Bonne Femme

Chapter 17

Telling Alberto

Cassville, 3:15 PM

        "I don't think just one more day here would do us any good," said Richard on the way back to the motel.  "Why don't we head back this afternoon."

"Then you must drive all night.  Spending the night will cost no more."

        "I get tired driving at night, but never sleepy.  Marta will be really disappointed if we don't get back in time for you to meet her fiancée."

"I suppose."

        She had seemed listless all day, but her lukewarm response to the mention of meeting Marta's fiancée concerned him.

"Is something wrong?"

        "We know nothing more than before we came.  No one here thinks he could have done it, not Mr. Spence, Miss Morgan, nor even Mr. Canaday."

"I got the impression that Canaday came around to thinking it possible," he said.

"Maybe he was just humoring us.  He finds it hard to believe."

        "Some things are hard to believe despite the evidence.  I woke up in Somalia having trouble believing that I was actually there, that people I didn't even know wanted to kill me.  Our minds instinctively reject the awful."

Jill thought of her stay on Bonne Femme and everything that had happened to her since.

"Believe me, Richard.  I know."

 

298.

 

Secondary Target

 Cartier, 11:30 PM

        Marta slipped out of her clothes and drew on a terry cloth robe as the bath water ran, looking forward to a leisurely soak before bed.  She couldn't wait to tell Jill the news.  Over dinner she and Alberto had decided to advance their wedding to late May and then honeymoon in Spain on the estate of his uncle near Seville.  She tested the water with a swish of her foot, and, satisfied, turned off the tap.  Just as she was about to step in, the phone rang.  She hurried toward it, sure that it was either Jill calling to tell her she was back home, or Alberto phoning from his hotel with a few last words of endearment before bed.

"Halo," she said expectantly.

"Buenas noches, Marta."

She almost dropped the phone when she recognized the voice.

"What do you want?" she finally said.

"To talk . . . for a start," he said softly.

"It is late," she said, unable to think of a more pointed response.

"Yeah."  After a pause, he continued.  "Are you in bed?"

"Why do you call me?  You and I, we have nothing to speak of.  I hang up now."

        The clumsy English irritated her.  Mic was beneath her contempt.  One did not waste time with such people."

        "You shouldn't do that, Marta," he warned.  "You need to listen carefully.  I have something real important to say.  I wouldn't want you to miss it."

        Unable to put down the receiver, Marta felt herself grow cold and weak as possibilities raced through her mind.  Alberto?  Jill?

"What must you tell me?" she finally managed to ask.

        "I made a mistake taking up with Jill.  I didn't see you for what you are . . . a seductively attractive woman.  We might have a lot of fun together if we gave it a chance."

 

299.

        "I'm engaged!" she said indignantly.  "I am not interested in you.  Leave me alone!"

        She was trembling.  It was a nightmare that he should suddenly become interested in her.  In shock, she continued to hold the phone to her ear instead of hanging up as she should have.

"Oh," he said mockingly.  "No me moteste!"

"Exactly.  Do not trouble me."

He laughed.

        "You better think that over.  You need to keep your options open in case something happens.  You know bad things happen all the time to people.  Your fiancée may meet with some kind of trouble.  You just never---"

        Marta slammed the phone into its cradle, breaking a nail to the quick in the process.  Almost grateful for the distraction of the pain, she opened the nightstand drawer and rummaged for clippers.  After trimming it raggedly she sat hugging herself on the edge of the bed and sobbed silently as the forgotten bathwater grew cold.  Jill and Richard were gone, and there was no one she could call and nowhere to go.

         She considered calling Alberto, even considered asking to spend the night with him, but she couldn't explain that.  Nor could she tell him, lest he seek Mic out for an immediate confrontation.  Visions of the beating she and Jill had witnessed in the parking lot haunted her.   Clutching her robe closed, she went from room to room, flipping switches until every room was lit and checking each door to make sure it was locked and bolted.  Finally she went to the bedroom and flung herself on the bed, hoping to sleep.  Soon, however, she was up again rechecking the doors.  Then she examined the windows.  All the locks and latches seemed as flimsy as stage props.

         Back in the bedroom, she drew the curtains tight and then secured them with safety pins.  Then she closed the bedroom door and propped a chair under the knob.  Finally, she turned off the light.  Once again in bed, she pulled the covers over her head and curled into a fetal position.  She lay awake, imagining horrid possibilities while, with burning eyes and queasy stomach she wished for daylight.

 

 300.

Cartier, September 8

        Richard's preconceptions were wrong.  He had expected to encounter an arrogant don with pretensions of aristocracy, but he liked Alberto immediately.

"Señor Muerga," he began when they were introduced.

        "Alberto, Richard, if you will permit me to use your first name.  After all, our fiancées are good friends."

"You honor me," said Richard.

The comment drew a raised eyebrow from Jill.

"Marta tells me you are a policeman?" said Alberto.

        "I was only an auxiliary deputy for a short time, but I'm studying for a career in law enforcement.  You run an export-import business, correct?"

        "The family does.  I'm afraid that my occupation is not as interesting as the one you have chosen."

        "You're kidding.  You travel throughout Europe, wheeling and dealing, making important decisions.  Most of my time will be spent serving papers and running the back roads in the middle of the night."

        "All occupations are mundane, I suppose.  As for my extensive traveling, I'm afraid that offices and warehouses look much the same from Paris to Peoria."

Richard laughed.

"He's like you.  He speaks better English than I do."

        The conversation was light and enjoyable, but Jill had noticed Marta's preoccupation from the start.  Something had gone wrong.  Perhaps her engagement was unraveling.

"Marta, I need to visit the ladies' room," she said.  "Come with me?"

        Richard had been seeking a way to talk to Alberto alone.  Now, as he watched the women walk to the back of the restaurant, he wondered if Jill had read his mind.

 

301.

"Has Marta told you anything about the trouble Jill and I are having?"

"If the matter is personal, she would not."

        "So, she hasn't told you," mused Richard.  "Well, I think a man has the right to know everything that might involve his woman."

        "Yes." said Alberto, suddenly alert.  "But you say this trouble involves you and Jill.  What does it have to do with Marta?"

        "Right now, nothing except that she's Jill's best friend.  I want to keep it that way, but I might not be able to."

        Richard quickly filled Alberto in on the situation with Mic, including only the fact that he was violent, unstable, and obsessed with Jill.  He withheld his suspicion that Mic had killed Rose Ford.

        "You obviously think that there is a danger that this man will harass Marta also," he said grimly.  "What should I do?"

"Take her with you," said Richard without hesitation.

        Alberto sipped his wine and studied Richard intently for a moment.  Putting the glass down, he shook his head.

"She will not go, even if I insist.  She is a stubborn woman."

He frowned in concentration.

        "Perhaps you exaggerate the danger.  Please do not be offended, but no one has to tell people like us about danger.  In my country we are very security conscious.  I am sure you have heard of the kidnappings.  If Marta thinks she has something to fear, she will leave this place.  She is stubborn, but not foolish."

        "The last thing I want to do is worry you, Alberto, but this was something you had to know."

        "Thank you, my friend.  Can I call you that?  I ask because I need a favor of you, Richard."

"Of course.  Anything."

        Alberto took his wallet and a pen from his jacket pocket, extracted a business card, and hurriedly wrote on it before sliding it across the table. 

        "That is a number where I can always be reached.  Inform me of anything else that I must know."

 

302.

"Of course.  I'll also keep an eye out for her."

        "There is something else, Richard.  That house she is renting.  Have a security system installed.  Send the bill to the number on that card."

        Suddenly, Alberto realized that he had been talking to Richard as if giving orders to one of his subordinates.

        "Permit me to buy a similar system for your home also, my friend."

        "Thank you, Alberto, but that won't be necessary.  I have good locks, a firearm, and military training."

As the women came toward the table, Alberto leaned forward.

       "Shall we will keep this between ourselves," said Alberto softly.  "Our women must be permitted to enjoy the evening."

 

September 9

 

        "You can't start keeping things from me like this!" Richard said in exasperation.

        "I told you.  She only told me last night.  She made me promise not to say anything while Alberto was still here.  She was afraid that he would confront Mic."

        "That's not the point.  We have to share everything.  There can't be information we hold back.  We can't afford that."

        Jill knew he was right, however, there were certain details of Mic's behavior that she had no intention of sharing with him for the same reason that Marta withheld what had happened from Alberto.  Marta was sure Alberto could not prevail against Mic.  Jill felt the same way about Richard.

"You are right," she said.

        Given the same circumstances she would do the same thing again.  It was the way women protected their men more frequently than men suspected.  Of course, she didn't consider Richard "her man," but, without conscious intention, he had become her responsibility as much as he had made her his responsibility. 

 

303.

A phone rang, and Richard picked up.

        "Sure.  If you've got more information I want to see it.  When do you get off?" he asked before putting his hand over the receiver.

        "JR has more background for me.  Can you and Marta stay together at school until four today?"

She nodded.

"All right, JR.  Out at your place?  Okay."

He hung up the phone and rubbed both hands over his face wearily.

"Look, I'm sorry.  I have no right to holler at you.  Forgive me?"

"I should have told you sooner, but I could not."

        "I kept something back too," he said.  "When you two left the table last night, I filled Alberto in.  I told him that Marta might be in danger."

"She will be upset.  She does not want him to worry."

        "If Alberto finds out about the phone call, he'll insist that she leave.  I think it would be a good idea."

"She made me promise not to let him find out, Richard."

        "I made a promise too.  I told him I'd install a security system for her and inform him of anything else that happens.  Don't you think this falls under that heading?"

"She did not say what Mic said, only that he called.  Maybe you should tell him."

        Until recently Mic had ignored Marta.  Richard suspected that his interest now was only secondary.

        "He probably just called trying to find out where we were.  If she acted upset, he wouldn't resist trying to upset her more.  If he threatened her, she would have told you, wouldn't she?"

"Yes."

        "I don't suppose telling Alberto would serve any purpose other than worry him.  I think we can all breathe a little easier once I get the security system installed.  Of course the best solution might be for her to move in here.  You two could share the bedroom."

        "I might persuade her to stay for a day or two, but she will not move in with us.  I already asked."

 

304.

        Richard followed in the Cougar while Jill picked up Marta, and stayed with them until they were safely at the campus.  He bought groceries and got an oil change before returning to the apartment to kill time until JR went off duty.  After a phone call to check on the girls, he drove out.  The early afternoon sun burned uncomfortably through the windshield despite the premature thirty-degree temperature and a gusty northwest wind.  Already almost daily small craft warnings were being issued.  Gale season would hit the lakes soon.

A uniformed but shoeless JR opened the door.

"Have a seat.  Coffee?" he asked showing him to the kitchen table.

"Sure," replied Richard, taking his seat.

        "That sheriff down in Missouri didn't sound too impressed by you the other day," JR said over his shoulder as he poured coffee into blue enamel camping cups, the kind Richard called lip burners.

        "Coffee tastes better made in one of these things," said JR, holding up an ancient percolator with a glass bulb on the lid.

        "The trick is not to clean it too often.  Let it build up the right amount of oil to season the pot.  Pitch in a smidgen of salt or a mite of eggshell to settle out the grounds, and it's perfect."

"JR's version of the Japanese tea ceremony?"

        "Aunt Darma's.  That lady could cook up a storm.  Best biscuits in the world:  flaky, melt-in-your-mouth moist---cathead biscuits."

Richard sipped carefully, wary of the hot metal's threat to his lips.

"My compliments to Aunt Darma," he said.  "Where are them biscuits?"

        "Sorry, all you get is this," said JR, taking a manila file from atop the refrigerator and handing it to him.

        "Boyd's service records, driver's records, and an updated criminal record---or the lack of one rather.  He's clean as a hound's tooth since the Marines."

"Can I copy this?"

        "In longhand.  Can't take it with you.  It could get kind of awkward if anyone found out.  I'm using department resources for your investigation."

        Richard nodded his understanding, took a pen and pad from his shirt pocket, and jotted down dates and one and two word notations as he read through the records from Barry County confirming the Spence's account of dropped assault charges of assault and property damage just previous to Mic's enlistment.

        "From this it seems like the judge made the right decision," said Richard as he quickly scanned the other reports in the file.   "Since he left Cassville he's served his country, stayed out of trouble, paid his taxes, and now he's getting an education."

 

305.

"No, he ain't."

"Well it's not in here, but he's been at Pere Marquette since last fall."

        "Never enrolled, Richard.  Not working either as far as I can determine.  Money without visible means, what does that tell you?"

"Drugs?"

        "Something illegal unless he's inherited enough to not have to work or has a woman supporting him."

"If he's not attending college, what the hell brought him to Cartier?"

"Well it's a nice place," said JR.

"Not that nice," murmured Richard, turning his attention to Mic's service record.

        Like Richard, Mic had enlisted for a six-year hitch and made his promotions on time, the only blemish being a non-judicial punishment concerning a serious lack of judgment involving the rules of engagement.

"Did you see this?"

He turned the file toward and pointed to the passage.

        "Couldn't be too serious," said JR.  "Didn't even lose a stripe.  What's that ‘rules of engagement?'"

        "The conditions under which you're free to shoot at someone.  In general these so-called peacekeeping missions allow return fire only."

"The bad guys get to take the first shot, but you think he shot first."

        "No.  The rules of engagement in Somalia were modified.  We were going into an area where everybody and his brother had weapons.  There were about six or seven irregular militias, armed gangs really---no government at all.  We came in to settled things down, and part of that was letting the bad guys know that it wasn't open season on the Americans.  We were allowed to use deadly force whenever we sensed a threat.  We didn't have to wait until Marine blood was on the ground."

 

306.

"So, what's this about?"

        "Hard to say without seeing the record of inquiry.  My guess is that he either shot an unarmed person, fired too close to civilians, or provoked an incident with the locals---not that that was hard to do.  We were heroes when we first arrived, but when things didn't improved as much as people hoped, they began taking their frustrations out on us.  We'd be escorting a food convoy and the people who weren't getting it would throw rocks and bottles at us.  Sometimes big protests occurred, got ugly, degenerated into riots.  Sniping increased.  Stuff like that began happening every day."

        "You'd think they'd be thankful for what we were trying to do for them," said JR.

        "I heard that gratitude is the most fleeting of motivations," said Richard, frowning as he read the rest of Mic's service record.  "Besides, it probably looked different from their side."

Richard reread a passage.

"Huh!  He requested and got a two-month drop?"

"A what?"

        "An early out.  That's not like the Corps," he said distractedly.  "But it probably fits in with the general discharge.  He screwed up somewhere and the Corps decided that he was unfit for service, but they didn't have anything that would warrant a dishonorable discharge.  Well he was unfit all right.  Anyone who served with him could have told them that."

        When finished taking notes, he slid the folder across the table went to refill his cup.  Over the next half hour they discussed Cassville and Rose Ford.

"It's all conjecture and gut instinct," said JR suddenly, "We can't prove anything."

The remark triggered a flashback.

        "You know, he once told me that you can do anything you want if you're smart enough because it doesn't matter what people know if they can't prove it."

        "Yeah, well there's a lot of smart people in jail who thought that, Richard.  Besides, if he killed the Ford woman, and if he's all that smart, then why did he let us find her body?  Why didn't he just leave it where it was or dispose of it better?  Why would he all of a sudden get sloppy like that?"

 

307.

Richard couldn't see it all, but something was beginning to come together.

"Maybe it wasn't sloppy.  Maybe it was a statement."

        Mic had killed Rose but had produced her body only after he and Jill had returned from Bonne Femme.  It made him uneasy to think that Mic might be smart enough to carry through his plan, or deluded enough to think he could do it.

He picked up the cell phone and called Jill, anxious to hear her voice.

 

        Jill's phone rang just as she stepped into the hall.  She took it from her purse and leaned to the wall to answer amid passing students eager to leave campus after the late afternoon class.

"Is something wrong?" she asked when she heard his voice.

"No.  I just called to see if you're ready to leave."

        "Yes.  I just got out of class," she replied.  "Marta says she will be okay at her house until you get the security system installed."

"You couldn't talk her into staying the night?"

        "She says she does not wish to intrude, but I think our . . . situation makes her uncomfortable.  She is very proper and---.  Oh.  She is coming.  Are you here?"

"I'm still at JR's, but I'm leaving right now.  Wait at the college until I get there."

"There is no need," said Jill as Marta came up.  "We will be together."

        "No!  I mean, please wait for me.  Give me fifteen minutes.  I'm on my way into town right now."

It was still daylight, but his alarm unsettled her.

"We will wait."

"Was that Richard?" asked Marta as Jill put the phone back in her purse.

"Yes.  He asked me to wait so that he can follow us to your house."

 

308.

"Good."

"Marta, spend the night with us.  Please."

"I will be fine."

        Their footsteps echoed in the suddenly deserted Language Arts building.  Marta looked at her watch.

"Do we have time to go to the bookstore?"

"If you hurry.  It closes at four-thirty," said Jill as they neared the restrooms.

"I will come down in a few minutes."

        Marta hurried to the elevator at the end of the corridor and punched the down button, waiting impatiently as it made its way up from the basement.  When the doors shushed open she stepped in.

When she heard someone enter behind her, she said, "What floor?"

"I'm going wherever you are."

Marta froze at the sound of Mic's voice.

"Oh," she gasped.

She turned toward him, trying to keep him from seeing how afraid she was.

"Hello."

He stared at her until she looked away.

"Finally got you alone," he breathed, stepping close.

He punched the keypad, and then placed his palm on the wall barring her escape.

"I'll bet you found it hard to sleep after my call the other night."

Marta tried to look confident when she answered him.

"It is okay.  I accept your apology."

 

309.

"I just wanted you to know how I feel about you."

        "You must stop.  I am to be married . . . and . . . it was very improper . . . the things you say last night."

       "Maybe a little improper behavior is what you really want.  Your fiancée doesn't need to know about us," he said as the elevator stopped and opened at the deserted second floor.

"You must leave me alone," she said.  "It is in the past now."

The doors slid closed.

        "But I've been attracted to you so long," he said, stepping forward until his chest was almost touching hers.  "And I've seen the way you look at me."

"I do not," she said as she retreated, bumping into the wall.

"You're dusky beauty really turns me on," he said, moving even closer.

        Marta wanted to turn away, but any movement would bring her into contact with him.  All she could do was turn her head to avert his gaze and hope someone would enter the elevator with them.

        "I need you," he whispered as the elevator reached the ground floor with a soft thump.

She stood with eyes downcast, afraid to even breath.

As the doors slid shut again, he lightly touched her cheek.

"No!" she said, slapping at his hand.

        When the door slid open at the basement, she darted around him trying to escape the intimate confinement.  He caught her arm.

"Don't leave mad."

"Leave me alone," she said, with as much indignation as she could muster.

He gripped her arm painfully.

        "I think you've been left alone too long, Marta.  Maybe it's time you got a little . . . touch."

 

310.

She wrenched free.

"Never touch me again!" she said.

        "You don't mean that.  You want to be . . . touched, and Alberto is far away, but I'm here."

As she rushed toward the sanctuary of the bookstore, he called after her.

"I'll always be here, Marta.  Count on it."

 

Jill knew something had happened as soon as she saw Marta.

"He was in the elevator, Jill."

"Did he hurt you?" she asked, rushing forward.

        "He only . . . touched my face," she said, her face twisting in anguish.  "I must wash myself."

"He threatened you?" asked Jill, putting her arm around her friend.

"He only say---he only said improper things."

        Marta hugged Jill before disengaging from the comforting embrace.  Then she squared her shoulders.

        "Jill, I change my mind.  If you permit, I will stay with you and Richard tonight.  I cannot be alone in my house until the alarm system is made."

 

311.

The Photo

 

        Richard stared glumly at his database.  He had arranged it by date and constructed fields for Mic's whereabouts, incidents in his life, acquaintances, as well as the death of Carly William's, the disappearance of Rose Ford, and the consequent discovery of her body.  Presently, it was nothing more than easily reviewable notes.  What further input, refinement, and analysis might reveal he didn't know and couldn't really anticipate.

        He had doubted that Mic was interested in Marta other than as a way to intimidate Jill.  Now he thought she was in real danger.  At least the stubborn woman, as Alberto had fondly called her, had agreed to stay with them until her security system was installed.

        Sudden female laughter from the kitchen interrupted his brooding.  That's a good sign, he thought as he went for more coffee.  In the kitchen he found Marta with the sleeves of her dark blue blouse rolled up.

"What are you guys making?" he asked.

"Hand tossed pizza," said Jill.

        Her jeans were overspread with white splotches and a dusting of flour, and there was a white smudge on her dark cheek. 

"You look like a natural, Marta," he said as he poured his coffee.

She pushed back hair from her forehead, managing to get more flour on her face.

"Next time I must wear clothes of a lighter color."

        The pizza making was time-consuming, distractingly messy, and surprisingly good despite being made on the spur of the moment with ingredients on hand.  By the time they sat to eat Marta had visibly relaxed.  He helped them with the clean up, and then they all settled in to watch a movie on cable.  No one mentioned Mic.

        When Marta went to shower, Jill brought Richard's blankets and pillow to the couch and then sat down beside him.

"How's she doing?" he asked.

 

312.

"She is frightened of course.  What can we do, Richard?"

        "Mic's writing the script," he said.  "But you're right.  I can't just let it go on.  Something has to be done."

        "I think he is trying to manipulate you into starting a fight with him," she said.  "Do not do it."

        Despite what she was saying, Richard feared that his failure to respond to Mic's provocations would weaken her faith in his ability to protect her.  Besides it was eating away at his self-esteem.  A man had to fight when his woman is threatened.  Jill didn't consider herself "his woman," but in a sense she was, because he was responsible for her and she had placed herself under his protection.  Besides, there was the genetic imperative:  if a man wouldn't stand and fight to protect her, then a woman could do nothing but despise him.  Men knew that, and women did too when they were honest about it.  Jill was too strong not to despise him if he didn't try to end the intimidation.

"Richard, please," she said as if reading his mind.

"I'm not afraid of him."

"Fighting with him will not stop him.  It will solve nothing."

Three rapid beeps sounded from the computer.

"Who could be sending an e-mail this late," she said as she went to see.

She bent to click the mouse without sitting down.

Suddenly she gasped and stepped back, hands clutched to her breast.

Richard jumped up to see what had evoked her reaction.

        A lurid black and white picture filled the screen:  a nude woman lay face up, her long, dark hair splayed around her head.  Eyes wide with fully dilated pupils stared dully upward.  White cord was looped around her bruised neck, the ends trailing down each shoulder.

        "I'll call JR," he said more calmly than he felt as he punched the button to darken the monitor. 

"Was that. . . was it Rose Ford?"

"No," he said as he punched in JR's number.  "I didn't recognize her."

 

313.

         He watched in horrid fascination as the screen relit bringing the grisly scene into stark focus.  Now he noticed that she had been bound.  Her lower arms were under her narrow waist.  The scene was the opposite of erotic, although the thing that had killed her no doubt had found it so.  All Richard could think of as he looked at her was that her dignity had been stripped away.  Someone had done his best to take away her humanity as well as her life.

"Dios mio!" said Marta. 

She and Jill huddled across the room on the couch.

        "It think this is a crime scene shot," said JR.  "It has that clinical feel.  And see that at the bottom?"

        Superimposed over the litter on the floor were neat letters in white near the lower right hand corner: cds/01.

        "Probably the first picture in a set.  CDS could be the officer's initials, case code, or even the jurisdiction."

"You've seen this before?" asked Richard.

        "Yeah," he said.  "Miss Belbenoit, can you print this picture and then save it permanently?"

        "It is automatically saved to a temporary file," she said, coming over to sit at the computer.

 She closed the file and pulled up a program.

        "I will burn a CD of it," she continued as she pulled up menus and selected files quickly.

"In the meantime let us not look at it anymore."

        When the program reported the successful completion of its task, she popped the CD from its tray, put it in a jewel case, and handed it to JR.  While the printer hummed about its business, he went to his car for evidence envelopes.  After putting the printout and the CD inside, he wrote the date, time, location, and a description of contents on each envelop and fastened the clasps.

"Can you find where that came from?" he asked her.

        "Of course," she said, clicking the mouse rapidly.  "It is tagged with the date and time of arrival.  Closing the--- That is odd.  The program should tell me, but it does not."

"Mic sent it," Richard whispered to JR.

 

314.

"Why?"

        "Harassment.  He's been bothering Marta as well as Jill.  He must know that she's here tonight."

"Has Boyd threatened you, Miss Florez?" asked JR.

        "Yes.  He called me, and he . . . bothered me in the elevator today.  He says . . . inappropriate things."

"Like what?"

"That he is attracted to me and wants to . . . be with me."

"That's it?"

"He knows that I am engaged."

He gave Richard a brief grim smile as he thought how to frame his response.

        "Ladies, I know all this is upsetting, but there's not much we can do about it.  If he makes an overt threat, then action can be taken, but for now all we can do is document it and this in the evidence locker."

Richard accompanied him to the car.

"This is pretty nasty game, JR."

        "Well, it's not a crime to ask for a date.  And that picture is disturbing.  Sending it probably isn't even a misdemeanor.  About the only thing considered prosecutable obscenity is child pornography.  If either of them can document a pattern of harassment something might be done."

         "At least you've got a record of it," said Richard as they arrived at the curb.  "Thanks for coming over."

        "I'll tell you what I can do.  I can see if I can find out where that photo came from originally.  I don't think it was scanned from a book, and if it wasn't, then there's an outside chance that it was obtained illegally.  But even if that is the case, and we can prove that he was the one that sent it, we're not looking at any jail time for him."

He paused at the car.

"Don't confront him about this, Richard.  Stay away from him."

 

315.

"It can't go unchallenged."

        "You end up with an assault charge, and it could really queer things if he's prosecuted for the Ford woman's murder.  You two already have a history.  Much more of that and your testimony won't be worth squat."

Richard's stomach churned at the outrage, but he knew that JR's logic was tight.

        "Besides, right now those two only have you to look out for them.  You couldn't do that from jail."

        "Listen," said JR as he started the engine.  "You've got me pretty well convinced about the Ford woman.  We'll keep in touch, okay?"

         He nodded. Richard watched his friend's taillights fade into the fog, and then went back inside. 

         The room was lit only by light coming in from the kitchen.  Jill sat on the couch, dressed in the oversized sweatshirt and walking shorts she frequently slept in. 

"I think she's going back to Merida soon," she said.

He noticed a folded featherbed beside her on the couch.

"I don't need that," he said.  "But thanks for bringing it out."

"It is for me," she said.  "But I will sleep in the bedroom if you wish."

"Do you want to talk?"

        "Not really.  I may not be able to sleep, and do not want to disturb her.  She took a sleeping pill."

 

        Jill, enfolded in the comforter, leaned into a corner of the couch.  He sat on the opposite end, expecting her to speak, but after a time he realized that she had finally found sleep.  A murmuring pulled him from the twilight preceding his own sleep.  She suddenly jerked awake.  He watched her in silhouette, waiting for her to speak.  Instead, she carefully laid the featherbed aside and went softly toward the bathroom.

When she came back, she picked up the comforter and wrapped it about her.

"Are you awake?" she whispered.

 

316.

"Yeah.  Is everything okay?"

Instead of answering, she sat next to him.  "I keep seeing that woman."

It was exactly what Mic had intended, and it made him boil.

"You must not let him provoke you," she said.  "Promise me that you will not."

        "JR told me the same thing," he said, adjusting his position to accommodate her.  But he knew that letting it slide was a mistake.  Mic would read it the wrong way.

        "It is because of me," she said.  "I could not live with the guilt if something happened to either of you."

"None of this is your fault," he said.

        "That is not true.  You, I, Mic---we all had our part in causing this.  Now we have involved Marta too."

        "It's fine to take responsibility for your actions, Jill.  But intentions are what really matter.  You and I made mistakes.  What he's doing is deliberate.  I know how terrified you are, but I promise you that everything will be all right."

"Oh, Richard.  How can you make such a promise?"

A moment later he felt her head on his shoulder. 

"I believe you," she said.  "I really do."

         After she had fallen asleep he lay awake, the feel of her against him a reminder of his responsibility. 

She trusts me, he thought.

        It was time for honesty.  No matter what he had told her, he knew Mic would never be frightened away.  Nor would he lose interest in her.  As for his fantasy of sacrificing himself by simply killing Mic, it wasn't in him.  It all came down to the fact that he had to find a way to put Mic behind bars.  He had to get him convicted for the murder of Rose Ford.