The End Of Desire: A Rowan Gant Investigation (4 page)

“Just wonderin’ what you’re doin’ for
entertainment?”

The non sequitur queries were really starting
to aggravate me, so I snapped, “I’m not here for entertainment,
Ben, and you know that. Now, are you going to tell me whatever it
is you had on your mind or not?”

“You sittin’ down?”

“No. There isn’t a chair, and I’m not so sure
I want to use the bed from the looks of it. I’m not even sure where
I plan to sleep in here now that I think of it.”

“Yeah, great. Well hold on ta’ somethin’
anyway.”

“Come on, Ben. What’s with the
melodrama?”

“Payback’s a bitch.”

“What?”

“You kept me waitin’, I’m just returnin’ the
favor.”

I shook my head and let out a heavy sigh. “I
already said I’m sorry. What more do you want?”

“You gettin’ pissed at me yet?”

“I think you can safely say that I am, yeah.
Why?”

“‘
Cause that’s what I wanted. Like I
said, payback.”

“Then I think you can consider the debt
cleared,” I told him. “Now do you actually have something to tell
me, or is this all just part of your grand plan?”

“Actually, I do have somethin’. Figured you
mighta heard it on the news, but I guess not…”

“I haven’t seen any news since I left Saint
Louis, so you guess correctly.”

“Yeah, well like I said, brace yourself. It
looks like your evil sis-in-law is at it again.”

I
was suddenly feeling
very ill. Under different circumstances I would have blamed the
acidic churn in my gut on the healthy dose of aspirin I’d swallowed
only a few minutes before. However, the sour nausea was accompanied
by hollowness in the pit of my stomach that told me this was a
different kind of sick. It was the queasiness that bore its way
into your intestines at right about the moment you realized you had
seriously screwed up.

Whether I wanted to admit it or not, my
impromptu trip here to New Orleans had been born only partly of
logic and reason. The majority of the impetus was pure emotion that
I had been all too willing to ascribe to gut instinct without
really giving it any serious thought. What I realized now was that
any of the calculating and planning I had done was probably nothing
more than the inner ramblings of someone on the verge of a nervous
breakdown. The truth is, I probably belonged in a hospital bed in
the psych ward right next to my wife’s.

Of course, this was nothing new. I had always
acted on impulse, and even when I was wrong, fate somehow allowed
me to come out on top. But, my luck in that arena couldn’t last
forever. It was bound to change at some point, and I feared that
time had now arrived. I’d let haste guide my actions and doing so
led me here, almost 700 miles due south of where I apparently
needed to be, with no one to blame but myself—which is exactly what
I was doing at this very moment.

“Okay…” I finally said as I let out a heavy
sigh and desperately tried to process everything that was bouncing
around inside my skull. “Let me get off here and see if I can find
a flight back right away. I’ll call you back as soon as I know when
I can be in Saint Louis.”

I received no response. I waited a moment and
wondered if I’d lost connection due to problems with cell towers in
the area. I even pulled the phone from my ear and glanced at the
LCD to check the signal strength. Finding it well within limits, I
spoke again, “Ben? Are you still there?”

“Ya’know,” he finally replied, “I could be a
total ass and just let ya’ do that.” He let out a heavy breath,
which told me he’d been at the other end all along. He’d just been
thinking, most likely rocked back in his chair with his free hand
massaging his neck as he had a tendency to do whenever pondering
something serious. After another brief pause he added, “Hell, I
should let ya’ do it ‘cause ya’ had no business goin’ down there
anyway.”

“What the hell are you talking about, Ben?” I
asked.

“Simple, White Man. Much as I’d prefer your
happy ass was in Saint Louis where I can keep an eye on ya’, the
murder didn’t happen here. It happened there.”

“Here?”

“Yeah, there. In New Orleans.”

“Where here?” I demanded.

“Ain’t important, Row. It’s bein’
investigated and they’re keepin’ us in the loop.”

“Fine. That’s lovely. I’d expect nothing
less. Now, where did it happen?”

“I’m not tellin’ ya’.”

“Why not?”

“‘
Cause if I do, you’ll try ta’ find a
way ta’ get into it.”

“How do you know that?”

He half chuckled. “How? ‘Cause I know you,
that’s how. Besides, if that ain’t your plan, whaddaya need to know
the particulars for?”

I couldn’t dispute either point, so I asked,
“Yeah, so what if I do? Maybe if I check out the crime scene, I can
pick up on something they can’t see. You know how that tends to
happen with me.”

“Yeah, I do. But, the scene’s a week
old.”

“A week?!” I exclaimed. “Why in the hell are
we just now hearing about it?”

“NCIC backlog, Row,” he explained. “Not to
mention a hurricane and a flood which I’m sure you noticed. NOLA PD
is swamped. Too much crime, not enough time or coppers for that
matter. It just got entered, and that’s only ‘cause a fresh
volunteer from KC is down there, and he remembered somethin’ about
one of our bulletins that made ‘im do a little diggin’.”

“Well, I’ve pulled impressions from old crime
scenes before. So that’s not really an issue.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

His stonewalling was really pushing me to the
edge, but I knew I wasn’t getting anywhere with the direct
approach, so I changed my plan of attack, “Well, are you certain
it’s her?”

“Until they finish processin’ evidence, no.
And with things the way they are down there, that could take
awhile. But I did talk ta’ the copper workin’ the case myself. The
victim was male, found in a room at a no-tell motel just like the
two here, and he was tied ta’ the bed kinky-sex style. From all
indications, he was tortured ta’ death, which we know is ‘er
favorite pastime. Still waitin’ on autopsy results, somethin’ else
that could take awhile, but from what I understand she worked ‘im
over good. He also said they found hair that sounds like it could
be a match. And, if that ain’t enough, she carved one of ‘er
pictures inta’ his chest.”

“A
veve
?”

“Yeah. The heart-shaped one.”

The hair on the back of my neck prickled at
the mention of the symbol. It was definitely one of her calling
cards.

“It figures,” I mumbled, and then launched
into an appeal, “Listen, Ben, even if the scene is a week old,
maybe if I just had a look?”

“Uh-huh, how ‘bout no.”

“Dammit, Ben.”

“Jeezus, Row, just give it a rest. Hell, what
makes ya’ think they’d even let ya’ into the scene anyway?”

“Easy. You could call them back. I mean I’m
already here after all. Don’t you cops have some kind of fraternal
code about helping one another out?”

“That’s just for speedin’ tickets.”

“I’m serious, Ben.”

“I know ya’ are, but even if I did call, I’m
gonna tell ‘em what? My buddy the Witch is in town and wants ta’
come by and look at the gore fest? It don’t work that way and you
know it,” he told me. “On top of that, what you do in Saint Louis
doesn’t necessarily fly elsewhere. Shit, it doesn’t always fly here
and you know that too, in spades.”

“Then what about Constance?” I pressed,
“She’s federal. What if she made the call?”

I was talking about Special Agent Constance
Mandalay of the FBI. She was also a good friend, not to mention
that she and Ben had been in an on again, off again relationship
ever since his divorce. Even so, I didn’t feel guilty about asking
him to get her involved in this because she was already in it up to
her neck anyway. It wasn’t as if I was asking him to use his
personal influence over her, not that he really had any based on
what I’d witnessed of their relationship.

“Not happenin’,” he replied. In my mind’s eye
I could see him shaking his head as he spoke. He continued before I
could object again, “Look, Row, like I said. It’s bein’
investigated. The MCS and the Feebs are in the loop. There ain’t
shit you or I can do about it, and so there’s no need in you tryin’
ta’ get in somewhere that you’re not welcome.”

“So what’s to keep me from checking the
newspaper and finding the location?”

“Nothin’,” he grunted. “Except maybe the fact
that they didn’t run a story on it.”

“How do you know?”

“I asked.”

“Why?”

“Because I wanted ta’ know how easy it was
gonna be for you ta’ get inta’ trouble.”

“Well, why didn’t it make the papers?”

“Victim was a street person, and there’s
plenty of other shit goin’ on down there right now. It just wasn’t
considered newsworthy.”

“Okay, so what if I just go to the local
police myself?” I countered.

“Knock yourself out,” he harrumphed. “But I
can tell ya’ right now you’ll just be wastin’ your breath ‘cause I
already told ‘em ya’ might try that. Look, Row, you ain’t packin’ a
badge, so you’re just another civilian ta’ them. The coppers down
there are short-staffed and under siege for fuck’s sake. They ain’t
got time ta’ deal with ya’.” He paused briefly to allow the comment
to sink in, then continued, “Besides, I thought you were s’posed
ta’ be down there chasin’ a ghost, right?”

“A
Lwa
,” I corrected. “They’re deified spirits
within Vodoun religious practice.”

“Yeah, well that’s just another friggin’ word
for ghost in my book.”

“Uh-huh. And I also wouldn’t exactly call it
chasing. I’m just looking for her history. It’s really more like
genealogical research if you want to know the truth.”

“Chasin’ or not, it’s what ya’ went down
there for, right?”

I drew in a deep breath. I really couldn’t
argue with him too much because it really was the reason I’d come
here. After a bloated silence, I huffed out my agreement almost as
one word, “Yeah, I guess.”

“Then that’s what ya’ need ta’ concentrate
on. You do the Witch stuff, and let us do the cop stuff.”

Even though I knew continuing to argue with
him was futile, I decided to press my friend just a bit further on
the subject. “So, tell me something. If I can’t help then why did
you even bother telling me about this, Ben?”

“Figured since you were there, ya’ had an off
chance of hearin’ about it anyway. Thought I’d see if I could get
to ya’ first.”

“But…”

He cut me off. “No but’s, Row. It was a
judgment call.”

“So how’d you make that call?”

“How else? I flipped a friggin’ coin.”

“What a novel approach.”

“Like I said. Judgment call. Heads I tell ya’
what I can and deal with ya’ bein’ pissed, or tails I don’t tell
ya’ and still deal with ya’ bein’ pissed ‘cause I didn’t. For me it
was lose-lose no matter what I did.”

“Glad to know I’m worth so much
consideration,” I grumbled.

“It was a no-brainer, Row. I got bad guys ta’
catch. Better I spend my time thinkin’ about that instead of
whether I want ya’ torqued at me now or torqued at me later.”

“Yeah, I know you’re right,” I conceded.

“If you wanna know the truth,” he offered. “I
didn’t actually flip a coin. I was gonna tell ya’ anyway.”

“Why, because you figured I’d probably
already heard about it?”

“No… Actually, ‘cause I’m a bit worried about
ya’.”

“Don’t tell me, let me guess. Because you’re
afraid I’m going to go looking for her?”

“Jeezus, White Man, I keep tryin’ ta’ tell
ya’ I ain’t stupid. Hell, I know you’re gonna go lookin’ for her.
What I’m afraid of is that you’re actually gonna find ‘er.”

* * * * *

I
had to give Ben credit;
he definitely knew me as well as anyone could—except for my wife,
of course. I was definitely going to look for Annalise, and finding
her was my ultimate goal. I had absolutely no idea how I was going
to accomplish this, but I knew where I was going to start.
Therefore, I had no more hung up with him than I was heading out
the door in search of a way to get into the local crime scene. What
I was going to be able to do at almost 2:30 in the morning was yet
another mystery, especially considering the fact that I didn’t even
know exactly where the crime scene was located. However, I had an
idea, and since I wasn’t going to be able to sleep for a variety of
reasons, I decided I might as well get started.

I had no doubt my friend was correct in his
assessment that I wouldn’t be welcomed with open arms, so the
head-on approach wasn’t even an option. Especially since I wasn’t
going to get any support from him or Constance where that was
concerned. This was something I would have to do on my own, with
subterfuge. As my wife had recently pointed out, I wasn’t a very
good liar, so that was yet another hurdle I would need to face.
Unfortunately, deceit was going to be necessary because the truth
was simply too insane to be believed.

I had just pulled my door shut when my
next-door neighbor stepped out of her room and, not paying
attention to where she was going, stumbled directly into me. She
jumped back with a yelp, teetering on a pair of platform heels that
looked a half-size too big. Regaining her composure, she shuffled
then leaned against the doorjamb. I wasn’t sure if she was doing it
for balance, or if she was trying to look alluring. Maybe it was
both, although she wasn’t accomplishing the latter—in my eyes at
least. Either way, she simply looked me over and smiled.

I muttered, “Sorry,” then gave her a nod and
started for my car.