Perfect Trust argi-3

by M. R. Sellars

  “Rowan…”

  “It’s got something to do with the phone call the other night, doesn’t it?”

  “Dammit, Rowan…”

  “Tell me, Ben.”

  With an angry huff he yanked the door shut and turned to face me. “Goddammit, white man, haven’t we argued enough today?”

  “I’m not arguing,” I returned. “I just want to know what’s going on.”

  “Just trust me, Row. You don’t need ta’ be hearin’ this right now. I’ll tell ya’ when things settle down.”

  “It is about me then,” I retorted.

  “Yeah, it’s about you. Now leave it alone.”

  “Then tell me what it is!” I demanded again.

  “I’m serious, Row.”

  “I am too!”

  “All right. All fuckin’ right!” His voice rose slightly as he struggled to contain what seemed to be as much fear as anger. “You wanna know what it is so damn bad, then I’ll tell ya’. That call the other night was from Mandalay.”

  The name told me that the call couldn’t have been good. Constance Mandalay was a mutual friend, but she was also a special agent attached to the FBI’s Saint Louis field office.

  “She was callin’ about a murder in southern Missouri,” Ben continued. “It’s been kept outta the news so far, but everything points to a single suspect, up to and includin’ a partial set of fingerprints found at the scene.”

  “Me?” I asked, not fully grasping what he was telling me.

  “Hell no, not you, ya’ moron,” he returned. “Eldon Andrew Porter. You were fuckin’ right, okay? The sonofabitch ain’t dead.”

  CHAPTER 24

  I was stunned, but not by what Ben had just revealed.

  I wasn’t at all surprised that Eldon Porter was still alive. I had, of course, been the one person who believed that all along. What caught me completely and utterly unprepared was that Ben would keep this fact from me.

  I sat for what seemed a lifetime, silently gathering my thoughts and staring back at my friend. He was correct with his earlier comment. We had already argued more than enough for one day, but at the moment, I couldn’t help feeling as though I’d been grievously betrayed.

  The silence was finally broken by Detective McLaughlin clearing her throat and then unlatching the sliding door on the van. “I’ll see you two inside” was all she said before climbing out and yanking the door shut on the rumbling slides.

  “There… Are ya’ happy now?” Ben said coldly as we continued to play stare-down with each other.

  My jaw worked for a moment before I could get any words to come out. When they finally did, I had to force my voice to remain even and calm, although my query was thickly coated with an angry frost. “You’ve known this since Friday? Exactly when were you planning to tell me?”

  “Not known. Suspected. Suspected it since Friday,” he corrected. “I didn’t get a verification from Mandalay ‘till this mornin’ just before you showed up.”

  “And?” I pushed hard. “You still didn’t tell me.”

  “Yeah, and right now I’m starin’ at why,” he stated flatly.

  “What? You don’t think I have the right to be upset?”

  “Sure. Ya’ got the right ta’ be just as freakin’ upset as ya’ want, not that it’s gonna do ya’ any good.” He nodded. “But the deal is, you’ve got enough shit goin’ on right now, so I thought it was for the best ta’ keep it under wraps for a bit.”

  “That’s insane!” I told him. “You know as well as anyone that I’m probably number one on his hit list. I could tell by the look on your face when I said I felt like someone was following me that this has got you scared too.”

  “Yeah, and I ain’t the only one, believe me,” he offered. “But it’s bein’ taken care of.”

  “How so?”

  “You’ve got a lotta people lookin’ out for ya’, white man,” he explained. “There was more than just one call made Friday. The local coppers stepped up patrols in your neighborhood that night as a precaution, and Mandalay called Carl Deckert over at County. They’re keepin’ an eye on ya’ too.”

  “I haven’t noticed anything.”

  “You aren’t supposed ta’,” he sighed. “Ya’know, Mandalay is all over this too. She’s even been watchin’ over ya’.”

  “You still should’ve told me,” I spat. “Especially this morning.”

  “You were gonna find out tonight.”

  “Is that why you invited us over for Christmas Eve?”

  “Actually, we were already plannin’ to invite ya’. It just worked out this way, and I figured it’d be easier ta’ keep ya’ at the house if I already had you two there.”

  “Keep us at the house?”

  “Yeah, I’m movin’ ya’ in where I can keep an eye on you until we find this fuckhead and lock ‘im up.”

  “I suppose you’ve talked to Felicity about this?”

  “No. She didn’t need the headache either. Besides, last go ‘round when I tried ta’ do this she wasn’t havin’ any part of it. So I’m guessin’ she’s gonna be just about as reasonable as you are right now.”

  “You should be so lucky,” I chided.

  “Yeah, I know,” he grunted.

  “Dammit, Ben,” I muttered. “Felicity is running around the city unprotected right now.”

  “In public, with a group, and at one time or another a freakin’ camera crew from every local TV station has been followin’ ‘em around. They’ve also been gettin’ followed by a copper. She’s as safe as you are. We’ve got it under control, Rowan.”

  “I hope so.”

  “We do.” He sat for a long moment, allowing the words of reassurance to hang in the air between us before finally speaking again. “Now that ya’ know, ya’ might as well pack bags before comin’ over tonight.”

  “What about the dogs? And the cats?”

  “We’ll arrange somethin’.”

  “You know Felicity won’t go for this, Ben.” I shook my head. “Like you said, she didn’t last time. She won’t this time either.”

  “Yeah, well last time ya’ almost got killed, so I’m not givin’ ya’ a choice.”

  “You can’t do that,” I returned.

  “Ever hear of protective custody, Kemosabe?”

  “You wouldn’t…”

  “Fuckin’ try me.”

  *****

  “How’s it going?” I was fighting to keep the mix of depression, anger, and fear out of my voice as I spoke into the telephone. “Everyone having fun as usual?”

  It was early afternoon, but the “Santa Brigade” was booked right up until 5:30 p.m. this year. I had managed to remember enough of the schedule to catch my wife on her cell phone in between stops, since I had missed their lunch break. I could hear the upbeat chattering of the rest of the group in the background when she answered.

  “Great,” Felicity’s voice came back to me over the handset. Her brogue was returning, and I could hear how tired she was. But at the same time it was obvious that she was still running on excitement and a healthy dose of adrenalin. “Just to let you know, I’ve had three marriage proposals so far-one of them from a twelve-year-old, mind you, so you’d best watch out, then. Younger men do still find me attractive.” She punctuated the comment with a giddy laugh.

  “I’m not surprised. But I’ve told you that before.”

  “I still like hearing it, then. Of course, I still attract the older men it seems. About thirty minutes ago we were at a nursing home and an elderly gentleman in a wheelchair grabbed my arse. Not just once, but three times. Kept wanting me to sit on his lap.”

  “Did you?”

  “Only for a quick picture, and that would be when he grabbed it the third time.”

  “And you’re still calling him a gentleman?” I chuckled, the visual helping me to forget my worries, if only for a moment. “So you didn’t hurt him too much, did you?”

  “He was harmless, really,” she laughed. “Besides, it was probably
the biggest thrill he’s had all year. And I just have to look at it that I’m spreading the Christmas cheer, then.”

  “Beats a nut log, I guess.”

  “Aye, he said something like that too, but I’m thinking he meant it with a much different connotation.”

  “So what you are really saying is ‘elderly gentleman’ is short for ‘dirty old man’?”

  “Filthy would be more like it,” she giggled.

  “Well, considering the way you looked when you left this morning, I guess I can’t blame him. Sexiest Missus Santa-elf-helper-whatever I’ve ever seen.”

  “So you liked the outfit, then?” her voice held an undertone of satisfaction.

  “What do you think?”

  “Hmmmmm,” her voice lowered to a purr. “Maybe I’ll leave it on when I get home, then… For a little while anyway if you know what I mean.”

  If we’d had this conversation a few hours earlier, I would probably be looking for a place to hide, so I wouldn’t embarrass myself. Unfortunately-or perhaps fortunately as the case may be-the recent revelation from Ben was severely dampening my heretofore-overactive libido.

  “You might want to hold on to that thought, Lass,” I told her. “Allison and Ben have invited us over to their house for dinner.”

  “That’s nice,” she said. “What did you tell them?”

  “I said I’d have to ask you.”

  “You know,” she lowered her voice to a whisper, “you didn’t see what I put on underneath this costume.”

  She wasn’t making this easy, even with the preoccupation that was permeating my brain. I had briefly considered telling her the whole story but then decided against it. There was no reason for both of us to worry over this. Not at this particular moment anyway. People were depending on her and I needed to let that come first, for now.

  I just kept telling myself that Ben was correct. As long as she was with her group and out in the public eye, she was safe.

  “As much as I would like to unwrap that package-and believe me, I really, really do,” I told her, “I think we should probably go to the dinner.”

  “Are you sure?” I could hear an audible pout in her voice. “Wouldn’t we be intruding on their family time, then?”

  “Ben says no,” I replied then added a generic weightiness to the invitation. “It seems pretty important to him that we be there.”

  “Why is that, do you think?”

  “Dunno,” I said. “But I think it’s important enough to him that we should oblige.”

  “What I’m wearing underneath came from a catalog, then,” she offered in a sexy murmur.

  “Felicity…”

  She gave it one more try. “I could just wait for you under the Yule tree.”

  “Uh huh,” I fended her off. “Tomorrow. I promise.”

  “Okay, then,” she pouted into the phone again before moving on. “So are you going to make something to take over there? I’ll be late and won’t have…”

  “Already taken care of,” I cut her off. “He said don’t bring anything, so I figure I’ll just grab a bottle of wine out of the rack.”

  “Sounds good,” she acknowledged. “How about that eighty-six Zinfandel?”

  “The Caswell we bought a case of?”

  “Aye, that one.”

  “Okay. I can do that.”

  She paused at the other end, and I could literally feel her checking me out on an otherworldly level. “Are you okay, Rowan?”

  “I’m fine,” I lied. “Why?”

  “You sound distant. Like something is bothering you.”

  “I’m okay.”

  “You don’t feel okay to me, then.”

  “I’m just disappointed that I’m going to miss out on your offer.” At least that was only half a lie.

  “Hmmmm,” she purred again, apparently accepting the explanation. “Not missing out, just postponing.”

  “I like the sound of that better,” I said.

  “Oh, it will be worth the wait,” she murmured. “Trust me.”

  *****

  “Did ya’ tell ‘er?” Ben asked as I walked out of the conference room.

  “No,” I shook my head, “I’ll tell her later.”

  “Row…”

  “Hey,” I held up my hands to stop his objection, “I convinced her that we should go to your house for dinner tonight. I can pack a few things for her before she gets home, and we can both tell her when we get there.”

  “Isn’t she gonna be pissed when she finds out that ya’ ran a game on ‘er?”

  “And what I’m doing is different from what you planned to do, how?”

  “Touche.”

  “In answer to your question, however, yes, she’s going to be pissed,” I told him. “You know that. But look at the bright side. Your way she would have just been mad at you. My way she’ll be mad at both of us.”

  “Somehow I don’t find that particularly comfortin’,” he answered.

  “You shouldn’t.”

  “I got a brand new bottle of sixteen-year-old Bushmills at the house. Think we should get her drunk first, then tell ‘er?”

  “Neither of us can drink that much,” I mused. “She’d win and then we’d really be in trouble.”

  *****

  “There are thirty-eight Ash’s listed in the metro phone book,” Detective McLaughlin told us. “Spelled A-S-H, right, Rowan?”

  “That’s what I saw, but it might not have been the whole name.” I nodded with my answer.

  “Exactly.” She returned the nod. “Which is why we went right down the line on everything beginning with A-S-H. Still, it was a big help to cut out the A-S-C-H’s. All totaled there are three-hundred forty-nine Ash’s or Ash-whatever’s in the white pages.”

  “That’s better than I was expectin’,” Ben offered.

  “Don’t get excited just yet.” Charlee shook her head. “That’s only the metro phone book. We’re getting a printout from DMV right now, as well as a computer search on phone books from the surrounding counties. The number is gonna get bigger.”

  “Yeah, well happy holidays ta’ you too,” Ben told her with a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

  “Then you’re gonna love this. I was talking to Ackman and he asked if we were certain that Ash is the surname.” At the end of her sentence she turned a questioning gaze in my direction.

  “Honestly, I can’t be sure.” I shook my head and returned a frown. “So I’d have to say that it could be a first name.”

  “Well, that’s going to add some more to the pile.”

  “What about the street number?” I asked.

  “No hit so far,” she returned. “Not against the names anyway. There’s a handful of seventy-five thirty-fours in the metro area alone. Some businesses, some residential.”

  I seized on the information and posed a different question. “Are any of the commercial addresses photographic studios by any chance?”

  “No such luck. It would really help if we had a street name, or even a zip code.”

  Ben poured more water on the fire. “Assumin’ the number ain’t part of a zip code ta’ begin with.”

  “Any way you look at that it puts him too far out of state,” she replied. “If you plug numbers in before or after the seventy-five thirty-four, you end up with zip codes in Pennsylvania, North Carolina, South Dakota, Texas, and Oregon.”

  “Yeah, but he coulda moved here from one of those places,” Ben remarked. “We should prob’ly make some contacts just in case there’s somethin’ open that didn’t make it inta’ NCIC.”

  “Shouldn’t you be trying to narrow the scope instead of expanding it?” I asked.

  “We’ll start pickin’ the dolphins out as soon as we’re sure the net’s full,” he told me.

  “Okay, so what do we do now?”

  “We start looking at printouts and making phone calls,” Charlee answered.

  “That could take forever,” I exclaimed.

  She shrugged and shook her head. �
�Welcome to the fast-paced and exciting world of police work.”

  Ben clapped me on the shoulder. “Yeah, what she said. Who wants coffee?”

  CHAPTER 25

  I never wanted to see another telephone book or stack of green bar printer paper for as long as I lived.

  According to the window at the back of the conference room, it was dark outside. We had been at it hard and heavy for a few hours now, and I had lost all track of time. Since, in Ben’s words, I wasn’t a “duly authorized law enforcement officer,” I wasn’t allowed to make any of the actual calls. Instead, my presence had been utilized cross-referencing listings in various phone books against computer printouts and screens full of data on an ancient, out-of-focus monitor.

  I was tired, I had a headache, my eyes were itching, and I wanted a cigarette; but, most of all, I was depressed. We didn’t seem to have accomplished a thing. In fact, we were still perched firmly in the middle of square one, and someone else was redeeming a free turn card.

  The only positive thing to come out of it thus far was that I hadn’t been dwelling on Eldon Porter’s resurfacing. Well, not too much.

  “Stick a fork in me, I’m done,” Ben announced with a tired yawn as he sat back in his chair. He and Detective McLaughlin had been contacting other police departments within the range of possible zip codes. What I had been overhearing of their conversations had not sounded promising.

  “Anything at all?” I asked aloud.

  My elbows were resting on the table in front of me, and I was holding my head tight between my hands, palms on either side of my face. My brain felt as if it was about to explode, and I couldn’t be certain if it was from staring at all the shrunken print, something more sinister, or a combination of the two. I had my eyes closed and was slowly massaging my temples, trying to will the pain away.

  “Nada,” my friend returned. “Not a goddamned thing. And that was the last one, so it’s all we’re gonna get tonight.”

  “What about all these numbers from the phone books?” I asked. “Shouldn’t we start calling them?”

  “And say what, Row?” he contended. “Hi, this is Detective Storm with the city police department, and I’m just wonderin’, are you by any chance a crazed serial rapist?”