Crone's Moon: A Rowan Gant Investigation (10 page)

“T
amara Linwood,” I said
aloud, turning my attention back to Ben.

“Do what?” he asked with a puzzled look.

“Tamara Linwood,” I repeated, pointing at the
screen across the room. “On the TV.”

He twisted in his seat and shot a quick
glance over his shoulder. The news anchor had already moved on to
the next story, but my friend managed to pick up on what I’d meant
anyway. “What? You mean the missing teacher?” he asked. “So, what
about ‘er?”

“That’s why the seizures. She’s got to be
what this is all about.”

“How do you figure?”

“It adds up,” I offered. “She went missing in
January, right?”

“Yeah.” He nodded.

I continued. “And they found her remains this
morning.”

“That hasn’t been confirmed.”

“I’m confirming it for you, Ben. Those are
Tamara Linwood’s remains.”

“You sure?”

“They’ve got to be.”

“Listen, Row.” He held up his hand and nodded
quickly. “I know better than to not believe what you’re sayin’, but
we’ve been down this road before. I can’t just march into my
lieutenant’s office and announce something based on one of your
feelings. Besides, that case belongs to the MCS… And well… you know
that situation.”

I gave him a frustrated nod. “I know, but
they ARE her remains. I’m sure of it.”

“How?” he asked.

“I just told you,” I replied. “The timing of
the seizures. It makes sense.”

“To you.”

“I thought you believed me?”

“I do, white man,” he appealed. “Kinda. I
mean I know you’re makin’ a connection with somethin’… or someone…
or whatever the hell, but how do ya’ know it’s actually her? How do
you know it’s not someone else who got murdered in January? I hate
to say it, but we had a few cases runnin’ then besides hers.”

“It’s a gut feeling, Ben.”

“And I can respect that, believe me, but you
still don’t have any proof. Listen, since we’re talkin’ about a
schoolteacher, look at it this way. It’s just like homework from
eighth grade math class. Just havin’ the answer ain’t good enough.
You gotta show the work that gave ya’ the answer.”

“With the ethereal, that is easier said than
done,” I replied.

“Yeah, I know. But lemme ask you this: So
what? So what if they are her remains?”

“Then maybe we can figure out who killed
her.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s the plan whether
that’s what’s left of her or not.”

“You know what I mean, Ben. Maybe I can
help.”

“How? I thought you said your little
trips into the
Twilight Zone
hadn’t been real informative.”

“They haven’t,” I agreed and then added,
“Yet.”

“Yeah, and there’s the catch. Yet may never
happen.”

“Come on, Ben. You know how quickly these
things can turn.”

“Yeah, I do, but which way is it gonna turn?
This whole thing might just go away like it did back in
January.”

I didn’t want to admit it, but he had a valid
point. Still, for me, there was an overwhelming imperative. The
psychic episodes were happening to Felicity now. I simply wasn’t
willing to stand by and allow that to continue, be it a half dozen
more times, or only one. Something had to be done.

“Maybe, but I don’t think so. This feels
different,” I appealed.

“Hate to say it, Row, but…”

“…
I’ve got to give you more than that,”
I completed the sentence before he could. It was a lament that I’d
heard from him more than once, so the lyrics were all too familiar.
“Well then,” I switched tactics, “How long before they know for
sure about the identity?”

“Not my department.” He shrugged. “Could be
tomorrow, could be next week. Could be never, I guess. Dunno.”

“Rowan?” Felicity interjected.

“What’s up, honey?” I turned to her. “You
okay?”

My wife was still lounged in her seat, arms
folded across her chest. Her head was tilted back, and her eyes
were closed. She actually looked relaxed for the first time in the
past couple of hours.

“We’ll need to go before too long, then,” she
murmured. “I have papers to grade for class tomorrow.”

I knew she wasn’t fully conscious of what she
had just said. I had been in such a state before, myself. She was
simply repeating a memory that wasn’t even her own. While it was a
far cry from the ‘work’ Ben said I needed to show, in my mind her
words served to verify the revelation I had just espoused.

I slowly turned my face back to Ben but
didn’t utter a sound. I allowed my wife’s comment to stand alone as
my personal vindication. He looked over at Felicity for a moment
then back to me.

“She’s teachin’ a photography class
somewhere, right?” he finally asked, but I could tell from the tone
of his voice he already knew the answer.

I just shook my head.

My friend’s hand slipped up to his forehead,
as if on automatic pilot, then slid slowly back, smoothing his
hair. When his fingers came to rest on his neck he spoke. “Okay.
Fine. I don’t know what good it’ll do, but I’ll make some
calls.”

* * * * *

Felicity was still sleeping when the phone
rang the next morning. I had just finished filling my coffee cup
for the third time and was walking out of the kitchen when the
device emitted its annoying demand for attention. I took a step
back and plucked the receiver from the cradle without even looking
at the caller ID box.

“Hello?”

“I wake you up?” Ben asked at the other
end.

“Nope. Neither has the coffee,” I
quipped.

“That’s ‘cause you don’t make it strong
enough. You need some cop coffee.”

“I’ll pass. I think that cup I had yesterday
is what kept me up last night.”

“See what I mean?”

“Because it was eating a hole in my stomach,”
I added.

“Shoulda had another doughnut. They soak up
all the bad shit.”

“Yeah, right. I’ll still take a pass on
it.”

He chuckled. “Your loss.”

“That’s a matter of opinion, Ben,” I told him
then took a sip of my java. “So what’s up?”

“You want the good news or the bad news
first?” he queried.

“Depends. How bad is the bad?”

“Bad enough. I’ve been re-assigned to the
Major Case Squad.”

“I thought that was a good thing?” I
questioned.

“Yeah, well, it’s the good news too.”

“Ooo-kaayyy,” I replied slowly. “I’m assuming
there’s an explanation to go with that?”

“Good news, I’m back on the MCS. Bad news,
I’m workin’ the Brittany Larson abduction with the Bible Bitch.” He
offered the matter-of-fact explanation like someone who had not
quite come to terms with having been condemned.

“Lucky you.”

“Yeah,” he agreed sarcastically. “Lucky
me.”

“So what brought this on do you think?” I
asked.

“Who knows?” he replied. I could almost see
him shrugging at the other end. “Got the call this morning. I’m
thinkin’ maybe the fact that Mandalay’s the lead agent coulda had
somethin’ to do with it.”

He was referring to Constance Mandalay, a
mutual friend and special agent assigned to the FBI’s St. Louis
field office. It stood to reason that the Federal authorities would
have been called in since it was a kidnapping. And, considering
that they had worked together before, Constance might well have
requested him to be a part of the team from local law enforcement.
In a sense, that was slightly amusing itself, because the first
time the two had met they had absolutely despised one another.

Still, it was surprising that Lieutenant
Albright would be willing to give in, considering her personal
mandate regarding Ben’s involvement with the MCS; unless, of
course, she had her own motives, that is.

“Makes sense,” I acknowledged, then voiced my
thought. “But, what about Albright?”

“Search me,” he replied. “But you’d better
bet I’ll be watchin’ my back. Somethin’s hinky with that if ya’ ask
me.”

“Yeah. Good idea,” I agreed. “But, hey, at
least you’re back in the fold. That’s good news.”

“Yeah, I guess. I’m not so sure I’m all that
excited about a Feeb fightin’ my battle for me though.”

“Look at it as reinforcements,” I
offered.

“Yeah, sure.” He didn’t sound convinced.

I decided to maneuver away from what was
obviously a sore spot. “So do they have any leads yet?”

“They’re workin’ on a couple, but I haven’t
got the full run-down. Headin’ in for a briefing in about
forty-five minutes.”

“What about the car? You got the license
plate number, right?”

“Car was found abandoned in North County,” he
replied. “No fuckin’ idea how they got that far without gettin’
popped, but they did. Both it and plates were on a hot sheet. Car
got jacked in Racine, Wisconsin. Plates were off a van registered
to a homeless shelter in Chicago. Both of ‘em were stolen weeks
ago.”

“Great,” I offered with a healthy dose of
sarcasm. “No evidence though?”

“The crime scene guys have been all over it.
Found Larson’s blood in the trunk. Some hairs. Plenty of prints but
still no hits on AFIS yet.” He referred to the automated
fingerprint identification system. “So yeah, there’s evidence all
right, but this ain’t a TV show. Evidence helps convict, not
necessarily find.”

“Yeah, you’ve pointed that out before.”

“The thing that’s got ‘em worried right now
is that we’re comin’ up real fast on twenty-four hours, and there
hasn’t been any contact from the kidnapper yet.”

“That’s unusual I take it?”

“Yes and no. Usually if you’re gonna get a
ransom demand, you get it within the first twenty-four.”

He didn’t have to tell me what it meant if no
such demand was forthcoming. My own tortured imagination was taking
care of that just fine.

“But there are exceptions, right?” I
asked.

“Hell, there’re always exceptions,” he
sighed. “But the odds do a big nosedive if ya’ know what I’m
sayin’.”

“Yeah,” I replied. “I know what you
mean.”

“So listen, Row, there’s another reason I
called.” He proceeded to steer the conversation back onto the
original path. “About the whole Tamara Linwood thing from last
night.”

“Yeah, do you have something?”

“Nothin’ you’re gonna like,” he continued. “I
made some calls, but it ain’t good. The real deal is I’m not tight
with anybody who’s workin’ it.”

“Nobody?”

“Nope. Nobody. The case has actually aged
enough with no new leads that it kinda got back-burnered for a
while. There’re only a coupl’a coppers assigned to it at this
point, and they’re disciples of her holiness, Bible Barb.”

“Okay, so what about the remains? Did they
make an ID yet? Wouldn’t that get them rolling?”

“They’re still waiting for results,” he
answered. “There wasn’t much left, so it might all come down to
DNA.”

“I seem to remember DNA takes awhile,” I
remarked.

“Yeah. Could be a coupl’a weeks.”

“What about dental?”

“Between you and me?”

“Sure.”

“Seriously, Row,” he pressed. “What I’m about
to tell ya’ is not for public consumption.”

“I understand, Ben,” I acknowledged. “What is
it? Did the killer pull her teeth or something?”

“There’s no head,” he replied succinctly.

“You mean…” I allowed my voice to trail
off.

“I mean whoever killed her sawed her head
off, and it didn’t get buried with the rest of the remains,” he
answered.

“Gods…” I muttered.

“Yeah.”

A memory flitted through my brain, and enough
of it made an immediate impression on me to spark a question.
“Wasn’t there another murder similar to that awhile back?”

“Sarah Hart,” Ben answered. “Disappeared from
the same parking lot. Remains turned up in a wooded area several
months later. No head. That’s why that info hasn’t been released
about the Linwood case yet. Not until we get a handle on it at
least.”

I let out a heavy sigh. “Haven’t we had our
quota of serial killers yet?”

“Guess not.” His voice held a disgusted tone.
“Shit, Row, statistically there are more of ‘em out there than you
imagine. The connection between crimes just doesn’t always get made
right away.”

“Maybe so, but I still want to know what’s
making me a magnet for their victims.”

“Yeah…” he responded, voice quiet.

I stared at the floor for a moment, listening
to the silence that had swollen between us. In the edge of my
vision I could see a quarter-sized pentacle resting against my
chest. The five-pointed star enclosed by a circle was dangling from
a chain around my neck, and I couldn’t remember the last time I had
taken it off. It was a symbol of man, spirit, and the elements— a
symbol of my faith. It was a constant reminder of the path I had
chosen long ago and of my identity as a Witch.

At this particular moment, I wished that I
could take it off and shed that identity in a bid to stave off the
horrors I knew were soon to come. But, as surely as I knew they
were coming, I also knew the piece of jewelry was only a physical
symbol. I could not change what I was or what I was destined to do
that easily. In fact, I doubted I could change it at all.

“So it all hinges on the identity of the
remains right now?” I finally asked.

“Yeah,” he replied. “The general feelin’ is
that it’s her. They’re workin’ on that assumption, but until it’s
official, no one’s jumpin’ to any wild conclusions. Right now
they’re workin’ a partial print but dunno if that is gonna go
anywhere.”

“So where does that leave us for now?” I
asked.

“That’s the thing, white man,” he replied.
“It kinda leaves us nowhere. Pretty much me working the Larson
abduction and you doin’ your thing with computers.”