that she made her living as a professional photographer afforded me the luxury of having a better than average camera on hand whenever the need arose.
“I thought you were a city cop,” R.J. announced. “Why are you investigating a murder out here in the county?”
“Normally a muni would handle its own case load,” Ben stated, noticing that I still wasn’t prepared to leave. “But this crime got flagged ‘cause of the similarity to the Tanner case. Ya’see, back in nineteen eighty-one, the Greater Saint Louis Major Case Squad was formed as a multi-jurisdictional task force. Pretty much it’s a collective of departments around the Metro area that investigates highly publicized or related crimes. Ariel’s murder was my case, and so now that they have been given jurisdiction over it, I’ve been temporarily re-assigned to head up the investigation. I go wherever the scene is.”
“Here,” Felicity was telling me. “You’ve got the PZ-1 with a 28-to-80 and macro. It’s loaded with high speed transparency, and I put fresh batteries in it and the Sunpak.”
“Thanks,” I said and kissed her on the cheek. “I don’t know how long this is going to take.”
“Don’t worry,” she answered. “I’ll take care of everything here.”
While waiting for me, Ben quickly jotted down everyone’s phone numbers in order to contact them with any further questions and then handed out his business cards. We expressed hurried goodbyes to the overwhelmed group and hastily headed out into the dense melancholy of the stormy night. I pulled Felicity aside on the front porch as she saw us out, lagging for a moment behind Ben who had already ventured forth into the rain and was starting his van.
“Look, I don’t know if you noticed or not,” I stated, “but Salinger and Dickens seem to have some kind of problem with R.J.”
“Don’t worry,” she answered. “I’m sure you’re just being overly suspicious because of everything that’s going on. It’ll be okay.”
“I just want you to be careful,” I continued.
“I’ll be fine,” she admonished. “Now go, then. Ben’s waiting.”
I watched her wave to us then turn and go into the house as we backed out of the driveway. I wasn’t sure that she was correct, but then, after all that I had been through, it was possible that I had become more suspicious than usual. Maybe Ben was rubbing off on me. In any case, I knew my wife well, and she would be just fine. I also knew that she had almost instant access to a loaded Ruger. 357 magnum, for neither of us was naive enough to think that the rest of the world believed as we do. The very concept of “live and let live” seemed almost alien to the general populous anymore, and the headlines of the newspaper or a quick glance at the evening news gave testimony to that fact. At Ben’s urging, for our own protection, Felicity and I had purchased the weapon and been rigorously trained in its proper use by him. If it came down to a matter of life or death, I was certain my wife wouldn’t hesitate to pull the trigger.
“So,” I asked Ben as we motored down the street, its shiny wetness reflecting the glare of the streetlights. “Exactly where are we headed?”
“Some park called Thayer,” he answered. “You know where it is?”
“Yeah, it’s not far from here. Hang a right at the next stop sign.”
We arrived at the park and turned in to the main access road, following it past the ball field and darkened pavilions. Ben had placed a magnetic bubble light atop the van and plugged it into the cigarette lighter receptacle as we entered. The red light flickered eerily across the face of the uniformed officer at the gate and reflected brightly from his rain-slicked yellow poncho. Ben rolled down the window and held out his ID to the officer, who illuminated it with the bright beam of a three cell Mag-Lite.
“Evening, Detective,” he said and brought the beam to bear on me. “Who’s that with you?”
“Consultant,” Ben answered him authoritatively.
The sodden officer nodded and pointed the long flashlight up the road. Its beam, though powerful, eventually dissipated into the murky darkness.
“Just over that rise, sir,” he told Ben. “Then about two hundred yards. Evidence unit is all over the place, you can’t miss it.”
Ben thanked him and rolled up his window, pushing the van into motion up the slight grade. The wind and rain were beginning to pick up, and a few distant flashes in the western sky were testimony to a rapidly approaching thunderstorm.
“Look behind your seat,” Ben was telling me as we topped the rise. “Should be some rain slickers back there.”
I turned in the seat and rummaged about in the dark. My hand brushed against what felt like a gym bag, and I yanked it from beneath the seat and tugged on the zipper.
“In this bag back here?” I asked.
“Yeah, prob’ly.”
I could feel the van slowing and pitching slightly to the left as Ben took a wide turn into a parking space and brought us to a halt. I quickly found the rain ponchos I sought and with them in hand, turned back around in my seat.
The spectacle outside the windshield was illuminated like a toppled-over Christmas tree stuck in overdrive. Red lights, blue lights, and white lights on emergency vehicles, even yellow caution lights on sawhorses blinked randomly in the night. The lack of sync in the pulses seemed to bring even more chaos to what appeared to be an already disordered scene.
Ben reached out and grabbed one of the slickers from my motionless hand, taking notice of my blank stare and mouth agape.
“Welcome to my world,” he told me, then paused. “Sucks don’t it? Go ahead an’ put your poncho on.”
I broke from the short stupor and began pulling the yellow plastic rain gear over my head. The extra room in the cab of the van made me realize why Ben refused to get rid of the decrepit vehicle.
“How should I introduce ya’?” Ben asked, unlatching his door. “I doubt if they’ll go for Good Witch of the East.”
“How about, Alternative Religion Specialist,” I replied.
“Sounds good ta’ me.”
A distant streak of lightning followed by a sharp crack and low rumble of thunder alerted us to the ever- increasing violence of the storm as we stepped out into the downpour. We walked across the parking area, past the flapping yellow tape that cordoned off the crime scene. I was concerned that important evidence might be washed away, but my fears were soon allayed when I noticed the core of the activity involved the cinder block building that housed a set of the park’s restrooms.
“Ben Storm,” my friend told another detective, displaying his badge as we approached him. “City Homicide Unit. I’m assigned to the MCS.”
“Carl. Carl Deckert. County Police.” The thickset, greying detective reached out and shook Ben’s hand. “You the one investigating that Tanner homicide?”
“That’s me,” Ben answered.
“This your partner?” he queried, reaching out to shake my hand.
“Rowan Gant,” I told him, returning the gesture.
“He’s a specialist on alternative religions,” Ben explained. “He’s consulting for us on the symbols left at the Tanner crime scene.”
Detective Deckert motioned to another officer who produced a partially sodden clipboard. Ben scrawled a signature on the damp paperwork and then indicated a spot for me to sign and record the time.
“Well,” our stocky escort said as the three of us began walking toward the entrance to the restroom. “You’ve got plenty to consult about. Looks like a freakin’ Satanic graffiti party in there.”
“Have you ID’d the victim?” Ben questioned.
“Found a purse,” Deckert continued. “Driver’s license matches up to a Karen Barnes. Twenty-eight years old…”
A bright flash exploded in my eyes, momentarily blinding me. At first I thought a streak of lightning had hit nearby, but the telltale clap of thunder was never forthcoming. Instead I heard shouting, expletives, and what
