M Sellars - The End Of Desire

Obviously, I wasn’t holding the cards I thought I was. I nodded and said in a flat tone, “Yeah. That would be him.”

“Yeah. We found his card in your personal effects.”

“Maybe if you called…”

He cut me off, “Special Agent Constance Mandalay with the FBI Saint Louis field office? Storm said you’d probably toss her name out there too.”

“Sounds as if you two had a pretty in-depth conversation.”

“Yeah, we did. A couple of them, in fact. Nice guy.”

“At the moment I guess that assessment depends on which side of the table you happen to be sitting.”

“I guess I can understand why you’d think that, but actually, Mister Gant, you owe him big.”

“How do you figure?”

“Easy. Besides warning me that you’d probably make a nuisance of yourself-which was dead on the money, obviously-your friend filled me in on everything that’s happened to you and your wife in the past few weeks.”

“Everything?”

“Of relevance,” he replied with a nod.

“Then you should know that I’m doing all this to help her.”

“That’s what Storm says. And, fortunately for you, according to him there really is an underlying truth to your story, just like you said. He did, however, stress to me in no uncertain terms that you are not here in an official capacity with the Major Case Squad…or any other branch of law enforcement for that matter. The way he explained it, you’re here of your own volition, and you’re supposed to be on a quick fact finding trip, nothing more.”

“That was the original plan,” I agreed.

“Of course, it would appear that you got a bit overzealous in your search and deviated just a bit.”

“Maybe so, but if you…”

He interrupted me again, “Gant, just agree with me and call it good, okay?”

I paused as what he said filtered through to my temporarily dense grey matter, and then I nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”

“So, after his understandable initial reaction to my more recent call, he calmed down and had a change of heart about havin’ me throw the book at you. Actually, he even asked if I could do him a favor and cut you some slack.”

“And you said?”

“I told him I’d think about it, but I wanted to have a one-on-one with you first.”

“Which, I take it, we’ve pretty much just had.”

“Pretty much.”

“How did I do?”

He shrugged. “You proved to me you’re a bit of an asshole, but under the circumstances I think I’m willing to understand why that might be the case.”

“Reach any other conclusions?”

“Yeah, actually I have.”

We sat staring silently at one another for several heartbeats. Finally, I cleared my throat and asked, “Do you plan to share?”

He flipped the folder shut then scooped up my wallet and sat back in the chair. While he fiddled with the clasp on the toy badge, he said, “Storm said you told him you have a return flight to Saint Louis Saturday afternoon.”

“That’s true.”

“I’d suggest that you exchange your ticket for a flight leaving today. The earlier, the better.”

“So, you’re telling me to get out of town?”

“Pretty much,” he said with a nod as he stood up and tossed the empty wallet in front of me. “You can pick up the rest of your personal effects at the desk.”

“At the risk of getting myself in deeper,” I said. “What about the fact that I violated a crime scene?”

“You’re a lucky man, Mister Gant. To be perfectly honest, you didn’t violate much. The scene was officially cleared yesterday. The motel staff just hadn’t made it around to cleaning up yet.”

“I see, so no harm done.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” he returned. “You managed to waste my time, and that’s another one of those things that tends to bother me.”

“Sorry about that.”

“Yeah. Sure.”

A quick impression from the motel settled into my gut as I stood from my chair. However, instead of being the horror that had gone on behind the door of room 7, it was the sick fear I had felt for the woman at the office when she had been so willing to open the door.

“Detective Fairbanks, is there any chance you could do me a favor?”

“I’m fairly certain I just did. Storm didn’t tell me you were greedy too.”

“I’m not. It’s not really for me,” I pressed. “It’s for the lady who runs the motel. Is there any chance you could go have a talk with her?”

“I did.” He tapped the folder. “Or did that slip past you?”

“I mean about something else.”

“What?”

“Safety, I guess. She was just too trusting. I mean, she just opened the door to the office and didn’t even ask to see my credentials up close. What if my aim had actually been to assault her?”

“Then you’d be at the morgue right now sporting a toe tag instead of here talking to me.”

“What do you mean?”

He shook his head and chuckled. “Mister Gant, while your concern is commendable, the woman you are so worried about is a retired cop from Tennessee. She had you pegged as an imposter from the word go, and she was packing a Glock in her housecoat. The only reason she didn’t just shoot you before calling us is that she knew we’d probably want to talk to you first.”

My rental car had yet to be impounded according to Detective Fairbanks, so it was supposed to still be sitting on the parking lot of the Southern Hospitality Motor Lodge where I had left it. I had been allowed to use a phone to call a cab while I was waiting for my personal effects, and since it took several minutes to get me officially signed out, by the time I was at the curb, my wait was relatively short.

I set about the task of getting my credit cards and other odd items situated back into my wallet after I had told the driver where I was going and then settled back in the seat. I quickly checked my cell phone and noticed it was off, so I thumbed it on and laid it in my lap as I continued to arrange my life in the worn fold of leather. The phone started vibrating and warbling the instant it latched on to a signal.

I knew the familiar tone was alerting me to voicemail, but that could wait. When it finally stopped, it was only briefly before starting into the upwardly stair-stepped trill of an incoming call. I shoved my still disorganized wallet into my pocket then picked up the chirping device and glanced at the screen. The display showed that the caller was Ben. Apparently, Detective Fairbanks hadn’t wasted any time letting him know I’d been released.

My thumb hovered over the talk button as I debated whether or not I really wanted to listen to my friend read me the riot act at this particular moment in time. According to the digital clock in the corner of the LCD, it was already pushing 10 A.M. I knew I would have to deal with him eventually, but right now I wasn’t sure I was in the right frame of mind to take the flak. Fortunately, the internal deliberation was rendered moot by my hesitation, and the call defaulted to voicemail.

I let out a sigh and then proceeded to punch a speed dial number before tucking the device up to my ear. The phone at the other end rang twice then was picked up by a hospital operator.

“Doctor Helen Storm, please,” I asked.

“Whom should I say is calling?”

“Rowan Gant.”

“Hold please.”

The strains of some unidentifiable instrumental piece flowed into my ear for the better part of three minutes before the line clicked and a fresh voice came on.

“Good morning, Rowan,” Helen said. “I was expecting you to call much earlier.”

Ben’s sister was sometimes harder to talk to than he was. Not because she would become as undone as he, but rather the opposite. Being a psychiatrist, she had far more effective ways to let you know you had screwed up. However, I assumed she wouldn’t have any reason to do so in this case. On top of that, I wasn’t calling her about me; I was calling about my wife. Felicity was currently under her care, for several reasons; not the least of which was that she was the only one I trusted where that was concerned.