own mouth.
“You need one, smokey,” he said. “Trust me.”
I took his advice, and then he snapped the lid shut and stuffed them back into his pocket.
“You gonna call Felicity and tell ‘er you’re down here?” he asked as he jerked open a stairwell door and motioned me through.
I took a quick glance at my watch. It was almost 10:30. The Santa Brigade, as they liked to call themselves, would be right in the middle of entertaining a group of kids at the moment. If everything were following the intended schedule, they would be heading out for the next stop in about an hour.
“She’s got a full schedule, but she should have a bit of a break around eleven-thirty so they can all grab lunch,” I told him. “I’ll probably call her then.”
“Don’t forget to check with ‘er about tonight.”
“Will do. So if we’re able to make it, what should we bring?”
“Just yourselves.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, it’s not a big deal and we’ll have plenty. Hell, we always have too much. Although, ya’know, if ya’ happen ta’ think about it, Allison wanted the recipe for that beef tenderloin you guys served the other night.”
His request reminded me that we had completely forgotten to tell everyone what they had actually eaten for the Yule feast. I thought about continuing to guard the secret, especially since Felicity wasn’t here to see his reaction, but I was just going to have to apologize to her for that. I needed the laugh right now.
“Ummm, that wasn’t beef,” I said as we started down the stairs.
“Really? It didn’t taste like pork,” he said.
“That’s because it wasn’t pork either.”
“Well, it sure as hell wasn’t chicken. I know that much.”
“You are correct.”
“Well if it wasn’t beef, pork, or chicken then what the hell was it?”
“Actually, it was ostrich.”
My friend slowed his pace, almost stopping as he gave me a long look, one eyebrow raised questioningly. “Ostrich. You mean like the big-ass-stickin’-its-head-in-the-sand-bird? You mean, that kinda ostrich?”
“Actually,” I offered, “they don’t really stick their heads in the sand, they just lay them against the ground.”
“Ostrich?” he repeated, ignoring the bit of trivia.
“Yeah,” I nodded as we rounded a landing and picked up the pace once again, “ostrich.”
“Jeez, white man.”
“Didn’t you like it?” I asked.
“I had seconds, didn’t I?”
“And thirds as I recall, so what’s the problem?”
“I ate a fuckin’ ostrich, that’s the problem.”
I hung back as Ben conferred with Detective McLaughlin at the doorway to the interview room and then after a moment waved me over.
“Okay, this woman was raped about two weeks ago, and she’s still pretty skittish. Right now she’s okay with you bein’ here,” he told me in a stern whisper. “But here’s the rules-you’re just an observer. Let us handle it, and if ya’ get some kinda hinky Twilight Zone thing goin’ on, gimme some kinda sign so I can get ya’ outta there.”
“Like what?”
“I dunno, anything. Better yet, just don’t go off into never-never land on me and we won’t hafta worry about it.”
“I’ll try,” I said. “That’s all I can do.”
“Yeah, well try really fuckin’ hard, okay? I don’t need ta’ be worryin’ about ya’ goin’ off the deep end and spookin’ a witness too.”
Charlee pulled the door wide to allow entry, and we were greeted with a thick haze of blue-white smoke that hung in languid ribbons on the already stale air. A thin shiver arced down my spine, and I knew instantly that I was on the correct path.
“Miz Hodges,” Charlee said as she shut the door behind us, “this is Detective Storm and Mister Gant. Detective Storm is the officer I was telling you about. Gentlemen, this is Miranda Hodges.”
The woman seated at the table in the small conference room fit the victim profile perfectly-early twenties, very petite, very blonde, and very pretty.
She was also very nervous.
There was a noticeable tremble in her hand as she brought a cigarette to her lips and inhaled deeply. A half empty pack was on the table in front of her along with a disposable lighter, and the ashtray was filled with better than a half-dozen butts. I stole a glance at my watch. They hadn’t been in here for very long.
“Hi,” she said in a meek voice then stubbed out the remaining inch of the burning tobacco, only to immediately light another.
My own craving for nicotine re-awakened, and I wanted desperately to sit down and join her in the chain smoking frenzy but decided that I’d better not. Ben shot me a glance and I nodded perceptibly. I’d been telling him all along that my return to smoking had to be due to the outside influence of a victim. I had simply thought that I was channeling the vice of a dead victim, not a living one. But here was Miranda Hodges, cigarette in hand, and there was no denying the possible correlation. Maybe I was wrong, but I doubted it. The timeline and the intensity of the habit fit.
I smiled inwardly for a moment. Score another one for me. If things kept falling into place this quickly, I just might get the gift of my sanity for Christmas.
“Good morning, Miz Hodges,” Ben greeted the young woman as we ventured into the room.
“Detective McLaughlin told me that you work with Homicide,” Miranda ventured.
“That’s right,” he answered.
She looked past Ben and locked her eyes on mine. “Are you with Homicide too, Detective Gant?”
“Mister Gant is a consultant,” Ben told her, answering before I could open my mouth and heavily stressing the Mister. “He’s helping us with another case, and I thought his input might be valuable here. But if you’re uncomfortable…” he allowed the comment to hang, unfinished.
“No,” she shook her head. “No, it’s fine. What kind of consultant?”
“Umm…”
“Latent memory analysis and dream interpretation,” I interjected, plucking something impressive sounding out of the air since Ben seemed at a momentary loss. I knew full well that I was stepping outside the boundaries that he’d set, but I wasn’t going to miss this opportunity.
I’d been allowing everyone else to guide me for far too long. I had come to the conclusion that it was my turn to drive.
“So like a psychiatrist then,” she said.
“Not exactly,” I told her with a shrug and then nodded as I moved closer to the table. “But something similar I suppose.”
“I’m not crazy,” she immediately announced.
“No one thinks you’re crazy, Miz Hodges,” Charlee told her.
I could feel Ben’s stare burning a large hole in my back. I was going to be in deep trouble with him when this was all over, but I knew he wouldn’t make a scene. Not in here, and not as long as things remained on an even keel anyway. Still, the only way I was going to redeem myself in the least was if I could make some progress, so I continued.
“Not at all,” I echoed. “I’m just here to help you with your memory, but if you’d rather I leave, I’ll certainly understand.”
She sat quietly for a long stretch before finally answering, “I’m not so sure I want to remember.”
“That’s perfectly normal,” I offered calmly, pressing my voice into a soothing monotone. “But eventually we
