Perchance to Dream

I squirmed in embarrassment. "Lately, it's been almost every weekend."

Marshall made a note on the pad in front of her. Then she looked at me carefully. "So how would you describe your relationship with your wife?"

I looked down at the desk and sighed. "Look, I'm not gonna lie to you. It's been a little rocky lately." I looked at her. "It's almost like she's lost respect for me, you know?"

"Do you two ever fight?"

"Yeah, we've had some pretty heated arguments from time to time."

"Did you ever hit her?"

I was shocked. "God, no! I would never do that."

She waited for me to go on, but I couldn't think of anything else to say. Finally, she sighed. "Alright, Mr. Duncan, I'll add your wife to our missing persons list and we'll circulate her photo to our street patrol. If we find anything, I'll call you."

I hadn't wanted to say anything, but it just popped out of my mouth. "You don't think there's any chance she ran into this Ringmaster guy and . . ."

"Look, I know you're worried, but you can drive yourself crazy imagining unlikely scenarios. In the great majority of situations like this, the missing spouse just decided he or she wanted some time alone. After a while they realize they can't work out their problems long distance and they come home. My advice for you is to stop worrying and go back to work. Let the professionals find your wife and bring her home, okay?"

Reluctantly I nodded.

She reached into a little pouch and pulled out a card. "Here's my name and number. If she comes home or you hear from her, call me any time, day or night." She handed the card to me. "We really do care, even if it may not seem that way to you."

I took the card and nodded sheepishly. "Alright, Detective Marshall. Thanks."

After I left, I called Billy to let him know what I was doing, then headed straight for the Browder Agency. I'd had my suspicions about Darren Browder anyway, and Frankie's cryptic comments made me want to confront him even more.

The receptionist let me in because she recognized me, and as I walked past Helen's office I paused to raise my eyebrows at Frankie in a silent question. She shook her head negatively. "Alright, I said quietly, "then it's time I have it out with Browder."

She grabbed my hand and squeezed it. "Good luck," she whispered.

I walked down the hall to Browder's office, rubbing my fingers. Damn, that woman is strong!

"Oh, Mr. Duncan!" Browder's secretary exclaimed when I walked up to her desk.

"Is he in?" I asked, and she frowned.

"Yes, but he's busy right now and . . . wait, you can't go in there!"

But I already had, and saw Browder on the phone. When he spotted me and the expression on my face, he spoke hurriedly into the handset, "I'll have to call you back." After he hung up, he stood and pasted a false smile on his face. "Well, Mickey, this is a pleasant surprise. Come in and have a seat." He waved me toward the big couch on one side of his office.

I sat down and leaned toward him intently. "This isn't a social call, Browder. I want to know what's going on between you and my wife."

For a moment I thought I saw his gaze waver, but his smile stayed firmly fixed on his face. "Ah, Helen, what an addition your wife been to the business! She brings a real lust for every challenge working here presents. Time and again I've seen her take a big problem in her grasp and squeeze it into a satisfying conclusion. In fact, just last week it was my pleasure to administer her performance evaluation right on that couch. I can assure you she was satisfying in every way." He gave me a smirk. "I'm very grateful to have her working under me."

The more I listened and watched that gloating smile, the angrier I got. That sonofabitch - he's mocking me! He's bragging about screwing Helen to my face!

As I pushed down on the couch to stand up and confront him, my fingers slid between the cushions of the sofa and touched something unexpected. When I pulled it out to see, I found myself holding a flimsy pair of panties. I looked at them again and gasped. There was no doubt in my mind: they were part of the set I'd given Helen last Valentine's day!

Browder calmly reached over and snatched them out of my hands. "Well, well, look's like the cleaning crew has been enjoying their work more than I realized," he quipped.

Just then the door to his office flew open and a uniformed guard stepped inside. "Ah, you're just in time," Browder nodded to the man. "Mr. Duncan was just leaving."

"Not so fast, Browder. You and I have a lot more to talk about."

"Sorry, Mickey, but I'm afraid you've already taken up too much of my schedule." He motioned to the guard. "Please escort Mr. Duncan to the exit."

The guard stepped to my side and gestured toward the door. I started to resist, but then thought better of it. As I stalked out of his office, I turned back to Browder. "This isn't over, not by a long shot."

I didn't see Frankie when I walked down the hall. Maybe it was just as well.

When I got out to my car I was still seething. After making sure I hadn't missed a call from Helen, I pulled out the card that Detective Marshall had given me and called her number. When she answered, I was so upset that I was spluttering. "Listen, you need to get over to the Browder Agency and interrogate Darren Browder. He's having an affair with my wife, and he may know something about her disappearance."

She sighed. "So this is you going back to work and letting the police handle things?"

I shifted uncomfortably. "Well, no, but I've had my doubts about that creep for a while now. Anyway, I wanted to see if Helen had gone into work this morning."

"Uh-huh. So your wife's boss admitted having an affair with your wife?"

"Well, not exactly, but he was mocking me about it. And anyway, I got proof, evidence." I told her about my wife's panties stuffed down in Browder's sofa.

"And you have the panties with you?"

"Uh, no, Browder grabbed them out of my hand. But I'll bet they're still there."

I heard her take a deep breath. "Alright, Mr. Duncan, I want you to listen carefully and do exactly as I say."

"Sure, anything."

"I want you to get in your car and drive straight to your office. When you get there, I want you to bury yourself in your normal duties, and stop playing detective. Do you understand?"

"But what about Browder?"

"We'll talk to him, along with all the other people whose names you gave me. But if you go interfering any more, you're more likely to get in our way than do any good. Now, do you understand what I'm telling you?"

Now I was the one to sigh. "Yes, teacher, I understand. I'll be good."

She laughed at my tone. "Good boy. Now behave yourself," and she hung up.

After I got to the office, I had to tell Billy what had happened. When I described my conversation with Browder, he couldn't hide his expression. "It's a good thing you were there and not me. If he'd pulled that shit on me, I'd have decked him."

"Yeah, but I've already got Detective Marshall pissed at me as it is. There's no telling what she might do if I'd punched Browder out."

For the rest of the day I tried to concentrate on work, but it wasn't easy. I'd start thinking about Browder and his suggestive innuendos about Helen, and my blood pressure would rise. Then I'd begin thinking about Helen and I'd grow even angrier.

I was so distracted that I had a hard time concentrating on the business. As a result, I wound up working late to try to catch up. Then I stopped at a fast food outlet on the way home and picked up something for dinner, because I didn't want to be away if Helen showed up. But she didn't.

I guess the greasy food must have unsettled my stomach, because once again I tossed and turned all night. I'd doze for a while and then wake up and roll over. Every time I did, I'd remember what I'd been dreaming about. This time my dreams were filled with Helen and Browder. Sometimes they were belittling me, other times they were locked in each other's arms and laughing at me. One time, Detective Marshall even showed up and began lecturing me. By the time my alarm clock went off at 6:00 a.m., I was glad to get out of bed.

I had just finished my breakfast when the doorbell rang. It's Helen, I thought, and dashed to the door. But when I opened it, I was startled to see Detective Marshall standing there with a solemn expression.

"Mr. Duncan - Mickey - I'm so sorry to have to tell you this, but I think we've found your wife's body."

I staggered backward, my voice catching in my throat. The possibility had always been in the back of my mind, but I'd been so angry at Helen that I never thought we wouldn't have the chance hash things out.

"What . . . what happened?"

Her face was a mask. "Let's go sit down." She walked past me into the living room, and I followed blindly. When we were both seated, the mask slipped off to reveal compassion. "I'm so sorry, but it appears that she was raped and then strangled."

"The Ringmaster?!" I gasped.

"It certainly looks like it. The MO was similar and her rings are missing."

I shuddered. Pain washed over me, mixed with anger at the maniac who'd done this terrible thing and anger at myself for the terrible things I'd thought about Helen before I knew what had happened to her.

"Where was she?" I asked.

"We found the body in Birnam Woods."

A chill gripped me. I'd played in those woods when I was growing up; I knew the area like my own backyard. I looked at the floor so Marshall wouldn't see the uneasiness in my eyes.

"Mickey," she interrupted my thoughts, "I really hate to do this, but we need you to come down to the morgue to identify the body."

I looked up quickly. "You mean there's a chance it's not her?"

She reached over and took my hand. "You shouldn't get your hopes up. I'm afraid this is just a formality."

There was nothing I could say to that.

She offered me a ride, and I decided to take her up on it. At that moment I wasn't sure I could drive.

I'd never been in a morgue before. It looked and smelled a lot like a hospital. Except that nobody gets well and goes home, I thought morbidly.

We went into the refrigeration room. Nora checked a list carefully, then opened a square numbered door in a wall full of them. Like opening a safe deposit box. She pulled the sliding table out and carefully unzipped the thick black plastic bag. When she pulled back the flap, I forced myself to look. It was her.

The last time I'd seen Helen, her face had been twisted in contempt. Now her face was relaxed, and it was easy to remember how beautiful I'd thought she was when we got married. The only difference was that her cheeks, her lips, her entire face was a sickly off-white, the color of melted wax. I looked away, not wanting to remember her like that.

Out in the waiting room, the detective surprised me. "While we're here, there's something else you need to do. I need to get a DNA swab from you."

"What? I don't understand - why?"

"It's routine. When we do the autopsy, we need to have your DNA so we can rule it out if we find any of your semen, you know, inside her."

"Okay, I guess, if it'll help find the monster who did this."

It took no time for her to run the swab on the inside of my cheek, and then we were heading back to our - my - house. Everything along the way looked completely ordinary, and nothing looked familiar at all.

I turned to her. "I guess I need to get started on the funeral arrangements."

A sad expression came over her face. "It'll be a while before the body is released. They have to perform the autopsy, and then they'll hold it in evidence. They'll notify you."

I couldn't think of anything to say to that.

When she let me off at home, she made a point of looking me in the eye. "We're going to find the man who did this, Mickey. He won't get away."

I just nodded.

When she'd left, I called Billy to let him know what had happened. "Oh, damn, Mickey, I can't believe this! It's like a nightmare. Listen, stay where you are - I'm coming right over to be with you."

"No, Billy, don't do that. I really need you to call everybody who needs to know and give them the bad news. I just don't think I can handle that right now. And besides, somebody needs to keep the business running. Just give me a little time to be alone."

He tried to protest, but I eventually talked him into doing what I'd asked. After he'd hung up, I decided I needed to make a call, one Billy wouldn't think about.

When I told Frankie the terrible news, I braced myself for tears and worse. Instead, I heard her give a sharp intake of breath followed by silence. Just when I started to ask if she was alright, she suddenly cried out, "Oh, Mickey, I'm going to miss her so much!" Then she wanted to know about me and how I was doing. I thanked her for her concern and told her I'd stay in touch.

After we hung up I shook my head. I always knew Frankie was different, but that was not how I'd expected her to react. Oh well, people process grief in different ways.

Speaking of processing, I tried to probe my own feelings. The shock was starting to wear off, to be replaced by - what? I haven't even cried, I realized.

The more I analyzed my emotions, the more I realized that I was still angry. Well of course you're angry - you're angry at the maniac who raped and murdered your wife. But that wasn't all. I went back to our bedroom and looked at Helen's closet filled with all her clothes. That's when it hit me: I'm still mad at Helen!

Maybe, I thought, I'm angry because she's left me alone, even though that was hardly her choice. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized I was still angry for the way she'd treated me. Disrespect was disrespect, and if she was still alive, she'd probably still be treating me the same way.

I felt the heat rise in my body and knew I'd touched on the raw nerve of truth. Her death hadn't changed the way I felt. I thought about her body lying out there in the woods, trying to generate some sympathy. I couldn't do it. I'll just have to wait - maybe I'll feel different later.

The rest of the day passed in a haze. I wandered through the house, doing little chores just to keep myself occupied. I noticed some things on the bookshelf that Helen had bought, little knickknacks that she thought were whimsical and I hated. I threw them in the trash.

At one point I went to my computer to check my email, only to turn it off when I saw the dozens of inquiries and expressions of sympathy. I can't deal with that now.

As it grew dark, I pulled all the drapes closed and turned off all the outside lights. I'd heard once that was a sign that the family didn't want visitors. I knew I didn't want them, not then, maybe not ever.

When I finally got ready for bed that night, it felt strange going to the bedroom, knowing Helen would never be there again. I mentally shook my head. Mickey, you are so screwed up.

Strangely, I slept well that night, unbothered by ominous dreams. Maybe you're still in shock.

I got up and had cereal and coffee for breakfast, then sat around trying to decide what to do next. Should I go into the office? Should I start answering all those emails? Should I just stay hidden for the day?

Before I could drive myself nuts trying to figure it out, I decided to turn my phone back on. I hadn't wanted to talk to anyone yesterday, and, as I expected, my voice mailbox was full. I quickly scanned the list of callers, and then jumped when my phone started to ring. Probably more condolences, I thought, but before I hit the Ignore option, I noticed the call was from Detective Marshall. I better answer.

"Mickey!" her voice rang in my ear, "I wanted to let you know right away: we caught the Ringmaster!"

"What? You're kidding me! What happened?"

"The bastard tried to kidnap another woman, but this time someone saw what was happening and called 911. We caught him before he could harm her."

The excitement quieted in her voice. "Look, I know it's not much consolation to you with Helen gone, but at least we'll be able to get justice for her."

"No, that's okay. It's fantastic that you got him. I mean, I wish it could have been sooner, but at least he's not going to get away unpunished. And he won't be able to hurt anyone else, thank God."

I paused and thought for a moment. "So what happens next?"

"He's in interrogation right now, and they tell me he's making a full confession. It'll probably be all over the news, but feel free to call me if there's anything in particular you want to know."

"Okay, Nora, and thanks for calling. I'm still having a hard time processing everything that's happened, but this really helps."

The next few days were schizophrenic: trying to deal with Helen's death on the one hand and feeling relieved they'd caught the monster who'd hurt her and so many others.

But the calm after the storm was not to last. I was working in my office when there was a knock at my door. Before I could get up, the door opened and Nora walked in. She wasn't smiling. "I have some bad news, Mickey. We've been over your wife's murder with the Ringmaster. He says he didn't do it."

I gaped at her. "He's lying - of course he did it."

Her expression didn't change. "He's confessed to all the other murders, Mickey, told us details that we didn't share with the public. But he swears he didn't kill Helen."

"But . . ."

"That's not all. We found his collection of rings and have accounted for all of them. He didn't have Helen's."

"I don't understand."

"There's worse news, Mickey. We ran a DNA test on him and compared it to the semen that was left in Helen's vagina. It didn't match. But that's not the end of it, because we did find a match."

"Whose?"

"Yours, Mickey, it matched your DNA."

"No, that's impossible!" I shook my head in confusion. "We hadn't had sex in two weeks."

She'd been standing with her hands behind her. Now she brought them around front to display the handcuffs she'd been holding. With a stare that seemed filled with disappointment, she intoned, "Mickey Duncan, you're under arrest for the murder of your wife, Helen Duncan."

I looked around wildly, and that's when I noticed the burly cop standing outside my door. "Don't make this any more difficult than it has to be, Mickey," she urged.

I heaved a desperate sigh, then reluctantly held out my hands for her.

Just then Billy rushed to the doorway. "What the hell is going on, Mickey?" he yelled.

"I don't understand either, Billy, but I need you to get me a lawyer, okay?"

He nodded as Nora took my arm and led me away.

Booking, photographs, fingerprints - everything went by in a blur until finally I found myself sitting in a holding cell, stunned and disbelieving. Is this real or another nightmare?

After a while I heard footsteps coming in my direction, and when I looked up I saw Nora Marshall standing outside my cell with her arms crossed on her chest. "Nora," I pleaded, "I didn't do this." She stared at me with sadness in her eyes, then turned and walked away.

Later, the same official who took me to the holding cell came to the door. "You've got a visitor, Duncan," he said curtly, and then Billy appeared. "Mickey, Mickey, I don't know what's going on. This has to be some terrible mistake."

"Did you have any luck finding me an attorney?"

"Yeah, I got a recommendation from the firm who handles our corporate work. His name is Maxwell. They said he's very experienced, has represented lots of criminals . . . uh, I mean, well you know, lots of people in your situation."

I waved away the awkwardness. "All I care about is if he can help me get out of here long enough that I can figure out what the hell is going on."