All Acts Of Pleasure: A Rowan Gant Investigation (30 page)

“Are you certain?” he pressed.

“Aye, do you think I’m daft? Don’t you think
I would know if I had written them?”

I watched as Austin hemmed and hawed for a
moment then made a shallow nod in my direction. I’m sure he thought
he was doing it on the sly, but I caught it easily, and the
significance of the motion wasn’t lost on me.

“What?” Felicity asked, shaking her head.
“Spit it out.”

“He’s trying to tell you he thinks you might
be lying because you’re under duress since I’m sitting right here,”
I offered.

“That’s ridiculous!” she sputtered.

“I can go in the other room if it would make
you feel better, Austin,” I offered flatly, starting to rise from
my chair.

“You, stay put,” Felicity ordered, then she
turned back to her brother. “Austin, are you still drunk? Do I look
to you like I’m afraid of my husband?”

“No, but the letters were written in your own
hand, Felicity,” he appealed. “How can you explain that?”

“How can you be so sure?” she countered.
“When did you become an expert on handwriting analysis? And,
besides that, when did you last see anything I’d written by
hand?”

“He showed me some old letters you sent home
from university,” Austin explained. “I checked and the handwriting
looked the same to me.”

“Well, I’m telling you…” she started then
immediately stopped herself and cocked her head to the side
thoughtfully. After a moment she resumed speaking. “Wait a minute.
He had the letters I’d sent home from school?”

“Aye, that’s what I said.”

“Did you
ask
to see those?”

“No, he just offered.”

“That’s it then.”

“What’s it?”

“Remember when we were kids, how
daidí
used to have people write down
their names, and then after looking at the signature for a minute,
he would make a copy with his own hand?”

“Aye,” Austin replied with a slow nod. “I do
remember that.”

“Shamus was into forgery?” I queried.

“No.” Felicity shot me a glance and gave a
quick shake of her head. “It was just a trick he could do, a
bizarre talent. He used to entertain everyone by doing it. Of
course, they weren’t perfect, but they were close enough.”

“So you’re thinking he forged the letters he
showed Austin, using your old correspondences from college to work
from?” I asked.

“That’s the only explanation I can think of,”
she replied. “Because I damn sure didn’t write them.”

“Aye, and I suppose if anyone could do it,
Shamus O’Brien would be the one,” Austin agreed.

“That would also explain why he made it a
point to show you the old college letters,” I added, directing
myself to Austin. “It gave you something to compare them to. It was
his way to prove to you that the forged letters were legitimate.
But, given what you two just said, I think that move might have
just backfired on him and tipped his hand.”

“But why?” Felicity asked. “Why forge letters
like that? I still don’t understand why he would do something so
mean.”

“Because he doesn’t see it as mean,” I
offered. “He’s doing it out of love for his daughter.”

“You’re defending him?” she asked, raising an
eyebrow.

“Not so much defending as understanding,” I
replied. “Believe me, over the past two days I’ve had my fill of
your father. But, like I said to Austin last night when I was
trying to convince him that you couldn’t possibly have written the
letters—if I had a daughter, and I had any inkling at all that she
could be in danger, I would do anything in my power to help her.
Even if she didn’t want my help. I can see where that would include
forging some type of evidence to help me effect that rescue.”

“But I’m not. Not from you, anyway.”

“Agreed, but that’s not how he sees it. I’m
not saying he isn’t misguided, and I’m also not saying that I don’t
want to wring his neck because I do. But, stepping away and looking
at it from a different viewpoint, I can understand how his skewed
logic is driving him to do it.”

“But all he’s doing is creating a bigger
rift,” she replied.

I nodded. “I know. But, remember, he told me
himself that he has already contacted someone about having you
deprogrammed.”

“He’d best forget that idea right now,” my
wife spat.

“I agree, but I don’t think he’s going to. I
think the fact that he went to the trouble of forging those letters
is evidence enough of that.”

“I’m afraid Rowan might be right, Felicity,”
Austin agreed. “He was talking of it yesterday when he showed them
to me.”

“What did
máthair
say about it then?”

“She wasn’t happy about it at all.” He let
out a small huff. “In fact, when I left the house they weren’t
speaking. She had gone upstairs, slamming doors all the way.”

“So that’s where you got it,” I commented,
but my observation was met only by Felicity frowning and rolling
her eyes at me.

“Well, maybe she’s talked some sense into him
by now,” she mused.

A moment of sullen quiet fell over all of us
as we sat and sipped our coffee. Finally, Austin cleared his
throat.

“Aye, well how did he sound when you told him
they let you go?” he asked.

“I haven’t called yet,” Felicity returned
coldly. “And, now I’m not so sure that I’m going to.”

Her comment wasn’t an idle threat. As it
turned out, she never actually made the call herself. It was the
other way around, for Shamus began calling us as soon as her
release was reported on the midday news. At last count he had
managed to leave six messages. How many attempts it took for him to
accomplish that feat was a mystery, however, because the phone
itself was ringing non-stop before Austin ever left. Reporters from
every television and radio station, as well as newspaper, in the
area were looking for an interview—or at the very least a comment
from the newly freed and wrongly accused Witch. Felicity ignored
those as well, leaving them to me. But, after I doled out more “no
comments” than I could tally in my head, I gave up on the
annoyances myself and started allowing the machine to get the
calls.

The first two messages from my father-in-law
were relatively calm, though they were definitely replete with
general concern and a note of relief. But, by the time the total
reached the half-dozen mark, he was right back at verbally berating
me, this time for keeping Felicity from talking to him, as he was
sure that was the case. I suspect Austin and Maggie were all that
was keeping him from actually showing up on our doorstep by that
point.

I found myself in a bit of a quandary about
the outbursts. On the one hand, I was glad Felicity was hearing him
so that she could understand why I felt this was more than just his
usual disdain for me. But, on the other, I hated for her to be
subjected to listening to his tirades. It was never my aim to
alienate her from her family, even if at least one of them thought
so. I even started to pick up during one of the rants if for no
other reason than to bring it to an end. However, when I reached
for the handset, I suddenly found her hand pressing down on the
back of mine as she muttered in a cold voice, “Leave it be.”

It was almost eight p.m. when my wife finally
elected to step over to the phone as it once again began to peal.
The angry stream of Gaelic which spewed from her mouth the moment
she had the device in hand was enough to tell me who was at the
other end.

I decided then that it was a good time for me
to work on straightening up the office upstairs.

“Good mornin’,” Ben said as soon as I swung
open the front door.

“It is Monday, isn’t it?” I asked in
reply.

“Last time I checked.”

“Then shouldn’t you be at work?”

“I am. Sorta. Here.” He shoved a fold of
paper into my hand as he invited himself in. “You got anything ta’
eat?”

He wasn’t even completely through the door
when he handed me the envelope and just kept going toward the
kitchen. I looked at it, slightly puzzled at first then suddenly
fearful. Felicity’s name was typed across its face, and the return
address of the prosecutor’s office was imprinted in the upper
corner.

“This damn well better not be another
warrant,” I snapped.

“It ain’t.”

“Okay, then what is it?”

“Look at it.”

“Let’s not start that again,” I replied,
swinging the door shut then following along behind him.

“Don’t worry, it ain’t anything bad.”

“Famous last words. So, what is it?”

“You got coffee on,” he asked, completely
bypassing the query.

“Yeah, actually Felicity just made a fresh
pot a few minutes ago,” I replied. “And, you know where the cups
are. Now are you going to answer my question or not?”

“Jeezus, calm down and just open the damn
envelope,” he replied as he snagged a mug from the cabinet and
began filling it over the sink. “It’s a property release. Ran into
the prosecutor, and I offered to save the city some postage.”

“You just happened to run into the
prosecutor?” I echoed, interrupting him. “Isn’t that a little out
of the ordinary, even for you?”

“Yeah, well, kinda.” He shrugged. “I’ll admit
it was accidentally on purpose ‘cause I was doin’ some diggin’ and
happened ta’ be standin’ in his office, but that don’t matter right
now.” He paused to take a swig of the coffee then topped off the
cup before sliding the carafe back into the base. “Anyhow, all ya’
gotta do is take that an’ your copy of the property voucher the
crime scene guys had ya’ sign then go downtown and ask to see the
properties officer. Give ‘em those, show ‘em your ID, coupla’
signatures, and ya’ can pick up everything they took during the
search.”

“Really?”

“Uh-huh. That’s pretty much how it
works.”

“No…I mean, yeah, I know that…I’m just saying
that this was awfully fast.” I hmmphed thoughtfully. “I mean, I
just talked to Jackie yesterday afternoon about what we needed to
do to get our stuff back.”

“Well, yeah, it’s not unusual ta’ hafta get
your attorney involved, but I don’t think ya’ can give ‘er credit
for this one. They’re kinda in a hurry ta’ get past all this.”

“Any idea why?”

“Yeah, ‘cause they fucked up.”

“Obviously,” I said with an animated nod.
“But what I mean is did you manage to get any details about what
finally brought that fact to their attention?”

He looked around. “Where’s Firehair?”

“Downstairs starting another load of laundry;
she’ll be up in a minute. Why?”

“I’ll tell ya’ when she’s here too, that way
I only gotta say it once. So, look, ya’ got any sandwich stuff or
anything? I skipped breakfast.”

“What happened?” I quipped. “Did coming here
cause you to miss out on your donut fix this morning?”

“There ya’ go with the donut jokes again.
Ya’know, ya’ better be careful. Not all coppers got as good a sense
of humor as me.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Sandwich?”

I shook my head. “There’s stuff in the
fridge. Help yourself, but seriously, Ben, don’t you ever buy
groceries?”

He was already rooting through the shelves of
the refrigerator, loading the crook of his arm with whatever
happened to strike his fancy.

“Yeah,” he replied over his shoulder. “But
yours are better.”

“Why? Because they’re free?”

“Well, yeah, that’s part of it,” he
chuckled.

“You
are
going to put all that away when you’re done, aren’t you?”
Felicity’s voice rang out from the doorway. “We’ve been cleaning
since yesterday, and I don’t need you making a mess in
here.”

“And how are you?” Ben asked without
turning.

“I’m just fine, as long as you don’t wreck my
house again.”

He turned toward her and held up his hands.
“Hey, it wasn’t me that trashed the place.”

“Rowan tells me they had badges, so that
means they were part of your little fraternity.”

“Ouch,” he feigned a wince. “Row’s got you
hatin’ cops now too, eh?”

“I have a good reason of my own.”

“Yeah, I suppose you do.”

“And, destroying my belongings didn’t help,”
she added.

“Again, not me.”

“There is the whole guilt by association
concept.”

“Is there any way I’m gonna get outta this?”
he asked, looking over at me.

“Probably not,” I replied. “You’re convenient
right now, and there was definitely some damage done during the
search. She’s not happy, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

“I’m pissed off is what I am,” she
interjected.

“Shit,” he huffed. “A lot of damage?”

“Enough,” Felicity spat. “Besides, any at all
is too much.”

He turned back to the pile of foodstuffs and
began untwisting the tie on a loaf of bread. “Bag it, tag it, and
make a list, then give it all ta’ your lawyer and tell ‘er what
happened.”

“What good will that do?”

“Depends,” he replied. “Did ya’ take pictures
of the place before ya’ started cleanin’ up?”

“No.” I shook my head even though he wasn’t
looking my way. “I guess we should have.”

“Woulda’ been a good idea.”

“Well, it just didn’t cross my mind given
everything that’s been going on.”

“Yeah, I can understand that. Either way, ya’
still need ta’ give the stuff to your mouthpiece. She might be able
ta’ get ya’ a coupla’ bucks if the damage can be deemed
unnecessary.”

“Aye, it was damned unnecessary,” Felicity
spoke up again, her temper starting to flare. “I can tell you that
right now.”

“Why don’t we change the subject.” I
endeavored to shift the conversation away from re-lighting her
fuse. “You had something to tell us, Ben?”