The Law Of Three: A Rowan Gant Investigation (13 page)

“What was that you told me earlier?” I
answered. “I think it was, ‘you’ve been watching too much TV.’
Besides, garlic is for warding off vampires.”

“Does it work?” He grinned back at me.

I couldn’t help but allow myself a small
chuckle. “I don’t know, Chief. I’ve never met one.”

The sobbing noises that were filtering down
the corridor had diminished for the moment. They had actually been
sliding up and down the scale ever since they began, and this
appeared to be one of the low points. More soft voices, including
the unmistakable Celtic brogue of my wife, could be heard joining
the first in an attempt to shore up the explosion of grief. I
needed to get out there myself, but I didn’t know that I was ready
to face it; not quite yet, anyway. I felt a bit selfish, hiding
away and wallowing in my own problems, but there was far more to
this than just Randy’s death. And, since I was at the center of it,
I was bearing a disproportionate load that was getting heavier all
the time.

A small tickle had been working on the back
of my head for a good part of the morning, and it was now
resurfacing. This time it bypassed its normal annoyance stage and
leapt directly into a nagging question.

I furrowed my brow and pursed my lips for a
moment as I mulled the query over. I wasn’t entirely sure why it
mattered, but for some reason it was begging an answer.

“You got that look,” Ben announced.

“Excuse me?”

“You know, that look like you’re confused
about somethin’.”

“Maybe a little puzzled.”

“Okay, so spit it out.”

“I don’t really know if it’s important.”

“Yeah, so spit it out anyway.”

“Okay. You wouldn’t happen to know where
Porter is originally from would you?”

“Not off the top of my head, why?”

“Because of some of the choices he’s
made lately,” I explained. “Using the page from
Hexen und Hexenmeister
for one. The nail for
another.”

“I thought the nail was pretty obvious,” he
said.

“On the surface, yes, but he could have
guaranteed that we could ID the body in a lot of other ways. The
nail has symbolism of its own…” I let my voice trail off.

After a moment, Ben spoke up. “Okay, so you
wanna enlighten us mortals?”

I was so caught up in pondering the query
that I just gave him an offhanded answer. “Witches aren’t immortal,
Ben.”

“Yeah, whatever. You wanna fill me in please?
What about the nail?”

“What?”

“The nail, Rowan. You’re obsessin’ about the
nail, and I’m kinda lost.”

At some point while I was staring off into
space, he had retrieved his notebook from his pocket, and he now
appeared poised to record any pearl of wisdom I may utter. I was
afraid he was about to be disappointed by a cheap, plastic
imitation.

“Oh, that. Nails are a major component of
Witch jars and have been long thought by certain cultures to act as
a deterrent to magickal forces and WitchCraft. Kind of a protective
talisman of sorts.”

“Do I wanna know what a Witch jar is?”

I shrugged. “It’s just a version of the
talisman. I can give you details if you want them.”

“Is it important?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t seem to know a lot today.”

My reply was laced with sarcasm. “Thanks a
lot.”

“Just an observation.” He shrugged then
continued. “Okay, so anyway, two plus two equals what?
Thirty-seven?”

I furrowed my brow deeper and shook my head.
“What are you talking about?”

“I’m tryin’ to figure out where you’re headed
with this. You’re just talkin’ about nails and the Hex Meister
book. What’s that got to do with where Porter comes from?”

“Like I said, the whole nail mythology fits
in very well with particular cultures, such as the Pennsylvania
Dutch. Add in the book which is German…”

The distance-muted jangle of a telephone
floated down the corridor and came to us through the doorway.

“So what you’re sayin’ is that you think
Porter might be from Pennsylvania.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. It’s just a thought.”

“And it tells us what?”

“That’s what is puzzling me. I don’t
know.”

“I see.” He flipped his notebook shut with a
frown and stuffed it back into his pocket. “Well that was a waste
of time.”

“Cut me some slack, will you, Ben,” I stated.
“You’re the one who asked.”

He held up his hands. “Yeah, yeah, you’re
right. I’m sorry. It’s been a long one for all of us I guess.”

I heard R.J. pick up the phone on the fourth
ring and answer it with a solemn “Harper residence.”

Ben glanced up the hallway from his position
leaning against the doorframe of the bathroom, then looked back at
me, and cocked his head toward the front of the house.

“Looks like they’re gettin' ready to bring
‘er back this way,” he told me. “Guess we’d better make an
appearance.”

“Yeah,” I nodded. “You’re right.”

“Hey, Rowan.” A young man with long dark hair
poked his head around the side of the door. “How are you
doing?”

“I’m okay, R.J.,” I told him with a slight
smile.

“Good,” he nodded quickly. “So, like, the
phone’s for you.”

“For me?” I asked, “Who is it?”

“I didn’t catch his name, but he said he was
a cop.” He shrugged. “He just asked if he could speak to Rowan
Gant.”

“I’m with Ben already. Why would the police
be calling me here?” I puzzled.

“Albright’s probably got a copper checkin’ up
on you,” Ben offered. “It’d be just like her.”

“Great.” I rolled my eyes. “Just what I need.
Okay, R.J., I’ll be right there.”

“’
Kay.”

The young man disappeared behind the wall,
and we heard him moving back up the hallway.

“Be just your luck she’ll get on the phone
and start chewin’ on you again,” my friend offered.

“This wouldn’t be a good time for that,” I
returned.

“Hey, at least I warmed her up for you.”

“Thanks, Ben,” I said with something nearing
good-natured sarcasm rimming my voice. “Thanks ever so much.”

* * * * *

Everyone had moved back into the dining room
before I ventured into the corridor and made my way to the front of
the house. Ben tagged along behind me, ostensibly to lend some
moral support if I was about to be verbally worked over by Albright
yet again.

My left shoulder was beginning to ache, and
the pain was going out of its way to make itself known. I’d had
trouble with the joint ever since Porter had rammed an ice pick
into it that night on the Old Chain of Rocks Bridge, especially
when I was faced with a change in the weather like today. Not to
mention, bouncing it from the doorframe on Ben’s van had only
served to aggravate the old injury. I took a moment to rotate it in
the socket and felt a grating pop, which just made it worse. I
winced and hoped the ibuprofen would be kicking in soon.

“You okay?” Ben asked.

“Shoulder,” I told him.

He nodded then leaned his back against the
wall opposite me. “Yeah, sorry about that.”

“Uh-huh,” I grunted. “I’ll get you back.”

“So, don’t worry too much,” he continued,
keeping his voice low. “If they want you to come in, I’ll go with
ya’.”

I nodded acknowledgement back at him as I
picked up the handset from the telephone table and pressed it
against my ear. “Hello. This is Rowan Gant.”

I was greeted with the hollow sound of static
that told me the phone was definitely off hook at the other end,
but there was nothing else. For a moment, I thought that I might
have been placed on hold. However, as I listened I was certain that
I could hear the thready sound of breathing intertwined with the
semi-silence issuing from the earpiece.

“Hello?” I spoke again. “Anyone there?”

“You must excuse me,” a painfully familiar
voice returned. “It is not every day that I speak with the spawn of
Satan.”

I froze.

There wasn’t much else I could do.

The voice sounded hollow and distant, but
there was no mistaking to whom it belonged.

The pain in my shoulder erupted from a
smolder to an intense blaze, just like a fire suddenly fed by a
back draft. The sharp ache coursed down my arm, searing every nerve
ending in its path before ricocheting from my fingertips and
driving back upward into my skull. I closed my eyes and sighed
heavily as the burning spasm tightened my scalp and opened the
gates for the dull throb that had been sequestered in the back of
my head.

What I wanted to do at this very moment was
to explode with anger. Instead, I forced myself to remain grounded
and keep my voice even. I opened my eyes and turned to face Ben as
I spoke, “Hello, Eldon.”

My friend had been slouched against the wall,
and he now came fully to attention, his face masked with a look of
incredulity as he stared back at me.

“Porter?” he mouthed the question silently,
holding his hand to emulate a telephone as he placed it to the side
of his head.

I nodded slowly in response.

“You would have been proud of your disciple,
Gant,” Porter was telling me. “He maintained his allegiance to you
right up to the end.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“And the great dragon was cast out, that old
serpent, called the Devil, and Satan, which deceiveth the whole
world: he was cast out into the earth, and his angels were cast out
with him.”

“Book of Revelation,” I offered. “I already
know you can quote the Bible, Eldon. Why don’t you stop hiding
behind someone else’s words?”

“Hiding? You are the one hiding, Gant. I am
walking in the light of God.”

“You’ll excuse me if I have a little trouble
with that, Eldon,” I offered. “I seem to recall your God saying
‘Thou shalt not kill.’”

“He also states that there is a time to kill.
Ecclesiastes…”

“…
Three, three. Yeah, I’ve heard. So
why don’t you tell me what you really meant?”

Ben had become a flurry of activity, moving
with a choreographed swiftness as he stepped forward and checked
the caller ID display on the telephone’s base unit. He quickly
retrieved his notebook, scribbled something, and then motioned to
get my attention and mouthed, “Keep him talking.”

I felt like I was in the middle of a movie
about a kidnapping and that I had been selected to take the call
making the ransom demand. I nodded and tried to concentrate on what
Porter was saying.

“…
remained impenitent.”

“I’m sorry, Eldon,” I returned. “There must
be some static on the line, I didn’t catch that first part.”

“There’s no static,” he answered calmly. “You
were distracted by Detective Storm instructing you to keep me on
the line while he gets this call traced.”

My first inclination was to assure him that
his comment was untrue, but that’s what always happens in the
movies, and it’s always a lie. I decided to go for broke. “You’re
right, but can you blame us?”

Ben had taken a few steps down the hall to
get out of earshot and was now whispering into his cell phone as he
read off something from his notebook. I glanced down at the caller
ID display and noticed that it said “PAY PHONE,” and gave the
number. I couldn’t place the exchange other than that it was
definitely a Saint Louis number.

“No, I suppose that is the sort of thing you
would do,” Porter replied, an eerie flatness to his voice. “His
loyalty to you is misguided, but he will soon see the truth.”

“What truth is that?”

“Your devotion to Satan, of course.”

“I think you have me confused with somebody
else.”

“Lest Satan should get an advantage of us:
for we are not ignorant of his devices.”

“Second Corinthians, chapter two, verse
eleven,” I told him. “Nice try, but you aren’t the first person to
take it out of context and throw it in my face.”

I knew my comment could very possibly serve
to antagonize him, but I didn’t care. He’d already done his share
to anger me—and he had succeeded in spades.

“Set thou a wicked man over him: and let
Satan stand at his right hand,” he told me.

“Psalm, one-oh-nine, verse six. Come on,
Eldon, you didn’t really call here to recite the Holy Bible to me
did you?”

Ben was nodding as he continued whispering
into his phone. He looked up in my direction and motioned at me to
keep Eldon on the line.

“Did you get my note?” the voice asked.

The only other time I had spoken to Porter
was when he had pronounced my sentence the night he tried to kill
me. Then, as now, his voice was cold and emotionless. This last
comment was a sudden and unexpected exception. He sounded almost
gleeful.

I felt a wave of heat flush through my face
as my blood pressure rose. My free hand clenched into a hard fist,
and I fought to maintain my composure. Unfortunately, my stolid
silence gave him exactly what he wanted.

“I’ve been doing some more reading, Gant.
Research mostly. Historical…”

“Good for you,” I muttered, barely able to
contain my anger.

“Oh yes,” he replied. “It is very good for
me. You see, it seems that I’ve been far too narrow in my scope
when it comes to extracting confessions.”

“I hadn’t noticed.”

“Take your disciple for instance. He was my
first disembowelment. I thought it went very well.”

I sucked in a deep breath through my nose and
let it slowly out through my mouth, steeling myself before
answering him in a cold tone. “I thought you said you weren’t able
to break him?”

“Oh no, you misunderstood. He confessed. He
just never told me where I could find you.”

“That’s because he didn’t know,” I spat.