Blood Moon: A Rowan Gant Investigation (28 page)

“Yes, I do,” she said with a grin.

“Coconut cream,” the waitress said as she appeared
and slid a generous slice of pie in front of Ben. “Would anyone
like more coffee?”

Felicity passed on the java, but Ben and I both
opted for a fresh cup even though the doctor had warned me off.
Once the waitress was gone, I tried to steer the conversation back
into the proper lane. “Look, right now Judith Albright needs to be
our concern. Maybe we should skip the morgue and go straight to the
crime scene.”

“We don’t really have one,” Ben explained. “The last
place she was seen was the house where she lived with the vampire
whacko. Already been over that with a microscope. No sign of
struggle, no nothin’. Her purse, keys, and car were gone, and
that’s it. The geeks are goin’ over ‘er computer but nothin’ yet…
So there’s not much ta’ see. All we know is…”

Before he could complete the thought, he was
interrupted by the sound of a cell phone, which was warbling deep
inside his pocket. He settled his pie-mounded fork onto the plate
and then fished around until he retrieved the screaming device.
Giving a quick glance at the display, he raised an eyebrow then
flipped the phone open and put it against his ear.

“This is Storm,” he said, his voice taking on a
somewhat more official tone than usual. “Yes… What time? Okay.
Actually, we were just discussin’ a different approach ourselves.
No, I don’t think that’ll be a problem. Just a second, let me get
somethin’ to write with.”

He switched the phone to his other hand but
continued holding it against the same ear as he sent his newly
freed appendage searching for a pen. A moment later he had a
notebook out on the table and a ballpoint in his fingers.

“Go ahead,” he told the person at the other end.
“Yeah… Yeah… Okay, got it. CSU there yet? Good. Who’s runnin’ the
scene? Yeah, got it. Uh-huh, we’re on our way.”

He folded the phone and tucked it back into his
pocket then re-inspected what he had written before doing the same
maneuver with the notebook.

“I take it we’re going somewhere?” I asked.

“Looks like you kinda got your wish,” he replied.
“Seems we all of a sudden officially have a crime scene. State
trooper just found Judith Albright’s car at a rest area on Highway
Seventy just outside Wright City.”

“That’s an hour from here,” Felicity said.

“Yeah, just about,” Ben agreed then shoveled in the
forkful of pie, which he quickly followed with a second much larger
portion. After swallowing he added, “So, we better get movin’. It’s
already gonna be dark by the time we get there.”

My wife pulled out her cell phone and stabbed a
speed dial number then tucked it up to her ear as she said, “Let’s
hope RJ can run by the house and let the dogs out, or we’ll be
having a mess to clean up.”

In his typical fashion, he managed to down the rest
of the pie before Felicity and I were fully out of our seats.

* * * * *

Just like my wife had said, the roadside rest area
was something on the order of an hour from where we were when the
call originally came in. However, with Ben behind the wheel the
trip was instantly reduced to 45 minutes. If he had elected to use
his emergency light and siren, that probably would have shaved it
back to 30 or even less. Having white-knuckled a few rides with him
in the past, I was perfectly content with taking the extra
time.

For the better part of the trip we had engaged in
idle chitchat, both about the case and about nothing at all.
However, for the last 10 minutes or so, things had fallen
relatively quiet. I didn’t really mind since I was still dealing
with the aftereffects of my earlier episode at the morgue, so I had
laid my head back and closed my eyes under the guise of resting for
a bit.

Unfortunately, the physical drain that was pulling
me down was the least of my worries. While there was a lull in the
conversation between the three of us in this plane of existence,
inside my skull it was a completely different story. The ethereal
chatter was almost deafening. I couldn’t make out the words just
yet, but I knew that would be changing.

Like always, it was starting with the pain boring
its way into the back of my grey matter. I couldn’t say that this
time was really any more intense than usual, but perspective
changes everything. The simple fact that I had been devoid of the
torture for the last few hours made it seem even worse now that it
returned.

Still, it was the routine ache of someone from
across the veil pounding on my inner door, a thing I had grown to
know and hate, but ultimately accept. However, something about this
caller was inexplicably disturbing. Although still clouded in a
curious fog, there was something intensely intimate about the
feeling—different, but all too familiar in a way I simply couldn’t
pin down.

I felt certain it wasn’t Emily Foster calling upon
me again. I could tell that simply by the way the pain was touching
me. Unfortunately, I had no idea who it was demanding my attention
even though something told me I should. Given the circumstances and
the sickening churn in the pit of my stomach, unchecked speculation
made me fear it might be Judith Albright.

Right or wrong I decided to keep this fresh round of
torment to myself. I didn’t feel much like fielding any questions
just yet nor was I in the mood to fend off concerns. I already knew
there would be enough of that to deal with once we arrived.

I could feel the van swaying to the right and
starting to slow, so I opened my eyes. I saw immediately that Ben
was veering from the highway and onto the shoulder to avoid a line
of brightly burning road flares that had been set out to block the
entrance to the rest area. Hooking around them, he aimed the Chevy
along the ramp and began to slow even more. Ahead of us, framed in
the swath of the vehicle’s headlamps, was a highway patrol cruiser,
light bar flickering and parked diagonally across the access road.
We rolled to a stop several feet away as the officer inside the car
slowly climbed out and held up his hand. After a moment he
cautiously made his way toward us with the butt of a large
flashlight resting on his shoulder while he aimed the beam at us.
His other hand was hanging conspicuously close to his sidearm.

Ben pulled out his badge case then rolled down his
window and waited as the trooper approached on a wide arc.

“I’m sorry, but this rest area is temporarily
closed,” the officer stated, still standing several feet back and
to the side with his hand now resting on the butt of his
pistol.

“Detective Storm,” my friend announced, offering his
badge and ID. “Major Case Squad.”

Angling the light on my friend’s hand, the trooper
relaxed, but only slightly, before stepping forward and taking it
from him.

Even though it was well away from Saint Louis
proper, the rest area was located in Warren County. Since the Major
Case Squad was handling this investigation and both the Warren
County Sheriff’s office and Missouri State Highway Patrol were
participating agencies with the MCS, Ben was still operating within
his jurisdiction.

The uniformed man inspected the ID then handed it
back to him with a nod. “Thanks. They’ve been expecting you,” he
said then beamed his flashlight along the road. “Veer right to the
car park area and head straight back. It’s on the other side of the
lot behind the facilities building. Can’t miss it. You’ll sign in
up there.”

“Thanks,” Ben told him.

We waited as the trooper returned to his vehicle
then backed it up a few feet to allow us room to pass.

“Whatever ya’ do, stick close to me. Both of ya’,”
my friend told us as he rolled up his window and started nudging
the van forward. “I don’t feel like gettin’ into a yellin’ match
right now.”

“Why would that happen?” Felicity asked from the
rear seat. “Didn’t he just say we were expected?”

“Yeah… And we are,” he replied.
“But since the hubcap chasers found the car, they’re gonna wanna
take the lead on this. We just gotta let ‘em think they’re in
charge while we do what we’re here to do. So that means hang close,
let me talk, and you two just do the
Twilight Zone
thing.”

“In other words, we’re dealing with inter agency
politics,” I offered, my voice flat and emotionless as I was still
intent on keeping my inner turmoil under wraps.

“Yeah, the big, nasty P word… that’s about the size
of it. And as usual everybody’s gonna want the credit on their
resume.”

I wasn’t surprised by his commentary. Jurisdiction
alone didn’t mean cooperation was going to come easy, and I had
first hand experience with that. I’d actually witnessed the
backbiting he’d just described on more than one occasion.

“What about you?” I asked out of idle curiosity.
“Don’t you want to bolster yours a bit?”

“Yeah, right, and risk a fuckin’ promotion? Hell no.
I already sit behind a desk long enough as it is,” he replied. “I
move up too much farther I’ll be stuck in a goddamn office with no
windows, spendin’ all day lookin’ at crime stats on a friggin’
computer screen and gettin’ a chronic case of numb ass.”

I forced myself to chuckle lightly. “You’ve said
yourself that we’re both getting too old for this stuff. I thought
maybe you’d be ready for a desk job.”

“No,” he huffed, shaking his head. “Old’s one thing,
but I ain’t dead yet.”

We cruised through the empty expanse of parking
spaces then rounded the backside of the rest area, heading for the
far end of the lot as we had been directed. The moment we reached
the beginning of the bend and just before the turn toward the left,
a chaotic dance of luminance blossomed across the windshield. The
cluster of flashing emergency lights had not been visible from the
highway as we approached, but from this vantage point they lit up
the night.

Several squad cars, both from the state patrol and
the sheriff’s office were stationed on either side of the vehicle
in question. Crime scene tape ran between trees, lampposts, and
bumpers in order to cordon off the area. A second
flashlight-wielding officer waved us toward a parking space beneath
one of the light standards and began walking in our direction while
Ben pulled the van in and shut off the engine.

I unlatched my seatbelt then climbed out of the
passenger side and jerked open the sliding door for Felicity. The
cold night air was a crisp shock against the bare skin of my face
after sitting in the warm interior of the vehicle for the past
hour. In that moment I was very glad we had stopped by my wife’s
Jeep to retrieve my jacket before heading out.

Dusk had fallen hard, and even though we had
recently been through an abnormally warm stretch, a cold front was
encroaching, and the temperatures dipped quickly as soon as the sun
went into hiding below the horizon. Since the day had been clear
and no cloud cover had yet to roll through, there was no insulation
to keep in what little heat the ground had accumulated over the
past few days. Therefore, the outside temperature was making my
memories of the earlier chill in the morgue seem almost warm by
comparison.

My wife levered the van door shut then turned to me
with a concerned look on her face. “Rowan… You’ve seemed a bit out
of it for the past few minutes. Are you feeling okay then?”

I sighed as I reached up to rub my temples. My short
reprieve was over, and lying to her wasn’t going to do any good, so
I gave in. “The headache is back… But, it isn’t Emily… I’m not sure
who it is… It feels familiar…too familiar…but foreign as well… Does
that make sense?”

“You don’t think it’s…” She allowed her voice to
trail off.

I could tell by her words that she was thinking the
same thing I had been. I shook my head and muttered, “I’m trying
not to.”

Ben was already talking to the state trooper by the
time we hooked around the back end of the van and joined him. They
both looked over at us, and my friend gave a nod in my
direction.

“I was beginnin’ ta’ think we were gonna hafta send
a search party lookin’ for ya’,” he quipped.

“Just getting situated,” I replied.

“Here,” he said as he held a clipboard out to me.
Then he directed his words to the trooper. “They’ll need ta’ sign
in too. They’re special consultants for Major Case.”

“No problem,” the man replied with a nod.

I stepped forward and took the proffered crime scene
log, signed my name, and then under the heading for title entered
exactly what Ben had just called us, “special consultant.” When I
was finished entering the “time in” I handed it to Felicity so she
could do the same. When she gave the clipboard back to the officer,
he glanced at the signatures then looked us both up and down.

“The crime scene guys are already here,” he stated.
“What kind of consultants are you two?”

Without missing a beat I replied, “Reluctant.”

Once again he gave the clipboard a one-eyed stare
for a second then mumbled something not quite intelligible.

“Wait a minute,” he finally said. “Gant… Yeah, I
knew I’d heard that name before. You’re the psychic.”

I wasn’t surprised at what he said. Between media
coverage and word of mouth, I didn’t meet too many cops in the
state who hadn’t at least heard of me—in one sense or another.
Unfortunately, the rumors weren’t always true or particularly
flattering either.

“Yeah, something like that,” I half agreed rather
than launch into an involved explanation.

In truth, his assessment was probably closer to the
mark than I really wanted to admit. Witch or not, my facility was
at least as much psychic as it was magick, probably even more so.
The big difference was that I didn’t make a career of bilking
grieving families out of money to tell them vague and ambiguous
stories about their departed loved ones with whom I was supposedly
conversing. Instead, I worked for free to offer the police vague
and ambiguous clues in order to stop the voices inside my head.
Unfortunately, my payoff never lasted long.