Perfect Trust: A Rowan Gant Investigation (31 page)

“You’re positive Debbie Schaeffer didn’t have
any ex-boyfriends?” I asked.

“None that ‘er parents knew of, why?”

“Well, this is just me speculating, so take
it for what it’s worth.” I confessed the thoughts that had only now
started to gel in the front of my brain. “But if everything we’ve
discussed here actually pans out, then that would make Debbie
Schaeffer the first victim, right?”

“Still a big if, but yeah… Go on.”

“Well, what if she’s the impetus for the
entire string of rapes?”

“You mean,” Ben looked at Detective
McLaughlin then back to me, “like he’s tryin’ ta’ relive rapin’ her
through these other women?”

“I suppose, but that’s not exactly what I was
thinking.” I shook my head. “I was approaching it more along the
line that she was the actual object of his desire, and through
whatever course of events transpired he accidentally killed her. So
by acting out his fantasy with the other women, he is somehow
bringing her back to life. In his mind anyway.”

“Jeez, white man. Now you’re startin’ to
sound like my sister.”

I shrugged. “Then maybe she’s who we really
need to be talking to.”

* * * * *

“Hello?” Helen Storm’s voice issued from the
phone.

We had regrouped in a conference room to
allow for less distraction and more privacy. Ben had begun dialing
her number almost as soon as the door was shut.

“Helen, it’s Ben,” my friend spoke quickly.
“You’re on speaker. I’ve got Detective McLaughlin and Rowan with
me. You got a minute?”

“Since you already have me on speaker, I
suppose it would be rude of me to say no, would it not?”

“Gimme a break, Sis.”

“Oh, I suppose I can let it go this time,”
she laughed musically. “What can I do for you, Benjamin?”

Detective McLaughlin gave me a grin then
turned to Ben and mouthed “Benjamin?”

My friend fired back a wordless glance that
said in no uncertain terms, “Don’t even go there.”

“First off, everything we discuss here is
strictly on the QT, right?”

“Of course. I take it this is work related
then?”

“Yeah, it is. We’ve got a situation we’d like
ta’ run past ya’ and get your professional opinion on.”

“You understand that forensic psychology is
not my primary area of expertise, correct?”

“I know, Helen,” Ben said. “We ain’t that far
yet. We just wanna see if the theory’ll fly.”

“Aren’t.”

“What?”

“Aren’t, Benjamin. Or, are not. Definitely
not ain’t.” She put an extreme emphasis in her tone when she
repeated the colloquial contraction.

“Jeezus, Helen… Not now, okay?”

“All right, but your grammar is especially
atrocious today. At any rate, I will certainly try to do what I can
to help.”

Ben rolled his eyes then proceeded to outline
our recent discussion for her, up to and including the theory I had
advanced about Debbie Schaeffer. When he finally finished giving
her the run down, there was a long pause at the other end.

“Ya’ still there, Helen?” Ben quizzed the
phone.

“Yes, Benjamin,” she answered. “I’m still
here. Do you have any idea how Debbie Schaeffer died?”

“Nothing conclusive back from the coroner’s
office, so no, not yet. Why?”

“It would certainly help to know if her death
was in fact an accident or deliberate. Of course, I am sure you
already realize that since this one fact is the lynch pin of your
entire theory.”

“Yeah, we know. We’re just battin’ things
around right now,” Ben said.

“All right then, let us assume that her death
was accidental,” she outlined. “Emotional transference is not
uncommon, especially if an individual is incapable of retaining a
firm grasp on the realities at hand. But one does not necessarily
need to be psychotic or possessed of severely diminished faculties
for this to occur either. A classic example of this is very simply
the proverbial rebound relationship when a couple parts ways.

“However, as with any emotional upset, the
severity can have a direct bearing on the outcome. If the
individual directly affected by—or even in part responsible for—the
upset is already unbalanced, then this could certainly tip the
scales in a dangerous direction.”

“So what you’re sayin’ is we could be right?”
Ben questioned.

“Perhaps.” There was an almost audible shrug
in her voice. “Can you tell me about the disposition of her
remains? How was she when she was found?”

“Wrapped in a plastic drop cloth and dumped
in the woods.”

“Was she dumped, or was she placed?”

“I dunno. I guess she coulda been
placed.”

“You see, that is a factor as well. Was she
clothed? Were there any personal items with her? How carefully was
she wrapped in the plastic? Was she well hidden or likely to be
found? Was this done haphazardly or was there reverence shown for
her remains? Each of these things goes toward forming a picture of
the person responsible.”

“So now you’re sayin’ we’re probably
wrong?”

“No, Benjamin, what I am saying is that there
are several other factors which must be weighed in order to reach a
truly viable conclusion. As it stands now, the best I can say is
that your theory is a definite maybe.”

“Okay,” he huffed out a breath. “I guess
that’s better’n a definite no. I appreciate the help, Sis. See ya’
tonight at the house?”

“Of course. Is Rowan still there?”

“I’m here,” I spoke up.

“Good. Would it be possible for me to speak
with you for a moment?”

The tenor in her voice left no question that
she wanted the conversation to be a private one. Ben picked up the
receiver and handed it to me as the phone automatically disengaged
the speaker then motioned for Charlee to follow him out.

“We’ll be back at my desk,” he told me,
pointing in the appropriate direction.

I gave him a quick nod then waited for the
door to shut before pressing the handset to my ear.

“What’s up?” I asked.

I had actually considered for a moment the
mental laundry list of items I wanted to speak with Helen about but
quickly decided that this was neither the time nor the place.
Besides, she had asked to talk to me, not the other way around.

“I simply wanted to see how you were doing,”
she returned.

“I’m fine.”

“You are certain?”

“Well, I was until right now,” I said. “Do I
have a reason not to be?”

“Only you can answer that, Rowan. When you
left after our last session you were still dealing with some very
serious issues. I am concerned that those issues may be at the very
root of what is compelling you to become so entrenched in this
investigation.”

“I think my compulsion is actually a bit more
otherworldly,” I offered, not entirely sure where she was
headed.

Something didn’t seem quite right, but I
couldn’t pin it down. I wasn’t sure if it was her words or maybe
just the clinical way in which she presented them. All I could say
for sure was that she didn’t sound like the same Helen Storm who
had just been speaking to us moments ago.

“While I do not doubt that fact in the least,
I also do not want you to lose sight of the here and now. You
should not allow your strength to become your vulnerability.”

“How do you mean?”

“For you, that remains to be seen, Rowan, and
will be based solely on the decisions you make.”

“Is there something that I’m missing here,
Helen?” I had no idea what she was talking about. “Pardon me for
saying so, but you don’t sound quite like yourself.”

“You are my patient and I am simply
expressing my concern for your well being, Rowan.”

It was my turn to ask, “You’re sure?”

“Yes, I am sure.”

“Well, I have to be honest. I’m not so
certain that I’m understanding what you mean.”

“You will,” she stated without emotion.
“Though it may sound cliché, simply bear in mind that one should
sometimes follow the road less traveled.”

“Okay.” I paused for an awkward moment, not
knowing what I should say. “So anything else?”

“No. We will talk about it more during our
next session.”

“Okay,” I said again and physically shrugged
out of reflex. “Did you need to speak with Ben?”

“No,” she returned. “Just tell him that I am
looking forward to this evening. Bye.”

I barely managed to get my own parting words
out before the line disconnected at her end, leaving me to feel
thoroughly confused by the entire conversation.

* * * * *

“Everything okay?” Ben asked me once I’d
rejoined him at his desk.

“Yeah, I think so. Where’s Charlee?”

“She got called back down ta’ Vice. Ya’ sure
everything’s okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine. So what happens now
that my theory might be a non-theory?”

“Depends. We still don’t have a suspect,
whether your theory is right or not.”

“But the connection with Paige Lawson could
lead to something, couldn’t it?”

“Possible connection,” he corrected me. “I’ll
admit, a very strong possibility, yeah, but we don’t have a smokin’
gun.”

“Maybe not, but there’s definitely something
there.”

“Like I told ya’, I’m not sayin’ there
isn’t.”

“Good, because I know I’m right about
this.”

“You’re just fuckin’ dyin’ to say it, aren’t
ya?”

“Say what?”

“I told ya’ so.”

“Yeah, maybe a little.”

“Well, you might wanna wait until we’ve got
more ta’ go on. Who knows, we…”

For the second time in the past hour, the
phone on his desk demanded attention and brought our conversation
to an unceremonious halt.

“Homicide, Storm.” My friend answered the
device with an annoyed clip in his voice, but then his tone quickly
changed. “Oh, hey, what’s up?”

Since he was now focused on the caller I
began to drift. Instead of paying attention to his “uh-huhs” and
“yeahs,” I was concentrating instead on a blank spot occupying the
wall across the room. My brain was still reeling a bit as I tried
to figure out the strange conversation I’d just had with Helen
Storm. It was when he stopped grunting into the phone that the
silence prompted me to look up and find him staring at me.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know if I’d call ya’ wrong, but ya’
sure as hell ain’t right, Svengali.”

“What are you talking about?”

“That was Chuck on the phone. Apparently the
reason she got called back down ta’ Vice was because one of the
rape victims showed up ta’ tell her somethin’ she suddenly
remembered.”

He just continued to stare at me then after a
moment began to shake his head.

“What?”

“Jeezus…Guess I gotta say it. Accordin’ ta’
Chuck, this woman remembers somethin’ about a prom dress.”

Even with my attention being less than par,
it only took a split second for me to make the connection. I nodded
and asked, “So can I say ‘I told you so’ now?”

“Shut up.”

“So are you going to talk to her?” I
asked.

“Yeah,” Ben nodded. “McLaughlin said we could
meet in one of the interview rooms down there.”

“Mind if I tag along?”

“I don’t, but she might. I actually wouldn’t
mind havin’ ya’ where I can keep an eye on ya’, but you need to
remember this woman was raped. She might not be all that keen on a
coupl’a men descendin’ on ‘er all of a sudden.”

What my friend said made perfect sense. What
didn’t make sense was the fact that I hadn’t considered that fact
from the very beginning myself. Normally, I was far more sensitive
to the feelings of those around me, and the circumstances arising
from a situation like this should have been painfully obvious. At
this particular moment, however, I seemed to be oblivious to the
concept of empathy.

My brain had pretty much been a jigsaw puzzle
for the past two months, but instead of drawing closer to
completion each day, entropy had been taking its toll. In some ways
it even felt like a cosmic basket of kittens had been stealing
pieces here and there when I wasn’t looking.

Now, for a change, the forces of nature
seemed to be acting in my favor. The smothering cocoon that had
been spun around me by those wanting to keep me safe was giving
way, whether they were ready for it to do so or not. Vindication
was just around the corner, and the very fact that it was so close
imbued me with confidence.

Things were finally starting to come
together, and I was determined that I would not be left out. I
wasn’t about to miss any chance I had of regaining my stability. I
wanted my life back, and something told me that an important piece
of it was in the possession of this victim.

“Okay, so what about those one way mirror
things?” I suggested.

“I wanna ask ‘er questions, not spy on ‘er,”
my friend told me as he gathered up his notebook and shrugged on
his jacket. “And the idea of me keepin’ an eye on ya’ kinda falls
apart if you can see me but I can’t see you. Know what I mean?”

“So you’re serious about that.”

“Did’ya’ think I wasn’t?” He shook his head.
“Look, ya’ can come downstairs with me. Hell, short of kickin’ ya’
out or throwin’ ya’ in holding, I doubt I can stop ya’. But,
remember, this woman is a victim as well as a witness and you’re
not a cop, so if she doesn’t want ya’ in there, I’m gonna set ya’
outside the door with a uniform or somethin’. Got it?”

I nodded. “Of course.”

We were already on the move, me at an almost
jog to keep up with my friend’s normal long-legged pace. He
rummaged around in his pockets and withdrew a tin of breath mints,
offering them to me after popping one in his own mouth.

“You need one, smokey,” he said. “Trust
me.”

I took his advice, and then he snapped the
lid shut and stuffed them back into his pocket.