Harm None: A Rowan Gant Investigation (25 page)

“What’s up,” I asked as Ben and I hurried up
the hallway. “Has there been another murder?”

“No,” he replied as he signed us out and
slipped his weapon back into its holster. “Not another murder.”

“Then what?” I pressed. “What was that call
about?”

“Let’s just get goin’,” he ordered, grabbing
my shoulder and nudging me forward.

“What the hell?!” I exclaimed. “What’s going
on Ben?”

He let out a heavy breath, and his hand shot
up to smooth his hair back and then came to rest massaging his
neck.

“That call was Allison,” he finally said.

“Yeah,” I urged, instantly feeling concern
for him and his family. “Is everything okay? Is the little guy all
right?”

“They’re fine,” he answered without concern.
“They’re just fine.”

“Then what’s going on?” I demanded.

“Allison’s on duty today,” he finally told
me. “She called because an ambulance just brought Felicity in to
the E.R. at her hospital.”

I
never knew that Ben had an actual siren in his van, that is,
until now. He had wasted no time, quickly attaching his red
magnetic bubble light to the roof of the vehicle and plugging it
into the cigarette lighter as we flew from the parking lot. Soon,
we were careening down the highway, siren screaming from behind the
grill. Ben pushed the van to its limit, as if the sooner we arrived
at the hospital, the quicker we could make everything better. As if
simply by being there, we could magically prevent whatever had
happened, even after the fact.

“What did Allison say?” I appealed still
struggling with my safety belt.

“Just that an ambulance came in, and Felicity
was in it,” he answered, still keeping his attention on the
road.

“Did she have any idea what was wrong with
her?” The metal finger on the seatbelt finally slipped in with a
satisfying click.

“No,” he replied as he hooked the van around
the slower traffic. “You sons-of-bitches! Can’t you hear the
siren!” he screamed at the other drivers and then turned back to
me. “No, she didn’t. She said she was conscious when they brought
her in though.”

The pains in my stomach were growing more
intense with each passing moment. I began to realize that it wasn’t
R.J. that I was feeling empathy for. It was my wife.

“She was fine when I left her,” I
volunteered. “Just a little morning sickness. Hell, I’ve only been
gone for a couple of hours. What could have happened?”

“I dunno,” Ben offered, “but like I said,
Allison told me she was awake when they brought her in, so that’s a
good sign at least.”

“It has to be something to do with the baby,”
I asserted.

“You don’t know that. I’m sure everything’s
fine.”

“No. It’s not.” I held fast as another burst
of pain shot through my abdomen. “I’ve been having pains in my
stomach for about an hour now.”

“So?”

“So, it’s called empathy,” I told him. “At
first I thought I was getting it from R.J. because he was nervous
and all that, but now I know better. I’m feeling Felicity’s
pain.”

“Like some kinda psychic thing or somethin’?”
Ben half asked, half remarked. “Jeezus, you guys are
unbelievable.”

The siren continued warbling loudly as he
quickly cranked the steering wheel to the right, sending us into
the cloverleaf from Interstate 64 to exit onto Kingshighway. The
hospital was within sight now, only the sluggish traffic barring
our way. Ben drove the van halfway up onto the inside shoulder in
order to skirt around the cars that were slowly moving out of our
way, and the engine groaned in protest at the abuse it was taking.
The vehicle buffeted wildly and rocked on worn suspension when the
tires finally leapt from the curb and once again contacted level
pavement. Moments later, we broke through the lethargic traffic,
and Ben propelled us forward without heed to the signal lights and
signs.

We quickly traveled the two short blocks
running alongside the hospital, whereupon we hooked right, sliding
at first then accelerating out of the turn. At the end of the short
sprint, Ben jammed on the brakes, forcing the Chevy to screech to a
halt before the entrance to the emergency room.

“Go. GO!” he urged as I wrestled my way out
of the seatbelt and flung my door open.

I jumped from the van and ran the short
distance to the entrance. The automatic doors instantly began to
open, though not fast enough in my mind, so I turned sideways,
forcing my way through as the gap widened. The cold, conditioned
air, reeking of antiseptic, slapped me hard in the face as I pushed
my way through a second set of doors and stumbled to a stop at the
admitting desk.

“O’Brien,” I insisted. “Felicity O’Brien.
Where is she?”

A blank-faced nurse quietly stared back at me
and seated herself at a computer terminal behind the desk. Reaching
up, she slid a clipboard and pen toward me.

“Fill this out and return it to the desk,”
she stated mechanically and without emotion.

“Dammit, I don’t need treatment!” I pushed
the clipboard hard across the counter, and it slid off onto the
floor with a raucous clatter. “I’m looking for my wife, Felicity
O’Brien. She was brought in here a little while ago!”

By now, Ben had joined me, leaving the
haphazardly parked van where it was, red light still flickering
wildly. He had at least taken the time to turn off the clamoring
siren.

“And your name is?” the nurse questioned like
an automaton.

“Rowan. Rowan Gant,” I returned
impatiently.

“Relation?”

“I told you already!” I shouted. “She’s my
wife!”

“Ben, Rowan!” The exclamation came from our
immediate right.

We both turned quickly to face the direction
from which the voice had issued and were presented with the somber
face of Allison Storm, Ben’s wife. Her white uniform was obviously
rumpled more than usual. A long strand of her fine brown hair hung
wildly across her face, and she gently brushed it away with the
back of her hand.

“Where’s Felicity?” I asked roughly. “What
happened?”

“Calm down, Rowan,” she told me. “She’s okay.
She’s going to be fine.”

“The baby?”

She just looked down at the floor then back
at me. “I’m sorry.”

“What happened?” I appealed, fighting back
the emotion that was continuing to well inside me.

“Why don’t you come with me,” Allison
soothed. “I’m on a break right now. We’ll go see Felicity, and we
can talk.”

I desperately wanted to know what had
happened to my wife, but at the same time I knew Allison was right,
I needed to calm down. I knew she wouldn’t give me the run around,
so I simply nodded and forced myself to remain quiet. Ben and I
followed her down the long hallway, twisting and turning until we
reached a bank of elevators. The three of us waited in silence and
once the polished metal doors slid open, stepped inside and rode
upward. I was too preoccupied with my concern for Felicity to even
notice which floor we finally arrived at. A few short stretches of
corridor mixed with a couple of quick turns, and we entered a
private room.

The first thing to catch my eye was my petite
wife, innocent and childlike as she peacefully slept in the
hospital bed. An IV bag hung from a stand nearby with the long
plastic tube leading from its base to the back of her hand where it
was neatly and firmly taped in place. I quietly made my way farther
into the room to the side of the bed and gently caressed her
cheek.

“She’s sedated,” Allison volunteered. “She
needs to rest for a while.”

“I won’t wake her,” I whispered and then
turned to face Allison. “Now, can somebody please tell me what
happened?”

“It’s my fault,” a slightly familiar voice
quietly admitted from behind me. “I’m sorry, Mister Gant.”

I turned to see the owner of the voice, and
my eyes fell on Cally’s face. She had been seated in the corner of
the room the entire time, unnoticed, and now stood, uncertainly
staring at me. Her face wore the expression of a school child that
had just disappointed a respected teacher.

“What do you mean it’s your fault, Cally?” I
asked, turning fully to face her.

“I couldn’t reach Detective Storm.” She began
gushing, tears welling in her eyes and rolling across her flushed
cheeks. “They said he was in a meeting and couldn’t be disturbed. I
tried calling you, but Felicity said you were with the detective,
so I told her and she came over. I never should have called.”

She was crying harder now, burying her face
in her hands, shoulders beginning to heave.

“Told her what?” I prodded anxiously. “Come
over where?”

“To my house,” she whimpered. “I told her
Devon was on his way over and that I couldn’t reach Detective
Storm, so she came over to my house.”

Ben, ever the cop, immediately pulled out his
notebook and flipped to a fresh page in preparation for taking
notes. I strode the few steps between Cally and myself and then
took her gently by the shoulders.

“Easy Cally, calm down.” I slowly guided her
back into the chair then retrieved a small packet of tissues from
the table and knelt beside her. “Now, take a deep breath, ground
and center. I know you can do it.”

A hot, tingling sensation washed over me, and
I instantly realized that I needed to heed my own advice. I placed
my hand on hers and continued to soothe her with calm
encouragement, easing her—and myself—into a relaxed breath. When
her shuddering stopped, and she dabbed the last of the tears away
with a tissue, I continued. “Now, tell me what happened.”

“Like I said,” she outlined, watching my face
studiously, “I couldn’t reach Detective Storm, so I tried to call
you. I wanted to tell someone that Devon called me and said he was
on his way over. He knew the police were looking for him because of
his neighbor or something. Felicity said you were with Detective
Storm, so I told her about it. She took down my address and told me
to just stay put. She said she would be over in a few minutes and
not to worry about anything.”

Ben was scribbling rapidly when I looked over
at him. Allison, having already heard the story, was dutifully
tending to Felicity, checking her IV and pulse.

“Go on,” I urged.

“Well, Devon got there before Felicity did,”
Cally continued. “He was acting pretty wired, like he was scared
and all. He kept asking me if the police had talked to me.”

“What did you tell ‘im?” Ben questioned.

“I told him no,” she turned her face to him,
“but I don’t think he believed me. He kept asking if I was lying.”
She turned back to me. “Anyway, when Felicity got there, she rang
the doorbell, and Devon went crazy.”

“How do you mean?” I demanded. “What did he
do?”

“Just spastic, you know,” she went on. “He
accused me of calling the cops and started yelling a lot. He
wouldn’t let me answer the door.”

Ben’s voice came from behind me. “Did he
attack you?”

“No,” Cally told him. “Not really. He just
stayed between me and the door and kept yelling about the cops and
the ASPCA, and all.”

“So, I’m still not clear on what happened to
Felicity,” I expressed, biting back my growing impatience.

“I guess she could hear Devon yelling and got
worried or something,” she ventured, “because all of a sudden she
came through the door. I guess it was unlocked, and she just
decided to try and help me, you know. Devon thought she was a cop,
and I guess he was trying to get away because he just took off for
the door. He ran right into her and slammed her into the wall real
hard.” She started slowly weeping again, sniffling as she spoke,
“It’s my fault. If I hadn’t called her, this never would have
happened.”

“No, Cally.” I forced my voice to remain
calm. “It wasn’t your fault. You did the right thing by
calling.”

Ben’s practiced voice came again. “Did anyone
else show up? Any cops?”

“Yes,” she answered. “They chased after
Devon. I don’t know why they came. I guess Felicity called
them.”

By now she had returned to fully involved
sobbing, and no amount of reassurance from me was going to convince
her that she was not to blame. I glanced back at Allison and
motioned for her to trade places with me, which she did
assiduously. This done, Ben and I quietly retreated from the
room.

“I thought Felicity knew we had the place
covered,” Ben stated low-voiced once we were in the hall. “Why the
hell did she go over there?”

“I don’t know,” I puzzled. “Maybe she forgot?
Maybe she just wanted to help Cally. Only she can answer that. Do
you think they caught the bastard?”

“I’ll call in and find out,” he replied. “He
couldn’t get far if he was on foot. Whaddaya make of that bit about
the ASPCA?”

“Yeah, I noticed that. The ASPCA,” I echoed,
“like maybe he thought the police were after him because of the
whole incident with sacrificing the dog.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

“If he committed the murders, it seems like
that would be the furthest thing from his mind,” I ventured.

“Yeah, I think you’re right,” Ben agreed.
“We’ll still talk to him though.”

“You still think R.J. did it, don’t you?”

“I think I’ve got a lot of evidence that
points straight at ‘im. A lot of it is circumstantial I admit, but
there’s the fingerprint on the candle, the blood type, and the
hairs. DNA test’ll show for sure if he was with Ellen Gray.”

“But that’s just on the latest victim, and we
know he was having an affair with her,” I maintained.

“He never admitted to that.”

“Come on, Ben. You saw how he acted when you
mentioned her name,” I pointed out.

“What I saw him do was clam up and ask for a
lawyer.”

“I would have too,” I contended. “Besides,
you still can’t connect him with Karen Barnes.”