The End Of Desire: A Rowan Gant Investigation (10 page)

“I doubt you’ve heard this one.”

“Try me.”

At this point I figured I had little to lose,
so I sighed and answered with a tired drone in my voice. “I’m
trying to stop a killer.”

“Really? I thought that was a job for cops,”
he harrumphed then nudged the fake badge. “But, wait, you’re a cop,
right?”

“Obviously you know I’m not,” I replied.

“You’re not?”

“Look, Detective…?”

“Fairbanks.”

“Detective Fairbanks. Do you think you can
dispense with the sarcasm?”

“Why? Does it annoy you?”

“Honestly, yes.”

“I guess we all have something that gets
under our skin,” he offered. “Personally, sarcasm really doesn’t
bother me much. What really gets to me is people who pretend to be
something they’re not.”

“Let me guess. Especially when they pretend
to be a cop.”

He leaned back in his chair, regarding me
with a cold stare, then nodded and said, “Yeah. That’ll do it.”

“In my defense,” I explained, “I never
actually said I was a police officer.”

“No, you didn’t,” he replied as he leaned
forward and flipped the file folder open. Peering through the
glasses resting on the end of his nose, he read aloud, “Special
investigations consultant with the Saint Louis Major Case Squad is
what you said.”

He looked back up at me and waited.

“Yeah,” I agreed. “Something like that.”

“Uh-huh. See, the problem is this,” he nudged
my wallet again, “You flashed a fake badge in order to gain entry
to a crime scene, and that shows intent. So, no matter what you
said, you were impersonating a cop. It’s kind of one of those
actions speak louder than words things.”

I knew my argument had been lame when I made
it, but I was too tired to think of anything else. Besides, lying
is what had landed me here in the first place, so making up a new
fabrication probably wasn’t my best course of action.

“What if there’s an element of truth to that
story?” I asked.

“What, so now you’re telling me that you
actually are a cop?”

I shook my head. “No. But I actually am an
independent consultant for the Major Case Squad in Saint
Louis.”

“Really?”

“Sometimes.”

“Define sometimes.”

“It largely depends on the case and who
happens to be running it.”

“So, which is it right now? Sometimes yes, or
sometimes no?”

I didn’t answer.

“Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

Once again my mouth overrode my brain. “Look,
Detective Fairbanks, you’re right. I impersonated a police officer.
But it’s not like I did it to assault anyone, or to get free donuts
or something.”

“Free donuts. That’s funny.” He wasn’t
laughing.

I shook my head again. “Sorry. I haven’t had
much sleep in the past few days.”

“Welcome to the club.”

“Okay, so, other than annoying you, what kind
of mess have I managed to get myself into?”

“That would be up to the judge,” he told me.
“Impersonating a law enforcement officer and violating a sealed
homicide crime scene could get you five. Maybe a little more if we
throw the donut comment in on top of it.”

I let my head hang for a moment as I felt my
shoulders fall. “I suppose I should call my attorney then.”

“That would probably be a good idea, unless
you can give me a damn good reason why you shouldn’t be
charged.”

I wasn’t sure if he was just stringing me
along, or what. However, I looked upon his comment as an invitation
to get myself out of this debacle. Not having a reasonable
explanation that didn’t sound utterly insane, however, I took the
only course of action I could think of and played a card I wasn’t
even sure I was truly holding.

“Any chance you could call Detective Benjamin
Storm in Saint Louis?” I appealed. “I’m sure he could clear some of
this up for you.”

“Storm,” he muttered as he leafed through the
papers in the file folder then stopped at a handwritten page of
notes. “Would that by any chance be the same Detective Benjamin
Storm who said, and I quote, ‘Jeezus H Christ. Fuck me. Just throw
the book at his sorry ass’?”

Obviously, I wasn’t holding the cards I
thought I was. I nodded and said in a flat tone, “Yeah. That would
be him.”

“Yeah. We found his card in your personal
effects.”

“
Maybe if you called…”

He cut me off, “Special Agent Constance
Mandalay with the FBI Saint Louis field office? Storm said you’d
probably toss her name out there too.”

“Sounds as if you two had a pretty in-depth
conversation.”

“Yeah, we did. A couple of them, in fact.
Nice guy.”

“At the moment I guess that assessment
depends on which side of the table you happen to be sitting.”

“I guess I can understand why you’d think
that, but actually, Mister Gant, you owe him big.”

“How do you figure?”

“Easy. Besides warning me that you’d probably
make a nuisance of yourself—which was dead on the money,
obviously—your friend filled me in on everything that’s happened to
you and your wife in the past few weeks.”

“Everything?”

“Of relevance,” he replied with a nod.

“Then you should know that I’m doing all this
to help her.”

“That’s what Storm says. And,
fortunately for you, according to him there really is an underlying
truth to your story, just like you said. He did, however, stress to
me in no uncertain terms that you are
not
here in an official capacity with the Major
Case Squad…or any other branch of law enforcement for that matter.
The way he explained it, you’re here of your own volition, and
you’re supposed to be on a quick fact finding trip, nothing
more.”

“That was the original plan,” I agreed.

“Of course, it would appear that you got a
bit overzealous in your search and deviated just a bit.”

“Maybe so, but if you…”

He interrupted me again, “Gant, just agree
with me and call it good, okay?”

I paused as what he said filtered through to
my temporarily dense grey matter, and then I nodded. “Yeah.
Okay.”

“So, after his understandable initial
reaction to my more recent call, he calmed down and had a change of
heart about havin’ me throw the book at you. Actually, he even
asked if I could do him a favor and cut you some slack.”

“And you said?”

“I told him I’d think about it, but I wanted
to have a one-on-one with you first.”

“Which, I take it, we’ve pretty much just
had.”

“Pretty much.”

“How did I do?”

He shrugged. “You proved to me you’re a bit
of an asshole, but under the circumstances I think I’m willing to
understand why that might be the case.”

“Reach any other conclusions?”

“Yeah, actually I have.”

We sat staring silently at one another for
several heartbeats. Finally, I cleared my throat and asked, “Do you
plan to share?”

He flipped the folder shut then scooped up my
wallet and sat back in the chair. While he fiddled with the clasp
on the toy badge, he said, “Storm said you told him you have a
return flight to Saint Louis Saturday afternoon.”

“That’s true.”

“I’d suggest that you exchange your ticket
for a flight leaving today. The earlier, the better.”

“So, you’re telling me to get out of
town?”

“Pretty much,” he said with a nod as he stood
up and tossed the empty wallet in front of me. “You can pick up the
rest of your personal effects at the desk.”

“At the risk of getting myself in deeper,” I
said. “What about the fact that I violated a crime scene?”

“You’re a lucky man, Mister Gant. To be
perfectly honest, you didn’t violate much. The scene was officially
cleared yesterday. The motel staff just hadn’t made it around to
cleaning up yet.”

“I see, so no harm done.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” he returned. “You
managed to waste my time, and that’s another one of those things
that tends to bother me.”

“Sorry about that.”

“Yeah. Sure.”

A quick impression from the motel settled
into my gut as I stood from my chair. However, instead of being the
horror that had gone on behind the door of room 7, it was the sick
fear I had felt for the woman at the office when she had been so
willing to open the door.

“Detective Fairbanks, is there any chance you
could do me a favor?”

“I’m fairly certain I just did. Storm didn’t
tell me you were greedy too.”

“I’m not. It’s not really for me,” I pressed.
“It’s for the lady who runs the motel. Is there any chance you
could go have a talk with her?”

“I did.” He tapped the folder. “Or did that
slip past you?”

“I mean about something else.”

“What?”

“Safety, I guess. She was just too trusting.
I mean, she just opened the door to the office and didn’t even ask
to see my credentials up close. What if my aim had actually been to
assault her?”

“Then you’d be at the morgue right now
sporting a toe tag instead of here talking to me.”

“What do you mean?”

He shook his head and chuckled. “Mister Gant,
while your concern is commendable, the woman you are so worried
about is a retired cop from Tennessee. She had you pegged as an
imposter from the word go, and she was packing a Glock in her
housecoat. The only reason she didn’t just shoot you before calling
us is that she knew we’d probably want to talk to you first.”

M
y rental car had yet to
be impounded according to Detective Fairbanks, so it was supposed
to still be sitting on the parking lot of the Southern Hospitality
Motor Lodge where I had left it. I had been allowed to use a phone
to call a cab while I was waiting for my personal effects, and
since it took several minutes to get me officially signed out, by
the time I was at the curb, my wait was relatively
short.

I set about the task of getting my credit
cards and other odd items situated back into my wallet after I had
told the driver where I was going and then settled back in the
seat. I quickly checked my cell phone and noticed it was off, so I
thumbed it on and laid it in my lap as I continued to arrange my
life in the worn fold of leather. The phone started vibrating and
warbling the instant it latched on to a signal.

I knew the familiar tone was alerting me to
voicemail, but that could wait. When it finally stopped, it was
only briefly before starting into the upwardly stair-stepped trill
of an incoming call. I shoved my still disorganized wallet into my
pocket then picked up the chirping device and glanced at the
screen. The display showed that the caller was Ben. Apparently,
Detective Fairbanks hadn’t wasted any time letting him know I’d
been released.

My thumb hovered over the talk button as I
debated whether or not I really wanted to listen to my friend read
me the riot act at this particular moment in time. According to the
digital clock in the corner of the LCD, it was already pushing 10
A.M. I knew I would have to deal with him eventually, but right now
I wasn’t sure I was in the right frame of mind to take the flak.
Fortunately, the internal deliberation was rendered moot by my
hesitation, and the call defaulted to voicemail.

I let out a sigh and then proceeded to punch
a speed dial number before tucking the device up to my ear. The
phone at the other end rang twice then was picked up by a hospital
operator.

“Doctor Helen Storm, please,” I asked.

“Whom should I say is calling?”

“Rowan Gant.”

“Hold please.”

The strains of some unidentifiable
instrumental piece flowed into my ear for the better part of three
minutes before the line clicked and a fresh voice came on.

“Good morning, Rowan,” Helen said. “I was
expecting you to call much earlier.”

Ben’s sister was sometimes harder to talk to
than he was. Not because she would become as undone as he, but
rather the opposite. Being a psychiatrist, she had far more
effective ways to let you know you had screwed up. However, I
assumed she wouldn’t have any reason to do so in this case. On top
of that, I wasn’t calling her about me; I was calling about my
wife. Felicity was currently under her care, for several reasons;
not the least of which was that she was the only one I trusted
where that was concerned.

“I was unforeseeably detained,” I
replied.

“I know. Benjamin called me earlier.”

“Lovely,” I mumbled. Obviously my assumption
had been wrong. “So, I guess he’s ready to kill me by now.”

“He certainly is not happy. However, for the
most part he is understandably concerned about you and what you are
getting yourself involved in,” she continued. “As am I.”

“What’s new about that, Helen? You’ve been
concerned about me since the day we met. I doubt that’s going to
change anytime soon.”

“I suppose you are correct about that,
Rowan,” she replied. “However, there are those times when I am even
more concerned than usual. Such as now, for instance.”

“I appreciate it, but I’m fine.”

“I sincerely doubt that you are.”

“Is that my friend or my analyst saying
that?”

“Both.”

“Yeah. I’m not surprised.”

“Have you been getting any sleep?”

“Sure. Plenty.”

“You are lying, Rowan. I can hear in your
voice that you are exhausted.”

“Listen, Helen,” I said. “I didn’t call to
talk about me. How’s Felicity doing?”

“She is holding her own at the moment,” she
replied. “She has good moments and bad. Right now she is in a mild
depressive state, but that is to be expected under the
circumstances.”

“Has she had any more of the episodes?”

Episode
was the
only generic term I could muster for what I meant. Helen had
actually witnessed Felicity under the control of Miranda before I
left for New Orleans, so she knew exactly what I was talking
about.