I suppose it could have been that she actually had overheard Mandalay’s epithet, but that sort of thing had never seemed to faze her before. This was something different, and you didn’t have to be a Witch to feel the chaotic energy emanating from her.
She half-turned, pushed the door shut, then strode purposefully over to the table and simply glared at me. She opened her mouth to speak, hesitated, then closed her mouth and found a way to frown even harder than before. After a moment, she angrily tossed the file folders onto the laminated surface.
Crime scene photos, notes, and official reports peeked out of their manila sheaths as the folders slid a few inches and partially spilled their contents.
“These do not leave the building,” Albright announced. The deliberate control she was exercising on her voice was plainly audible.
“Okay” was all I could think of to say.
I glanced down at the photos and caught a quick glimpse of a headless female corpse paper-clipped to an autopsy report. A similar photo was protruding from one of the other folders as well.
“Understand right now that I am against this,” she continued. “However, the mayor seems to think we should utilize your so-called talents regarding these cases. I did my best to convince him otherwise, but his emotions are getting the better of him at the moment. I am sure he will eventually come to his senses.”
I don’t suppose I was surprised by the callous attitude she was displaying, but that didn’t keep me from finding it utterly abhorrent. I had plenty I wanted to say to her in response, but I knew starting yet another argument would accomplish nothing, so I picked the most innocuous of the replies that flitted through my head. “So Felicity was right. Those were Brittany Larson’s remains.”
“Yes” was her monosyllabic response.
“And because of her, you have a very fresh crime scene,” I pressed, unable to help myself.
She hesitated and then replied again, almost choking on the word. “Yes.”
Without thinking, I allowed my next thought to escape in the form of audible words. “You know, where I come from people say thank you.”
She leaned forward, placing her hands on the table and locking her gelid gaze on me. “Do not patronize me, Mister Gant. Trust me, if it were not for the fact that one of the victims is his daughter and that you found her body by whatever godless means your kind employs, I can guarantee you that this would not be happening.”
“Godless? Our kind?” I started. “Look, I’ve got no idea what I did to you that makes you hate me so much, and honestly, I’m not sure I want to know.”
She simply continued glaring at me without a word.
Getting no response, I resumed speaking. “And, apparently you aren’t going to tell me anyway… Well, Lieutenant Albright, if it’s any consolation at all, I’m not particularly excited about having to work with you either.”
“Understand, Mister Gant, that we are not working with one another.” She placed more than the lion’s share of emphasis on the word ‘not’. “We are simply working on the same case whether we like it or not. And, I for one, do not.”
“Then I guess we’ll just have to make the best of it for the duration,” I offered flatly.
“Rest assured that with the exception of locking you in a cell, something I would relish mind you, I would just as soon have no contact with either of you whatsoever.”
“Aye, the feeling is mutual,” Felicity snipped.
“And, as for you…” Albright began, looking over at my wife.
“Fine,” I interjected before the two of them could go at it full force. “I think we all agree that we don’t much care for one another, so let’s drop all the bullshit here and now. What, exactly, is it that you want from us?”
“Review the files, strike whatever deal with Satan you usually make, and then find the killer,” she said, ticking off the short list in a perfunctory fashion.
“Just like that,” I replied.
“Is that not how you normally do things?” she spat sarcastically.
“Well, for one thing,” I replied. “Satan is a Judeo-Christian entity. He’s your boy not ours. But, I doubt I can convince you of that.”
“Spare me your double-talk, Mister Gant,” she growled. “I have dealt with devil worshippers before, and you cannot fool me.”
“I’m not trying to fool anyone, Lieutenant.”
“The wicked worketh a deceitful work: but to him that soweth righteousness shall be a sure reward. Proverbs, chapter eleven, verse eighteen.”
The hair rose on the back of my neck, and I felt a cold chill run up my spine as the words struck my ears. The last person to quote Bible passages to me had been Eldon Porter, and he was trying to kill me. I had been convinced for months that Barbara Albright was intent on the same end, though perhaps not in such a blatant way as he. This just served to cement my belief in that fact.
“I’ve read your book,” I told her. “I don’t need a Bible lesson.”
She didn’t let it go. “Set thou a wicked man over him: and let Satan stand at his right hand…”
“…When he shall be judged, let him be condemned: and let his prayer become sin,” I replied, continuing the verse for her just as I had done when confronted by Porter. “Let his days be few; and let another take his office. Let his children be fatherless, and his wife a widow. Shall I continue? Book of Psalm. Chapter one-oh-nine. I already told you, I know the drill.”
Her voice moved up a notch. “Do not mock me!”
“Yeah, whatever.”
“Just make it happen, Gant!”
Albright had been flustered when she entered, but she was practically livid now. As if I didn’t already press all the wrong buttons in her life, I’d obviously just found one labeled do not touch.
“Look, it ain’t like that, Lieutenant,” Ben spoke up in a well-intentioned attempt to defuse the situation.
“I was not speaking to you, Detective Storm,” she snapped, turning her hard stare on him.
“He’s right,” I said. “That’s not how it works.”
“I don’t care how it works,” she replied, and then turned back to face me before continuing, her voice still a mark or two above the necessary volume for the small room. “In fact, I don’t even know if I believe that it works. All I do know is that the mayor insists that you be brought into the loop, and that is what I am doing. From this point forward, I expect you to stay out of my way.”
“With pleasure,” I told her.
“Good. I am glad that we understand one another.”
“So,” I asked. “Since I’m obviously persona non grata, what do you want us to do if we come up with something?”
She regarded me silently for a moment, boring a hole through me with her stare, then pushed back from the table and stood fully upright. She reached into a pocket on her jacket and withdrew a rectangular, gold-tone case. Flipping it open, she slipped a business card from it and tossed it onto the table before me.
“You can leave any information you have on my voice mail,” she said tersely. “Make certain that you do not waste my time, Mister Gant.”
“Yeah,” I grunted. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Lieutenant.”
She turned on her heel and started purposefully toward the door. Before she’d made it two full steps, my wife spoke up.
“Lieutenant Albright,” Felicity called out, a demanding note in her voice.
The lieutenant stopped and turned to face her, then snarled, “What is it, Miz O’Brien?”
“I’ll be having my Jeep back now,” Felicity stated, staring coldly at the woman and not even bothering to pretend her words were a request.
Albright was noticeably annoyed by the demand. She looked at my wife as if she were sizing her up for a fistfight, then finally returned sharply, “Have Detective Storm show you to the impound lot.”
That said, she wheeled around and left the interview room, slamming the door in her wake.
Ben looked over at me. “Jeez, white man. You sure got under her skin that time.”
“Bible verses,” I muttered.
“Yeah, Rowan,” Constance spoke up. “Are you sure you didn’t memorize the whole book?”