considering that I had its frigid twin wrapped around my hand.
After a moment he grunted. “Yeah, well I wasn’t talkin’ ‘bout your hand.”
“Oh, you mean…” I replied, pantomiming a right cross.
“Uh-huh.”
“Truth?”
“Yeah.”
“Right now I’m still thinking about it.”
“That’s fuckin’ great,” he huffed, voice brimming with sarcasm. “So much for takin’ one on the chin.”
“How about you?” I asked.
“Hey, I’m not the one with the issues.”
“Okay, but I meant your jaw.”
“Oh…hurts like a sonofabitch.”
While the crux of my own pain was localized dead center on the knuckles, it was still radiating up my forearm, past my elbow, and stabbing into my shoulder at odd intervals. Much to my surprise, the explosion of rage had somehow served to negate my inherent clumsiness; so, as it turned out, I couldn’t have landed a punch any squarer onto Ben’s jaw if I had mapped the angle and trajectory with precision instruments.
Of course, in addition to that, not really knowing for sure that he wasn’t going to retaliate once I struck, I had gone for broke with that first swing, putting everything I could muster behind it-hatred, anger, strength, and weight. The problem was, as much as it actually ended up hurting him, for me it had still been pretty much like I had slammed my fist into a brick wall. At least, that’s how it felt to my throbbing hand.
He squinted back at me with one eye, reaching up and working his jaw with his right hand while still keeping the ice pack pressed against it with his left.
“Jeezus, white man…” he half-groaned. “Where the hell’d ya’ learn ta’ punch like that anyway?”
“You, as I recall.”
“Oh yeah…” he muttered.
We sat in silence for a short span then I asked, “So what do we do now?”
“That’s up ta’ you, Row,” he answered with a sigh. “I’ve given ya’ all I got. If you wanna keep hatin’ me then there’s nothin’ more I can do about it.”
“It’s not that I want to, Ben,” I offered.
“Coulda fooled me.”
“Look…My head’s not in a very good place right now. I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, I can tell. You talk ta’ Helen?”
“Yeah,” I grunted. “She told me you thought you were doing us a favor.”
He gave his head a shake. “I did, but I’m not talkin’ bout that. I wanna know have ya’ talked to ‘er about you? About what’s goin’ on inside your head.”
“A little.”
“A little ain’t enough, Row.”
“Yeah, I know,” I agreed. “But there will be time for that once I clear Felicity.”
“How’re you gonna do that?” he asked.
“I don’t know yet.”
“Well, I gotta tell ya’, Kemosabe. I don’t either, ‘cause no matter how ya’ slice it, it don’t look good.”
“Uh-huh. That’s all I seem to be hearing from you, my attorney, and everyone else.”
“Sorry. Just bein’ honest.”
“Are you telling me that even you think she’s guilty?”
He closed his eyes and shook his head, waiting a measured beat before answering. “I don’t want to, but…”
I waited for him to finish the sentence, however, he simply allowed his voice to trail off.
“But what, Ben?” I finally asked. “Can you honestly say that you think Felicity is a killer?”
“Under different circumstances, no.”
“So what’s so different about the circumstances now?”
“The cards just ain’t fallin’ in her favor, Row.”
“Last I recall you had nothing other than circumstantial evidence at best.”
“I’m afraid it’s gotten a little more complicated.”
“Complicated how?”
“I can’t really get into it, Row.”
“Damn you, Ben,” I spat in a low voice. “Don’t keep doing this. You can’t dangle that shit in front of me then clam up all over again. Tell me what’s going on.”
He looked at me with a pained expression that definitely wasn’t a by-product of the ache in his jaw and then reached up with his free hand to rub his neck.
“What the hell,” he muttered. “They’ve prob’ly hit ‘er with it by now anyway. The hair samples from the scenes matched with…”
I immediately cut him off, countering what he was going to say. “…I already told you there’s a logical explanation for that.”
“Let me finish…” he held out his hand to stop me. “They didn’t just match the samples from the two scenes here. They also measured up with hairs lifted from a homicide in Myrtle Beach that happened around a year ago.”
Now I knew what the evidence was Jackie had mentioned earlier.
I offered a cold rebuttal. “A couple of hairs aren’t conclusive, Ben. Even I know that. So does your crime lab. That’s thin and they know it.”
“You’re right, they aren’t,” he agreed. “As far as just comparison goes. But when ya’ combine ‘em with a DNA match, they suddenly take on a lot more weight.”
“So, you’re telling me Felicity’s DNA matches to evidence found at a crime scene in South Carolina?”
“And the two homicides here. Yeah, I’m afraid so. That’s the word anyway.”
“That’s ludicrous.”
“Maybe so, but from what I’m hearin’ it’s still a fact.”
I shook my head and stated flatly, “Well, there’s a simple explanation for that too. It’s a mistake.”
“I wish it was, Row. But, I asked around. After they ran the two here, they sent samples to Washington. What I got told was the Feebs ran ‘em three times. Plus, they got the sample direct from Myrtle Beach and ran that comparison, not us.”
“I don’t care,” I spat. “They’re still wrong.”
“Look, Rowan, I don’t wanna believe it either.”
“Then don’t.”
He sighed and cleared his throat then sat back against the seat in the booth, regarding me silently. He tossed the ice pack onto the table then gingerly pressed his fingers along his jaw line, wincing slightly but remaining silent.
“She didn’t do it, Ben,” I appealed once more.
“Okay, Row,” he spread his hands out in front of him in mock surrender. “Who did then?”
“I don’t know, but I’m damn sure going to find out.”
“How?”
“To start with, I’m going to track down a Lwa.”
“Row…” he shook his head. “Listen, I know you’re convinced this evil spirit Voodoo thing has got somethin’ to do with this…”
“And you aren’t?”
“I dunno. Not quite like you are, I don’t think.”
“Well, were there signs of a Voodoo ritual at the crime scene in Myrtle Beach?” I demanded.
Based on my earlier conversation with the young woman at the university in Louisiana, I knew it was a safe bet his answer would be yes. Still, I didn’t want to show my hand just yet. I needed for him to tell me himself.
“That’s not the point, Row…”
“There were, weren’t there?”
