Blood Moon: A Rowan Gant Investigation Read Free Page A

drifted
into my ears.
    “Aye, Rowan,” Felicity said. “Your phone
then.”
    I snapped out of the introspection and gave
my head a tired shake, tearing my vacant stare away from the
oblivious janitor. Glancing at my hand I saw the aforementioned
device resting there, flipped open with my fingers wrapped around
it. The small speaker on the phone was vibrating with a barely
audible voice saying something I couldn’t quite make out.
    I immediately placed the cell against my ear
and asked, “Ben?”
    “Yeah, Row,” Detective Benjamin Storm
replied, the two words coming out slow and deliberate.
    I could almost feel the exhaustion in my
friend’s voice. It was something I had heard coming from him
countless times over the years. However, what I detected now was
different in a way far worse than anything I could describe. Not
only did Ben sound tired, he sounded ancient, on the verge of
feeble. But beyond even that, his tone held a percussive note of
unimaginable emotional pain.
    I feared I knew what was causing that anguish
but chose to ignore the fresh twist in my gut. There was a question
I knew needed asking, but because of his tone I dreaded the answer
more than anything. I simply couldn’t bring myself to advance the
query, so I danced around the subject as if doing so would make it
magically disappear.
    “We just got here, Ben,” I half stammered.
“We’re at the seventh floor waiting room. Where are you?”
    “I’m…downstairs…in the chapel,” he droned out
the answer, pausing randomly before falling completely silent.
    I closed my eyes as the dark portent in his
words crept along my spine, making me physically shiver. Ben was
devoutly secular. He claimed a belief in God but in the same breath
noted that he despised organized religion. For him to be in the
chapel was a harbinger of the worst kind. I waited for him to
continue, but after several heartbeats my chest began to tighten
and I forced a single word past the lump in my throat, “Ben?”
    His voice cracked as he said, “Yeah…listen
Row…I’ve got some bad news to tell ya’…”
     
     
     
     
    Tuesday, December 20
    10:37 A.M.
    Sacred Heart Cemetery
    Saint Louis, Missouri
     
     
     
     

CHAPTER 2:
     
    The procession from the funeral home to the
cemetery had been long, both in its physical size and the time
spent covering the distance between the two locations. Several
squad cars from the county police department provided a somber
escort, light bars flickering out of respect, as our pace was
unhurried. Local municipalities stopped traffic at intersections
along the route, waving us through as our line of vehicles slowly
snaked toward the final destination. Then, even after we arrived
there was a substantial delay. So many people had turned out for
this solemn occasion that it took several minutes before everyone
was parked and the graveside service could officially commence.
    Around us now was a sea of uniforms
intermixing with the suits, dresses, and overcoats, all in varying
hues of grey and black. If there were any other colors, I didn’t
recognize them. The world had been leached to dull black-and-white
halftones for me.
    In my eyes, most everyone else was a
faceless, nameless mannequin set apart from the others only by the
subtle differences in shades of their dark clothing. While I
recognized some of the officers I had worked with over the years,
those few were the exceptions to the rule.
    Each member of the law enforcement who was
present wore a black band across his or her shield. Even though my
mind was blending the crowd together in response to my grief, the
overt display of respect for a fallen comrade stood out and was
impossible to ignore. Another salient observation was that among
them, almost any local department I could readily name appeared to
be represented here by at least one officer or detective, if not
more.
    With abrupt sharpness, a loud crack split the
cool morning air, and my wife flinched at the sound. The members