Perfect Trust: A Rowan Gant Investigation by M. R. Sellars Page B

it was. The
omnipresent and wholly unsatisfactory answer to a serious question
that had become my pat answer. But as much as I wanted to give him
something different, once again it was all I could conjure at the
moment. I shrugged then continued, “I was actually hoping that you
could tell me .”
    “No way, Row.” He shook his head. “No way.
You’re gonna hafta do better’n that.” With a thick frown pasted
securely to his face, he huffed out a heavy sigh and stepped back,
pulling the door open wider as he did so. “C’mon, get outta
there.”
    I rocked myself forward, and scooted across
the stiff upholstery of the cold bench seat, then twisted toward
the opening. Impatiently, my friend took hold of my upper arm with
one large hand and guided me out onto the curb, telling me to watch
my head at just about the same instant the back of it impacted with
the doorframe. I’m pretty sure he timed it that way on purpose
because it was more than plain that he wasn’t at all happy with me
right now.
    As amazing as it seems, even in the middle of
the night, if you happen upon a crime scene, you will find at least
a handful of onlookers seeking a morbid thrill. At the moment I was
apparently the object of that thrill. If that wasn’t enough
embarrassment for one sitting, we were being paid even more intense
regard by a clutch of reporters and cameramen. Blue-white cones of
artificial brightness instantly glared outward from their powerful
lights, making the two of us the centerpiece of the harsh
setting.
    “Friggin’ assholes… Don’t turn around, Row…”
Ben instructed me in a clipped voice, helping me forward with a
rough hand as he stepped quickly in behind me.
    We walked at an even pace, him guiding me
with a hand planted firmly on my shoulder, weaving through cops and
evidence technicians until we were positioned in the shadows behind
a Crime Scene Unit van. Out of sight of the cameras and prying eyes
of the reporters, we came to a halt and he told me to stand
still.
    I heard the clinking of metal, followed by a
muted ratcheting noise, and my left hand was suddenly free. I
rolled my shoulder and felt it give a slight pop as I brought it
back to its natural position. A moment later, the metal was no
longer chafing my other wrist, and I repeated the motion for my
right shoulder as I turned around.
    “Thanks,” I said.
    “Yeah, thank me later after I kick your ass,”
my friend told me. “Now what gives? What’re ya’ doin’ here?”
    “I was serious, Ben,” I answered with a shake
of my head. “I don’t know. I don’t even know how I got here.”
    “Hell, that’s easy,” he told me while jerking
his thumb over his shoulder. “Your goddamned truck is parked right
over there in the middle of the fuckin’ street blockin’
traffic.”
    “Who was murdered?” I unconsciously dismissed
his statement and blurted out the question while looking past him
at the glowing doorway.
    “No… Me first, Row.” He shook his head
vigorously. “Is there somethin’ about this I should know? Is this
some kinda Twilight Zone shit
here? You havin’ one of those visions or somethin’ like
that?”
    “It might be, Ben. I don’t know.” I shook my
head again as I gravitated ever so slightly toward the scene.
    “Whoa, Kemosabe.” He reached out and stopped
my progress easily. “Just where do ya’ think you’re goin’?”
    “I want to have a look at the scene, Ben,” I
answered automatically.
    “What for?”
    I didn’t reply because I simply didn’t know
the answer.
    “Look, Row, this is a pretty routine
investigation here, if you can call somethin’ like this routine.
Truth is we don’t even know if it’s a murder or an accidental death
just yet. There’re no weird symbols or any crap like that, so I
don’t get what you’re doin’ here.”
    He was making reference to the anomalous
evidence that had prompted him to bring me into the two previous
investigations. I could understand his point of