“No, Ben, just a bit of a headache.”
“Aspirin kinda headache or…”
This time I interrupted him instead. “Yeah, Ben, it’s a la-la land headache, but it’s not a bad one. Just your average, everyday ‘Rowan’s talking to dead people again’ headache. Is that what you’re wanting to know?”
“Well yeah, actually…”
“Okay, so what’s up?”
“You still downtown?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
“Both of ya’, right?”
“Uh-huh,” I grunted. We had arrived at the Jeep several minutes ago, and Felicity was already belted in behind the wheel. Out of habit I was still standing next to the passenger side with the door hanging open. “In fact, I’m looking at Felicity right now. She says hi.”
“Yeah, whatever. So where are ya’ exactly?”
“On the FBI’s parking lot, why?”
“Good, then you ain’t far away,” he said.
“Ben, are you going to tell me what you are going on about, or do I have to guess?”
He huffed out a sigh. “R’member that freak job with the metal band Wendy was tellin’ us about the other day?”
“Yeah… What was her name… Desiree or something like that, right? Don’t tell me she was murdered.”
“No, she’s not dead. Turns out ‘er real name is Margaret Lucas, but that ain’t the point. What is the point, however, is that she reported ‘er girlfriend missin’ last night.”
“Missing as in…”
“We don’t know. But, it looks suspicious, and she’s apparently been missin’ better’n forty-eight hours.”
“Are you certain?”
“No,” he replied, oozing sarcasm. “We’re runnin’ around with our thumbs up our asses and throwin’ darts at a board. Any more stupid questions?”
“Sorry…” I said. “I’m still in that suspicious mindset.”
“Yeah, me too,” he apologized. “I shouldn’t have snapped like that. It’s just been a long day already.”
“I can imagine. So how did homicide get involved?”
“Goddamn computer did somethin’ right for a change. Listed under identifyin’ marks is a tattoo of a black swan just over ‘er heart. When they were enterin’ the info, it raised a flag and got kicked over to Major Case.”
“Dammit,” I muttered.
“Yeah, that’s kinda what I said,” he agreed. “Looks like our bad guy got ‘imself a fresh victim.”
“The question is, how long before this one turns up in a dumpster somewhere…”
“E’zactly,” he replied. “So listen, had our own meetin’ with the Feebs about forty-five minutes ago and things are startin’ ta’ get busy if ya’ know what I mean. On top of that I got my brass buggin’ me about you. I told ‘em you were on board, so now they’re kinda wantin’ ya’ to weigh in on this. If ya’ could put in a little face time down here it’d be a good thing.”
“You know, I still don’t get that. When the hell did I become their golden boy?” I asked. “It hasn’t been too long since I was a pariah. And before that I had Albright on my ass at every turn.”
He hesitated for a moment then replied with what seemed to be a cautious note in his voice. “Yeah… You got me, Row… I know what you’re sayin’… But like I said last night, they know you get results…”
“Is something wrong?” I pressed.
“No, why?”
“You sound a bit strange all of a sudden.”
“Sorry… Just a bit preoccupied with some shit… So anyway, if it’s any consolation, the word from on high is that they definitely don’t want ya’ talkin’ ta’ anybody but me about this…‘specially not the media clowns.”
“Keeping it compartmentalized, eh? More or less a help us, but don’t embarrass us scenario…”
“Yeah, that’s about it.”
“You sure there’s nothing wrong?” I pressed again.
“Yeah. It’s all good. Just a lot of shit goin’ down right now, and I’m swimmin’ in it.”
I didn’t have to see him to know he was probably sitting at his desk, massaging his neck with his free hand as he ruminated over that very fact himself. I couldn’t help but wonder if the invisible puppeteer that seemed to be controlling my destiny where the FBI was concerned also had a few strings attached to local law enforcement as well. Of course, the more I thought about it the more I wondered if I was finally losing my ability to entertain rational thoughts in favor of conspiracy theories. I hoped I hadn’t, but I figured if I started seeing black helicopters from the corner of my eye, it would be time to check myself into a padded cell under Helen Storm’s care.
“Hold on a sec…” I told Ben.
I covered the mouthpiece on the phone and looked in through the open door of the Jeep at Felicity. I started to speak, but before I could form the first word she nodded and said, “Aye, I’ll take a rain check on the movie, but let him know he’s buying lunch and fast food doesn’t qualify.”
CHAPTER 19:
When we arrived at City Police Headquarters, we were lucky enough to grab one of the parking spaces directly in front on Clark Avenue. Felicity nosed her Jeep in at an angle to the curb then set the parking brake and switched off the engine before looking over at me. We hadn’t really talked much on the way other than me giving her a quick rundown of the conversation with Ben; of course even with traffic, the drive had taken less than five minutes, so there hadn’t been much time for anything more in-depth.
“What now?” she asked.
“He said if we don’t see him to just stay where we are and give him a call on his cell,” I replied.
I glanced around but didn’t see the towering Native American anywhere. In fact, pedestrian traffic was so light that I noticed only a single pair of uniformed officers walking across the street. Judging from their direction, they appeared to be heading for a cop hangout diner called 40 that was located diagonally across from where we were now parked. I twisted in my seat to scan the area but saw no one else.
Turning my eyes back front, I followed Ben’s instructions, dug out my cell phone and gave him a call. I wasn’t sure if this was all some clandestine part of keeping me away from the press or what. I certainly hadn’t noticed any news vans nearby when I was looking around, but at this point I was just speculating anyway.
When my friend picked up, he seemed rushed, and therefore, our conversation was clipped. In fact, it really didn’t qualify as a conversation as much as a quick interrogation.
“Where are you?” Ben asked immediately, again bypassing any form of salutation.
“We’re parked right out front,” I replied.
“Stay put, I’ll be right down.”
Then, as quickly as he had answered, he was gone without even a goodbye.
“Well, what did he say?” Felicity asked as I folded the phone and tucked it away.
“He said he’s coming down. I don’t know why,” I replied.
Twisting slightly in my seat, I gazed past her at the diner on the other side of the street. I wasn’t overly hungry, but for some odd reason I was feeling inexplicably drawn to food at the moment.
I had eaten at 40 with Ben on a few occasions. It had actually started out as a coffee shop and had enjoyed a steady, if not exactly brisk, business for what seemed like ages. But in the past few years, it had flourished under new management after adding actual food to the menu.
After a quick mental inventory of what I remembered about their selections, I sighed then mused aloud, “Hmmm… I’m pretty sure Forty just does sandwiches… I don’t think they serve collard greens, so that won’t work either.”
“Collard greens? Where did that come from?” Felicity asked, shooting me a confused look. “What happened to liver and onions?”
“I’m pretty sure they don’t serve that either,” I muttered absently.
