Besides, considering the abnormally busy expressway running between my conscious and subconscious, whatever it was I thought I’d heard couldn’t be real anyway. It was most likely yet another dreamlike terror come to wreak havoc upon my already abused psyche. I’d had more than enough of that and didn’t plan on dealing with any more, so I simply rolled over and pulled the pillow up over my head.
I didn’t even have a chance to get comfortable when the banging sounded again and was followed by our doorbell ringing in a rapid staccato. The entire disorganized symphony was underscored by the dogs wildly yapping and growling. This time, however, there was an added thud as Ben’s feet hit the living room floor, and I could hear him muttering something. While I couldn’t make out the actual verbiage, I had a fairly good idea of the content because I was considering a few expletives myself, and I’m pretty sure they were the same ones.
“Aye,” my wife mumbled in a tired voice. “Who do you think it is?”
“Who knows,” I muttered.
“Are you going to get up and see?” she asked.
“Let Ben get it.”
“That would be rude. It’s not Ben’s house, then.”
“He’s family.”
“Rowan.”
“He’s closer to the door.”
“Rowan…”
“All right, all right…” I was already moving as I spoke the words.
I sat up on the edge of the bed and let out a yawn as I rubbed my eyes. After a quick stretch, I slid on a pair of pants and then pulled a t-shirt over my head as I trudged around the end of the bed toward the door. I could hear movement and voices out in the living room and knew that Ben had already answered the door, so I didn’t rush.
“Listen,” I said. “He already got it.”
“Go and see who it is,” my wife mumbled as she rolled over on her side.
“Why me and not you?”
“Because you’re already up,” she muttered.
“Yeah,” I huffed. “Because I’m already up. Go figure.”
I was just reaching for the door handle when there was a hard knuckled rap on the bedroom door.
I followed through, giving the handle a twist and then swung the wooden barrier open. As expected, I was greeted by the disheveled countenance of my friend. His clothing was rumpled, and his hair was protruding from his head at odd, pillow-induced angles. He was standing there massaging his neck and staring at me with surprisingly clear eyes. Even though his outward appearance bespoke of recent intimacy with sleep, he was obviously far more alert than I.
“You two better get cleaned up,” he said simply. “Mandalay’s here. Looks like ‘Bible Barb’ wants you both downtown.”
CHAPTER 27:
“Constance, why don’t you go home and get some sleep, then,” Felicity said.
We were all seated in an interview room at St. Louis City police headquarters. This wasn’t the first time I’d been in one and probably wouldn’t be the last unless my life made a very drastic change and dead people suddenly stopped talking to me. Unfortunately, I didn’t see that happening any time in the near future. Still, this was a bit different. I was used to being on the metaphorical other side of the table. Being the interviewee was yet another new experience to add to my resume.
We were waiting for Lieutenant Albright to arrive and had been for better than fifteen minutes. I knew that making us wait was nothing more than a stalling tactic intended to set a mood. It was a blatant textbook attempt to make us nervous and give her an upper hand. What she failed to realize was that not only was there nothing for us to be nervous about, we were still simply too tired to care.
“Maybe when this is over,” Mandalay returned in a spent voice.
She was slouched in a chair, head tilted back and eyes closed. She hadn’t had the same luxury of sleep as had we, and in the past quarter hour, she had nodded off at least once.
“You look like hell, Constance,” I said.
“Yeah, probably,” she agreed, then chuckled. “But have you looked in a mirror lately, Rowan?”
She was correct. We had done our best to get ourselves together, but both Ben and I were just to the other side of folded, spindled, and mutilated. Not the good side, mind you. Even Felicity was showing some signs of wear around the edges, and that was unusual when you considered that she always looked like a perfect china doll even when she had just crawled out of bed.
The ragged FBI agent tilted her head down with a yawn then slowly pushed herself upright in the chair. She gave us a sleepy glance and then spoke again. “So, did you manage to get hold of your attorney?”
“She wasn’t in,” Felicity answered. “I left her a message though.”
“You said when you picked us up that we weren’t being charged with anything,” I offered.
“Not that I’m aware of,” she replied. “Like I said, she didn’t tell me what this was about. But, I’m not putting anything past Albright. I really think your attorney should be present for this.”
“I’m sure she’ll call as soon as she picks up her voice mail,” Felicity offered.
“Well, until then, I’m staying,” Constance replied.
“I know you have a law degree, Constance,” I told her. “But wouldn’t that be a conflict of interest?”
“Fuck it,” she replied. “Friends don’t let friends get railroaded.”
“You’ve been hanging around Ben too long,” I quipped.
She nodded. “Yeah, tell me about it.”
“‘Bout time ya’ learned ta’ speak English,” Ben said. “I knew I’d rub off sooner or later.”
“Wouldn’t having an attorney here just make us look like we were trying to hide something?” my wife asked, still dwelling on the earlier thread of the conversation.
“It doesn’t matter with this bitch, Felicity,” Mandalay replied. “She’s got it in for you two. That’s all there is to it.”
“Ya’know she’s prob’ly on the other side of the window listenin’ in right now,” Ben said.
“Yeah,” Mandalay agreed. “She probably is. So what?”
“So she prob’ly just heard ya’ call ‘er a bitch.”
“Good,” she replied as she twisted in her chair and looked toward the one-way glass. I watched her reflection as she stuck out her tongue and then twisted back around to face us. “I sure as hell wouldn’t want her to get the wrong idea.”
“I think you’ve made your position clear,” I said, surprised by the somewhat juvenile display but writing it off to her lack of sleep.
Mandalay gave a tired chuckle. “We can only hope.”
“Jeez, Mandalay,” Ben said. “I’m likin’ you more every day.”
“Cool it, Storm,” she replied. “You’re a married man.”
“Yeah, at the moment maybe.”
“Aye, what’s that supposed to mean?” Felicity asked, puzzlement in her voice.
“You still haven’t…” He waved his finger between Constance and Felicity but directed the unfinished query at me.
I shrugged. “When have I had time?”
Mandalay visibly straightened in her chair and cocked her head to the side as she focused her gaze on Ben. “Is that it? Is that why you’ve been so flaky, Storm? Are you and Allison…”
Her question was interrupted as the door to the interview room swung open, and Lieutenant Albright followed it inside. A stack of files, several inches thick, was tucked in the crook of her arm, and she held them close as if they were a prized possession.
“I’ll tell ya’ later,” Ben offered quietly to Constance and Felicity and then turned his attention to Albright.
The lieutenant was still wearing the scowl that seemed to be a permanent adornment for the lower half of her face, but there was definitely something different about her. I couldn’t put my finger on it at first, but unless I missed my guess, she was ruffled.