I awakened to the sensation of something soft tickling my cheek, and out of reflex I brushed at it without even opening my eyes. I had no idea how long I’d been lying in the bed. It felt like it had only been a few minutes, but I really couldn’t be certain. The truth was, I barely remembered crawling beneath the covers. I was simply so exhausted at that point in time that I had been operating on autopilot.
Whether it had been a few minutes or a few hours, however, what I did know for sure was that my head remained filled with the same ache that had plagued it when I first shut my eyes.
The softness brushed against my face a second time, and again I automatically dragged the back of my hand across my cheek. But, no sooner had I done it than the light tickle returned. The annoyance suddenly disappeared of its own accord only to just as quickly reappear. It was at about this time that I realized there was a weight on my chest.
I opened my eyes and found myself staring into the grizzled face of our geriatric calico cat, Emily. She was pushing seventeen years old and still going strong, although she was moving a bit slower these days. Presently, she was perched on my chest, almost up to my throat, her nose mere inches from mine and one paw resting on my cheek. The moment she saw my eyes open, she let out a pathetic “mew” directly into my face.
I was instantly blasted with the feline equivalent of morning breath.
I scrunched up my nose, and figuring that mine probably wasn’t any better, I blew my own return volley at her. She didn’t seem particularly impressed by the force of my retaliation and remained unfazed; she simply patted my cheek with her paw and “mewed” again. I reached up and gently nudged her off my chest then rolled over on my side; hooking my arm around Felicity’s mid-section, I nuzzled in close and closed my eyes.
Unfortunately, I didn’t even get a chance to settle in before the doorbell rang and the dogs began barking. This developing theme of people getting me out of bed with phones and doorbells was really starting to wear on my nerves.
“Gods, I must have pissed someone off in a past life,” I mumbled.
“Hmmm?” Felicity moaned.
“Nothing,” I returned. “What time is it?”
“Aye, I don’t know. Look at the clock, then,” she instructed sleepily, following her words with an audible yawn. I took notice that not only the normal lilting accent still ran through her voice, but the heavy brogue was still intact, a good sign that she hadn’t really rested.
With a sigh I disentangled myself from my wife and rolled back toward the nightstand so that I could peer at the clock. It read 11:45. Felicity kept it set ahead, however, so I did the calculation and mumbled, “Eleven thirty.”
My wife immediately pushed herself upward and asked with a mild note of panic, “ Cac! Eleven-thirty? What day is it?”
“Hopefully Wednesday,” I replied.
“Cac!” she spat again, tossing back the blankets and swinging her legs over the side.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m supposed to have a lunch meeting with a new client today,” she replied as she pulled on her robe.
“When?”
“In half an hour.”
“Ouch. Not good.”
“Aye, tell me about it,” she grumbled.
I had rolled out of the bed a few seconds after her, so I was already up and pulling on a pair of pants when the doorbell rang again, sending the dogs into another round of barking.
“You get the door,” she ordered as she came around to my side of the bed and snatched up the telephone. “I’ve got to make a call to see if I can re-schedule.”
“Yeah, okay,” I said as I finished pulling a t-shirt over my head. “What are you going to say?”
“I’ll think of something,” she told me then gave me a shove. “Go on, then.”
“You can blame me if it will help,” I told her.
“I probably will,” she replied. “It would be the truth.”
“How do you figure,” I asked as I started around the end of the bed.
She suddenly exclaimed, “Dammit!”
“What?!” I asked, surprised by the outburst.
“I don’t have their number in here,” she returned. “After you get the door, bring me my PDA. Make it quick.”
“Yeah, okay,” I replied then added a sarcastic, “Will there be anything else, your Highness?”
“Watch it. Don’t even think I’ve forgotten about last night.”
“Of course not,” I mumbled as I headed out the door.
“You look like hell, Rowan,” FBI Special Agent Constance Mandalay said as she stepped across the threshold.
I knew that her observation was dead on. I’d had personal experience with the reflection that greeted me every morning, and it was far from pretty.
Agent Drew, with whom we’d had the run-in at the Wentworth crime scene, followed her into the house. He gave me a nod but remained silent. I returned the mute gesture.
I didn’t say it out loud, but I was thankful that I’d let the dogs out the back door before answering the front because I doubted that they would like him any more than I did.
Mandalay was petite, with a thick crop of shoulder-length brunette hair that was usually neatly styled but now appeared slightly unkempt. On any other day, her soft features would have made her look several years younger than her actual age, not that she was necessarily what you would call old to begin with. Today, however, there were obvious dark semi-circles beneath her eyes, and her face sagged like a deflating balloon. Even her stylish trench coat was rumpled and appeared like it could use a rest.
Despite her playfully sarcastic greeting, amid the obvious exhaustion, she was still carrying herself in a businesslike posture and wearing a serious mask.
In contrast, Agent Drew didn’t appear to have changed at all, still looking much like he had a few nights ago. In fact, unless I missed my guess, he was wearing exactly the same outfit he had been then-the stereotypical neatly pressed, dark-suited look that visually screamed government agent. I couldn’t help but wonder if he took that whole persona a bit too seriously.
“Thanks, Constance,” I replied, turning back to her. “But, you might want to check a mirror. You look a bit worn around the edges yourself.”
“Actually, I am. I haven’t slept yet,” she told me with a shake of her head. “In fact I just got into Saint Louis a few hours ago on a redeye and hit the ground running. I don’t think I’ve stopped since six a.m. yesterday.”
“So Ben called you then,” I said with an understanding nod.
“Ben?” she replied in a mildly puzzled tone. “Oh, do you mean Detective Storm?”
My first thought was to ask her what she had been smoking, but my brain was still too sluggish to connect the words with my mouth, so I stuttered, “Well, I don’t… I mean I just figured that since you’re here…”
She shook her head and gave me a confused frown as she rolled her eyes in the direction of Agent Drew. “Rowan, what are you babbling about?”
It suddenly dawned on me that her and Ben’s relationship was not really one for public record, especially when it came to other law enforcement personnel. Not that they had been able to keep their personal involvement a complete secret, far from it in fact. Still, broadcasting it certainly wasn’t a good idea.
I shook my head and played along. “I’m sorry, I’m still half asleep. I was up late last night. I just assumed that since you were here you had been called.”
She shrugged. “About what?”
“It might not really be my place to get into it,” I replied.
“Is it something important? Something to do with a current investigation?” she pressed.
Unfortunately, I had managed to not only pique her curiosity, but I could feel a tangible sense of worry starting to seep outward from her. If she wasn’t careful, she was going to reveal the closeness of the relationship herself.
I sighed and shook my head. I was really beginning to excel at letting my mouth get me into trouble, and now I was dragging someone else along for the ride. If I kept it up, I could probably turn pro. Seeing no reasonable way out, I simply blurted, “Ben’s father is in the hospital.”
She creased her brow and cocked her head to the side. “His who? But Ben’s father…”
I opened my mouth and started to cover for her, but before I could get a word out, Agent Drew unceremoniously interrupted us both.
“Look, Mandalay, I already know you’re dating Detective Storm. Hell, everyone knows,” he said with a flat, matter-of-fact tone. “You and Mister Gant can knock off the charades.”
Mandalay shot an annoyed glance over her shoulder then turned back to me and began allowing her concern to show through. “Did I hear you correctly?”
“Yeah. His father,” I told her with a nod. “See, that’s why I wanted to let him tell you.”
“But I thought…” She stopped herself. “Never mind. So, is it serious? Is he going to be okay?”
“Actually, when I talked to Helen last night, they weren’t expecting him to see morning.”
“Okay,” she replied, her outward expression telling me that she was trying to process what I had just said, treating it as simple fact and nothing more. “So, what about Ben?” she asked. “How’s he handling it?”
I shook my head again. “That’s a whole different story, Constance. But, we should probably talk about it later.”
She glanced over at Agent Drew then back to me and nodded. “Okay. Later.”
“My turn,” I declared. “If that’s not what this is about, then what are you doing here? Ben said you weren’t coming back until the end of the week.”
“I’m back early because of the Wentworth case,” she replied. “The Saint Louis field office is short-staffed because of the flu epidemic, just like everyone else. They wanted more warm bodies on this, and I was pretty much finished in DC anyway.”
“I thought the Major Case Squad had jurisdiction on that case,” I mused aloud.
“Yes and no,” she explained. “They definitely have jurisdiction, and they are exercising it to the fullest. But, Wentworth was still a federal judge, so the FBI is launching its own concurrent investigation. At least until we’ve ruled out a professional hit, then who knows.”
My brain was starting to wake up and began making various associations between this new data and the old. Normally that would be a good thing. However, in this case those connections were only producing a new question. “Okay, so why are you standing in MY doorway?”
“From what I understand, Felicity acted as an interim crime scene photographer because of the flue epidemic. This is true?”
I nodded. “Yeah, that’s right. Actually, we were both there.”
She fell instantly back into the no-nonsense attitude. “Does she have copies of the crime scene photos?”
“No. Not that I’m aware of,” I told her. “Why?”
“Have the flash memory cards Miz O’Brien handed over to Detective Storm been returned yet?” Agent Drew asked.
I shrugged. “I don’t think so, but I couldn’t say for sure. Ben did stop by yesterday morning with some of the printed photos to get our opinion, but I don’t remember seeing the cards. What’s this about?”
“He wanted your opinion?” he pressed, ignoring my question.
“I’ve been known to consult for the…” I started to explain.
“I’m well aware of your history, Mister Gant,” he cut me off. “Why did the detective need your opinion?”
“Back off, Drew,” Mandalay snapped over her shoulder then looked back to me with a questioning gaze. “Rowan, are you saying there is an occult element to the murder?”
“Whoa, slow down,” I objected. “I’m not saying anything of the sort. He just wanted us to look at something we had noticed while we were on the scene.”
“And what was that?” Drew interjected again.
“Some markings,” I replied. “A post mortem mutilation that formed a pattern.”
“What kind of pattern?”
“Haven’t you looked at any of the evidence?” I asked, befuddled by the line of questioning.
“What kind of pattern?” Mandalay echoed his question, an astringent quality overtaking her voice.
I held up my hands and shook my head. “Okay, stop. Time out. Back up. This is really starting to come off like an interrogation, and I’ve got to be honest, I’m not comfortable with it. Constance, I’m asking you as a friend… Is there some reason I might need to call my attorney?”
She let out a tired sigh as she closed her eyes and gave me a sorrowful nod. “You’re right, Rowan. I apologize for all of this. And, no… You don’t need your attorney.”
“Okay then, so what’s going on?”
“Like I said,” she replied. “Major Case is maintaining that the Wentworth homicide is their jurisdiction, and we aren’t getting the level of cooperation we’d like.”
“So you’re asking about the crime scene photos because…”
“We haven’t even seen them yet,” she finished for me. “That’s right.”
“Didn’t you get any of your own?” I asked, directing the question at Agent Drew.
“No.” His one word answer was laced with chagrin.
“Well, either way, this doesn’t sound like the MCS,” I mused. “They’re usually pretty cooperative, aren’t they?”
“Usually,” Mandalay agreed. “Depending on who is running the particular investigation. And with that in mind, this particular directive is apparently coming from higher up.”
That was all she had to say for me to fit the pieces together.
“Albright,” I muttered, contempt in my voice.
She nodded. “What is it you and Storm always say? Give the man a cigar.”
“Well, Ben told me she was going to end up in the middle of it. I guess he was right.”
“So, now that you understand, would you be willing to fill us in?” Mandalay asked.
“Not that I really know all that much about it, but sure.” I gave her a nod. “Let me just…”
“Rowan!” Felicity’s demanding voice came from the bedroom, cutting me off before I could finish.
I reached up and rubbed my throbbing forehead then motioned for the two of them to come farther into the room and swung the front door closed in their wake.
I pointed back down the hallway and finished my prematurely truncated thought. “…Go take care of that. Why don’t you two have a seat in the kitchen, and we’ll be right there.”