Perfect Trust: A Rowan Gant Investigation (38 page)

Still, before we left I gave her my home
number and told her to feel free to call me if she wanted to talk
about anything at all. I wasn’t exactly qualified to help her in a
clinical sense, but for all intents and purposes we had shared the
exact same experience. Sometimes that kind of understanding can be
worth far more than the highest priced sheepskin.

“How’d you come up with the address?”
Detective McLaughlin asked.

“When he was taking her home he had her on
the back seat of his car,” I explained. “At some point when he hit
the brakes suddenly, she rolled off into the floorboards. He’s a
bit of a slob, so she ended up on top of a lot of trash, and it
just happened that one of the things that was staring her in the
face was an envelope.”

“And she read the address from it?”

“Actually, she more or less tried to. How
conscious the effort was, I can’t be sure. It seemed like it was,
but she was still under the influence of the drugs. She was at a
severe disadvantage. At any rate it ended up as a latent memory
that I was able to pick up. Unfortunately due to the darkness and
shifting from the motion of the vehicle, she only made out a small
part of it.”

“Sheesh, Storm was right,” she exclaimed.
“You are spooky.”

“Ya’ get used to ‘im after awhile, Chuck,”
Ben offered and then turned his attention to me. “Do ya’ know for a
fact that it was his name and address she was lookin’ at?”

“No, not for a fact,” I admitted.

“So the envelope coulda just been some trash
that wasn’t even his mail?”

“I suppose, but it’s worth looking into,
right?”

“Yeah, we’ll check it out, but ya’ gotta
figure there’s gonna be a hell of a lotta Ash’s and Ash-whatever’s
in the phone book.”

“Shouldn’t the address help pin it down?” I
submitted.

“Maybe,” he answered, “if it really is the
address. Bein’ on an envelope it could be a piece of a zip code or
somethin’.”

“Plus, we don’t know if he actually lives in
Saint Louis,” Charlee added. “We know he gets around, so he could
live outside of the metro area in another county, or even in
Illinois.”

“I thought I actually had something,” I said
in a dejected tone.

“You might,” she returned, “but we can’t
chase it as if it were our only clue.”

“Ya’know, eggs, basket, all that shit,” Ben
expressed. “So what else did’ya come up with?”

“He’s dressing them up and taking photographs
of them.”

“You already said that much before the
mumbo-jumbo,” Ben returned.

“I said maybe,” I reminded him. “What I’m
telling you now is that it’s not a maybe. He’s definitely dressing
them up in order to take the pictures.”

“Like how?” McLaughlin asked.

“Well, I only remember a couple of the
outfits, but one was lingerie. A garter belt and stockings is what
I saw for certain. The other was a party dress or something of that
sort.”

“So the guy’s got a kink for prettyin’ up ‘is
victims,” Ben offered.

“It’s more than that.” I shook my head. “He
does something with their hair. I’m not sure what, but from the
sensation I’m thinking he may put a wig on them.”

“So the asshole really is playing with dolls
then,” he harrumphed.

“In a way, yes,” I acknowledged. “He even put
something in her eyes, and I’m betting they were contact lenses.
Maybe tinted or something. He’s doing all this with a specific
purpose in mind…”

“What? Is he trying to make the ‘perfect
woman’?” Charlee asked in a disgusted tone.

“Maybe. But it really feels like something
more. Helen would be more qualified to judge on this than I would,
but he kept flip-flopping. Like a bipolar disorder stuck in
overdrive. One minute it would be like he was worshipping her. He’d
say things like ‘She’s almost perfect,’ then he would suddenly
shift into an abusive mode and scream at her, saying things like
‘You’re not her.’”

“Any idea who ‘her’ is?” Ben asked.

“No clue.” I shook my head again. “Except
that she’s probably who he is dressing them up to look like. But I
can’t even tell you what that is. I never actually saw how he had
Burke made up. Just bits and pieces of the outfits, although he
mentioned something about makeup.”

“You mentioned somethin’ about that earlier,
right Chuck?”

“Yeah. So far all the victims have had
smeared makeup on their faces that they don’t recall putting on in
the first place,” she answered then offered thoughtfully, “You
know, all of the victims have pretty much resembled one another.
More than just their size and hair. I mean, not dead ringers or
anything, but close enough that at a distance they could be
mistaken for one another…”

“‘
Specially if he did a makeover on
‘em?” Ben added the question more as a comment.

“Exactly,” I agreed. “They must fit the
profile of the woman he is trying to re-create. Maybe it’s a former
girlfriend who dumped him, or even a wife who passed away.”

“Yeah, for starters.” Ben ran down his own
huge list, “Or it could be a woman that works in ‘is office, or at
the deli down the street, or the star of ‘is favorite TV show.
Could be a model out of a magazine…maybe even his sister or ‘is
mother…”

“Maybe the first few, but this is definitely
sexual in nature. I’d rule out siblings or matriarchal
figures.”

“What rock you been hidin’ under?” he
retorted as he hooked the van through a light that was somewhere
between yellow and red. “Ever hear of Oedipus? This guy’s a whack
job. If he’s really fucked up, this might be ‘is way of doin’ Sis
or Mom, or both for that matter.”

“I’d rather not think about that, Ben,” I
said.

“Yeah, well it kinda comes with the
territory. If it turns out ta’ be a lead, then we hafta look at the
big picture, not just what we wanna see. Anyway, this is all fine
and wonderful, but it doesn’t really get us any closer ta’ who this
asshole is.”

“Sorry,” I told him. “I’m just telling you
what I saw.”

“I’m not complainin’. I’m just tellin’ it
like it is. I’m sure ya’ woulda said somethin’ already, but I gotta
ask—I don’t suppose ya’ saw ‘is face, did’ya?”

“No, just shadows.”

“So that’s a dead end,” Charlee chimed in
from the back.

“Is there anything else that could help?” Ben
pressed.

I concentrated for a moment but drew a blank.
I was still fighting off some severe emotional effects from the
entire episode. On top of that, the nagging feeling that I was
being watched had returned, and it was starting to occupy my mind
to the exclusion of all else.

“Maybe… I don’t know… It kept fading in and
out, so I’m not sure I’m remembering everything.”

“Ya’ mean like you were talkin’ earlier about
feelin’ the effects of the Roofies?”

“Yeah, I think so,” I replied with a
distracted note in my voice.

I was tilting my head down and to the side,
shifting oddly in my seat while trying to get a look in the side
view mirror. My concentration on the task must have completely
taken over because I suddenly felt something thump my arm and I
jumped.

Ben’s voice flooded into my head. “Hey,
ground control ta’ Rowan. You wanna answer me?”

“What?”

“I asked ya’ what the hell you’re doin’ with
the contortionist act?”

“Are we being followed?” I answered his
question with a question—something he absolutely hated.

“Do what?”

“I don’t know, Ben,” I shrugged. “I’ve just
got this weird feeling. Like I’m being watched. I had it back at
Heather Burke’s apartment too.”

The color drained from my friend’s face. This
was only the second time I’d seen him go this pale, and the first
had been only a few days ago at the Yule celebration. He quickly
looked into the rear view mirror then at both sides, dwelling long
enough to get a good scan of the area behind us.

“You see anything, Chuck?” he asked Detective
McLaughlin.

She made her own inspection, twisting in her
seat to get a better view, then settled back facing front and said,
“Nope. Nothing.”

“So, Row…Is this like one of
those
Twilight Zone
things?”
Ben finally asked.

“I think it might be,” I acknowledged,
disturbed by the way he was suddenly acting. “Why?”

“Do ya’ know who it is that’s watchin’ ya’?”
he pressed.

“No. Do you?” I pressed back.

“Exactly what are you two talking about?”
McLaughlin interjected.

“No. Why would I?” Ben shot back, ignoring
Charlee altogether.

“You’re lying, Ben,” I told him. “I can
tell.”

“Hey,” Charlee spoke up again, “is someone
going to tell me what’s going on?”

We had arrived at our destination, and Ben
pulled the Chevy into a space, then cranked it into park, and
twisted the key off.

“Just forget it,” he commanded as he levered
his groaning door open. A cool gust of wind made a beeline for the
interior of the van and dropped the temperature a few degrees.

“Not this time, Ben,” I returned.
“Something’s going on, and it involves me. I can tell.”

“This isn’t the time, Row,” he answered
sternly.

“Well then make it the time,” I demanded.

“Rowan…”

“It’s got something to do with the phone call
the other night, doesn’t it?”

“Dammit, Rowan…”

“Tell me, Ben.”

With an angry huff he yanked the door shut
and turned to face me. “Goddammit, white man, haven’t we argued
enough today?”

“I’m not arguing,” I returned. “I just want
to know what’s going on.”

“Just trust me, Row. You don’t need ta’ be
hearin’ this right now. I’ll tell ya’ when things settle down.”

“It
is
about me then,” I retorted.

“Yeah, it’s about you. Now leave it
alone.”

“Then tell me what it is!” I demanded
again.

“I’m serious, Row.”

“I am too!”

“All right. All fuckin’ right!” His voice
rose slightly as he struggled to contain what seemed to be as much
fear as anger. “You wanna know what it is so damn bad, then I’ll
tell ya’. That call the other night was from Mandalay.”

The name told me that the call couldn’t have
been good. Constance Mandalay was a mutual friend, but she was also
a special agent attached to the FBI’s Saint Louis field office.

“She was callin’ about a murder in southern
Missouri,” Ben continued. “It’s been kept outta the news so far,
but everything points to a single suspect, up to and includin’ a
partial set of fingerprints found at the scene.”

“Me?” I asked, not fully grasping what he was
telling me.

“Hell no, not you, ya’ moron,” he returned.
“Eldon Andrew Porter. You were fuckin’ right, okay? The sonofabitch
ain’t dead.”

I was stunned, but not by what Ben had just
revealed.

I wasn’t at all surprised that Eldon Porter
was still alive. I had, of course, been the one person who believed
that all along. What caught me completely and utterly unprepared
was that Ben would keep this fact from me.

I sat for what seemed a lifetime, silently
gathering my thoughts and staring back at my friend. He was correct
with his earlier comment. We had already argued more than enough
for one day, but at the moment, I couldn’t help feeling as though
I’d been grievously betrayed.

The silence was finally broken by Detective
McLaughlin clearing her throat and then unlatching the sliding door
on the van. “I’ll see you two inside” was all she said before
climbing out and yanking the door shut on the rumbling slides.

“There… Are ya’ happy now?” Ben said coldly
as we continued to play stare-down with each other.

My jaw worked for a moment before I could get
any words to come out. When they finally did, I had to force my
voice to remain even and calm, although my query was thickly coated
with an angry frost. “You’ve known this since Friday? Exactly when
were you planning to tell me?”

“Not known. Suspected.
Suspected
it since Friday,” he
corrected. “I didn’t get a verification from Mandalay ‘till this
mornin’ just before you showed up.”

“And?” I pushed hard. “You still didn’t tell
me.”

“Yeah, and right now I’m starin’ at why,” he
stated flatly.

“What? You don’t think I have the right to be
upset?”

“Sure. Ya’ got the right ta’ be just as
freakin’ upset as ya’ want, not that it’s gonna do ya’ any good.”
He nodded. “But the deal is, you’ve got enough shit goin’ on right
now, so I thought it was for the best ta’ keep it under wraps for a
bit.”

“That’s insane!” I told him. “You know as
well as anyone that I’m probably number one on his hit list. I
could tell by the look on your face when I said I felt like someone
was following me that this has got you scared too.”

“Yeah, and I ain’t the only one, believe me,”
he offered. “But it’s bein’ taken care of.”

“How so?”

“You’ve got a lotta people lookin’ out for
ya’, white man,” he explained. “There was more than just one call
made Friday. The local coppers stepped up patrols in your
neighborhood that night as a precaution, and Mandalay called Carl
Deckert over at County. They’re keepin’ an eye on ya’ too.”

“I haven’t noticed anything.”

“You aren’t supposed ta’,” he sighed.
“Ya’know, Mandalay is all over this too. She’s even been watchin’
over ya’.”

“You still should’ve told me,” I spat.
“Especially this morning.”

“You were gonna find out tonight.”

“Is that why you invited us over for
Christmas Eve?”

“Actually, we were already plannin’ to invite
ya’. It just worked out this way, and I figured it’d be easier ta’
keep ya’ at the house if I already had you two there.”