“Since you mention it,” Deckert returned, “he did take a few art classes at the community college, and guess who his instructor was…one Karen Lewis, better known to us by her married name, Karen Barnes.”
“He knows all three victims,” I muttered to myself.
“Looks that way,” he continued. “So if you add that in with the candles, the pastels, and his familiarity with your religion…”
Neither of us had a convincing argument to offer. We sat glumly, firm in our belief that the young man was innocent of the crimes but completely unable to prove it.
“Well, what did HE have to say?” Felicity almost demanded.
“We haven’t talked to him about it yet.”
“Well then, he might have a logical explanation for some of the things you found,” I expressed. “You won’t know until you ask.”
“Look,” Deckert intoned after a long pause. “I’m sorry I had to be the one to tell you all this, but to be honest, I don’t understand why you two are so sure this kid’s innocent. Hell, from what I understand, you just met him a few days ago.”
“That’s true, but at the risk of sounding cliche,” I explained, “it’s a Witch thing. It’s just a gut feeling.”
“What about Devon Johnston?” My wife was on a mission, and she wasn’t about to give up. “We haven’t heard anything yet. Isn’t he still a suspect?”
“He pulled through, but he’s gonna be laid up for a good long time,” he answered. “We talked to him this morning, and Ben checked out his alibi. Except for killing a dog, the assault on you, and a couple of trespassing charges, he’s in the clear.” Once again he stared past the small jungle of potted plants and out through the atrium window. After a short pause, he let out a sigh of resignation and then continued in a fatherly tone, “Trust me, I’d like to believe you guys, but like I said, there’s a lot of evidence, even if it is circumstantial. It’s the fingerprint you found on the candle that really clinches it.”
“I wish I’d never seen it,” Felicity muttered in a dejected tone.
“And if R.J. really is guilty?” Deckert asked her rhetorically. “How would you feel then? Look, I don’t want to see an innocent kid go down either, but I’m not so sure that’s what’s happening here. The shrink says it looks like the kid got himself a crush on these women and then got rejected. It just kept building, and he finally snapped and carved ‘em up. Got himself a vicious circle going. Kill a woman then feel guilty. Fix it, in his mind anyway, with that expulsion thing of yours and then do it all over again.”
“Expiation spell,” I corrected. “And as pat and logical as that all sounds, it doesn’t feel right.” The hair rose on the back of my neck, and a tingle ran down my spine as I voiced my next thought, “R.J. being unjustly accused isn’t our biggest worry right now though.”
“What is then?” he questioned.
“If we ARE right, and he IS innocent,” I expressed grimly, “then the real killer is still out there, and that means another young woman is going to die.”
The waxing moon was creeping steadily toward fullness and had just begun its trek across the cloudless, early evening sky as we parked in front of Ben and Allison’s home. Nestled snugly within the confines of the historic district of the city, the stone structure rose upward two stories from the well-kept lot to a steeply pitched, slate tile roof. The two of them had spent the first few years of their marriage restoring this house, and Felicity and I had been there to help them put it all together. Now, the two of us felt as if we were, in a figurative sense, responsible for tearing it apart. We weren’t about to let that happen.
After Detective Deckert left earlier in the day, I called Ben at the MCS command post. He had remained distant and guarded during the conversation, much as he had the day before, but I was determined in my desire to resolve the situation and effectively invited Felicity and myself over for a visit. Before he could object, I said goodbye and hung up.
Allison met us at the front door wearing a thin, disconcerted smile and kept silent as we entered. Ben was wearily lounging on the sofa, tie undone, and fingers twined around the neck of a full bottle of beer.
“Can I get you something to drink?” Allison offered mechanically.
“No thanks,” I responded, “I’m fine at the moment.”
Felicity just shook her head. Allison fidgeted nervously, reminiscent of a trapped animal. It was as if our declining her offer had somehow cut off an avenue of escape, leaving her no choice but to face that which she was working so hard to avoid. After spending a tense moment recalculating her options, she hesitantly positioned herself on the couch. She took a seat noticeably distant from Ben but close enough to give the outward appearance that nothing was wrong. Still, the strain with which this was done would have been palpable to even the most oblivious stranger. The fact that we knew them as well as we did turned the small sign into a lighted billboard.
“Where’s the little guy?” I asked as Felicity and I found chairs opposite them.
“He’s sleeping over with his friend across the street,” Allison replied, seeming to ease somewhat at the benign question.
“I guess Deckert told you ‘bout R.J.,” Ben interjected, unceremoniously changing the subject.
“He did,” I answered, “and while we have our own views on the subject, that’s not the first thing on our agenda.”
“Agenda?” Ben repeated. “Are we havin’ a meetin’?”
“You could say that.”
The two of them simply stared back at us sullenly. We sat and allowed the thick silence to envelope the room and the four of us with it. Felicity and I had troubled over this conversation the entire afternoon, and though we had discussed and rehearsed everything we wanted to say, when it came down to the wire, the memorized script was forgotten.
“Look, Felicity, I’m sorry,” Ben suddenly gushed. “If there was anything I could do, I would. I wish I had never mentioned this case to you guys.”
“So Deckert was right,” I asserted. “You really do blame yourself for what happened.”
“If the shoe fits,” Allison muttered.
“Are you serious?” I faced her. “You actually believe Ben is at fault?”
“What the hell is wrong with you two?” my wife blurted, unabashedly taking the bull by the horns.
“Whaddaya mean?” Ben’s expression changed from guilt to shock at Felicity’s candor.
“What I mean is, what gives you the right to feel responsible for my miscarriage?”
“If Ben hadn’t…” Allison started.
“ Cac capaill! ” My wife spat a Gaelic profanity. The gates were open, and Felicity was living up to the stories about redheads and their tempers. “Ben had nothing to do with it!”
“I got you involved in this whole mess,” Ben insisted. “If I’d never asked Rowan to help, you never would’ve lost the baby.”
“You didn’t ask, Ben,” I expressed evenly. “I volunteered. So did Felicity.”
“She didn’t volunteer to have some asshole slam ‘er into a wall,” he shot back.
“I went over to Cally’s house of my own accord,” my wife interjected slowly and with more than a hint of anger. “You can’t possibly be responsible for my actions. And you, Allison.” She shifted her blazing stare. “How can you possibly blame Ben for something he had no control over?”
“Maybe he didn’t cause it directly,” Allison returned. “But he never should have brought you into this.”
“She’s right,” Ben added. “You guys aren’t cops. I never should have exposed you to the risks.”
“ Damnu ort! ” Felicity stood as the expletive burst from her lips. “How dare you! How can you two be so selfish?!”
“Selfish?”
“Yes, selfish!” she shouted. “This is MY pain, not yours! It’s MY fault!”
I joined Ben and Allison in their stunned expressions as I turned to my wife. We had discussed at length the fact that Ben was not to blame for the accident, but at no point had she ever affixed that blame to herself.
Until now.