Perfect Trust: A Rowan Gant Investigation (39 page)

“Keep us at the house?”

“Yeah, I’m movin’ ya’ in where I can keep an
eye on you until we find this fuckhead and lock ‘im up.”

“I suppose you’ve talked to Felicity about
this?”

“No. She didn’t need the headache either.
Besides, last go ‘round when I tried ta’ do this she wasn’t havin’
any part of it. So I’m guessin’ she’s gonna be just about as
reasonable as you are right now.”

“You should be so lucky,” I chided.

“Yeah, I know,” he grunted.

“Dammit, Ben,” I muttered. “Felicity is
running around the city unprotected right now.”

“In public, with a group, and at one time or
another a freakin’ camera crew from every local TV station has been
followin’ ‘em around. They’ve also been gettin’ followed by a
copper. She’s as safe as you are. We’ve got it under control,
Rowan.”

“I hope so.”

“We do.” He sat for a long moment, allowing
the words of reassurance to hang in the air between us before
finally speaking again. “Now that ya’ know, ya’ might as well pack
bags before comin’ over tonight.”

“What about the dogs? And the cats?”

“We’ll arrange somethin’.”

“You know Felicity won’t go for this, Ben.” I
shook my head. “Like you said, she didn’t last time. She won’t this
time either.”

“Yeah, well last time ya’ almost got killed,
so I’m not givin’ ya’ a choice.”

“You can’t do that,” I returned.

“Ever hear of protective custody,
Kemosabe?”

“You wouldn’t…”

“Fuckin’ try me.”

* * * * *

“How’s it going?” I was fighting to keep the
mix of depression, anger, and fear out of my voice as I spoke into
the telephone. “Everyone having fun as usual?”

It was early afternoon, but the “Santa
Brigade” was booked right up until 5:30 p.m. this year. I had
managed to remember enough of the schedule to catch my wife on her
cell phone in between stops, since I had missed their lunch break.
I could hear the upbeat chattering of the rest of the group in the
background when she answered.

“Great,” Felicity’s voice came back to me
over the handset. Her brogue was returning, and I could hear how
tired she was. But at the same time it was obvious that she was
still running on excitement and a healthy dose of adrenalin. “Just
to let you know, I’ve had three marriage proposals so far—one of
them from a twelve-year-old, mind you, so you’d best watch out,
then. Younger men do still find me attractive.” She punctuated the
comment with a giddy laugh.

“I’m not surprised. But I’ve told you that
before.”

“I still like hearing it, then. Of course, I
still attract the older men it seems. About thirty minutes ago we
were at a nursing home and an elderly gentleman in a wheelchair
grabbed my arse. Not just once, but three times. Kept wanting me to
sit on his lap.”

“Did you?”

“Only for a quick picture, and that would be
when he grabbed it the third time.”

“And you’re still calling him a gentleman?” I
chuckled, the visual helping me to forget my worries, if only for a
moment. “So you didn’t hurt him too much, did you?”

“He was harmless, really,” she laughed.
“Besides, it was probably the biggest thrill he’s had all year. And
I just have to look at it that I’m spreading the Christmas cheer,
then.”

“Beats a nut log, I guess.”

“Aye, he said something like that too, but
I’m thinking he meant it with a much different connotation.”

“So what you are really saying is ‘elderly
gentleman’ is short for ‘dirty old man’?”

“Filthy would be more like it,” she
giggled.

“Well, considering the way you looked when
you left this morning, I guess I can’t blame him. Sexiest Missus
Santa-elf-helper-whatever I’ve ever seen.”

“So you liked the outfit, then?” her voice
held an undertone of satisfaction.

“What do
you
think?”

“Hmmmmm,” her voice lowered to a purr. “Maybe
I’ll leave it on when I get home, then… For a little while anyway
if you know what I mean.”

If we’d had this conversation a few hours
earlier, I would probably be looking for a place to hide, so I
wouldn’t embarrass myself. Unfortunately—or perhaps fortunately as
the case may be—the recent revelation from Ben was severely
dampening my heretofore-overactive libido.

“You might want to hold on to that thought,
Lass,” I told her. “Allison and Ben have invited us over to their
house for dinner.”

“That’s nice,” she said. “What did you tell
them?”

“I said I’d have to ask you.”

“You know,” she lowered her voice to a
whisper, “you didn’t see what I put on underneath this
costume.”

She wasn’t making this easy, even with the
preoccupation that was permeating my brain. I had briefly
considered telling her the whole story but then decided against it.
There was no reason for both of us to worry over this. Not at this
particular moment anyway. People were depending on her and I needed
to let that come first, for now.

I just kept telling myself that Ben was
correct. As long as she was with her group and out in the public
eye, she was safe.

“As much as I would like to unwrap that
package—and believe me, I really,
really
do,” I told her, “I think we should
probably go to the dinner.”

“Are you sure?” I could hear an audible pout
in her voice. “Wouldn’t we be intruding on their family time,
then?”

“Ben says no,” I replied then added a generic
weightiness to the invitation. “It seems pretty important to him
that we be there.”

“Why is that, do you think?”

“Dunno,” I said. “But I think it’s important
enough to him that we should oblige.”

“What I’m wearing underneath came from a
catalog, then,” she offered in a sexy murmur.

“Felicity…”

She gave it one more try. “I could just wait
for you under the Yule tree.”

“Uh huh,” I fended her off. “Tomorrow. I
promise.”

“Okay, then,” she pouted into the phone again
before moving on. “So are you going to make something to take over
there? I’ll be late and won’t have…”

“Already taken care of,” I cut her off. “He
said don’t bring anything, so I figure I’ll just grab a bottle of
wine out of the rack.”

“Sounds good,” she acknowledged. “How about
that eighty-six Zinfandel?”

“The Caswell we bought a case of?”

“Aye, that one.”

“Okay. I can do that.”

She paused at the other end, and I could
literally feel her checking me out on an otherworldly level. “Are
you okay, Rowan?”

“I’m fine,” I lied. “Why?”

“You sound distant. Like something is
bothering you.”

“I’m okay.”

“You don’t
feel
okay to me, then.”

“I’m just disappointed that I’m going to miss
out on your offer.” At least that was only half a lie.

“Hmmmm,” she purred again, apparently
accepting the explanation. “Not missing out, just postponing.”

“I like the sound of that better,” I
said.

“Oh, it will be worth the wait,” she
murmured. “Trust me.”

* * * * *

“Did ya’ tell ‘er?” Ben asked as I walked out
of the conference room.

“No,” I shook my head, “I’ll tell her
later.”

“Row…”

“Hey,” I held up my hands to stop his
objection, “I convinced her that we should go to your house for
dinner tonight. I can pack a few things for her before she gets
home, and we can both tell her when we get there.”

“Isn’t she gonna be pissed when she finds out
that ya’ ran a game on ‘er?”

“And what I’m doing is different from what
you planned to do, how?”

“Touché.”

“In answer to your question, however, yes,
she’s going to be pissed,” I told him. “You know that. But look at
the bright side. Your way she would have just been mad at you. My
way she’ll be mad at both of us.”

“Somehow I don’t find that particularly
comfortin’,” he answered.

“You shouldn’t.”

“I got a brand new bottle of
sixteen-year-old
Bushmills
at
the house. Think we should get her drunk first, then tell
‘er?”

“Neither of us can drink that much,” I mused.
“She’d win and then we’d really be in trouble.”

* * * * *

“There are thirty-eight Ash’s listed in the
metro phone book,” Detective McLaughlin told us. “Spelled A-S-H,
right, Rowan?”

“That’s what I saw, but it might not have
been the whole name.” I nodded with my answer.

“Exactly.” She returned the nod. “Which is
why we went right down the line on everything beginning with A-S-H.
Still, it was a big help to cut out the A-S-C-H’s. All totaled
there are three-hundred forty-nine Ash’s or Ash-whatever’s in the
white pages.”

“That’s better than I was expectin’,” Ben
offered.

“Don’t get excited just yet.” Charlee shook
her head. “That’s only the metro phone book. We’re getting a
printout from DMV right now, as well as a computer search on phone
books from the surrounding counties. The number is gonna get
bigger.”

“Yeah, well happy holidays ta’ you too,” Ben
told her with a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

“Then you’re gonna love this. I was talking
to Ackman and he asked if we were certain that Ash is the surname.”
At the end of her sentence she turned a questioning gaze in my
direction.

“Honestly, I can’t be sure.” I shook my head
and returned a frown. “So I’d have to say that it could be a first
name.”

“Well, that’s going to add some more to the
pile.”

“What about the street number?” I asked.

“No hit so far,” she returned. “Not against
the names anyway. There’s a handful of seventy-five thirty-fours in
the metro area alone. Some businesses, some residential.”

I seized on the information and posed a
different question. “Are any of the commercial addresses
photographic studios by any chance?”

“No such luck. It would really help if we had
a street name, or even a zip code.”

Ben poured more water on the fire. “Assumin’
the number ain’t part of a zip code ta’ begin with.”

“Any way you look at that it puts him too far
out of state,” she replied. “If you plug numbers in before or after
the seventy-five thirty-four, you end up with zip codes in
Pennsylvania, North Carolina, South Dakota, Texas, and Oregon.”

“Yeah, but he coulda moved here from one of
those places,” Ben remarked. “We should prob’ly make some contacts
just in case there’s somethin’ open that didn’t make it inta’
NCIC.”

“Shouldn’t you be trying to narrow the scope
instead of expanding it?” I asked.

“We’ll start pickin’ the dolphins out as soon
as we’re sure the net’s full,” he told me.

“Okay, so what do we do now?”

“We start looking at printouts and making
phone calls,” Charlee answered.

“That could take forever,” I exclaimed.

She shrugged and shook her head. “Welcome to
the fast-paced and exciting world of police work.”

Ben clapped me on the shoulder. “Yeah, what
she said. Who wants coffee?”

I never wanted to see another telephone book
or stack of green bar printer paper for as long as I lived.

According to the window at the back of the
conference room, it was dark outside. We had been at it hard and
heavy for a few hours now, and I had lost all track of time. Since,
in Ben’s words, I wasn’t a “duly authorized law enforcement
officer,” I wasn’t allowed to make any of the actual calls.
Instead, my presence had been utilized cross-referencing listings
in various phone books against computer printouts and screens full
of data on an ancient, out-of-focus monitor.

I was tired, I had a headache, my eyes were
itching, and I wanted a cigarette; but, most of all, I was
depressed. We didn’t seem to have accomplished a thing. In fact, we
were still perched firmly in the middle of square one, and someone
else was redeeming a free turn card.

The only positive thing to come out of it
thus far was that I hadn’t been dwelling on Eldon Porter’s
resurfacing. Well, not too much.

“Stick a fork in me, I’m done,” Ben announced
with a tired yawn as he sat back in his chair. He and Detective
McLaughlin had been contacting other police departments within the
range of possible zip codes. What I had been overhearing of their
conversations had not sounded promising.

“Anything at all?” I asked aloud.

My elbows were resting on the table in front
of me, and I was holding my head tight between my hands, palms on
either side of my face. My brain felt as if it was about to
explode, and I couldn’t be certain if it was from staring at all
the shrunken print, something more sinister, or a combination of
the two. I had my eyes closed and was slowly massaging my temples,
trying to will the pain away.

“Nada,” my friend returned. “Not a goddamned
thing. And that was the last one, so it’s all we’re gonna get
tonight.”

“What about all these numbers from the phone
books?” I asked. “Shouldn’t we start calling them?”

“And say what, Row?” he contended. “Hi, this
is Detective Storm with the city police department, and I’m just
wonderin’, are you by any chance a crazed serial rapist?”

McLaughlin half snickered and began massaging
her own temples. “Storm’s right. We can’t just start calling people
arbitrarily without something more to go on. Besides, what if we
did happen to call the right guy? Then he’d know we were getting
close and he’d disappear.”

“Yeah, remember the ‘South Side Rapist’?” Ben
added. “When things got hot and heavy around here Rabbitt took the
whole ‘go west young man’ thing ta’ heart. The last thing we need
ta’ do is call the guy and tell ‘im that we’re on to ‘im.”