All Acts Of Pleasure: A Rowan Gant Investigation (7 page)

The real problem, however, was that while
there were those who realized I could be a benefit, I also had some
extremely vocal detractors. There were more than a few who felt my
ethereal visions were just parlor tricks and bids for attention.
Others literally claimed it to be the work of Satan. Those were the
ones who even went so far as to publicly denounce me purely because
of my chosen religious path.

Under different circumstances I would have
just tried to ignore them like I usually did, but this was a
completely different situation. It was largely because of the fact
that some of these individuals held fairly high-ranking positions
that I wasn’t convinced of a fair and impartial investigation. In
my mind, finding the real killer was the best way to be sure
Felicity wouldn’t get railroaded as a way of getting to me. I
tended not to voice that too much because I knew that it sounded
like the convoluted plot of a Hollywood conspiracy thriller, but
the truth is that it was pretty much my life in a nutshell.

On top of it all, my need to clear Felicity
hadn’t completely overshadowed the fact that a terribly sick
sociopath was still out there. A sexual sadist none of whose games
were safe, sane, or consensual. It didn’t take an advanced degree
to surmise that she was going to kill again. Since I knew for a
fact the police were looking in the wrong place and were showing
all the signs of continuing to do so, it fell to me to do something
about it before she produced another victim.

Adding up everything I already knew, it
seemed that finding out all I could about Voodoo would be the best
course of action under the circumstances. I hoped that the
knowledge would provide the clues necessary to track down the
person responsible, and some of the primary leads I was following
were the symbols, called
veve
,
which were left behind at the second scene.

I’d had no trouble identifying two of
them as belonging to generally accepted figures within Voodoo
practice, those being
Papa Legba
and
Ezili Dantò
. The
third, however, remained as elusive as a real steak in a vegetarian
restaurant. The best I’d been able to determine was that it had
been patterned after a symbol widely used within the bondage
community. Not surprising, I suppose, given the mind-set of the
killer, even though her version of the lifestyle was twisted and
grotesque. Still, that didn’t give me the name of a
Lwa
, and that missing bit of
information just fueled my need to know. If the
veve
didn’t belong to a generally accepted
spirit, then there had to be more to it. There had to be something
special about that ancestor that might lead me to the
killer.

Certainly, something else I wanted to
know was whether or not Felicity’s preternatural incident had
actually been her body being used as a
horse
by the
Lwa
. I was almost certain that it was, but there
was still a small, nagging doubt. What if it was something else
entirely? I couldn’t imagine what that might be; however, I
couldn’t deny that she had been known to channel both the dead and
the living herself, just like me. Her brush with that affliction
was something for which I blamed myself because she had opened
herself up to the other side of the veil when trying to protect me.
And, as I had discovered, once they had their foot in the door, it
was all over. They were unwanted houseguests with no intention of
ever leaving.

Still, channeling was one thing. In this case
what she had done was completely out of the park, at least in my
experience. Either way, the thing that troubled me even more was
whether or not it was going to happen again, whatever the cause
turned out to be.

Therefore, it was for those reasons, and a
number of others, that I once again found myself sitting in front
of my computer, books piled about me, and the contact page of a
university’s website glowing on my screen.

I suddenly noticed that the page was now
finished loading, and the screen had been refreshed. In fact, it
probably had been for several minutes because, in truth, I had just
caught myself staring off into space. I rocked forward in my desk
chair and looked at the blurry lines of type displayed against a
muted background.

I rubbed my eyes then pushed my glasses back
up onto the bridge of my nose. I blinked hard, trying not only to
focus but also to forget the headache that was still raging inside
my skull. Finding what I was after, I picked up the telephone
handset and put it against my ear. Glancing between the phone and
my monitor, I punched in the number listed on the web page before
me. Before it even began to ring at the other end, I rocked back in
my chair and began idly moving the mouse across the surface of my
desk as if doodling on a notepad. A moment later, the buzzing tones
abated and were followed by the sound of the phone being taken
off-hook.

“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 under the
current circumstances, I was betting no one would be willing to
back me up.

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 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.

My friend, homicide detective Benjamin Storm
was standing on my front porch, along with someone else I thought I
recognized as a member of 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. The warning
signs had been there for a while now. I had just been too absorbed,
and even more unwilling, to pay attention to them.

Ben reached out and pulled the storm door
open, looking 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.”

What transpired in the fifteen minutes
following that simple statement set a series of events into motion
that, if they didn’t kill me, would undoubtedly leave an indelible
scar upon my life, and the lives of those I loved.

“Dammit, Ben!” I screamed. “Talk to me! Why
won’t you tell me what the hell is happening here!”

“Rowan, you know damn good ‘n well what this
is about!” my friend shot back. “A dead federal judge and a dead
copper.”

“Bullshit! Politics is what it’s about,” I
snarled at him. “Who’s behind this? Albright?”

I almost gagged on the name of the cop whose
life’s mission seemed to be anything that involved making my very
existence unbearable. Captain Barbara Albright, self-appointed
leader of the “God Squad.”

Of course, there you had it, plain and
simple.

When you took into consideration the fact
that she was an old school, fundamentalist Christian with a badge,
and I was a Neopagan Witch who consulted for the police department,
we were bound to clash. The problem was, it was even worse than
that. In plain truth we weren’t just at polar opposites; in many
ways we seemed almost to be one another’s arch nemesis.
Unfortunately, she tended to take that idea very seriously and more
often than not would push things way too far.

She had already interjected her opinions and
views into the current investigation, casting aspersions on both
Felicity and me. Out of all of my detractors, she had been the one
I most feared would skew the investigation. Given how vocal she had
already been, it stood to reason that she would be behind this
action. However, in my estimation, her habit of pushing things too
far had just turned into shoving them completely over the edge and
gleefully watching them fall.