat
puzzled by the question.

“You’re sure?”

I shook my head and stammered for a second,
searching for the words to form an answer. “Well… Ben… You know I
can’t say that. You know as well as I do, that’s not how it
works.”

He shook his head vigorously and held up a
hand. “Just friggin’ tell me if you can get somethin’ off this
scene or not.”

“Maybe.” My voice took on a defensive tone.
“I won’t know until I try.”

Ben rubbed his eyes then sent his hand back
to massage his neck and muttered, “Shit.”

“What’s going on, Ben?” I asked again.

After a moment, he began shaking his head as
a decision visibly fell upon him and his shoulders drooped.

“Not here,” he said, then shifted his gaze
over to Felicity. “You better get in the back unless you’re
drivin’.”

* * * * *

“Okay, I give up. What’s going on?” I asked.
My frustration had finally festered to a point of eruption.

“Settle down,” Ben ordered with a hushed
voice and a stern glance.

The drive had been short but conspicuously
wordless. In complete silence, we had traversed slightly more than
a mile of block-long jaunts and eleventh-hour ninety-degree turns.
Fortunately, less than five minutes passed before we arrived at our
final destination, which turned out to be a small diner at the
intersection of Seventh and Chouteau. Still, even five minutes can
seem like forever when you are sitting next to a taciturn cop who
outwardly appears to be pissed off at the world, you included.

I was no stranger to “Charlie’s Eats,” and
neither was Ben. In fact, this is where he had first shown me the
case file that proved Eldon Porter’s identity. But, that wasn’t its
only distinction. With its proximity to police headquarters,
officers frequented it at all hours. There was even a pair of
parking spaces on the lot designated specifically for patrol cars.
The standing joke was that, other than the food itself, “Chuck’s”
was probably the safest place in the entire city to have a
meal.

Joking aside, the truth was that while the
fare was far from four-star gourmet, it was good, with sizeable
portions, and reasonably priced. Anything from a doughnut to a
cheeseburger, or even the house specialty—appropriately dubbed “The
Kitchen Sink Omelet”—was available 24/7. On top of that, everything
on the menu came complete with a bottomless cup of coffee.

“Look, Row,” my friend continued after I
reluctantly followed his instruction and sat back in the booth with
deliberate heaviness. “I know where you’re at, really I do, but you
gotta listen to me for a minute.”

“I’d like to, but you haven’t been saying
anything,” I fired back.

“Jeez, Felicity, could you kick ‘im or
somethin’?” He aimed his glance at my wife as he made the
rhetorical statement.

“Aye, I doubt it would do any good,” she
answered anyway.

“Heya, Storm,” a bear-like man with a wild
bush of a red beard called to Ben from the other side of the
counter then nodded in my direction. “Rowan.”

I dipped my head in acknowledgement and did
my best to replace the frown I knew I was wearing with at least
some semblance of a smile.

“You ever go home, Chuck,” Ben asked the
man.

“What for?” The man chuckled as he re-tied
the string on his stained apron. “This your wife, Rowan?”

“Felicity, meet Chuck.” I made the
introduction. “Chuck, Felicity.”

“Nice to meet you,” my wife said with a lilt,
following the words with one of her winning smiles.

“Same here,” Chuck agreed.

“Little slow this morning?” Ben asked.

Chuck cast an eye at the clock and shook his
head. “Nah, shift change comin’ up. Just the calm before the storm.
Heh-heh,” he chuckled. “But I guess the ‘storm’s’ already here,
huh?”

“Yeah, Chuck.” Ben shook his head. “Friggin’
hilarious.”

“Gimme a break, it’s early. So, can I get
youse guys anything?”

“Just coffee,” my friend told him.

“Make that two,” I said.

Felicity added, “Three.”

Chuck reached under the Formica-sheathed
counter, and when he withdrew his large hand, a trio of ceramic
coffee mugs were hooked on a single index finger. He set them down,
then in a swift motion snatched up a full Pyrex globe of java and
filled them all with a single practiced pour.

Ben slid partially out of the booth and in a
pivoting motion ferried the steaming mugs to our table.

“Youse gonna be here for a bit?” Chuck
asked.

“A while, probl’y,” Ben returned. “Why?”

The large man behind the counter hooked his
thumb over his shoulder. “I gotta go in the back and check in a
delivery. Wendy oughta be here in a bit. You wanna yell back there
if someone comes in before she gets here?”

“We can do that.”

“I ‘preciate it.” Chuck nodded as he turned,
then called back over his shoulder before disappearing into the
back of the diner, “If youse want any more coffee, help
yerselfs.”

A quiet lull ensued, broken randomly by
the noise of Chuck shifting boxes in the back room and Felicity
stripping open packets of sugar. The static-plagued tune of
the
Talking Heads “Psycho Killer”
fell in behind the duet as it wafted from the speaker of a
tinny radio behind the counter.

Considering what was happening a few blocks
away, I suppose the song was appropriate.

“Can you tell me what’s going on now, Ben?” I
finally appealed.

“There ain’t no other way to say this. You’ve
been banned from any investigations involving the Major Case
Squad.”

I blinked. I waited for him to tell me he was
kidding. He didn’t, so I spoke. “Excuse me? Banned? Why?”

“Listen,” he started again. “That’s what I
was gettin’ ready to tell ya’. With Bee-Bee runnin’ the show,
there’s not a hell of a lot I can do.”

“Who’s Bee-Bee?” I asked, shaking my head. “I
thought somebody named Albright was in charge.”

“That’s Bee-Bee. Bible Barb,” he explained.
“Lieutenant Barbara ‘fuckin’ holier than thou’ Albright.”

“But, I thought you were running this
investigation,” Felicity said.

He shook his head. “I’m just the
investigating officer of record for the original case.”

“Well doesn’t that carry any weight?” I
asked.

“For gettin' me outta bed in the middle of
the night, maybe, but that’s about it. It’s pretty simple. She
lieutenant, me lowly detective, and that’s the size of it.”

“Banned?” I repeated again.

“Yeah, Row. Banned.”

“Aye, but you seemed to be running things
before,” Felicity interjected.

“Yeah, well it doesn’t usually happen that
way. It did then, but only because I was originally assigned the
case, and the powers that be gave me some breathing room.”

“So why aren’t they now?” I asked.

“Well, let’s see…” He rolled his eyes and
huffed out a breath. “For starters, the lieutenant I reported to
with the Major Case Squad retired.”

“And this Albright woman is the replacement?”
my wife half asked, half stated.

“Exactly.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” I posed, “but I
was under the impression that lieutenants were basically management
and that they didn’t get that directly involved in
investigations.”

“Yeah, pretty much,” he agreed with a nod.
“But not always. Some of ‘em get involved. As it happens, Bee-Bee
is a real hands-on, stir-the-shit type.”

“So can’t you go over her head?” I
pressed.

“Not really. I dunno if you missed it, but in
the past year we’ve gotten a new mayor and a new police chief in
the city.”

“Yeah, so?”

“Yeah, so, there’s been a change in
management my friends, and I’m not exactly considered a model
employee right now.”

“Why is that?” Felicity asked.