Perfect Trust: A Rowan Gant Investigation (34 page)

“I understand,” I replied.

“Really, Row,” he admonished. “Don’t go in
there slingin’ fairy dust or whatever right outta the box. We gotta
feel out the situation first.”

“Okay, Ben,” I reiterated, “I’ve got it. I’m
sorry about what I did back at the station and I won’t do it here.
I promise.”

“Okay, I just gotta be sure,” he told me as
he rummaged in his pockets again.

“What? Do I need another breath mint?” I
queried, noticing his preoccupation with the task.

“Prob’ly,” he huffed flatly. “You hot-boxed
four cigarettes between gettin’ to the van and gettin’ in
here.”

“Yeah, well, blame it on Miranda
Hodges. Besides, I seem to recall seeing a
Fuente Chateau
clenched between your teeth, my
friend.”

“Yeah, but I was just chewin’ on it.
Actually, I wanted ta’ give you somethin’ else.” He finally
withdrew his fist from his pocket and held it out to me.
“Here.”

I extended my palm, and he dropped a wad of
small paper packets into it. “What’s this?” I asked.

“Salt,” he answered matter-of-factly. “I
stole ‘em outta the break room before we left.”

“What do you want me to do with them?”

“Hey, you’re the Witch, you tell me. Felicity
seemed ta’ think it was pretty important ta’ have salt the other
night. I’m just tryin’ ta’ help.”

“She was doing something a bit different than
what I’m about to do.”

“Yeah, well it’s all the same in my book,” he
returned. “Besides, I haven’t seen Felicity go off the deep end
yet, so maybe ya’ oughta try it her way.”

I was going to object again, but we were
almost to the door of the treatment room, and I really didn’t have
time to explain the difference between Magickal workings and
psychic abilities to him.

Of course, the real truth was that in my case
they were probably closer to one another than I wanted to believe.
On top of that, he was most likely correct in his assessment. Given
my current state, a little caution might very well go a long way.
Especially since I now had an ethereal vigilante cheerleader
threatening to use me as a weapon to exact her vengeance.

I almost had to laugh at that thought.
The entire concept sounded like a bad fifties sci-fi/horror
movie—
I Was A Killer Teenage Zombie
Cheerleader
, or something equally ridiculous.
Unfortunately, I was playing the starring role in the production
and it was all far too real.

I stuffed the handful of salt packets into my
coat pocket and kept my mouth shut.

Charlee stepped back out of the treatment
room, already shaking her head. Ben and I had waited outside so as
not to overload the victim. With what she’d been through, she
definitely didn’t need us coming at her full force without some
kind of warning.

“Unless he’s breaking his pattern, this isn’t
our boy,” she told us as the door shut behind her.

“You sure?” Ben asked.

“No welt from a stun gun that they can find,
and the bruising on her neck is from hands.” She motioned to her
own neck with a gripping posture as an example. “Looks like she was
choked. Turns out that after talking to her, she’s in an ongoing
abusive relationship with a boyfriend.”

“I hate that shit,” Ben muttered. “Someone
needs ta’ kick ‘is ass.”

“Tell me about it,” she returned.

“What about the Roofies?”

“They don’t have the blood test back yet, but
I’m betting it will be negative.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because here’s the real kicker—this isn’t
the first time she’s been in.”

“The abuse?”

“Overdose.” McLaughlin shook her head. “She’s
an addict. More tracks than Union Station.”

“Don’t tell me.” Ben shook his head. “Last
time she scored was Saturday night.”

Charlee laid one index finger against the
side of her nose and simply pointed at him with the other.

“So what the hell’d they call ya’ for?”

“She’s blonde…”

“…
and petite, and doctors ain’t cops.”
Ben finished the diatribe for her while nodding his head then
slapped his open palm against the tiled wall and leaned into it.
“Shit! Hodges bolts and now this is a dead end. We can’t catch a
fuckin’ break!”

His voice echoed down the corridor directly
behind the fading sound of his hand impacting the tile. He was
still riding the adrenalin rush that had hyped him up less than
half an hour ago, and the disappointment at this turn of events
seemed to ravage his features as he huffed out a disgusted
sigh.

And right there was a shining example of the
portrait I had in my mind. Benjamin Storm, supercop—protector of
the innocent.

“I’m right there with you, Storm,” McLaughlin
told him, showing mild surprise at his outburst. “But you gotta
stop taking it so personally.”

“Yeah, well tell that ta’ Debbie Schaeffer’s
parents,” he said. “It’s Christmas freakin’ Eve, and what’s left of
their daughter is spendin’ it in a body bag over on Clark Avenue.
Merry fuckin’ ho, ho, ho.”

“You can’t change that,” I offered to my
friend.

“No,” he admitted, “I can’t change it, but I
can give ‘em this asshole as a gift. At least that’d be
somethin’.”

“We don’t even know for sure if it’s the same
guy,” Charlee said.

“Maybe not, but it’s the best lead I’ve got
at the moment.”

“Then let’s follow it,” I interjected, my
voice flat.

“How?” he shot back.

“There are other victims,” I offered. “We
talk to them.”

“Jeez, white man, like I just said it’s
freakin’ Christmas Eve!”

“Yes it is,” I acknowledged. “But you’re the
one who wants to give Debbie Schaeffer’s parents this guy as a
gift. By my calculations you’ve only got about twelve shopping
hours left.”

“Yeah, well I’m thinkin’ it’s gonna be a
disappointin’ holiday for all of us.”

I looked over at Charlee. “You said there
have been eight rapes reported so far?”

“Yeah,” she nodded.

“Do you have all the victim’s numbers?”

“Yeah, I’ve got their numbers.” She gave me a
nod then looked at Ben. “He’s right. It’s worth a try, Storm.”

“Maybe,” he huffed, “but I’m not gonna hold
my breath.”

“Okay.” I shot my glance between them. “Rule
out Miranda Hodges and that leaves seven. At least one of them has
got to be willing to talk to us.”

McLaughlin cocked her head to the door of the
treatment room. “This one wants to file a report, not that I think
she’ll follow through. Anyway, let me get someone down here to take
care of this, and we’ll start making calls.”

“I guess I’d better call the crime scene guys
and cancel,” Ben added. “Did they end up gettin’ Murv?”

“Afraid so.” McLaughlin nodded.

“Afraid so? That doesn’t sound good.”

“Yeah, they called him in off of a vacation
day.”

Ben puffed his cheeks out and let the breath
go with a slow hiss. “Well, guess I’d better stop by the smoke shop
on the way home. I’m gonna owe ‘im some cigars for this one.”

“It’s Christmas Eve. Remember?” I said. “Any
decent smoke shop is going to be closed by the time you get a
chance to run by.”

“Crap. Well, guess I’ll hafta do it
Wednesday.”

“Look at the bright side,” I told him. “Maybe
you can get them on sale.”

Thirty minutes and five no-answers later our
luck began to turn. The woman in the treatment room was giving her
statement, the CSU call had been cancelled, and a young woman named
Heather Burke answered her phone and said yes.

* * * * *

“Sorry about the mess,” the woman apologized
while shifting a basket of clothing from a chair and onto the floor
beside it. “I wasn’t really expecting company today.”

“No problem, Miz Burke,” Charlee told her.
“We really appreciate you talking to us. Especially with it being
Christmas Eve and all.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” She shrugged. “I
don’t have any family left, and I’m taking a bit of a hiatus from
the dating scene if you get my drift.”

Heather Burke was a perfect example of the
quintessential “perky blonde.” Large, bright eyes peering out from
a soft face framed by a feathery shag of yellow hair. Five foot
four, slim, and blessed with what some would call “eyeball
measurements.” She was literally a textbook victim for this
particular predator. Looking at her, I couldn’t help but think she
bore a close resemblance to my wife, except of course for the
hair.

She was dressed in a pair of jeans and a
t-shirt that sported a faded but still readable iron-on transfer
which announced, “Don’t let the hair fool you, I belong to
MENSA.”

“Nice shirt,” I observed, thinking to myself
that she even had Felicity’s headstrong attitude.

“You like it?” she asked rhetorically,
looking down at the lettering then back at me. “Made it myself. It
tends to stop the blonde jokes cold.”

“I can imagine.” I nodded.

“Have a seat.” She motioned to us. “Can I get
anyone anything? I’ve got coffee on. Soda? Water?”

We all declined the offer, and she simply
shrugged then dropped herself onto the couch and crossed her legs
in something close to a relaxed lotus position. “I’m not sure what
I’m going to be able to tell you,” she began, shaking her head.
“It’s been three weeks and I haven’t really remembered anything
yet.” She directed her attention to Charlee. “I mean, other than
what I originally told you at the hospital.”

“I understand,” McLaughlin told her with a
nod. “That’s actually why Mister Gant is here with us. Like I said
on the phone, we’d like to try some things to help jog your
memory.”

Heather wrinkled her face in concentration,
lifting one eyebrow and cocking her head to the side as she
muttered, “Gant… Gant… Wait… Now I remember…” She focused her gaze
directly on me. “I thought I recognized the name. You’re the Witch,
aren’t you?”

From the corner of my eye I saw Ben shoot an
almost startled glance at me. I suppose her recognition caught him
by surprise, but I’d been expecting something like this all along.
In recent days a file photo of me had been flashed across local TV
screens as the media speculated about my involvement in the Debbie
Schaeffer murder investigation. There had even been a few column
inches devoted to me in the local paper, so someone had been bound
to recognize my face, my name, or both. It was only a matter of
time.

“I don’t know about being
the
Witch,” I nodded with a slight
smile, “but, yes, I’m the guy that’s been in the
newspaper.”

“How cool is that,” she nodded in return then
continued in a matter-of-fact tone, “So that would mean that
Detective Storm here is the same Detective Storm from Homicide who
is investigating the case with the murdered cheerleader. And if
that is so, it stands to reason that since you are here talking to
me, you think that murder is somehow connected with this
rapist.”

Ben answered with a tentative note in his
voice as he slowly nodded, “That’s the going theory.”

“Don’t look so surprised,” she told him.

“I know,” he said. “You’re a member of
MENSA.”

“Yeah, but it doesn’t take a genius to put
two and two together,” she returned with a quick shake of her head.
“I watch the news.”

“If you don’t mind my saying so, Miz Burke,”
I dove back into the conversation to save my friend from the
embarrassment of his misconceptions, “given that it has only been
three weeks, you seem to be handling the attack very well.”

“I have my moments,” she half shrugged as she
spoke. “Luckily you happened to catch me on a good day.”

“Are you certain that you’re up to talking
about it?” Charlee chimed in.

“This is as good a time as any,” she nodded.
“The sooner I can put this behind me the sooner I can get on with
my life. That’s what they say anyway.”

“How do you feel about hypnosis?” I
asked.

“Do you mean, am I willing to be
hypnotized?”

I wasn’t surprised by her directness.
“Yes.”

She shrugged. “Where and when?”

“I should warn you that if this works you
will for all intents and purposes be re-living the incident.”

“Okay, fair enough. So answer me this: If it
works will it help catch the prick who raped me?”

“I can’t say for sure,” I told her. “But it’s
a good possibility, depending upon what you remember, of
course.”

“Then I’ll ask you again,” she said, casting
a confident gaze directly into my eyes. “Where and when?”

* * * * *

I turned slowly in place, first twisting my
head to look over my shoulder and then following with the rest of
my body. I caught a glimpse of myself in a mirror and immediately
noticed the puzzled expression that my brain had already told me I
was wearing. Still, the sudden tickle that had sent me into this
physical spiral didn’t subside. If anything, it just grew
worse—nagging and clawing at the back of my psyche and sending a
wave of gooseflesh across my scalp.

“Somethin’ wrong?” Ben asked, staring at the
befuddled mask that was my face.

Heather had excused herself to use the
bathroom before we began, leaving the three of us alone in her
living room, so at least she wasn’t seeing this display. I had
serious doubt that it would have done anything to bolster her
confidence in what we were about to do.

“Are you okay, Rowan?” Charlee added her
concerned voice to the mix.

“I don’t know,” I muttered at first then
reeled my wandering thoughts back in. “I mean, yes, I’m okay… That
was just weird.”

“What was weird?” McLaughlin queried.

“We’re talkin’ ‘bout Rowan here.
Everything’s weird with him,” Ben interjected. “Ya’know,
don’t adjust your television set,
yadda yadda. So what’s up, white man? You already
goin’
Twilight Zone
on
us?”