“She’s not a multiple.”
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” she prodded.
“I understand, and I agree, but I assure you we can rule it out,” I told her.
“Well then, if we assume that she was truly being ridden, the way I see it is that there has to be some kind of latent connection between your wife and the Lwa. Or, maybe even her and the killer.” Doctor Rieth’s reply was immediate and succinct. In fact, she hadn’t even paused before offering the analysis.
“So, you don’t think this all sounds crazy?” I asked.
“Oh yes, it sounds crazy all right, but that’s not the point,” she answered. “Remember, many of the things I’ve written about in my book sound crazy to the uninitiated.”
“Yeah, I guess they do.”
“So, if we are to assume that your theory about the Lwa is correct, then we have to find the reason it chose your wife as a horse , especially given your contention that it already had one with a far stronger, and completely willing, connection. Knowing that may well provide a clue that will lead back to either the identity of the Lwa or even the original horse, which is the ultimate goal. Correct?”
“Correct. Any ideas on that front?”
“Like I said, it has to be a latent connection that superseded the connection with the other practitioner.”
“Okay, but what could that be? Felicity doesn’t practice Voodoo.”
“She doesn’t? I’m sorry. I just assumed she must because this would all make more sense if she did.”
“I’m sure, but that’s why I called you.”
“Well, then that’s the big question, isn’t it?” she replied with a healthy sigh. “Still, there must be something connecting the two, and it could be almost anything. For instance, does your wife own any antique jewelry she purchased second hand? Especially recently? Something she might have been wearing at the time of the possession?”
“I’m sure she does. Own jewelry like that, I mean. But, I don’t recall her making any recent purchases. I also don’t remember her wearing any of it at the time, although I could be wrong,” I said and then added, “At the point when she had the guy in the motel room, she wasn’t wearing much at all, actually.”
“Second hand clothing that may have belonged to the killer, perhaps?”
“Maybe. She’s been known to visit resale shops. Again, I can’t be certain.”
“Okay, you said she doesn’t practice Vodoun, but has she by any chance dabbled with it at all?”
“No. At least not that I am aware of, and I think that’s something she would tell me. She’s a degreed Wiccan with some strong ties to British Traditional WitchCraft, but no real dealings in any of the Afro-Caribbean practices other than a passing knowledge of them.”
“So, she’s a Witch too?”
“Yes, but that wouldn’t be it, would it?”
“Just speculating. That would definitely make her far more open than your average bystander. Magick begetting magick, maybe?”
“She would almost have needed to work magick that somehow related to Voodoo though, wouldn’t she?”
“Maybe, maybe not. Like I said, I’m just speculating.”
“So, should I assume by the direction this conversation has taken that you are willing to help me?”
“I suppose that’s pretty much how it looks, isn’t it, Mister Gant?”
“Well, if that’s the case, you might want to start calling me Rowan, Doctor Rieth.”
“Then you should probably start calling me, Velvet.”
“Mind if I ask…”
“Burlesque performer. My mother thought it was pretty.”
“I see.”
“No wise cracks.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
CHAPTER 15:
The reflection staring back at me from the two-way mirror on the opposite wall didn’t look much better than the one I’d seen at home. I’d actually taken a few minutes to shave before getting into the shower and then tried to at least make myself presentable. None of those things, however, could mask my exhaustion or my foul mood, and it showed.
I turned my face away from the mirror. I knew someone was watching; they’d told me they would be. I suppose it was better than having a stranger parked in the room with us, which was the normal procedure as I understood it. But even so, it was more than a little disconcerting. I tried to push it out of my mind because I needed to deal with what I had at hand and not unseen distractions. But, I still found it hard to keep the invasion of privacy out of my thoughts. Of course, within these walls, privacy was a luxury that simply didn’t exist.
Shifting nervously in my seat, I returned my focus to the redhead on the other side of the table.
Small talk seemed to have become the order of the moment. Twenty minutes had passed, and thus far we’d been engaged in short bursts of trivial banter. Things of no real import, such as the weather, what bills might have shown up in the day’s mail, or any number of other equally unimportant distractions. The whole of it was making me crazy, and I suppose it was for that reason my mouth began to blurt out something my brain knew would be best left unmentioned. I didn’t do it out of spite. I just needed to get something other than a flat, one word response from my wife.
“I probably shouldn’t even tell you this…” I started but then caught myself before continuing. Getting a response was one thing. Triggering it this way definitely wasn’t a smart move, and I knew it. I shook my head as much out of chastising myself as anything else then said, “No…just forget it.”
“What is it?” Felicity asked. “Tell me.”
At least this time the reply was something besides, “Yes”, “No”, or “Fine”, even if I hadn’t followed through with the statement.
Her voice was still emotionless but heavily saturated with her inherent Celtic lilt. The accent was an omnipresent feature but one that usually resided in the background, noticeable but not overwhelming. It always became more pronounced, however, when she was stressed, tired, or had spent more than a few hours with her family. In some instances, thick was even too weak a word to describe it.
It wasn’t hard to guess that the first two factors were what were driving it at the moment, and they were driving it hard. In fact, if she became any more stressed than she was now, I might well have trouble understanding her; for the brogue would not only start to be peppered with Gaelic, it would become so deeply accented as to almost obscure any English she might continue to use. In other words, we had more or less already arrived at thick and were definitely on our way toward a stronger adjective.
I dismissed her question with only a cursory explanation. “It’s not important. Not right now, anyway.”
“So tell me then,” she pressed. “If it’s not important, it shouldn’t matter.”
I let out a heavy breath and shifted in my seat. Everything mattered, especially now. I knew that for a fact, even if she didn’t. I looked down at the table then reached up to massage my temple. My headache was coming back, not that it had ever completely gone away, but the dull ache had been something I could live with. I definitely didn’t need seriously stabbing pains on top of everything else right now.
Little more than three hours had passed since my conversation with Doctor Rieth. The thread of positive luck-if you could really call it that-which had begun during the phone call, had seemed to continue in its wake. For a little while at least, as only a few moments after I had hung up, the phone began to ring again. That time it had been Jackie calling to let me know that she’d managed to arrange a court-ordered visit with Felicity.
The fact was, under normal circumstances, prisoners detained at the Saint Louis City Justice Center had to schedule visitors in advance, and each particular “dorm” had specific days set aside for those visits to take place. By obtaining an impromptu judicial order, our-or given the events of last evening I should say Felicity’s-attorney had succeeded in circumventing the system, getting me in to see her early this afternoon.