“Jeezus, Helen… Not now, okay?”
“All right, but your grammar is especially atrocious today. At any rate, I will certainly try to do what I can to help.”
Ben rolled his eyes then proceeded to outline our recent discussion for her, up to and including the theory I had advanced about Debbie Schaeffer. When he finally finished giving her the run down, there was a long pause at the other end.
“Ya’ still there, Helen?” Ben quizzed the phone.
“Yes, Benjamin,” she answered. “I’m still here. Do you have any idea how Debbie Schaeffer died?”
“Nothing conclusive back from the coroner’s office, so no, not yet. Why?”
“It would certainly help to know if her death was in fact an accident or deliberate. Of course, I am sure you already realize that since this one fact is the lynch pin of your entire theory.”
“Yeah, we know. We’re just battin’ things around right now,” Ben said.
“All right then, let us assume that her death was accidental,” she outlined. “Emotional transference is not uncommon, especially if an individual is incapable of retaining a firm grasp on the realities at hand. But one does not necessarily need to be psychotic or possessed of severely diminished faculties for this to occur either. A classic example of this is very simply the proverbial rebound relationship when a couple parts ways.
“However, as with any emotional upset, the severity can have a direct bearing on the outcome. If the individual directly affected by-or even in part responsible for-the upset is already unbalanced, then this could certainly tip the scales in a dangerous direction.”
“So what you’re sayin’ is we could be right?” Ben questioned.
“Perhaps.” There was an almost audible shrug in her voice. “Can you tell me about the disposition of her remains? How was she when she was found?”
“Wrapped in a plastic drop cloth and dumped in the woods.”
“Was she dumped, or was she placed?”
“I dunno. I guess she coulda been placed.”
“You see, that is a factor as well. Was she clothed? Were there any personal items with her? How carefully was she wrapped in the plastic? Was she well hidden or likely to be found? Was this done haphazardly or was there reverence shown for her remains? Each of these things goes toward forming a picture of the person responsible.”
“So now you’re sayin’ we’re probably wrong?”
“No, Benjamin, what I am saying is that there are several other factors which must be weighed in order to reach a truly viable conclusion. As it stands now, the best I can say is that your theory is a definite maybe.”
“Okay,” he huffed out a breath. “I guess that’s better’n a definite no. I appreciate the help, Sis. See ya’ tonight at the house?”
“Of course. Is Rowan still there?”
“I’m here,” I spoke up.
“Good. Would it be possible for me to speak with you for a moment?”
The tenor in her voice left no question that she wanted the conversation to be a private one. Ben picked up the receiver and handed it to me as the phone automatically disengaged the speaker then motioned for Charlee to follow him out.
“We’ll be back at my desk,” he told me, pointing in the appropriate direction.
I gave him a quick nod then waited for the door to shut before pressing the handset to my ear.
“What’s up?” I asked.
I had actually considered for a moment the mental laundry list of items I wanted to speak with Helen about but quickly decided that this was neither the time nor the place. Besides, she had asked to talk to me, not the other way around.
“I simply wanted to see how you were doing,” she returned.
“I’m fine.”
“You are certain?”
“Well, I was until right now,” I said. “Do I have a reason not to be?”
“Only you can answer that, Rowan. When you left after our last session you were still dealing with some very serious issues. I am concerned that those issues may be at the very root of what is compelling you to become so entrenched in this investigation.”
“I think my compulsion is actually a bit more otherworldly,” I offered, not entirely sure where she was headed.
Something didn’t seem quite right, but I couldn’t pin it down. I wasn’t sure if it was her words or maybe just the clinical way in which she presented them. All I could say for sure was that she didn’t sound like the same Helen Storm who had just been speaking to us moments ago.
“While I do not doubt that fact in the least, I also do not want you to lose sight of the here and now. You should not allow your strength to become your vulnerability.”
“How do you mean?”
“For you, that remains to be seen, Rowan, and will be based solely on the decisions you make.”
“Is there something that I’m missing here, Helen?” I had no idea what she was talking about. “Pardon me for saying so, but you don’t sound quite like yourself.”
“You are my patient and I am simply expressing my concern for your well being, Rowan.”
It was my turn to ask, “You’re sure?”
“Yes, I am sure.”
“Well, I have to be honest. I’m not so certain that I’m understanding what you mean.”
“You will,” she stated without emotion. “Though it may sound cliche, simply bear in mind that one should sometimes follow the road less traveled.”
“Okay.” I paused for an awkward moment, not knowing what I should say. “So anything else?”
“No. We will talk about it more during our next session.”
“Okay,” I said again and physically shrugged out of reflex. “Did you need to speak with Ben?”
“No,” she returned. “Just tell him that I am looking forward to this evening. Bye.”
I barely managed to get my own parting words out before the line disconnected at her end, leaving me to feel thoroughly confused by the entire conversation.
“Everything okay?” Ben asked me once I’d rejoined him at his desk.
“Yeah, I think so. Where’s Charlee?”
“She got called back down ta’ Vice. Ya’ sure everything’s okay?”
“Yeah, everything’s fine. So what happens now that my theory might be a non-theory?”
“Depends. We still don’t have a suspect, whether your theory is right or not.”
“But the connection with Paige Lawson could lead to something, couldn’t it?”
“Possible connection,” he corrected me. “I’ll admit, a very strong possibility, yeah, but we don’t have a smokin’ gun.”
“Maybe not, but there’s definitely something there.”
“Like I told ya’, I’m not sayin’ there isn’t.”
“Good, because I know I’m right about this.”
“You’re just fuckin’ dyin’ to say it, aren’t ya?”
“Say what?”
“I told ya’ so.”
“Yeah, maybe a little.”
“Well, you might wanna wait until we’ve got more ta’ go on. Who knows, we…”
For the second time in the past hour, the phone on his desk demanded attention and brought our conversation to an unceremonious halt.
“Homicide, Storm.” My friend answered the device with an annoyed clip in his voice, but then his tone quickly changed. “Oh, hey, what’s up?”
Since he was now focused on the caller I began to drift. Instead of paying attention to his “uh-huhs” and “yeahs,” I was concentrating instead on a blank spot occupying the wall across the room. My brain was still reeling a bit as I tried to figure out the strange conversation I’d just had with Helen Storm. It was when he stopped grunting into the phone that the silence prompted me to look up and find him staring at me.
“What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know if I’d call ya’ wrong, but ya’ sure as hell ain’t right, Svengali.”
“What are you talking about?”
“That was Chuck on the phone. Apparently the reason she got called back down ta’ Vice was because one of the rape victims showed up ta’ tell her somethin’ she suddenly remembered.”
He just continued to stare at me then after a moment began to shake his head.