“Rowan? Rowan?” Ben’s words were thick as they flowed into my ears. “Are ya’ okay? What’s goin’ on? Answer me.”
I leaned forward in the seat, dropping my face into my hands, and heaved hard against the pain. I’m sure that to him it looked like I was having a seizure.
“ROWAN?!” he demanded again, his voice loud.
I held up a hand as a signal to him as I grimaced through the onslaught of agony. I’d brought this upon myself. My own anger was bouncing around inside the ethereal barriers Felicity and I had placed around the house, and it now came back to me threefold if not more. I was simply paying for my own lack of control.
While my presence within had acted as a doorway for Debbie Schaeffer to enter, it hadn’t been terribly effective as an exit for the burst of energy. On top of that, I hadn’t been the least bit grounded when it returned.
I mutely cursed myself for the stupidity of the action as the pain slowly began to subside. After a moment, misery faded into something resembling a severe sinus headache, and I sighed heavily.
I remained motionless as I opened my eyes and allowed them to focus on the object I’d tripped over.
There on the floor was a sealed cardboard box, roughly eight-by-ten by maybe twelve inches tall. I stared at it as the image clarified, then slowly allowed my eyes to come to rest on the label. It was upside down from my point of view, but I could still read it without difficulty.
It was addressed to Felicity O’Brien and Emerald Photographic Services, which was her company name. What really drew my attention, however, was the return address: Arch Color Labs, 3754 Ash Bend Avenue.
CHAPTER 28
There is an old adage that most everyone has heard, about snakes, nearness to them, and getting bit by same because of said close proximity. This is where I now found myself, and the fangs of this particular serpent were, to say the least, firmly embedded in my carotid artery, and the venom was now reaching my brain.
Bits and pieces of information, snippets of conversations, and channeled vices began coalescing in my frontal lobes to form a mental picture that should have been crystal clear all along. How I’d managed to avoid putting this all together, I had no idea, but there was no stopping it now. Whatever mental block had been shielding the overtly obvious from my sight had now been obliterated, and it was all making sense.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I muttered just loud enough to be heard.
“Do what?” Ben asked. “Rowan, what’s goin’ on? What the hell was that all about?”
“Harold,” I said a bit louder. “It’s Harold.”
“Harold who?”
“Harold…the sorry sonofabitch that owns Arch Color Labs,” I announced, ignoring the throb in my skull and looking up at my friend. “That’s Harold who.”
“You’re gonna hafta elaborate, Row.”
“This box,” I explained as I pointed to the offending container. “It wasn’t here when I left this morning.”
“Yeah, so maybe it got delivered while you were with me and Chuck. Ya’ haven’t been home all day ya’know.”
“No. Wouldn’t happen. Arch is less than a mile from here. He never ships orders to Felicity. She picks them up.”
“Okay, so just playin’ devil’s advocate here…are you sure she didn’t?” he asked.
“She didn’t have time. Not today of all days. And before you ask, he’s closed on weekends so it wasn’t riding around in her Jeep for the past few days either.”
“Okay, good, we’re maybe onta’ somethin’ here. So what makes ya’ think it’s this Harold guy and not an employee?”
“Because it’s a one man operation. Besides, he smokes like a fiend and that’s why he’s been dressing them up.”
“He dresses ‘em up ‘cause he smokes? What?”
“No!” I snapped. “Listen to me. The bastard smokes! And Felicity is why he’s dressing them up!”
“Whoa, back up,” my friend said. “Which case are we talkin’ about here?”
“All of it, Ben,” I said in exasperation. “All of it. He’s the one who killed Debbie Schaeffer and Paige Lawson. He’s the one who’s been raping all these women, and he’s the one who took Felicity. Now can we go?”
“Whoa, slow down, white man,” he instructed. “I think maybe you’re gettin’ some stuff crossed up here.”
“No, no I’m not.” I shook my head, incredulous that he wasn’t understanding, and then I realized that he had no reason to. Thus far I’d told him next to nothing by way of the facts as I saw them. I was simply spouting random observations and my own fevered conclusions.
I forced myself to stay in my seat and tried to explain what I was talking about. “Okay, here it is. Did you by any chance notice the resemblance between Felicity and Heather Burke?”
“Heather Burke is a blue-eyed blonde, Row.”
“I know,” I returned. “But try to follow me here. I’m talking about her other physical attributes. Size, shape of face, skin tone. That’s why he uses the wig and the tinted contacts. Try to imagine Heather Burke with long red hair.”
“Okay.” He nodded slightly after a thoughtful pause. “I guess maybe I can see that.”
“Now, what about Miranda Hodges and Paige Lawson?” I urged.
“Yeah, they all kinda resemble one another, but don’t ya’ think you’re pushin’ it a bit?”
“No, I don’t.” I shook my head hard. I wanted to get moving but I knew it was never going to happen unless I could convince him I was correct. “He has been dressing them up to look like Felicity and then taking pictures of them. He’s been living out his fantasy about my wife through them.”
“I dunno, Rowan. We’ll check it out, but let’s not start drawin’ conclusions just yet.”
“Fine,” I snarled, “fine, just forget all that. The important thing is I’m telling you he’s the one who’s got Felicity, and we need to stop him before he hurts her.”
“I’m not doubtin’ ya’,” Ben held up a hand before I could object, “Well, actually, yes I am, ‘cause we don’t need ta’ go off half-cocked an’ chasin’ our tails right now.”
“Dammit, Ben!”
“Row, I told ya’, we’ll check it out. But, we can’t just go bust ‘is door down without probable cause. Can ya’ at least give me a motive?”
I heaved out an exasperated sigh. “Just the other day Felicity told me she thinks he has a crush on her.”
“Just a crush, or somethin’ more serious?” he asked. “Like, has he been stalkin’ ‘er?”
“I don’t know,” I couldn’t keep the urgency out of my voice. “But he has been know to call here for no good reason, and I don’t doubt what Felicity said.”
“Okay, okay, I believe ya’,” he said. “I’m afraid a suspected crush ain’t gonna get us a warrant, but let’s start by checkin’ ‘im out. You got a last name so we can get a home address?”
“He won’t be at home,” I told him confidently as I glanced down at the label on the box. I suddenly realized that in my haste I’d neglected to give him a piece of information that would have made my theory quite a bit easier to swallow. “He’ll have her at the lab where he can take pictures of her.”
“Okay, then, we can start there then move ta’ the home. What’s the address?”
“Thirty-seven fifty-four Ash Bend Avenue.”
He was scribbling in his notebook as I recited the address. His pencil slowed and he looked up at me silently.
“Yeah. It wasn’t a name. It was an address.”
“But…”
“Dyslexia,” I said before he could finish. “I’ll bet you anything that Heather Burke suffers from dyslexia.”
Ben killed the headlights on the van and eased it into the parking lot of Arch Color Labs, allowing the high idle of the engine to slowly propel us forward as he surveyed the building. It had taken us less than five minutes to make the trip, and my earlier overabundance of nervous energy was returning in full force. I reached for the door and popped the latch while the vehicle inched along at a pace that would make a tortoise ashamed.