All Acts Of Pleasure: A Rowan Gant Investigation (28 page)

“Sorry,” I apologized quickly then tried to
offer an explanation for my comments. “Look, I’m not complaining,
believe me. They never should have arrested her in the first place.
I’m just trying to understand what’s going on.”

“I know, Rowan, but…” she stopped her
sentence short, again focusing her attention completely on the
road.

Lightly tapping the brakes, she canted the
steering wheel slightly and veered onto the Eleventh Street-Stadium
exit ramp then headed into the sharp curve. I was pressed against
the door from the outward force as she eschewed further use of the
brake and immediately gunned the engine, accelerating through the
turn, shooting down the ramp, and off onto Eleventh Street. It was
a good thing nothing was scheduled at the nearby indoor sports
complex because that meant traffic was light, and there was no one
to get in her way. As she merged onto the northbound street, she
continued speaking where she had so abruptly left off, “What I’m
trying to tell you is that you can bet whatever it is that
happened, it cleared Felicity hands down.”

“Why? I mean, that’s great and all, but
why?”

“Because, it’s Saturday night. The prosecutor
had to suck it up and interrupt a judge’s evening. Who knows, maybe
he even had to get a judge out of bed in order to get her released
right now.”

“Okay, I admit I was wondering about that,” I
replied with a nod. “Our attorney said it’s almost impossible to
get a bail hearing on a weekend. She had to pull some serious
strings just to get me in to see her today.”

“Your attorney is correct, but that’s just
it. This isn’t bail; this is release. As of this morning she was
being charged with murder, but now she’s walking. That means the
charges got dropped almost as soon as they got filed. For the
prosecutor to go to a judge, hat in hand, on a Saturday evening to
get charges dropped means they’re painfully aware that they screwed
up royally.

“What it basically says is that either there
was gross incompetence that they knew was going to bite them in the
ass, or something happened that screwed up their case. Either way,
it’s not something that looks good on a résumé at all. Given the
track record of the prosecutor, I’m betting it wasn’t incompetence
on his part. Maybe someone else, but not him. Either way, something
happened. Something big.”

“Big how?”

“I can think of several things,” she replied.
“New evidence, mishandling of existing evidence, or even another
murder while she was in custody.

“No matter what it is, though, there’s one
thing you can be sure of—a lot of embarrassment is being dished up
right now, and someone’s ass is going to be in a sling. Count on
it. The fact that they are letting her out in such a hurry is
evidence enough of that.”

“Why?”

“Easy. They want her free before the press
can get hold of it.”

“Won’t they still?”

“Sure, they always do, but it won’t make
anywhere near as big a splash as it would if they had video of her
walking out the doors after all the hoopla that got made over her
arrest. I’m actually surprised they didn’t wait until later tonight
to spring her. More like midnight or one in the morning.”

“One in the morning?” I repeated in
disbelief.

“Yes, one in the morning,” she replied. “I
know it sounds insane, but it’s not as off the wall as you might
think. It’s been done before, more than once, actually. All in
order to sneak it by the press. What’s unfortunate is that this
sort of thing happens more than you’d care to know.”

We had already blown through a stoplight at
Spruce and were now approaching Clark Avenue. Constance began
slowing the vehicle as cross traffic loomed in the headlights.

“You’re kidding, right?” I asked, reaching
for the dash as the brakes took hold, then instantly released,
causing me to pitch forward against my shoulder harness.

Constance pulled around the car ahead of us
and continued forward, cautiously nosing her way into the
intersection. Once everyone stopped to allow her through, she
whipped immediately into a left turn from the center lane and
punched the accelerator.

“I wish I were, Row,” she finally responded
in an absent tone. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s not like it’s
a daily occurrence. But, the truth is, Felicity definitely isn’t
the first person this sort of thing has happened to.”

“No offense, but for me that doesn’t inspire
a lot of confidence in our legal system.”

“I know, Rowan,” she sighed. “Trust me, I
know. Sometimes I wonder about the system myself and I’m part of
it.”

As the buildings along the block slipped past
the windows, and the distance closed on the next intersection, she
again tapped the brakes to slow the sedan. If ever we were going to
attract attention to ourselves, now would probably be the time
because city police headquarters was almost directly ahead of us on
the left, just across Tucker Boulevard. Given our speed and the
flashing lights, it was almost a given that we would gain ourselves
an entourage.

Constance shot a quick glance in both
directions and finding it clear, she barreled on through the
traffic signal.
Cranking the wheel hard and mashing on
the accelerator, she instantly made a sharp right onto the main
thoroughfare and punched forward. Just over ten seconds later, she
was bringing the car to a skidding halt next to the
curb.

I was out of my seatbelt before she had even
begun braking, and I’m almost certain we were still in motion when
I popped the door and started to jump out. At least, that’s the
only way I can think of to explain why my feet scraped horizontally
along the sidewalk.

It took everything I had not to break into a
dead run the minute I was fully out of the vehicle. In fact, I
didn’t even bother to close the door as I started toward the stairs
at something between a fast walk and a jog. As I had suspected, a
pair of patrol cars with light bars fully ignited were sliding to a
halt behind the sedan before I’d made it five steps. I didn’t
bother to stop. Constance could take care of them. Continuing
forward and looking up at the entrance, I immediately spotted a
slight figure moving quickly in my direction.

Felicity shot down the stairs without
restraint to meet me at the bottom, her petite frame slamming into
me so hard my breath escaped in a perfunctory huff. She threw her
arms around my neck and buried her face against my shoulder as she
started to sob quietly. I instantly wrapped my own arms about her
and held her tightly, lifting her from the bottom step and slowly
turning in place before finally settling her back onto the
sidewalk. Still, I didn’t let go and neither did she. If anything,
we both gripped one another even tighter.

As we stood there tangled in an emotional
embrace, a cold November wind whipped around us on its trek through
the downtown streets. But, even though I wasn’t wearing a coat, the
chill didn’t faze me. I had something far more important occupying
my attention, and keeping me warm.

After a moment, however, I did notice that I
hadn’t yet bothered to take a breath ever since the wind had been
knocked from my lungs. But, that was okay. There would be plenty of
time for breathing later.

* * * * *

“All they said was ‘Sorry for the
inconvenience, Miz O’Brien, you’re free to go,’” Felicity announced
softly. She paused before repeating a particular word from the
sentence, her voice falling into an annoyed whisper,
“Inconvenience.”

I didn’t have an answer for that. There was
nothing I could possibly say that was going to make it better or
make either of us understand. Right now it didn’t matter, though,
because I knew all she wanted was for someone to listen. That was a
task I was more than happy to perform, if for no other reason than
to hear her voice once again inside the walls of our home.

She continued, slightly louder, but still
subdued. “I wasn’t even sure if they were going to let me use the
phone. The first person I asked said no. I guess I just got lucky
when I asked someone else. I suppose I should be grateful for
that.”

“Did you say thank you?” I asked facetiously,
my voice low.

“No. I think I was still too stunned.”

“I wouldn’t worry. They’ll get over it.”

True to his word, Ben had seen to the removal
of Austin. He surreptitiously pulled me aside once we had returned
home to let me know that my brother-in-law was being held overnight
by the Briarwood police for violating a public intoxication
ordinance and that he would most likely be cut loose in the
morning. I sincerely appreciated his tact where that situation was
concerned because it was something Felicity didn’t need to worry
about at this moment. Hopefully, once Austin was fully sober, he
would give some more thought to the points I had tried to make.
Then, maybe we could have a truly productive discourse.

After that, Ben and Constance didn’t stay
long. Once they were certain we were settled in, they said their
goodnights and left us alone. I had offered to put on a fresh pot
of coffee, but they immediately declined. It seemed the elation of
having my wife home had nullified any of the remaining anger I was
feeling toward Ben—at least, for the time being. While it would be
impossible to forget everything that had transpired, I hoped that
our friendship was on the mend. Of course, that was really up to
me, not him. He had remained loyal throughout it all, even if my
rampant emotions hadn’t allowed me to see it.

In any case, it was obvious that even though
we had several questions, they were just as in the dark about the
situation as us. They both definitely planned to find out what they
could, but for the moment the mystery behind my wife’s sudden
release was going to remain just that. Besides, and perhaps even
more important than solving that riddle, they also knew what
Felicity and I really needed in the wake of all this was some time
alone. In the end, that was a bit of wisdom with which I couldn’t
disagree.

“You’re sure you don’t want something to
eat?” I asked after what seemed like several minutes of
silence.

I was sitting on the floor of the master
bathroom, my back against the cool tiled wall. Felicity was in the
tub, up to her neck in warm water and lavender scented bubbles. I
had offered to make her something to eat earlier when we had first
arrived home. Ben had even offered her the left over tacos he
hadn’t gotten around to devouring, but she didn’t seem to have an
appetite. All she wanted to do, she said, was soak in a hot bath.
That was a desire I found easy to help her fulfill.

“I’m sure,” she told me softly.

“A drink? I think we still have a
bottle of
Bushmills
in the
cabinet. There might even be some
Black
Bush
in there too.”

“No…well, maybe…but, not just yet.”

“Okay. Just let me know.”

There was a quiet splash of water as she
shifted then sighed with what sounded like reserved contentment.
She stayed silent for a moment and then finally said, “You don’t
have to wait on me hand and foot, then, Rowan.”

“I thought you were into that sort of
thing.”

“Well…yes…I am…but, that’s…I mean…not right
now…I just…”

I replied without looking up, rescuing her
from the incoherent stammer. “It’s okay. I know what you’re trying
to say. And, don’t worry about it. I don’t mind.”

“Aye, I love you, you know.”

“Yeah. I do. Same here.”

Another quiet interlude fell in behind our
words. Eventually it was pushed aside by the sound of movement, but
this time it was me who shifted, seeking a somewhat more
comfortable position.

Reaching to the side, I picked up one of the
towels that had been carelessly tossed to the floor during the
search. Leaning forward a bit, I shoved it behind myself then
settled back with an involuntary groan.

“You don’t have to stay in here with me,”
Felicity said. “You can’t possibly be comfortable.”

“Do you want to be alone?” I asked. “I can go
do something else.”

I was sincere in my offer to give her
solitude, but inside I hoped she wouldn’t take me up on it.

“No…not really…but…”

“But nothing,” I cut her off gently, feeling
a sense of relief. “I’m with you, which is right where I want to
be.”

She whispered, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

In keeping with the sporadic, up and down
trend of the conversation, a period of quiet settled in between us.
After a few moments we heard the metallic rattle of dog tags,
followed by the click of canine toenails on hardwood. The sound
came closer and finally our English setter poked his head in
through the doorway. He looked at us curiously and then huffed out
a low “woof”. I knew from experience, he was beckoning us to come
to bed. It was readily apparent that, as far as he was concerned,
his routine had been upset more than enough, and it was time for
things to return to his concept of normal.

“We’ll be there soon,” I told him. “Go on
back to bed.”

He looked at me as if he understood, woofed
softly once again then turned and padded away, presumably back to
his overstuffed pillow.

“Been rough on the kids,” I offered.

“Aye, I’m sure,” my wife replied. “And, you
too.”

“Yeah, in more ways than you know. But it was
a lot worse for you.”

“I’m not so sure,” she began, seizing on the
opening I’d unconsciously given her. “When are you going to tell me
what happened to your lip?”

I had all but forgotten about the wound that
graced the lower half of my face courtesy of her brother. Her
mention of it reminded me that it was still throbbing and soreness
was setting in. Still, it was a subject I didn’t want to get into
right now.