Perfect Trust argi-3

by M. R. Sellars

  “Now, Debbie Schaeffer, that’s a different story. We’ve got no physical evidence, and the way you’ve played this guy up, he apparently doesn’t want these women harmed. Schaeffer was murdered and dumped in the woods.”

  “Are you certain she was murdered?” I asked.

  He looked at me like I’d lost my mind. “Well just what the hell would you call it?”

  “Maybe her death was an accident too,” I offered.

  “Yeah, okay, so what if it was?” he offered. “Even if ‘er death wasn’t deliberate-which I’m not convinced it wasn’t by the way-it’s still murder if it occurred durin’ the commission of a felony. So yes, before ya’ say it, that makes Lawson’s death murder as well. But what sets the two apart is the fact that Schaeffer’s body was dumped in the woods. That indicates ta’ me that whoever did it was tryin’ ta’ cover it up. That’s the part that doesn’t seem ta’ fit with this guy’s established pattern of dropping the victims off at home. So I’m not sayin’ Schaeffer ain’t connected. I just don’t wanna jump ta’ conclusions.”

  “Absolutely,” Detective McLaughlin interjected. “But for sake of argument, what if that pattern hadn’t been established yet? What if it is a part of the recent escalation?”

  Ben gave her a thoughtful glance then nodded. “Okay…Okay, that’s possible. It might fit. Keep talkin’. What’s the date on the first case you’ve associated with this guy?”

  “November. The day after Thanksgiving as a matter of fact,” she said.

  “Nothin’ earlier?”

  “Not that’s been reported to us.”

  “Well, Schaeffer went missin’ late October,” he mused aloud. “So your theory could fit.”

  “That puts a month between her disappearance and the first reported rape,” I voiced my observation as I set my mind to the task of filling the blanks-and there were plenty of them, even taking into consideration my latest secular epiphany.

  “Okay,” Ben nodded. “That fills in that hole, but it still doesn’t give us anything concrete. Not to mention we still don’t have a suspect either.”

  “You’re positive Debbie Schaeffer didn’t have any ex-boyfriends?” I asked.

  “None that ‘er parents knew of, why?”

  “Well, this is just me speculating, so take it for what it’s worth.” I confessed the thoughts that had only now started to gel in the front of my brain. “But if everything we’ve discussed here actually pans out, then that would make Debbie Schaeffer the first victim, right?”

  “Still a big if, but yeah… Go on.”

  “Well, what if she’s the impetus for the entire string of rapes?”

  “You mean,” Ben looked at Detective McLaughlin then back to me, “like he’s tryin’ ta’ relive rapin’ her through these other women?”

  “I suppose, but that’s not exactly what I was thinking.” I shook my head. “I was approaching it more along the line that she was the actual object of his desire, and through whatever course of events transpired he accidentally killed her. So by acting out his fantasy with the other women, he is somehow bringing her back to life. In his mind anyway.”

  “Jeez, white man. Now you’re startin’ to sound like my sister.”

  I shrugged. “Then maybe she’s who we really need to be talking to.”

  *****

  “Hello?” Helen Storm’s voice issued from the phone.

  We had regrouped in a conference room to allow for less distraction and more privacy. Ben had begun dialing her number almost as soon as the door was shut.

  “Helen, it’s Ben,” my friend spoke quickly. “You’re on speaker. I’ve got Detective McLaughlin and Rowan with me. You got a minute?”

  “Since you already have me on speaker, I suppose it would be rude of me to say no, would it not?”

  “Gimme a break, Sis.”

  “Oh, I suppose I can let it go this time,” she laughed musically. “What can I do for you, Benjamin?”

  Detective McLaughlin gave me a grin then turned to Ben and mouthed “Benjamin?”

  My friend fired back a wordless glance that said in no uncertain terms, “Don’t even go there.”

  “First off, everything we discuss here is strictly on the QT, right?”

  “Of course. I take it this is work related then?”

  “Yeah, it is. We’ve got a situation we’d like ta’ run past ya’ and get your professional opinion on.”

  “You understand that forensic psychology is not my primary area of expertise, correct?”

  “I know, Helen,” Ben said. “We ain’t that far yet. We just wanna see if the theory’ll fly.”

  “Aren’t.”

  “What?”

  “Aren’t, Benjamin. Or, are not. Definitely not ain’t.” She put an extreme emphasis in her tone when she repeated the colloquial contraction.

  “Jeezus, Helen… Not now, okay?”

  “All right, but your grammar is especially atrocious today. At any rate, I will certainly try to do what I can to help.”

  Ben rolled his eyes then proceeded to outline our recent discussion for her, up to and including the theory I had advanced about Debbie Schaeffer. When he finally finished giving her the run down, there was a long pause at the other end.

  “Ya’ still there, Helen?” Ben quizzed the phone.

  “Yes, Benjamin,” she answered. “I’m still here. Do you have any idea how Debbie Schaeffer died?”

  “Nothing conclusive back from the coroner’s office, so no, not yet. Why?”

  “It would certainly help to know if her death was in fact an accident or deliberate. Of course, I am sure you already realize that since this one fact is the lynch pin of your entire theory.”

  “Yeah, we know. We’re just battin’ things around right now,” Ben said.

  “All right then, let us assume that her death was accidental,” she outlined. “Emotional transference is not uncommon, especially if an individual is incapable of retaining a firm grasp on the realities at hand. But one does not necessarily need to be psychotic or possessed of severely diminished faculties for this to occur either. A classic example of this is very simply the proverbial rebound relationship when a couple parts ways.

  “However, as with any emotional upset, the severity can have a direct bearing on the outcome. If the individual directly affected by-or even in part responsible for-the upset is already unbalanced, then this could certainly tip the scales in a dangerous direction.”

  “So what you’re sayin’ is we could be right?” Ben questioned.

  “Perhaps.” There was an almost audible shrug in her voice. “Can you tell me about the disposition of her remains? How was she when she was found?”

  “Wrapped in a plastic drop cloth and dumped in the woods.”

  “Was she dumped, or was she placed?”

  “I dunno. I guess she coulda been placed.”

  “You see, that is a factor as well. Was she clothed? Were there any personal items with her? How carefully was she wrapped in the plastic? Was she well hidden or likely to be found? Was this done haphazardly or was there reverence shown for her remains? Each of these things goes toward forming a picture of the person responsible.”

  “So now you’re sayin’ we’re probably wrong?”

  “No, Benjamin, what I am saying is that there are several other factors which must be weighed in order to reach a truly viable conclusion. As it stands now, the best I can say is that your theory is a definite maybe.”

  “Okay,” he huffed out a breath. “I guess that’s better’n a definite no. I appreciate the help, Sis. See ya’ tonight at the house?”

  “Of course. Is Rowan still there?”

  “I’m here,” I spoke up.

  “Good. Would it be possible for me to speak with you for a moment?”

  The tenor in her voice left no question that she wanted the conversation to be a private one. Ben picked up the receiver and handed it to me as the phone automatically disengaged the speaker then motioned for Charlee to foll
ow him out.

  “We’ll be back at my desk,” he told me, pointing in the appropriate direction.

  I gave him a quick nod then waited for the door to shut before pressing the handset to my ear.

  “What’s up?” I asked.

  I had actually considered for a moment the mental laundry list of items I wanted to speak with Helen about but quickly decided that this was neither the time nor the place. Besides, she had asked to talk to me, not the other way around.

  “I simply wanted to see how you were doing,” she returned.

  “I’m fine.”

  “You are certain?”

  “Well, I was until right now,” I said. “Do I have a reason not to be?”

  “Only you can answer that, Rowan. When you left after our last session you were still dealing with some very serious issues. I am concerned that those issues may be at the very root of what is compelling you to become so entrenched in this investigation.”

  “I think my compulsion is actually a bit more otherworldly,” I offered, not entirely sure where she was headed.

  Something didn’t seem quite right, but I couldn’t pin it down. I wasn’t sure if it was her words or maybe just the clinical way in which she presented them. All I could say for sure was that she didn’t sound like the same Helen Storm who had just been speaking to us moments ago.

  “While I do not doubt that fact in the least, I also do not want you to lose sight of the here and now. You should not allow your strength to become your vulnerability.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “For you, that remains to be seen, Rowan, and will be based solely on the decisions you make.”

  “Is there something that I’m missing here, Helen?” I had no idea what she was talking about. “Pardon me for saying so, but you don’t sound quite like yourself.”

  “You are my patient and I am simply expressing my concern for your well being, Rowan.”

  It was my turn to ask, “You’re sure?”

  “Yes, I am sure.”

  “Well, I have to be honest. I’m not so certain that I’m understanding what you mean.”

  “You will,” she stated without emotion. “Though it may sound cliche, simply bear in mind that one should sometimes follow the road less traveled.”

  “Okay.” I paused for an awkward moment, not knowing what I should say. “So anything else?”

  “No. We will talk about it more during our next session.”

  “Okay,” I said again and physically shrugged out of reflex. “Did you need to speak with Ben?”

  “No,” she returned. “Just tell him that I am looking forward to this evening. Bye.”

  I barely managed to get my own parting words out before the line disconnected at her end, leaving me to feel thoroughly confused by the entire conversation.

  *****

  “Everything okay?” Ben asked me once I’d rejoined him at his desk.

  “Yeah, I think so. Where’s Charlee?”

  “She got called back down ta’ Vice. Ya’ sure everything’s okay?”

  “Yeah, everything’s fine. So what happens now that my theory might be a non-theory?”

  “Depends. We still don’t have a suspect, whether your theory is right or not.”

  “But the connection with Paige Lawson could lead to something, couldn’t it?”

  “Possible connection,” he corrected me. “I’ll admit, a very strong possibility, yeah, but we don’t have a smokin’ gun.”

  “Maybe not, but there’s definitely something there.”

  “Like I told ya’, I’m not sayin’ there isn’t.”

  “Good, because I know I’m right about this.”

  “You’re just fuckin’ dyin’ to say it, aren’t ya?”

  “Say what?”

  “I told ya’ so.”

  “Yeah, maybe a little.”

  “Well, you might wanna wait until we’ve got more ta’ go on. Who knows, we…”

  For the second time in the past hour, the phone on his desk demanded attention and brought our conversation to an unceremonious halt.

  “Homicide, Storm.” My friend answered the device with an annoyed clip in his voice, but then his tone quickly changed. “Oh, hey, what’s up?”

  Since he was now focused on the caller I began to drift. Instead of paying attention to his “uh-huhs” and “yeahs,” I was concentrating instead on a blank spot occupying the wall across the room. My brain was still reeling a bit as I tried to figure out the strange conversation I’d just had with Helen Storm. It was when he stopped grunting into the phone that the silence prompted me to look up and find him staring at me.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t know if I’d call ya’ wrong, but ya’ sure as hell ain’t right, Svengali.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “That was Chuck on the phone. Apparently the reason she got called back down ta’ Vice was because one of the rape victims showed up ta’ tell her somethin’ she suddenly remembered.”

  He just continued to stare at me then after a moment began to shake his head.

  “What?”

  “Jeezus…Guess I gotta say it. Accordin’ ta’ Chuck, this woman remembers somethin’ about a prom dress.”

  Even with my attention being less than par, it only took a split second for me to make the connection. I nodded and asked, “So can I say ‘I told you so’ now?”

  “Shut up.”

  CHAPTER 19

  “So are you going to talk to her?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” Ben nodded. “McLaughlin said we could meet in one of the interview rooms down there.”

  “Mind if I tag along?”

  “I don’t, but she might. I actually wouldn’t mind havin’ ya’ where I can keep an eye on ya’, but you need to remember this woman was raped. She might not be all that keen on a coupl’a men descendin’ on ‘er all of a sudden.”

  What my friend said made perfect sense. What didn’t make sense was the fact that I hadn’t considered that fact from the very beginning myself. Normally, I was far more sensitive to the feelings of those around me, and the circumstances arising from a situation like this should have been painfully obvious. At this particular moment, however, I seemed to be oblivious to the concept of empathy.

  My brain had pretty much been a jigsaw puzzle for the past two months, but instead of drawing closer to completion each day, entropy had been taking its toll. In some ways it even felt like a cosmic basket of kittens had been stealing pieces here and there when I wasn’t looking.

  Now, for a change, the forces of nature seemed to be acting in my favor. The smothering cocoon that had been spun around me by those wanting to keep me safe was giving way, whether they were ready for it to do so or not. Vindication was just around the corner, and the very fact that it was so close imbued me with confidence.

  Things were finally starting to come together, and I was determined that I would not be left out. I wasn’t about to miss any chance I had of regaining my stability. I wanted my life back, and something told me that an important piece of it was in the possession of this victim.

  “Okay, so what about those one way mirror things?” I suggested.

  “I wanna ask ‘er questions, not spy on ‘er,” my friend told me as he gathered up his notebook and shrugged on his jacket. “And the idea of me keepin’ an eye on ya’ kinda falls apart if you can see me but I can’t see you. Know what I mean?”

  “So you’re serious about that.”

  “Did’ya’ think I wasn’t?” He shook his head. “Look, ya’ can come downstairs with me. Hell, short of kickin’ ya’ out or throwin’ ya’ in holding, I doubt I can stop ya’. But, remember, this woman is a victim as well as a witness and you’re not a cop, so if she doesn’t want ya’ in there, I’m gonna set ya’ outside the door with a uniform or somethin’. Got it?”

  I nodded. “Of course.”

  We were already on the move, me at an almost jog to keep up with my friend’s normal
long-legged pace. He rummaged around in his pockets and withdrew a tin of breath mints, offering them to me after popping one in his own mouth.

  “You need one, smokey,” he said. “Trust me.”

  I took his advice, and then he snapped the lid shut and stuffed them back into his pocket.

  “You gonna call Felicity and tell ‘er you’re down here?” he asked as he jerked open a stairwell door and motioned me through.

  I took a quick glance at my watch. It was almost 10:30. The Santa Brigade, as they liked to call themselves, would be right in the middle of entertaining a group of kids at the moment. If everything were following the intended schedule, they would be heading out for the next stop in about an hour.

  “She’s got a full schedule, but she should have a bit of a break around eleven-thirty so they can all grab lunch,” I told him. “I’ll probably call her then.”

  “Don’t forget to check with ‘er about tonight.”

  “Will do. So if we’re able to make it, what should we bring?”

  “Just yourselves.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah, it’s not a big deal and we’ll have plenty. Hell, we always have too much. Although, ya’know, if ya’ happen ta’ think about it, Allison wanted the recipe for that beef tenderloin you guys served the other night.”

  His request reminded me that we had completely forgotten to tell everyone what they had actually eaten for the Yule feast. I thought about continuing to guard the secret, especially since Felicity wasn’t here to see his reaction, but I was just going to have to apologize to her for that. I needed the laugh right now.

  “Ummm, that wasn’t beef,” I said as we started down the stairs.