Rowan Gant - Perfect Trust Part 32

I almost had to laugh at that thought. The entire concept sounded like a bad fifties Sci-Fi/Horror movie-I Was A Killer Teenage Zombie Cheerleader, or something equally ridiculous. Unfortunately, I was playing the starring role in the production and it was all far too real.

I stuffed the handful of salt packets into my coat pocket and kept my mouth shut.

CHAPTER 21.

Detective McLaughlin stepped back out of the treatment room, already shaking her head. Ben and I had waited outside so as not to overload the victim. With what she'd been through, she definitely didn't need us coming at her full force without some kind of warning.

"Unless he's breaking his pattern, this isn't our boy," she told us as the door shut behind her.

"You sure?" Ben asked.

"No welt from a stun gun that they can find, and the bruising on her neck is from hands." She motioned to her own neck with a gripping posture as an example.

"Looks like she was choked. Turns out that after talking to her, she's in an ongoing abusive relationship with a boyfriend."

"Some friend," Ben muttered. "Someone needs to kick his a.s.s."

"Tell me about it," she returned.

"What about the roofies?"

"They don't have the blood test back yet, but I'm betting it will be negative."

"Why's that?"

"Because here's the real kicker-This isn't the first time she's been in."

"The abuse?"

"Overdose." McLaughlin shook her head. "She's an addict. More tracks than a train station."

"Don't tell me." Ben shook his head. "Last time she scored was Sat.u.r.day night."

Charlee laid one index finger against the side of her nose and simply pointed at him with the other.

"So what the h.e.l.l did they call you for?"

"She's blonde..."

"...And pet.i.te, and doctors aren't cops." Ben finished the diatribe for her while nodding his head, then slapped his open palm against the tiled wall and leaned into it.

"s.h.i.t! Hodges bolts and now this is a dead end. We can't catch a f.u.c.kin' break!"

His voice echoed down the corridor directly behind the fading sound of his hand impacting the tile. He was still riding the adrenalin rush that had hyped him up less than half an hour ago, and the disappointment at this turn of events ravaged his features. His free hand went up to smooth back his hair and then fell to rest on his neck as he huffed out a disgusted sigh.

Benjamin Storm, supercop-protector of the innocent.

"I'm right there with you, Storm," McLaughlin told him, showing mild surprise at his outburst. "But you gotta stop taking it so personally."

"Yeah, well tell that to Debbie Schaeffer's parents," he said. "It's Christmasfreakin' eve and what's left of their daughter is spendin' it in a body bag over on Clark Avenue. Merry f.u.c.kin' ho, ho, ho."

"You can't change that," I offered to my friend.

"No," he admitted, "I can't change it, but I can give 'em this a.s.shole as a gift. At least that would be somethin'."

"We don't even know for sure if it's the same guy," Charlee said.

"Maybe not, but it's the best lead I've got at the moment."

"Then let's follow it," I interjected flatly.

"How?" he shot back.

"There are other victims," I offered. "We talk to them."

"Jeez, white man, it's freakin' Christmas eve!"

"Yes it is," I acknowledged. "But you are the one who wants to give Debbie Schaeffer's parents this guy as a gift. By my calculations you've only got about twelve shopping hours left."

"Yeah, well I'm thinkin' it's gonna be a disappointing holiday."

I looked over at Charlee. "You said there have been eight rapes reported so far?"

"Yeah," she nodded.

"You have all the victims numbers?"

"Yeah, I've got their numbers." She gave me a nod then looked at Ben. "It's worth a try, Storm."

"Maybe," he huffed, "but I'm not gonna hold my breath."

"Okay." I shot my glance between them. "Rule out Miranda Hodges and that leaves seven. At least one of them has got to be willing to talk to me."

McLaughlin c.o.c.ked her head to the door of the treatment room. "Let me get someone down here to take care of this, and we'll start making calls."

"I guess I'd better call the crime scene guys and cancel," Ben added. "Did they end up getting' Murv?"

"Afraid so." McLaughlin nodded.

"Afraid so? That doesn't sound good."

"Yeah, they called him in off of a vacation day."

Ben puffed his cheeks out and let the breath go with a slow hiss. "Well, guess I'd better stop by the smoke shop on the way home. I'm gonna owe 'im some cigars for this one."

"Christmas eve. Remember?" I said.

"c.r.a.p. Well, guess it'll have to be Wednesday."

"Look at the bright side," I told him. "Maybe you can get them on sale."Thirty minutes and five no-answers later, the woman in the treatment room was giving her statement, the CSU call had been cancelled, and a young woman named Heather Burke said yes.

"Sorry about the mess," the pet.i.te blonde apologized while shifting a basket of clothing from a chair and onto the floor beside it. "I wasn't really expecting company today."

"No problem," Charlee told her. "We really appreciate you talking to us.

Especially with it being Christmas eve and all."

"I'm not going anywhere." She shrugged. "I don't have any family, and I'm taking a bit of a hiatus from the dating scene if you get my drift."

Heather Burke was a perfect example of the quintessential 'perky' blonde. Large, bright eyes peering out from a soft face framed by a feathery s.h.a.g of yellow hair.

Five foot four, slim, and blessed with what some would call 'eyeball measurements'-a textbook victim for this particular predator. Looking at her, I couldn't help but think she bore a close resemblance to my wife, except of course for the hair.

She was dressed in a pair of jeans and a T-Shirt that sported a faded but still readable iron-on transfer, which announced, 'Don't let the hair fool you, I belong to MENSA.'.

"Nice shirt," I offered thinking to myself that she even had Felicity's headstrong att.i.tude.

"You like it?" she asked rhetorically, looking down at the lettering then back at me. "Made it myself. It tends to stop the blonde jokes cold."

"I can imagine." I nodded.

"Have a seat." She motioned to us. "Can I get anyone anything? I've got coffee on. Soda? Water?"

We all declined the offer and she simply shrugged, then dropped herself onto the couch and crossed her legs in something close to a relaxed lotus position. "I'm not sure what I'm going to be able to tell you," she began. "It's been three weeks and I haven't really remembered anything yet." She directed her attention to Charlee.

"Other than what I originally told you, I mean."

"I understand," McLaughlin told her with a nod. "That's why Mister Gant is here with us. Like I said on the phone, we'd like to try some things to help jog your memory."

Heather wrinkled her face in concentration, lifting one eyebrow and c.o.c.king her head to the side as she muttered, "Gant... Gant... Now I remember..." She focused her gaze directly on me. "I thought I recognized the name. You're the Witch aren't you?"From the corner of my eye I saw Ben shoot an almost startled glance at me. I suppose her recognition caught him by surprise, but I'd been expecting something like this all along. In recent days a file photo of me had been flashed across local TV screens as the media speculated about my involvement in the Debbie Schaeffer murder investigation. There had even been a few column inches devoted to me in the local paper, so someone had been bound to recognize my face, my name, or both. It was only a matter of time.

"I don't know about being THE Witch," I nodded with a slight smile, "but, yes, I'm him."

"How cool is that," she nodded back, then continued in a matter-of-fact tone, "So, that would mean that Detective Storm here is the same Detective Storm from Homicide who is investigating the case with the murdered cheerleader. And if that is so, it stands to reason that since you are here talking to me, you think that murder is somehow connected with this rapist."

Ben answered with a tentative note in his voice as he slowly nodded, "That's the going theory."

"Don't look so surprised," she told him.

"I know," he said, "you're a member of MENSA."

"Yeah, but it doesn't take a genius to put two and two together," she returned with a quick shake of her head. "I watch the news."

"If you don't mind my saying so, Ms. Burke," I dove back into the conversation to save my friend from the embarra.s.sment of his misconceptions, "given that it has only been three weeks, you seem to be handling it very well."

"I have my moments," she half shrugged as she spoke. "You happened to catch me on a good day."

"Are you certain that you're up to talking about it?" Charlee chimed in.

"This is as good a time as any," she nodded. "The sooner I can put this behind me the sooner I can get on with my life. That's what they say, anyway."

"How do you feel about hypnosis?" I asked.

"Do you mean, am I willing to be hypnotized?"

I wasn't surprised by her directness. "Yes."

"Where would you like to do it?"

"I should warn you that if this works you will for all intents and purposes be re-living the incident."

"If it works will it help catch the p.r.i.c.k who raped me?"

"I can't say for sure," I told her. "But it's a good possibility, depending upon what you remember, of course."

"Then I'll ask you again," she said, casting a confident gaze directly into my eyes.

"Where do you want to do it?"I turned slowly in place, first twisting my head to look over my shoulder, and then following with the rest of my body. I caught a glimpse of myself in a mirror and immediately noticed the puzzled expression that my brain had already told me I was wearing. Still, the sudden tickle that had sent me into this physical spiral didn't subside. If anything, it just grew worse-nagging and clawing at the back of my psyche, and sending a wave of gooseflesh across my scalp.

"Somethin' wrong?" Ben asked, staring at the befuddled mask that was my face.

Heather had excused herself to use the bathroom before we began, leaving the three of us alone in her living room, so at least she wasn't seeing this display. I had serious doubt that it would have done anything to bolster her confidence in what we were about to do.

"Are you okay, Rowan?" Charlee added her concerned voice to the mix.

"I don't know," I muttered at first, then reeled my wandering thoughts back in. "I mean, yes, I'm okay... That was just weird."

"What was weird?" McLaughlin queried.

"We're talkin' about Rowan here. Everything's weird with him," Ben interjected.

"You know, 'don't adjust your television set, yadda yadda'. So, what's up, white man? You already goin' all Twilight Zone on us?"

"It felt like..." I began, then frowned, and shook my head. "Don't worry about it.

It's probably just nerves."

"See what I mean?" Ben jibed.

"Are you positive, Rowan?" Charlee asked.

"You just haven't been around him enough yet, Chuck," Ben told her. "He does this kinda s.h.i.t when he starts doin' the hocus pocus stuff."