M Sellars - Perfect Trust

The bright incandescence of the artificial lighting cast a stark picture before me as my eyes fought to adjust. Just as it had been earlier, the dining room table was canted at an angle, pushed a few degrees from its original position in the room. The chairs were in minor disarray from the movement, and as before, one was on its side. The mail we’d just discussed was spread out toward one end, with a trio of #10 envelopes and a medium-sized box resting haphazardly on the floor below.

The Bible still stared back from dead center as if mocking me.

The only thing that had really changed was that a patina of graphite and lycopodium powders now enhanced the latent fingerprints throughout.

“Whaddaya see?” my friend asked, his voice stern but slightly calmer.

“I don’t know,” I shot back. “My dining room? A mess? What am I supposed to see?”

He let go of my collar and I immediately wheeled about to face him.

He thrust a finger at me. “Like I said, we’re talkin’ about Felicity here. This is a woman who once tackled a mugger an’ sat on ‘im ‘till a squad car arrived. Now take another look. Does this room really look like she put up a fight?”

I didn’t need to look again. He was correct. In reality, the disruption was minor in comparison to what it could have been. My wife was not one who would go quietly into the night without first extracting her own pound of flesh. She would have fought. She would have kicked. She would have screamed like a real Irish banshee. No matter how big or how strong her attacker, she would have wrecked the entire house trying to get away.

Ben could see the light dawning in my face, and he knew that I was beginning to understand where he was headed, so he pressed forward. “In your statement ya’ said the dogs were shut up in the bedroom, right?”

“Yes,” I nodded. “They were.”

“How would that’ve happened?”

“Felicity would have had to put them there,” I murmured.

“Why?” he kept going, forcing me to see what he had already surmised.

My voice fell almost to a whisper. “That’s what we do if someone they aren’t used to is in the house and they are being bothersome.”

“Exactly,” Ben nodded. “Whoever took Felicity is someone she knows, Kemosabe. Someone she was comfortable enough ta’ let into the house but unfamiliar enough that she had ta’ lock the dogs away. She wasn’t afraid, so he was able ta’ take ‘er down so unexpectedly that she didn’t even have a chance ta’ fight.”

I stared at him, dumbfounded by the realization that had overtaken my grey matter.

“You gotta work with me on this, Row. We’re gonna find ‘er, but I’ve gotta have your help.”

My mind was racing, applying a mental litmus test to a list of possible suspects I was compiling in my head. I couldn’t imagine anyone that we knew wanting to harm her. I was disregarding names as fast as they popped into my head, and soon, I found myself placing the yardstick up against the same people over and over again.

“Rowan? Talk ta’ me,” Ben prodded.

“I… It just doesn’t… I’m not…” I stammered. “I don’t know, Ben. I just can’t think of anyone we know who would do something like this.”

“Okay, what about enemies? You two are pretty open about your religion,” he suggested. “Anyone you know that could maybe have gotten hooked up with a radical group or somethin’?”

“You pretty much know who my enemies are.” I shook my head. “And to my knowledge Felicity doesn’t have any. And religious groups? I doubt it. Besides, I can’t imagine any going this far.”

“Try tellin’ that ta’ the dead doctors that were killed by the anti-abortion wackos,” he harrumphed. “It takes all kinds, Row. Have ya’ pissed off anyone that ya’ know of?”

“I can’t think of anyone off the top of my head.”

“What about Firehair? She have any acquaintances you’re not familiar with? Someone who might be a bit hinky?”

“Sure,” I shrugged. “I don’t know all of her business contacts, clients, or even members of her photography club. I suppose one of them could be off kilter.”

“We’re already checkin’ out the folks she was with today,” he nodded. “She have a rolodex or somethin’ we can look at?”

I glanced around for her purse and found that it was no longer on the side table in the living room where I’d last seen it. “Her purse,” I expressed. “It was on the table over there.”

“It’s already been bagged,” Ben told me. “She have an address book in there?”

“Her PDA,” I acknowledged. “She keeps everything in there. Contacts, appointments, everything.”

“Okay, stay here,” he told me, punctuating the command with a quick gesture of his hand as he headed for the front door. “I’ll be right back.”

Silence fell in behind him for a moment, and I turned my head to see Helen looking back at me with a studious expression.

“How are you holding up,” she asked.

“As good as can be expected, I suppose.”

She nodded slightly and continued to watch me as she offered comment. “Benjamin can sometimes resemble a bull in a china shop with his methods.”

“Yeah,” I acknowledged, “I’ve seen him be gentler.”

“It is only because he is frightened, Rowan. He fears for your wife’s safety, and for your sanity. He considers you family, and you know his sense of duty.”

I nodded. “I know.”

She pursed her lips and her brow furrowed deeply. Pressing her palms together she held her hands up and rested her chin on her steepled fingertips. We stood quietly for a moment, and it became my turn to watch her.

“Rowan, your wife is going to be fine,” she finally told me.

“Is this the coddling I was asking for earlier?” I questioned with a flat tone to my words.

“No. It is merely an observation.”

“Do you know something that the rest of us don’t?”

“I simply know what it is that I feel,” she answered as she canted her head to the side and blinked. “You of all people should understand that.”

I allowed her words to comfort me, though the solace was brief. “Thanks, Helen. I hope you’re right.”

“This thing what you’re talkin’ about?” Ben interrupted as he entered and thrust a thin, silver case at me.

“Yes,” I nodded as I took it from him and opened the cover to reveal the electronic device within.

I activated the PDA and withdrew the stylus from its recessed holder then began systematically tapping it against the touch sensitive screen. “Here.” I offered the device back to him. “This is her address book.”

“You go through it,” he told me. “See if anyone rings a bell. Someone she might’ve mentioned havin’ a disagreement with. Anything like that.”

I turned the small LCD display back toward myself and proceeded to page through the listings, one entry at a time. She had combined our home address book with her own, so various bits of data stood out as familiar while others did not. Before long, however, they all began to look like just so many letters and numbers jumbled together.

I stopped and removed my glasses then rubbed my eyes.

“Somethin’ wrong?” Ben queried.

“Not really,” I answered as I slipped my glasses back on to my face. “It just seems like I’ve been staring at small print all day.”

“Ya’ pretty much have. So, ya’ recognize anything?”

“Well, yeah,” I said. “But nothing that leaps out at me as particularly suspicious.”

“So, what are ya’ doin’ now?” he asked as he nodded in the direction of the device.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean what are ya’ doin’?” he reiterated, raising an eyebrow. “You aren’t even lookin’ at the damn thing.”