I managed to wrap my hand around the receiver and yank it from the base just as it started its annoying clamor once again. Unfortunately, I was a split second too late to avoid a third purposeful jab and annoyed burst of gibberish from my grumbling wife.
I winced and tried to roll out of her reach without falling off the side of the bed. I wasn’t overjoyed about a phone call in the middle of the night to begin with. Getting physically abused over it definitely wasn’t helping my mood. Right about then, another thought shot rapidly through my grey matter: Was this just going to be a hang-up? We’d had more than our share of those, at all hours, over the past few years. So many, in fact, that we’d had our number changed several times. All had been quiet for a while now, so it actually wouldn’t be a big surprise for the prank calls to be starting up again.
“This had better be good,” I muttered as I pushed the handset up next to my ear. At least, that was what I thought I said. Judging from the response I received, apparently what I was thinking and what was coming out of my mouth were mutually exclusive.
“What?” Detective Benjamin Storm’s somewhat confused sounding voice filtered into my ear. “That you, white man?”
My heretofore-sluggish synapses instantly began arcing at full speed as I pushed myself upright and fought to disentangle my lower half from the bedding. A sickening feeling of deja vu was setting in, and I didn’t like it one bit.
Next to Felicity, Ben Storm was undoubtedly my best friend in the world. He was exactly the kind of friend for whom you would do just about anything without question and knew beyond any doubt he would do the same for you. However, as close as we were, neither of us were in the habit of calling the other in the middle of the night just to socialize.
No, we had been down this road far too many times in the past few years. If he was calling at an odd hour, it was guaranteed not to be pleasant news, and more often than not, I had a pounding headache of ethereal origin to prove it. This time, however, my head felt just fine. Maybe still a bit groggy but completely devoid of pain. Given the circumstances, that just piqued my curiosity even more.
“Ben?” I replied, this time managing to keep my tongue from wrapping around my teeth.
“Yeah,” he replied. “Woke ya’ up, didn’t I?”
I cast an eye at the glowing numbers on the bedside clock. When I replied I couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of my voice. “What do you think?”
“Uh-huh, well ya’ can go back ta’ sleep in a minute, Kemosabe. So listen, can ya’ put Felicity on the phone?”
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m a homicide cop, and it’s three in the fuckin’ mornin’, Row. Whaddaya think’s wrong?” he retorted, his own snippet of sarcasm underlining the words. “Lemme talk ta’ your wife.”
“Ben…” I allowed my questioning voice to trail off.
“Row,” he replied succinctly then fell silent.
After an extended verbal staring contest, I spoke. “Tell me what’s up, Ben.”
“You got some Twilight Zone goin’ on?” he asked, using his favorite turn of phrase for my supernatural visions.
“No.”
“Good.”
“Well, should I?”
“No, so put yer wife on the phone.”
“But…”
He cut me off. “Listen, Row, chill out. For once it’s not all about you, okay? Now, lemme talk to Felicity.”
Even though he wasn’t willing to give me the details, his comment about being a homicide cop spoke volumes. The fact that he was calling for Felicity also told me that I had been correct about Murphy and his damnable law. I obviously wouldn’t be going back to sleep anytime soon.
I conceded. “Hold on…”
Out of reflex, I sent my free hand searching through the darkness and switched on my reading lamp then mutely cursed myself for the action as I squinted against the sudden influx of light. With a groan I reached over and gave my slumbering wife a far gentler nudge than she had previously afforded me. She shrugged, grumbled something just as unintelligible as her earlier string of syllables and then tried to roll away as she pulled the comforter up over her face. I hooked my hand into the bedding and tossed it back with a quick yank, unceremoniously exposing her to the cool air in the room. This time I had no trouble understanding the Gaelic curse that flew from her lips.
“Damnu ort! ” she yelped as she flailed an arm about in search of the blanket.
Leaning back, I gently caught her wrist mid-grope then stretched the telephone receiver across the bed. I stuffed the device into her hand and carefully pushed it toward her ear.
“It’s for you” was all I said before laying back against my pillow.
I didn’t know why I was even bothering. I was fully awake now.
I listened to the one-sided conversation as she answered with “uh-huh’s” and “umm, yeah’s” for a moment then finally pushed herself up on an elbow and asked, “Are you sure?… But I thought… Yeah… Okay then, just a second, let me find a pen…”
What I was hearing from this side didn’t sound good at all. I gave in and pushed myself into a sitting position then swung my legs over the side of the bed. Felicity was still searching for something to write with when I stood up and headed for the bathroom.
If my wife was about to apply her warm, artistic talent to the face of cold, brutal reality, I was going to be there to make sure she stayed behind the camera.
“You just filled out the paperwork a few days ago.” I called into the dining room from the kitchen. “Have they even had time to get you on the list?”
I was already dressed and was brewing a fresh pot of coffee by the time Felicity had taken down the address of the scene and started slipping into some clothes herself. Now, I was removing the lids from a pair of oversized travel mugs while my wife gathered together the photographic equipment she thought she might need.
“Aye, would seem so,” Felicity replied, her words were forced squeakily through a deep yawn.
“Tired?”
“I’ve only had about an hour of sleep. What do you think?”
“What time did you get in?”
“I didn’t get here until almost one forty-five,” she replied.
“Why so late?”
“The shoot ran late, then I took a wrong turn getting back to the highway, so that took forever. It was a bad night all around.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
“How about yours?”
“Uneventful. Took the dogs to the park, answered some email then looked at the news.”
“You seemed pretty zonked when I came to bed. I tried not to wake you.”
“You didn’t,” I called back to her. “I was going to wait up but finally called it a night around eleven-fifteen or so.”
“You…” the rest of the sentence was nothing more than a squeaky garble as she yawned again.
“What?”
“You didn’t have to wait up,” she said in a far more intelligible fashion.
“I missed you.”
“How sweet.”
“Okay, it’s a little early, so before this gets any mushier, what’s up with this call?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean I thought this whole thing was supposed to be for the specialized stuff.”
“Or emergencies.”
“You never told me that part.”
“I didn’t?”
“No.”
“Must have slipped my mind then.”
“Yeah,” I grunted. “So this is an emergency?”
“Apparently.”
“How so?”
“Flu epidemic.”
“Yeah, that’s old news. What does it have to do with this?”
“Crime scene technicians get the flu too.”
“All of them?” I asked with a note of disbelief.
“The ones who know how to use a camera it seems. There’s a bit more to it than taking a few point-and-shoot snapshots you know.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Anyway, Ben said they were short-staffed across the board.”