Bonne Femme

Chapter 9

Disapearance

At Richard's Apartment

        Richard lived in a section of the old town well away from campus in a small mid-century red brick bungalow with a porch-covered entrance fronted by a tiny raised lawn.

"Is this your family's home?" asked Jill as they walked up the steps.

She was dealing with the tension between them by acting as if it didn't exist.

        "No.  Mom sold the home place when she moved to Florida," he said, falling in with her pretense.

        The air greeting them was warm and stale.  Jill took in the living room with a frown.  A sofa sat facing a TV resting on a dining room chair in lieu of a stand or table.  No pictures adorned the walls.  Textbooks were balanced on the arm of the sofa and one sat atop the television. 

"When did you move in?" she asked.

        "Right after I got back to Cartier.  I've been meaning to get some things to kind of fill up the space, but what with the carpentry work, I haven't gotten around to it."

"You are a carpenter?"

        "No, just a handyman if anything.  The old man I rent from gave me a break on the rent in exchange for replacing the windows and doors.  I got that done just before . . . right at the end of the last semester.  I worked for a general contractor during high school . . . learned framing, basic plumbing, and electric," he said.  "I rewired the place and put in new stuff in the bathroom.  Don't tell anyone but it's not code because I'm not licensed."

        The situation had changed between them, and each was searching for a comfortable way to come to terms with it.  Jill was staying, at least temporarily, of her own will.  Richard was glad, but feared that she would change her mind.  He was more than chagrined at having told her that he loved her.  Remembering his words and her response, he felt like a fool.  All Jill knew was that she only felt safe when he was near.  At times she still suspected that he had skillfully manipulated her into feeling that way.  Then again, he seemed far too inept to have orchestrated things to make them turn out the way they had.   

She went to the bathroom and flipped the switch.

        Matching white sink, tub, and commode all sported shiny new chrome fixtures.  A newly laid but disturbingly mauve tile floor was partially obscured by a frayed and faded oval hook rug.  An off-white bath towel hung crookedly over the top of the partially opened shower enclosure affixed to the tub.  Everything looked shabby but clean.  

179.

       "Plumbing and wiring in the city has to be done by licensed professionals," he said, apparently forgetting that he had already told her, "But Mr. Clarkson can't afford it, so we help each other out.  Don't worry though.  The place won't burn down around you or flood you out."

        "Why do you not have more furniture?" she asked as they went back to the living room.

He shrugged.

"This isn't a home.  It's just where I sleep."

        Although she wondered at the absence of family pictures, Jill didn't ask.  In fact, she was glad not to be immersed in a world steeped in his personal life.  Then she thought uneasily that perhaps he didn't have a personal life other than obsessing on her.

       The truth was that after Somalia Richard had been unable to work up enthusiasm for anything in the "real world" except working with his hands and studying criminology.  Before Jill, his life was old-work carpentry, reading, and trying not to think about himself.

He turned on the television.

"The remote's on the sofa.  I'll go strip the bed and put on new sheets and stuff."

"Thank you," she said although there was nothing she wanted to watch.

        Richard went into the bedroom and took the thermal blanket from the bed, folded it carelessly and took it to the living room where he deposited it on the floor by the empty couch.  He heard the water running and went to the kitchen.

        The refrigerator door was open and Jill was peering inside.  A plastic jug containing coagulated milk, a stick of butter darkened with age and disuse, half a loaf of rye bread with the twist tie off, and a six pack of beer with one can missing comprised the entire contents.

        "I don't eat much here either," he said as passed carrying dirty sheets to the washer in the back room.

        "Oh," said Jill slightly embarrassed at being caught snooping.  "I was hoping you had some bottled water.  The chlorine in the tap water is unpleasant."

"I'll go get you some if you want," he said.

180.

 

       "No.  I may not be here that long.  I must wash my face," she said avoiding his eyes.  "I am tired.  I think I shall go to bed early."

"Okay.  Mind if I turn the air on?"

"It is your house."

        Richard did a bachelor's version of laundry, listening for her sounds and worrying about what she had decided to do.  Perhaps one of the world's least intuitive people, he nevertheless realized that Jill was more uncomfortable now than when they had shared the cabin.  With rare insight (for him) he understood that she had adapted to the frightening situation in an isolated and alien environment of Bonne Femme.  Here, she was in the same frightening situation, but in a thoroughly familiar and commonplace one.  That made it more real.

"There's a lock on the bedroom door," he called out.

        "Yes," she said, coming from the bathroom.  "Even I can pick one of those.  All that is needed is a matchstick."

"Let me show you something then," he said bringing in a chair from the kitchen.

        "This really works.  It's not just for the movies," he said as he demonstrated how to prop it under the knob. 

"You'd have to collapse the chair to break through the door."

"If I were worried about you I would not be here, Richard."

He opened the door and set the chair inside.

"Well use it if you begin to feel insecure tonight."

 

        Jill lay awake, not for fear of Richard, but because the meeting at the cafeteria had made it clear that Mic and Richard were now enemies.  The thought that she was in the middle of a conflict between men who had been trained to kill and who had killed made sleep impossible.  Both Mic's apology and Richard's acceptance of it had been a charade.  Had they done that solely for her benefit?  And if so, why?  Were they still competing for her?

Jill turned on her side, seeking a more comfortable position.

181.

        Richard has to be exaggerating the danger.  Mic doesn't intend to kill me.  He can't!  That doesn't happen to real people, she told herself.

        She hadn't done anything to make him that angry.  People broke up all the time.  Besides, it was obvious from the beginning that he had never really cared for her that much.  Revenge could be his motive as Richard had said.  If so then moving in with Richard could make thing worse.

       She turned again, seeing again the angry scar on Mic's forehead where Richard had hit him with a bottle.

I am caught between two vicious men. 

        The awful tap water had caused her to abstain from drinking.  Now she was extremely thirsty.  She tiptoed though the dark and carefully turned the knob, not because she was afraid, but because she didn't want to talk to Richard.  Clad in flannel pajamas, she went barefooted to the kitchen.  On the way back, she noticed that he had shifted onto his back.  As she reached the bedroom he spoke, startling her.

"Is everything okay?"

"Yes.  I was just thirsty."

"Goodnight then."

"Goodnight," she replied.

        The conventional exchange was chilling in a way.  It made her wonder what she knew and what she did not.  Everything in her life had been turned upside down.  It seemed that everything was guesswork.

Richard says that he is no longer a soldier because of the boy soldier he killed.

I wonder why Mic is no longer a soldier.

 

June 10

        She awoke to the sound of water running, and realized that Richard was taking a shower.  She was in his place, and she didn't belong.  After locking the door she slipped off her pajama top and pulled on a sweatshirt.  He knocked softly at the door.

 

182.

       "The bathroom's free," he said.  "I'm going for coffee.  Want me to bring you back some?"

        She had seen coffee next to the coffee maker in the kitchen.  He was making the trip to give her privacy as she washed and dressed.

"No.  But take a little time.  Read a paper or something," she said.

        What she had said didn't sound polite, so she added, "Can you wait for breakfast so that I may go too?"

        "Sure.  I'll set the deadbolt when I leave, but you slip on the security chain as soon as I'm out.  How about I stay gone about half an hour?"

"Forty-five minutes would be better."

"Got it," he said.

 

        As she pulled off the sweatshirt, Jill saw her hair in the bathroom mirror and grimaced.  Despite Richard's rainwater, a month in the wild had not been kind to it.  It looked and felt healthy, but disheveled.  Although not given to vanity, she never felt ready to face the world with bad hair.  Despite the cost, she decided to have it cut and styled.  Since she wouldn't have time to dry it before Richard returned, she wrapped it in a towel before stepping into the shower.

        She had time only for a quick prep, foregoing everything but a light application of lipstick.  Instead of answering when she heard a knock at the door, she raced across the room on tiptoes and looked carefully through the window.  Richard's car was parked on the street.

"Richard?" she called, not removing the security chain until she heard him answer.

"Good," he said when she opened the door.  "You're being careful."

"Yes, I've learned that at least," she said as she stepped out.

        "Where do you want to go for breakfast?" he asked as he inserted his key to lock the deadbolt.

"Somewhere economical," she said.  "I'm buying."

"No, I'll pay for it," he said, assuming that would settle the matter.

"If I cannot pay then I will not go," said Jill as they went down to the car.

 

183.

 "Okay," he said.  "But only today.  The way things are---"

        "Let us not talk about it now," she said, cutting him off.  "I have a favor to ask.  Can you take me to the salon to have my hair done."

"No problem.  I'll rent the tools to set your deadbolts while you're there."

"Do not rent them yet.  I may not go back."

        He left the comment pass without comment lest he find a way to screw things up again.

 

        Richard bought the local paper outside the McDonald's.  After negotiating the line, they took their breakfast sandwiches and coffee to a table near the sparsely populated play area.  At eight in the morning, most of the sit down patrons were elderly.

"Thank you for trying to protect me, Richard," said Jill without looking at him.

Her remark dismayed him.  Surely she didn't think it was over.

"Okay," he said carefully.  "Where does that leave us?"

        "It leaves me in control.  I have to decided to accept your offer for the time being, but you must not tell me what to do or where to go."

"Okay."

"And I will go back to my apartment when I wish."

He nodded.

        "And I have been thinking.  Maybe I will decide that we should totally . . . disengage.  If that is what I decide then you must promise not to try to stop me or talk me out of it."

He was alarmed, but realized that she was in no mood for argument.

        "I know about him now," she said.  "He is angry and violent, but you yourself told me that he is angry because he thinks you took me from him.  And you have been violent with him also.  If we are no longer together, does this not remove the thing that makes him so angry?"

 

184.

       "I'm not going to argue with you," he said carefully.  "But I'm going to tell you what I see.  Mic won't be satisfied until he hurts both of us, and I mean hurts us physically."

        "And I think that if we end the charade that we are romantically involved he will no longer have a reason to harm us."

She picked up her purse.

"The salon is now open.  Can you take me there please?"

 

        Richard sat reading the paper and trying not to worry.  The day was warm and he had the windows down.  He read about the major league pennant races still in their early stages, the Presidential conventions shortly to take place, and the interminable squabbling of the town council and mayor.  The editorial page was tedious declamation.  He folded the paper without reordering the pages and tossed it into the passenger side floor in disgust.

        He looked at his watch, then at the sky, and the passing traffic in the rearview mirror.  Finally his eyes drifted to the picture of a young woman on the discarded newspaper.  The face was vaguely familiar, but he couldn't place her.  She looked nineteen or twenty when the picture (a professional pose?) was taken.  Cute, rather than pretty, she had the sort of slightly rounded facial features that suggested future serial dieting.

He retrieved the paper for a closer look.

"STILL NO CLUES ON MISSING WOMAN," read the small headline.

        "Authorities still report no clues as to the whereabouts of Annette Roseanne Ford, missing since last month.  Fellow employees say they last saw Miss Ford, a waitress at Johnson's Riverfront Cafe in Holcomb, after work on the night of May 19.  She was subsequently reported missing by her sister, Bethany Lowe of Murdoch.  Anyone having information concerning Miss Ford is asked to contact the Lake County Sheriff's Department."

Richard studied the picture.  Then he had it.

Rose!  The woman in Tonto's!

       A peck at the window startled him.  It was Jill.  He leaned across the passenger seat to open the balky door for her.

"Look at this," he said, handing her the paper as she slid in.

She read the short article, and then looked carefully at the picture.

 

185.

"Do you know her?"

        "I saw her in May.  She was with Mic that day I went to talk with him for you.  He treated her like crap."

Richard's timing made Jill suspicious.

"Jill, he talked about the way she looked as if she wasn't there."

"Mic has a habit of that.  Of course you know this about him."

"He humiliated her, and made her take it by holding her there by the nape of the neck."

Jill didn't remember telling Richard about Mic doing the same thing to her.

"You are sure this is the woman you saw?"

        "I think so.  He called her ‘Rose.'  I'm going to talk to JR about it.  If it is her maybe he already knows that Mic was involved with her.  If he doesn't he needs to know."

        "Because it she is dead then you think Mic killed her," she said.  "Could it all really be true?  I hoped you were . . . mistaken."

"Mistaken as in deluded or lying?"

        "You have no right to be angry with me," she said.  "But let us go talk to you friend, JR."

 

        At JR's

        JR was familiar with the case, having done the initial missing person's investigation, and he was eager to hear what Richard had to say.  He was off duty after pulling a night shift so he asked them to drive out to his house.  He met them at the door in stocking feet, jeans, and a T-shirt that emphasized the extra pounds above his belt.  He looked past Richard as they shook hands.

"JR, this is Jill Belbenoit," said Richard.  "Jill, JR Reeves."

"I am pleased to meet you," she said.

        "The pleasure's all mine ma'am," said JR before turning back to Richard.  "So how's my favorite jar head?"

 

186.

       "Not prospering as much as you are if that belt line is any indicator.  Married life must suit you."

        "Can't blame this on Betty," he said slapping his waist.  "She's a wonderful girl, but not blessed with excessive culinary ability.  I got me a case of Dunlap's disease."

Jill's frown delighted him.

        "You see what happened is my belly done lapped over my belt.  Sorry, ma'am.  I'm addicted to that nonsense.  Come on in."

He held the screen door to show them in.

        "Can I get you something to drink?  Got Coke in the fridge, and there's a little coffee left that's not too old."

"I'll take some coffee," said Richard.

"Nothing for me, thank you," said Jill.

They sat at the kitchen table.

"Okay.  You said you might have something to tell me about the missing Ford woman."

JR turned to Jill.  "Or are you the one who has the information?"

"No.  I am just a . . . a friend---of Richard's.  I did not know the woman."

        "JR," said Richard.  "Remember that guy you got me the information on?  Did you know that he was seeing your missing woman back in May?"

"No I didn't.  Why didn't you tell me before now?"

        "I was out of town when she went missing.  The first I knew about it was when I saw it in the paper today."

"Okay.  Why didn't you just tell me that when you phoned?"

"I thought it best to tell you face to face."

JR looked at Jill briefly before turning his attention back to Richard.

"Why?"

 

187.

       "Because there's more to it than him just seeing her.  Nothing concrete . . . it's more how he treated her than anything else.  The relationship was abusive."

"He beat her?"

        "Well, what I saw was more emotional abuse than that . . . maybe a little physical intimidation.  He said some humiliating things about her and restrained her when she tried to leave."

 JR nodded noncommittally.  "That's all?"

"That's it, I guess."

        "So all we really have is this connection to William Boyd.  No one's mentioned that.  Fact is, no one seems to know much about her, not even her sister."

JR pushed his note pad around the Formica table top absently, his brow knitted.

"I'll have to talk to this guy.  How long have you known him?"

"Since Somalia.  Make it about five years."

"What is he doing here, Richard?"

"Going to college---computer marketing or something."

        JR folded up the notebook and recapped his pen.  He looked out the door into the sunlit back yard, took a sip of his soda, and then set the can down carefully on the plastic surface of the table.  Turning his pale eyes at each of them in turn, he addressed Richard.

"What else is going on here?"

"What do you mean?"

        "You ask me to do a background check on him back in May, and specifically ask about unsolved homicides and disappearances.  Then you leave town.  Soon after that this woman goes missing.  Now you come back to me with a story about him abusing her.  Why do I get the feeling that you know more than you're telling me?"

"I told you everything I know."

 

188.

"No you didn't.  You didn't tell me why you are so tangled up with this guy."

He turned to Jill.

"I take it you're the girl he's been worried about."

Jill looked sharply at Richard.

        "I told him back in May that I was worried that Mic might do something to you," he said.

"Mr. Reeves," she said.  "I used to date Mic.  Now I am with Richard."

JR smiled humorlessly.

        "Your friend here thinks Mr. Boyd killed that woman, Miss Belbenoit.  Do you think he's right?"

"I think Mic is a violent man," she said carefully.

"And neither of you have knowledge of anything else?"

        "JR," said Richard.  "I saw him do things, but nothing punishable outside of a war crimes trial---which will never happen."

"So tell me.  And also fill in the blanks as far as the three of you are concerned."

        Richard told him about Somalia in general terms, limiting himself to what he had actually seen Mic do, but omitting his speculations.  He also told him about Mic's threats concerning Jill, and about his veiled reference to doing something when he was in high school.  Afterwards, JR sat silently staring into Richard's face with unblinking eyes for a long moment without speaking.

Finally he said, "I'm going to go have a talk with your friend."

"He's not my friend."

        "No, I don't imagine so," he said, looking speculatively at Jill who had remained silent during Richard's recitation.  "He's gonna connect my questioning to the two of you."

"Can you keep me up to speed on what you find out, JR?"

"I can't divulge official information to a civilian, Richard."

 

189.

       "Come on, JR!  All I'm asking is for you to give me a heads up if there's something I need to know."

"I'll do what I can."

"Good enough."

"Yeah.  Well, could you go on out to the car and let me talk to Miss Belbenoit alone?"

Richard was taken aback for a moment, but then nodded.

"Tell me about Richard, Boyd, and you," he said.

        "I do not know what happened before between them," she said.  "But Mic attacked him."

"I know they had a fight over you back in May.  Is that the attack you're referring to?"

"Yes, but I was not there."

"So you don't really know what happened.  Did he ever assault you?"

"I'm not sure that what he did to me is a crime under American law."

"Michigan law," corrected JR.  "Tell me what he did."

"He didn't strike me, but he held me by my hair and . . . took me by the throat."

"He tried to strangle you?"

"I thought he was going to, but . . . he didn't."

"So that's what the fight was about?"

"No.  I did not tell Richard."

"Why not?"

        "Because at that time he was Mic's friend, not mine.  At least I thought they were friends."

JR raised an eyebrow at here comment, but didn't pursue it.

"Why didn't you file a complaint?"

 

190.

       "Mr. Reeves, I was alone with him by my choice.  I was dating him.  No one saw it, and it left no bruises.  It would be my word against his, no?"

JR appraised her silently a moment and then nodded.

"Tell me what you're trying to do in this situation," he asked.

"Situation?  What do you mean?"

        "The two of them fighting over you---that's what's going on, isn't it?  How do you feel about that?"

"It makes me ill," she said.  "I want it to end."

        "And you're not trying to wind Richard up and turn him loose on Boyd to get back at him for what he did to you?"

Jill clenched her jaw angrily.

        "If I were a man, I would beat him up myself, but I would not do what you are saying."

"Why not?  How else can a woman defend herself?"

        "By being smart enough to avoid a recurrence," she said evenly.  "I did not start this, and I am not taking advantage of your friend.  What you imply is insulting."

Jill pursed her lips in consternation.

        "But of course.  That is what it looks like, does it not?  Believe as you wish, Mr. Reeves.  We are telling the truth."

        "Stuff like that seems to have a lot of different truths depending on what angle you look at it, Miss Belbenoit.  It's not prosecutable yet, as long as it doesn't go any further."

        "And you are warning me not to . . . provoke more trouble between them.  Believe me, that is the last thing I want."

        "Well good.  But there's one other thing I wanted to ask you about.  What do you think happened to the Ford woman?"

"I have no idea.  I do not know her or the situation."

JR relaxed his manner and smiled reassuringly at her.

"Don't take anything I just said personally, Jill.  I can call you ‘Jill,' can't I?"

 

 191.

She nodded.

"Richard's a friend.  I don't want to see anything else happen to him."

A chill of apprehension hit her.

"What do you mean?  What has happened to him?"

JR shook his head dismissively.

        "Maybe nothing.  He's just not quite the same since he got back.  Then again, maybe he's just not a kid anymore.  That's what we were before he went into the Marines and I went to college."

 

        "He made me angry, especially at first," Jill said on the way back.  "Why was he so rude?"

        "Provoking is an interrogation technique," Richard explained.  "Concealing stuff takes effort.  Emotion and reason are like oil and water.  When you're angry or scared it's harder to keep your lies consistent."

"Does he believe you?"

"Enough to check Mic out.  Otherwise I'd say he's about where you are."

She turned at his casual remark.

"Tell me ‘where I am on that,'" she challenged.

        "You accept some of it, but you think that I'm exaggerating and you think I'm imagining some of it."

Jill nodded confirmation and stared out the window.

"He says that you have changed since going to Somalia."

He nodded without taking his eyes from the road.

"Richard, what will Mic do when he discovers that you told Mr. Reeves about him?"

"Leave town I hope."

 

192.

 

Update from JR       

        They swung by her apartment for more clothes and then he took her to Marta's, extracting a promise to call him if anything alarming happened during the night.  Instead of undressing and going to bed when he got home, Richard placed his wallet, keys, and cell phone on the floor by the couch, kicked off his shoes, wrapped himself in the blanket fully-clothed, and settled in on the couch.

The phone jerked him awake at ten.

"Yeah?" he said, anticipating Jill's voice. 

        "Richard.  This is JR.  I haven't taken a statement from Boyd yet.  I'll do that tomorrow.  I called to tell you something, but keep it confidential---nothing you couldn't get yourself with a little work, but I thought I'd save you the time.  Just don't let anyone know I used department resources to get it for you."

"Got it," he said.

        "Good enough.  More background," he began without further preliminary.  "William McCulloch Boyd, born eleven, fourteen, seventy-three in Cassville, Missouri.  Graduated ninety-one, went into the Marines directly out of high school, but not before getting six months probation for aggravated assault, with both charge and the sentence dropped after only two weeks---I shouldn't have been able to find that out, but the records weren't expunged for some reason.  General discharge in ninety-five---no arrests since, not even a speeding ticket."

"He told me that he just didn't reenlist.  General discharge, huh?"

"Yeah.  So?"

        "Leave on good terms, and they give you an honorable discharge.  General means they don't want you anymore."

"Sort of damning with faint praise, huh?"

        "No praise about it.  Any record of where he's been between his discharge and now?"

        "Let me see---yeah.  Filed federal income tax from Glenville, West Virginia last year, San Diego, California the year before."