Rowan Gant - Perfect Trust Part 17

Now. That's it. End of discussion."

"Doctor Sanders?" I let the remainder of the question hang, unspoken.

"She was just a warm up, my friend, and she wasn't the only one who got dragged outta bed tonight." He shook his head. "I just now got off the phone with my boss."

"Oh, man, Ben... I'm sorry. I didn't think..."

"Save it," he returned. "Let's just get the f.u.c.k outta here while I still have a badge."

We walked in relative silence down the corridor and past the reception desk. The guard who had earlier been pus.h.i.+ng cards around the computer screen in a hot game of solitaire was now just outside the gla.s.sed-in front of the building. He pulled open the outer door and held it for us as we exited through the small foyer.

"Rough one?" he asked as the three of us came through the doorway. He seemedtotally oblivious to what had been transpiring within the deeper recesses of the morgue.

"Yeah, Joe." Ben nodded. "But, they're never a Cakewalk."

"Yeah. d.a.m.n shame. Sucks." He nodded in return as he took a deep drag on the cigarette he held between his fingers, and then let out a cloud of smoke. "Well, good luck finding the a.s.shole that did it."

"Thanks, Joe."

The nicotine-laden cloud hung in the air and gently wrapped itself around me. The pungent smell was more than I could take. The stress of everything I'd experienced over the past hour combined with the guilt I was feeling at having gotten Ben into hot water became an irresistible catalyst. The omnipresent and still unexplained craving instantly expanded beyond management to become a dire need.

"Excuse me," the words left my mouth before I even realized what I was saying, "but do you think I could b.u.m one of those from you?"

"Sure," the guard answered with a quick grin of smoker camaraderie, then warned, "they're menthol."

"Perfect." I nodded my head as I pulled a cigarette from the pack he held out to me.

I hadn't even realized that the craving had been for more than the nicotine, but the moment he had mentioned menthol, the need within me leaped another octave.

"Rowan!" Felicity admonished as she suddenly realized what I was doing.

She was too late. I'd already tucked the filter end between my lips and was touching fire to the other with the guard's proffered lighter.

Deeply inhaling I felt the volume of smoke surge into my lungs, cool and hot all at once. An immediate nicotine rush expanded just behind my eyes and flooded outward to every nerve in my body. Menthol giddiness warmed me from head to toe, then became an icy tingle across my scalp and down my spine. I closed my eyes with a deep feeling of satisfaction as I started to reluctantly let the precious smoke go.

What should have come out as a simple exhale sputtered, then burst forth as a barking cough. I bent forward and brought my free hand to cover my mouth as I violently hacked for a moment, then wheezed air in once again.

"You okay?" Joe asked.

"Yeah," I answered as I took another deep drag on the cigarette and expelled the smoke, this time without incident. "I'm much better now."

"Jeez, white man," Ben exclaimed, waving with annoyance at the dense scud of smoke hanging around us. "Give it a rest will'ya? You've hot boxed d.a.m.n near half a pack already."He was correct. In fact, I was working on number ten at this very moment, and the ravenous craving had only now begun to smooth around the edges. Upon leaving the parking lot of the City Morgue, I had done no less than demand that he pull into the first open gas station we came upon. There followed a few tense moments of opposition from both Felicity and him, however, I won out. I celebrated my victory by purchasing an entire carton of menthol-tipped 100's and a disposable lighter.

I'd had no choice but to give in to Ben's refusal to allow me to smoke in his van, and therefore ended up quickly huffing a pair of the b.u.t.ts before climbing back into the vehicle for the short trip back around the block to our originally intended destination.

We were now parked in an out of the way back corner booth at 'Chuck's'. Not that where we sat really mattered, as we were the only patrons at the moment. The three of us were taking turns administering doses of sugar and creamer to coffee that was an hour or so beyond its expiration. Promises of a fresh pot were already reaching our ears as the coffee maker behind the counter audibly spewed hot liquid into a stained Pyrex globe.

"Aye, slow down," Felicity chimed in. "It's bad enough you've started up with those nasty things again. You don't have to chain-smoke as well."

"Maybe you should talk to Helen about this too, Row," Ben offered. "She's probably got some psychobabble to help you out with quitting."

"Yeah, maybe so," I agreed if for no other reason than to hopefully get them to quit harping on me. I didn't bother to point out that she was a smoker herself. "I'll mention it."

Still, though I was embracing the practice for the moment, I was as disturbed as they were that I'd started up again. It had been almost two years since I'd quit, and it hadn't been easy. I'd told myself that the occasional cigar was as far as I was going to venture into this realm ever again, and I'd stuck to it-until now. It was true that I'd been under some very severe stress, but I couldn't see blaming it all on that.

Something else was amiss. Some other factor was definitely at work here.

"Were either Debbie Schaeffer or Paige Lawson smokers by any chance?" I asked as the thought rolled in from the back of my brain.

Ben thought about it for a moment, and then shook his head. "Don't think so. I can check into it, but I don't recall either of them havin' cigarettes in their personal effects. Why?"

"Are you thinking that you're channeling impulses from one of them?" Felicity queried.

"Maybe." I shrugged. "Even when I went through withdrawals from quitting I didn't crave nicotine this intensely. There's got to be something more to it."

"Well, I'll check," Ben told me. "I'm almost positive it's a no on Schaffer, but I can't be completely sure about Lawson. But like I said, I don't remember any cigarettes with her stuff either.""Maybe it's someone else entirely," I speculated.

"What?" Ben furrowed his brow. "Like another murder victim?"

"Maybe."

"Well it would have to be another case entirely."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because we've already had our quota on serial killers this century."

I shrugged as I shook my head. "Just speculating."

"Well speculate something else," he instructed.

I stubbed the remaining couple of inches of the cigarette out in the small gla.s.s ashtray and its smoldering carca.s.s joined the other half dozen yellow-brown stained filters. I felt a need to immediately light another, but resisted, and hoped I'd had enough of a fix to hold me-for a while at least.

"So," my friend directed us back onto the original topic we'd set out to discuss, "why don't you tell me what I just got my a.s.s chewed for?"

"I'm not exactly sure," I returned.

"That's NOT what I wanna hear, Rowan."

"I know, Ben, but that's what I was trying to tell you back at the morgue. It's all a jumble. I don't really remember anything coherent."

He brought his hand up and ma.s.saged his neck, then sighed. "Let me cut you a little slice of reality here. We all know that I'm not exactly one for goin' strictly by the book, so I already walk a thin enough line as it is. Well, tonight just turned that thin line into a f.u.c.kin' tightrope, so you're gonna have to give me somethin'. Anything."

"What if you just start with anything that you can remember," Felicity ventured.

"Maybe we can piece it together."

"Well..." I thought hard for a moment, trying to pick out something of consequence and settling for whatever I could grasp. "A lot of darkness, and a cheerleader with an att.i.tude for starters."

"Whaddaya mean 'att.i.tude'?" Ben asked.

"Exactly that." I shrugged. "She seemed really c.o.c.ky... And demanding. She kept bouncing around, and she was kind of hard to keep track of."

"What makes you say she was c.o.c.ky though?" he pressed.

"Well, she kept calling some guy a moron, I remember that. I seem to recall her referring to him as an idiot too."

"Who?"

"I don't know. If I had to guess, I'd say it was the guy that killed her."

"No s.h.i.+t. So you saw the guy?"

"No." I shook my head. "I don't really remember seeing anyone other than her..."I thought hard for a moment. "Although there was this shadowy movement here and there and I heard a male voice."

"What did he say?"

"He was angry. Something about her crying and her makeup running."

"What do you think that's all about?" Felicity asked.

"Search me." I didn't know what to say. "I told you I didn't remember anything that made any sense. I suppose it might not have been the guy that killed her at all.

Maybe it was some kind of latent memory. Argument with a boyfriend or something?"

"Maybe her boyfriend is the killer," she offered.

"We've beaten that horse." Ben shook his head vigorously then took a sip of his coffee. "Boyfriend's clean."

"Ex-boyfriend?" I posed.

"There isn't one. You gotta understand," my friend explained, "this girl was like right out of a fifties TV show. A regular Stepford kid. Honor roll, cheerleader, never been in trouble, been dating the same guy since high school."

"That sure isn't the impression she gave me when she was bouncing in and out of my head," I told him.

"What can I tell ya'?" he shrugged.

"It doesn't really matter." I was shaking my head now. "Because you're right, the boyfriend idea is the wrong track anyway. If it had been her boyfriend, then we'd be talking about a crime of pa.s.sion, right?"

"Not definitely, but most likely. Why?"

"Well if it was a crime of pa.s.sion then it would be an isolated incident. There wouldn't have been any reason for her to insist on me touching Paige Lawson.

Unless, of course, there's a connection there that we're missing."

"We haven't had a reason to look for one. Lawson is an accidental death... So wait a minute, are you tellin' me Debbie Schaeffer's ghost had somethin' to do with that whole stunt?"

"Exactly." I nodded affirmation.

"So, she like what, talked you into it or something?"

"No, she actually physically dragged me over there and forced me to do it."

"She did what?" He stared back at me incredulously.

"I know it sounds bizarre, Ben."

"Yeah, well I've come to the conclusion that you're whole freakin' life is just one really long episode of the Twilight Zone, Kemosabe."

"Just since I got involved with murder investigations. Before that I was prettynormal."

"Says you," he grinned, his tone softening.

"Look who's talking," I returned the jibe. "Anyway, I wasn't in control of my actions when I went after Paige Lawson's remains. That was Debbie Schaeffer all the way. That's the one thing I can remember clear as daylight."

"See now, I just figured you were seizin' an opportunity, and THAT just p.i.s.sed me off."

"Yeah, I kind of had the impression you weren't real happy with me."

"Yeah, well I was p.i.s.sed when I turned around and saw you standin' there holding on to Lawson and screamin' your d.a.m.n fool head off. And after what she'd just walked in on, the Doc wasn't sure WHAT to think. It didn't really help matters any."

"Like she said, we probably should have called her before going down there."

"Yeah, well we all know about hindsight now don't we?"

"Can we get back on the subject, then?" Felicity interjected.

"Yeah, let's," Ben agreed. "So you're sayin' that there's some connection between Schaeffer and Lawson."

"There must be." I nodded, and then took a sip of my own coffee before setting the cup down and pus.h.i.+ng it away. One taste was all it took to convince me to wait for the fresh pot. "Why else would she have wanted me to touch the body?"

"But everything on Lawson points to accidental death," he objected. "So maybe the connection isn't that they were killed by the same person."

"Yeah, I suppose."

"You aren't being much help, Row."

"Hey," I shook my head, "I'm doing the best I can. I told you I'm pretty fuzzy on all this."

"Maybe Paige Lawson knew Debbie Schaeffer somehow, and the killer is a mutual friend or acquaintance," Felicity said.

"Paige Lawson was a marketing VP for an HMO. What's she gonna have in common with a college cheerleader?"

"You have a better idea, then?" she raised an eyebrow.

"No," he returned flatly. "Maybe they did know each other. If we can't find a direct connection, then we can make a list and see if any names match up as mutual acquaintances. I know Lawson had one of those electronic organizers in her briefcase. I think Schaeffer had something too."

"Do you remember anything else?" my wife pressed.