“Ben,” I appealed. “It’s obvious that this is going to keep working on you until you get an answer. You know that I can’t give it to you, but if you talk to her, maybe she will.”
“Ya’think?”
“Maybe. I don’t know.” I shook my head. “But it’s worth a try. I’m sure Constance can understand your concerns. She’s just as much a part of the cop fraternity as you are.”
“Yeah…maybe you’re right.” A look of resignation molded itself to his features. “Maybe I’ll do that.”
“I think it would be a good idea.” I told him with a nod, then as much to ease his tension as for curiosity, I maneuvered the subject into a different lane. “So whatever happened to Carl? I didn’t see him upstairs.”
“Oh, he left awhile ago. He took Roberts out to the County lockup since he lived in their jurisdiction,” he replied with a noticeable drop in his stress level.
“What ended up happening with that?”
“Somethin’ ta’ do with pirated software or somethin’ like that,” he explained. “Federal offense so County will prob’ly be turnin’ ‘im over to the Feebs at some point. Guess he’d better hope Mandalay is off duty that day, huh?”
“That would probably be in both their best interests,” I agreed. “So anyway, when are you going to get out of here? I thought you were planning on dinner with the family.”
Ben shot a tired glance through the glass doors at the darkened sky and then rolled his watch face up and gave it a calculating stare. As he let his arm drop, he conceded yet another defeat at the hands of his vocation. “Well, it looks like that idea is in the dumper, not that I expected any different. Guess I’ll wrap up a few things here then go home and have a cold meatlump sandwich.”
“Does Allison know you talk about her cooking like that,” I queried with a smile.
“Hell, white man, she’s the one that named it meatlump. So what about you?” He dipped his head at me. “What’re you gonna do? I’m sure Al made plenty if you wanna come by.”
“Thanks, but I’m beat and I’m liable to crash hard as soon as I get something in my stomach. There’s some leftover Dublin Coddle in the fridge at home, so I’ll probably just nuke a bowl and then hit the sack.”
“Dublin Coddle? Sounds funky. That somethin’ from that party?”
“Yeah. Actually it’s kind of a potato, onion and sausage stew. It’s pretty good.”
“Maybe I should come with you. Sounds a damn sight better than meatlump.”
“I’m sure there’s more than enough if you want.”
“Nahhh.” He shook his head. “I was just kiddin’. If I hurry maybe I can tuck my kid in for a change. Besides, I think I’m prob’ly right there with ya’ on the whole crashin’ thing.”
“Yeah, I thought you might be,” I said. “So how about tomorrow? Where do we go from here?”
My friend’s tone again grew somber. “Well, NARC will keep workin’ the Roofies angle, and I guess we’ll see what we can come up with on the whole Catholic thing. The Archdiocese wasn’t what you’d call thrilled when Osthoff and Martin showed up, if ya’ know what I mean.”
“I can imagine. So you probably don’t really need me down here tomorrow then?”
Ben pursed his lips as he thought for a moment and then shook his head. “Well, I’d like ta’ have you there if we get a chance ta’ talk to that old bum again, but other than that probably not. If you’ve got somethin’ else planned already then go for it. I’d appreciate it if ya’ could stay near a phone though.”
We both shifted out of the way as another pair of officers skirted around us to exit the building.
“I don’t really have anything planned other than getting caught up with some work that’s been piling up.”
“I can understand that… So I’ll be able to reach ya’ if I need to though, right?”
“Yeah, I’ll be at the house.” I nodded as I reached out and leaned on the door.
“Okay, Kemosabe. I’ll talk to ya’ later then. Drive careful.”
“I will,” I answered and pushed the door open. “Don’t stay here too late. And do yourself a favor, call Constance.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll do that,” he called after me as he turned and headed toward the elevators.
With the introduction of the incident with Agent Mandalay, the order of my thoughts had been radically shifted. Now, an earlier unvoiced concern was once again surfacing. I had considered mentioning it to Ben, but with the other events of the day still woefully fresh in our minds, I finally elected to table it for another day. Unfortunately, I knew for certain that it was something that couldn’t wait for very long.
What had gone unsaid between my friend and I was the fact that I was harboring my own troubling doubts as well. They were, however, not about Special Agent Mandalay, or him, or any of the other members of the Major Case Squad. My deep apprehension was about my own effectiveness in this investigation.
I had been on a frightfully uneven keel from the very beginning and had yet to right myself. I had somehow managed to have my moments of attunement, but they were few and far between. Balance was something I still had not signed a contract with. Truth be told, I hadn’t even opened negotiations with it. I was drifting about with no ground and no focus, grasping aimlessly at an ethereal lightning rod and missing at every pass. Thus far, the only thing I had been able to do with any modicum of success was to bleed profusely from preternatural stigmata, spit swimming pool water on the carpeting, and announce that we would soon find another body. That wasn’t really the kind of help that was expected of me, and it was getting us nowhere.
I was fully aware that if I didn’t get myself under control soon not only was I going to be of no help to the police, but I was going to become a severe risk to my own well being. An ungrounded Witch is a dangerous Witch, and as disconnected as I was right now, I was leaving myself open to things I didn’t even want to consider.
It was my own fault I was in this situation and I knew it. I forced myself to make a personal promise to do what it took to get back on track. Now all I had to do was keep my word to myself.
I joined the zipper on the front of my coat as I walked and began pulling it upwards, all the while clinging hard to the warmth of my resolve to spend some time grounding and centering. An angry gust of winter chill made one last assault on the shrinking seam and managed to slip inside the folds of my jacket. Rounding the corner of the building on my way to the parking area where my truck currently resided an involuntary shiver danced along my back, and I quickly flipped my collar up around my ears.
Slowly, dull fingers of pain inflicted an unwanted massage at the base of my neck and began inching along the back of my tightening scalp. My guess was that the handful of granulated aspirin I took earlier had finally worn off, and now the headache that had been making a home inside my skull was being aggravated by the cold.
The fingers slowly transformed into an octet of stinging tendrils as they conquered the crown of my head and thrust their poisonous caress inward. Metered pounding announced its cadence directly behind my forehead, becoming louder with each step I took. Completing the rhythm section of the painful orchestra, the thick rush of blood filled my ears in harmony with the hammering metronome.
I came to a halt at the corner, my eyes watering and stinging from a combination of the headache and icy wind. I shot a painful glance up the street to check for traffic and saw only what appeared to be a large delivery van parked parallel to the curb thirty or so yards away.
The sound of a metal sliding door, badly in need of adjustment and lubrication, forced itself past the din in my ears, sequestering itself faintly in the background. With another quick glance, I stepped out into the street and immediately stumbled as a stab of pain expressed itself.
I scarcely heard the hurried footsteps of the officer who rushed up behind me and grasped my arm. “Sir, are you all right?”
I blinked past the pain as I regained my balance and carefully nodded. “Yes, thank you. I just tripped I guess.”
In the distance the scraping of the metal door repeated itself, ending in a hollow thud. I imagined the sound had an almost frightened urgency this second time around.
Headlights sparked to life, and a low, mechanical roar overtook the night, underscored by the high-pitched grind of recalcitrant gears. A sharp ice pick of near agony bit hard into the core of my being as the black panel van, greyed with a patina of salt and grime, pulled away from the curb. The officer and I waited as the vehicle accelerated and passed in front of us then hooked almost angrily around the corner, its transmission protesting all the while.
“Looks like he’s in a hurry,” the officer mused as he let go of my arm. “Guess he got stuck working O/T or something.”
“I guess,” I echoed, not really sure what else to say.
