Perfect Trust: A Rowan Gant Investigation (32 page)

“You gonna call Felicity and tell ‘er you’re
down here?” he asked as he jerked open a stairwell door and
motioned me through.

I took a quick glance at my watch. It was
almost 10:30. The Santa Brigade, as they liked to call themselves,
would be right in the middle of entertaining a group of kids at the
moment. If everything were following the intended schedule, they
would be heading out for the next stop in about an hour.

“She’s got a full schedule, but she should
have a bit of a break around eleven-thirty so they can all grab
lunch,” I told him. “I’ll probably call her then.”

“Don’t forget to check with ‘er about
tonight.”

“Will do. So if we’re able to make it, what
should we bring?”

“Just yourselves.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, it’s not a big deal and we’ll have
plenty. Hell, we always have too much. Although, ya’know, if ya’
happen ta’ think about it, Allison wanted the recipe for that beef
tenderloin you guys served the other night.”

His request reminded me that we had
completely forgotten to tell everyone what they had actually eaten
for the Yule feast. I thought about continuing to guard the secret,
especially since Felicity wasn’t here to see his reaction, but I
was just going to have to apologize to her for that. I needed the
laugh right now.

“Ummm, that wasn’t beef,” I said as we
started down the stairs.

“Really? It didn’t taste like pork,” he
said.

“That’s because it wasn’t pork either.”

“Well, it sure as hell wasn’t chicken. I know
that much.”

“You are correct.”

“Well if it wasn’t beef, pork, or chicken
then what the hell was it?”

“Actually, it was ostrich.”

My friend slowed his pace, almost stopping as
he gave me a long look, one eyebrow raised questioningly. “Ostrich.
You mean like the big-ass-stickin’-its-head-in-the-sand-bird? You
mean, that kinda ostrich?”

“Actually,” I offered, “they don’t really
stick their heads in the sand, they just lay them against the
ground.”

“Ostrich?” he repeated, ignoring the bit of
trivia.

“Yeah,” I nodded as we rounded a landing and
picked up the pace once again, “ostrich.”

“Jeez, white man.”

“Didn’t you like it?” I asked.

“I had seconds, didn’t I?”

“And thirds as I recall, so what’s the
problem?”

“I ate a fuckin’ ostrich, that’s the
problem.”

* * * * *

I hung back as Ben conferred with Detective
McLaughlin at the doorway to the interview room and then after a
moment waved me over.

“Okay, this woman was raped about two
weeks ago, and she’s still pretty skittish. Right now she’s okay
with you bein’ here,” he told me in a stern whisper. “But here’s
the rules—you’re just an observer. Let us handle it, and if ya’ get
some kinda hinky
Twilight Zone
thing goin’ on, gimme some kinda sign so I can get ya’ outta
there.”

“Like what?”

“I dunno, anything. Better yet, just don’t go
off into never-never land on me and we won’t hafta worry about
it.”

“I’ll try,” I said. “That’s all I can
do.”

“Yeah, well try really fuckin’ hard, okay? I
don’t need ta’ be worryin’ about ya’ goin’ off the deep end and
spookin’ a witness too.”

Charlee pulled the door wide to allow entry,
and we were greeted with a thick haze of blue-white smoke that hung
in languid ribbons on the already stale air. A thin shiver arced
down my spine, and I knew instantly that I was on the correct
path.

“Miz Hodges,” Charlee said as she shut the
door behind us, “this is Detective Storm and Mister Gant. Detective
Storm is the officer I was telling you about. Gentlemen, this is
Miranda Hodges.”

The woman seated at the table in the small
conference room fit the victim profile perfectly—early twenties,
very petite, very blonde, and very pretty.

She was also very nervous.

There was a noticeable tremble in her hand as
she brought a cigarette to her lips and inhaled deeply. A half
empty pack was on the table in front of her along with a disposable
lighter, and the ashtray was filled with better than a half-dozen
butts. I stole a glance at my watch. They hadn’t been in here for
very long.

“Hi,” she said in a meek voice then stubbed
out the remaining inch of the burning tobacco, only to immediately
light another.

My own craving for nicotine re-awakened, and
I wanted desperately to sit down and join her in the chain smoking
frenzy but decided that I’d better not. Ben shot me a glance and I
nodded perceptibly. I’d been telling him all along that my return
to smoking had to be due to the outside influence of a victim. I
had simply thought that I was channeling the vice of a dead victim,
not a living one. But here was Miranda Hodges, cigarette in hand,
and there was no denying the possible correlation. Maybe I was
wrong, but I doubted it. The timeline and the intensity of the
habit fit.

I smiled inwardly for a moment. Score another
one for me. If things kept falling into place this quickly, I just
might get the gift of my sanity for Christmas.

“Good morning, Miz Hodges,” Ben greeted the
young woman as we ventured into the room.

“Detective McLaughlin told me that you work
with Homicide,” Miranda ventured.

“That’s right,” he answered.

She looked past Ben and locked her eyes on
mine. “Are you with Homicide too, Detective Gant?”

“Mister Gant is a consultant,” Ben told her,
answering before I could open my mouth and heavily stressing the
Mister. “He’s helping us with another case, and I thought his input
might be valuable here. But if you’re uncomfortable…” he allowed
the comment to hang, unfinished.

“No,” she shook her head. “No, it’s fine.
What kind of consultant?”

“Umm…”

“Latent memory analysis and dream
interpretation,” I interjected, plucking something impressive
sounding out of the air since Ben seemed at a momentary loss. I
knew full well that I was stepping outside the boundaries that he’d
set, but I wasn’t going to miss this opportunity.

I’d been allowing everyone else to guide me
for far too long. I had come to the conclusion that it was my turn
to drive.

“So like a psychiatrist then,” she said.

“Not exactly,” I told her with a shrug and
then nodded as I moved closer to the table. “But something similar
I suppose.”

“I’m not crazy,” she immediately
announced.

“No one thinks you’re crazy, Miz Hodges,”
Charlee told her.

I could feel Ben’s stare burning a large hole
in my back. I was going to be in deep trouble with him when this
was all over, but I knew he wouldn’t make a scene. Not in here, and
not as long as things remained on an even keel anyway. Still, the
only way I was going to redeem myself in the least was if I could
make some progress, so I continued.

“Not at all,” I echoed. “I’m just here to
help you with your memory, but if you’d rather I leave, I’ll
certainly understand.”

She sat quietly for a long stretch before
finally answering, “I’m not so sure I want to remember.”

“That’s perfectly normal,” I offered calmly,
pressing my voice into a soothing monotone. “But eventually we
always do. Perhaps not everything, but enough to fill in at least
some of the blanks.”

Her eyes were fixed with mine, and she gave
me a nervous smile before looking down at the table. She was
outwardly displaying a tenuous amount of confidence in my presence
here, and I accepted it for what it was worth. I fought back my own
desire to rush headlong into a series of questions and ushered it
into the background. I couldn’t afford to betray her trust, nor did
I want to.

“I have plenty of those.” She let out a
forced laugh. “Blanks I mean.”

“Rohypnol does that,” Charlee told her.
“That’s one of the reasons it’s called the date rape drug.”

I continued to watch the young woman, not
placing any demands on the situation but keeping my attention
focused directly on her. Engaging in a simple exercise, I allowed
my breathing to grow more and more shallow as I drew air slowly in
through my nose and let it escape from my mouth in a quiet
stream.

“While it may seem painful at first,
Miranda,” I offered, keeping the measure of my voice even, “filling
in those blanks can offer closure.”

She turned her gaze back to me and brought
her eyes to rest directly on mine once again. I continued to stare,
unblinking as I spoke, “And with that closure can come peace of
mind.”

She was beginning to relax as I soothed her
with my voice. I could feel a connection beginning to flow between
us, and I prepared to press forward. Ben, however, immediately
figured out what I was about to do. He had seen me enter into such
a hypnotic state before, and he wasn’t going to allow it this time
around.

My friend cleared his throat with almost
over-animated gusto and bumped against me. I was betting the move
was no accident.

“Excuse me,” he offered the bogus apology,
grabbing my arm as I stumbled. “Clumsy of me. Sorry ‘bout that,
Mister Gant.”

When I caught his eye I knew I’d won my bet.
But it didn’t matter. He’d done what he set out to do. The thin
connection was broken and Miranda Hodges, wearing a mildly
bewildered expression as if she’d just awoke, shook her head and
blinked.

“I want you ta’ know I appreciate ya’ talking
to us,” Ben offered, stepping farther forward and insinuating
himself even more prominently into the scene.

“So why are you interested in this, Detective
Storm?” Miranda turned her attention to Ben as she took a hit from
her cigarette. “Did…did the sonofabitch that raped me kill someone
too?”

“We don’t know for sure,” he told her. “But
I’ll be honest, yes, that is a possibility. That’s why I wanted to
talk to you.”

Her reaction was instantaneous and not all
that unexpected.

“Oh my God,” she whimpered as she brought her
hand up to her mouth. She rolled her eyes up to the ceiling and
blinked hard before squeezing them tightly shut. She let out a low,
nasal whine as she began trembling. Large tears proceeded to roll
down her cheeks, and we all stood in awkward silence.

I personally erected a shabby wall of
ethereal defense against the woman’s burgeoning emotions as I felt
a lump begin to rise in my throat. Apparently the empathy I had
been missing seemed to have chosen this inopportune moment to
return.

I managed to stave it off, thankful that the
distress wasn’t aimed directly at me because I still wasn’t all
that well grounded. Right now, I needed to take things one at a
time.

Charlee found a box of tissues and offered it
to the young woman. She took them and sniffed loudly as she dabbed
at the tears, and then looked up at us and weakly uttered, “I’m
sorry.”

“S’okay,” Ben told her. “Can we get ya’
anything? Maybe somethin’ ta’ drink? Coffee? Soda? Water?”

“A soda,” she nodded. “A soda would be
good.”

“Particular kind?”

“Anything diet.”

“How about you, Chuck?”

“Coffee’s good. Two creams, four sugars.”

“Okay, one diet soda and one coffee, two by
four,” Ben repeated. “Come on, Rowan, why don’t ya’ come with and
gimme a hand. Ladies, we’ll be right back.”

* * * * *

“Just what the fuck was that?” Ben snarled at
me as we entered the corridor and rounded the corner toward the
vending machines.

I didn’t answer and just kept walking.

“You were tryin’ ta’ do one of those
hocus-pocus things, weren’t ya’?” he continued angrily.

I felt his large hand come down in a firm
grip on my shoulder, and with a quick jerk he twisted me around.
“Goddammit, Rowan! Don’t walk away from me when I’m talkin’ to
you!”

“Back off, Ben,” I spat.

“Me back off?” he asked, incredulity coloring
the question. “I talked to ya’ about this before we went in there.
You promised me ya’ wouldn’t do any of that shit.”

“I didn’t promise you anything,” I shot back.
“I said I’d try. That’s it.”

“Ya’ didn’t try very fuckin’ hard!”

The few people that were in the hallway were
giving us wide berth as each of them selected the nearest escape
route. Ben was seething, and the very sight of him like this tended
to strike fear directly into the heart. He hadn’t been willing to
make a scene in front of Miranda Hodges, but apparently once the
door to the interview room had closed he had no problem at all with
us being center stage.

“Guess again! I’ve been trying ‘very fucking
hard’ for a week now. Maybe it’s your turn!”

My comment took him completely by surprise.
He just stared at me dumbfounded with his jaw hanging open.
Whatever biting comment he’d been prepared to hurl at me had
instantly evaporated into nothingness. After a moment he spoke,
this time with a little less fire in his voice. “So what the hell
is that s’posed ta’ mean?”

I sighed and consciously forced some of my
own anger to drain away. “It means that it’s time you started
trusting me again.”

“When haven’t I trusted you?”

“For the past week, at the very least,” I
told him. “Ever since I walked in here with that notepad it has
been like pulling teeth to get you to listen to me.”

“Yeah, well, I thought I had a damn good
reason for that.”

“Fine. I’m willing to accept that. But start
adding it up, Ben. How much more do I have to do to prove to you
that I’m right? Do you really still have reason to keep shutting me
out on this?”

“You mean
besides
the fact that you ain’t a copper and
have no authority here?”

“That’s never stopped you from listening
before.”

“I promised Felicity.”

“And we saw how that ended up, didn’t
we?”