by Fiona Quinn
“The FBI was apprehending Marla Richards. They had an outstanding warrant for her arrest.” Brian put strong hands on her arms and helped her step out of the tub. He had a worried expression, and Sophia thought that look probably wasn’t about Marla, but more about if he’d have to contend with another one of her seizures. She was wrong.
“Have you seen Mr. Rochester since we took him home last night?”
She tilted her head back, so she could see his eyes. “No. Do you think he’s in my house?”
“I already looked. Joe said his dad was missing from his bed this morning when he went to check on him. Since this is where he usually shows up, it’s kind of weird that he’d wander farther away.”
“The doors were locked last night. Maybe when he couldn’t get in…”
“Has she seen him?” Joe called from downstairs, and Sophia made her way down to talk to him.
She found Joe standing by her living room couch, where the dirt from his father’s shoes had left streaks on the arms as Mr. Rochester had made himself at home the night before. “I’m calling the furniture cleaners Monday, first thing,” he said, his face a strange collage of frustration and chagrin.
Brian put his hand on Joe’s shoulder. “You need to call 9-1-1 and ask for a search and rescue team.” He used the commanding voice he put on from time to time. It left no wiggle room, no opportunity for dissent.
Joe pulled out his phone and dialed as he walked out the door with his free hand raised in a thank you and goodbye.
Sophia stood in the middle of the room feeling mildly responsible. There were actions that needed taking, but she had no idea what they were.
“There’s going to be a lot of activity around here soon.” Brian said. “Let’s finish our breakfast and wait to answer questions from the police. They’ll want you to give the searchers permission to be in your yard. When that gets going, we can go somewhere that’s quiet. Maybe to Lana’s house, so you can see the kids.” Brian seemed to understand her confusion and helped her regain some semblance of order by handing her a plan.
Sophia pinched the ring on her bracelet. “Why do they need permission to search my property? Surely they can see he’s not in the yard.”
“They’ll have people come out who can look at shoe prints and follow the tracks to get a direction. They’ll have K-9 units out, air sniffers and ground sniffers. It’s possible the dogs can pick up a trail as long as he’s alive. They won’t bring out human remains search dogs for a few days. Those teams of dogs have different jobs and capabilities.”
“They said that on the radio. There was a woman whose dog brought home human bones from the woods last Monday. They had search dogs looking for the rest of the body. The dogs found an undisturbed area where the searchers dug and found it was a recent grave. It didn’t belong to the leg bones the dog recovered. They found that grave too, later in the day. It’s pretty amazing what a dog can smell.” Sophia shifted on her feet. “You think Mr. Rochester might have passed away?”
“He’s pretty old and pretty frail. The temperatures were down in the sixties last night. I think it’s a possibility they’ll consider, depending on what they find when they start looking.” Brian put his hand on her back and steered her toward the kitchen. “Let’s eat before they get here.” He flicked his finger toward where she had put her sandwich and chai, then pulled her chair out. “That’s an unusual ring you’re using as a clasp for your bracelet. Does it have a story?”
Sophia wasn’t the least bit hungry, but sometimes going along was easier. So she plopped down at the table in front of her now-cold sandwich.
Brian sat down next to her, looking expectant.
Sophia unclasped the bracelet and laid it on the table. “This ring is from the Ugarit and dates back to around 1300 BCE. I stole it from Syria,” she said. “Well, it wasn’t my intention to steal it. I just haven’t found a way to get it back to where it belongs.”
The ring was stylized. The top was a flat teardrop-shaped piece of gold where a face and breasts could be made out. Below the indentation that could be a navel were dots that might be a pubis, but were formed to look like a root system for the tree that grew onto the torso.
“This is a Near Eastern Tree of Life. This design was specific to Ashtart, a virgin warrior-goddess. Have you ever heard of her?”
Brian shook his head.
“Legends that we’ve found on tablets and scrolls say that in the 14th century BCE, on the coast of Syria, a young god named Ba’al wanted to overthrow the river god, Yam. Ba’al took Yam captive and killed him. Ashtart rebuked Ba’al and protected the river, and thus the people survived because of the river’s water. Ashtart protected their ‘tree of life’. To honor her for this protection, there was a tradition of virgins keeping a temple for the goddess. These women were considered magically powerful. Leaders from around the Middle East sought their counsel, much like those who went to the oracles at the Temple of Apollo at Delphi. This ring was worn by one of the priestesses.”
“Did you find it on a dig?” Brian asked.
Sophia pushed her hair out of her face, tucking it behind her ears. “One day when we were in Syria, my dad and I went to see a professor friend of his, Dr. Omar. The night before, Dr. Omar had found a package at his door that he wanted my father to see. It contained a tablet, and a letter. The letter said, ‘I am so sorry I disturbed your grave, Ashtart, forgive me. Release me from your curse.’ Another piece of paper said, ‘Please return this to her grave.’ This ring was in that envelope. My father and Dr. Omar recognized the design and were very excited. They got to work translating the tablet. While I was listening, without thinking, I picked up the ring and slipped it on my finger.”
“What did the tablet say?”
“It was basically an ancient curse. You know, the stuff of legends like King Tut’s tomb or Pele’s wrath if you take anything from a volcano in Hawaii. It was a warning that was very much in keeping with the region and the time period. Nothing extraordinary. While Dad and I were at Dr. Omar’s, a haboob descended on us. I’d read about those massive dust storms, but I’d never been in one before. Even inside the house with the windows covered, we had to put blankets over our heads so we didn’t suffocate by breathing in the dirt. It was terrifying. The sound—it was like the whole house was being crushed in the fist of the devil. When the storm moved on, there was a great deal of destruction in the village. My father and I left, so as not to impose on our host.”
“And you were still wearing the ring.”
“I had forgotten all about it. As a matter of fact, I didn’t realize I had it on for quite a while. Dad and I travelled back to Israel that day. My dad was in a terrible mood. He was very angry with Nadia’s father, for some reason. Dr. Omar had told my dad something about Nadia’s dad. Dad sent Nadia and me out to get dinner so the men could talk. We never made it to the restaurant. We were kidnapped by our taxi driver. It wasn’t until we were saved and on our way to Turkey that I saw the ring on my hand. Dad said to keep it on so it wouldn’t be stolen or misplaced, and that he’d send it to a friend of his at the museum as soon as we were back in a village with mail service. But ever since I put that ring on my finger, life has been turmoil.”
“You decided not to send it back?”
“My dad got sick, and we had to fly home. At that point, I didn’t know who to send it to, and really it was such a low priority. Things seemed to be happening very fast. Life…” She sighed with her gaze on the ring. “When I got back to the university, I worked on translating the tablet myself. I had pictures of it. We had left the tablet with Dr. Omar, of course. I have to admit; the letter it came with had planted a very bad seed in my head.” She stopped to smile. “Crazy. Absurd. Thoroughly unscientific thoughts. The tablet said what they typically say, that bad stuff wouldn’t stop until the stolen item was returned. I’ve kept the ring on me because…” Sophia’s attention drifted to the window where she could see Joe out looking between the storage pods lining her backyar
d.
Brian sat silently. He obviously wanted the end of the story.
She turned back and cleared her throat. “I swore a holy oath to Ashtart, on the day Chance was born, that if she would spare my sons, I would keep the ring with me as a penance, to remember all those I loved who have fallen to the curse, and I would find a way to return this to her.”
“You didn’t send it back to Dr. Omar?”
“He died when a wall, damaged in the haboob, fell on him the day after the storm.” Sophia’s laugh was paper thin. “Who said archaeology was for the faint of heart? It’s a story right out of Raiders of the Lost Ark.”
She expected Brian to laugh with her. Expected him to say something like, “You’re a scientist, surely you don’t believe that hooey written on a clay slab.” Or any of the other million arguments she had made in her head. “Have you ever heard of apophenia?” she asked.
Brian canted his head. “That’s when people find the face of Jesus on their breakfast toast.”
“Ha! Yes, that’s true. Apophenia happens when the brain makes leaps of perceptions, connections, and causations, giving meaning to unrelated phenomena. What statisticians would call a type one error, a false positive. The story in my head that describes my life—since the time I slipped the ring on my finger up until this very moment—is absurd. It only sounds more ridiculous for saying it out loud. I worked very hard on being rational until the completely irrational happened.”
“Would you tell me about that? What happened?”
“It was a stormy night when things were going very badly last fall. Lana, Nadia, and I decided to chat with my grandmothers about it. What an eye-opening conversation that was.” Sophia looked toward her curio cabinet and decided not to tell him she’d been playing with a Ouija board. She’d probably said too much as it was. “I had a lovely goblet that was an heirloom. It broke during the last thunderstorm when you were over. I know it sounds silly, but that was a real loss. The glass had come over with my ancestors when they moved from Ireland to the United States. Something about the continuity of handing it down from generation to generation felt important.”
Brian ran his finger over the design on the ring. “Did you find where this belongs? Do you know the exact location of the grave?”
“Yes, I found it while I was working on my PhD.”
“Give me those coordinates.” Though his voice was its typical soft timbre, he was using his commander tone—here’s an order, act on it.
So she did. She knew those numbers by heart, but they were well within the lines of ISIS-held territory, and there was no way for her to get the ring back. Only terrorists were in that area, and of course, she had no contacts among them.
Sophia took a bite of her egg sandwich. It was hard to swallow. She was sitting next to Brian as he, in all earnestness, was on the phone with Iniquus, giving them the location of the Syrian cave and asking them to do a search of all available resources in that area to make a delivery. Inside, Sophia felt completely, sickeningly out of control.
Brian, with the phone still pressed to his ear, followed Sophia to the door when the bell rang, and she opened it up to the police.
***
The neighborhood was bedlam. Local TV vans crowded in with the FBI, who were interested in Marla, and the police, who were focused on finding Mr. Rochester. Thorn said the Search and Rescue team was setting up their trailer at the community pool parking lot, and cars were pouring in filled with volunteers. Thorn had needed to pay someone who lived in a neighborhood on the other side of the subdivision to let him park in their driveway. The police were trying to dissuade the looky-loos by posting “no street parking” signs and writing tickets. Thorn had hiked his way to her house.
Another knock sounded at her door and another set of people were there to write down the timeline and ask questions.
“Yes, last time I saw Mr. Rochester he was dressed in street clothes, a pair of khakis and a green polo.”
“Yes, he had shoes on. No, I didn’t notice what kind beyond brown.”
“Yes, the trackers can come in and look at the mud he left on my couch to try to get a shoe print to follow, not a problem.”
“Yes, it was hard on Joe.”
“Yes, Joe was distraught. But no, I have absolutely zero reason to think Joe did anything to hurt his father.”
She shut the door and turned to Thorn, “Some days I wish I drank, or at least kept an emergency bottle of liquor on hand.”
She left the men in her living room as she moved to her office to catch the phone call coming in. Sophia picked up the receiver, listened, and set it back down. She moved into the kitchen and turned the fan on her stove on as she pulled her keys from her pocket and read the alphanumeric code into her cell. “All good?”
“Everything is going accordingly. We received your provenance and have included it with the shipment. Jael has new information for you, but a small window. Can you meet him at Dulles at three p.m. your time?”
“Yes, Nadia and I can do that, no problem. Where should we meet?”
“The private jet terminal. Ask the concierge for the diplomatic flight out of Turkey.”
After Red hung up, Sophia called Nadia to tell her when Jael was coming in, then took a moment to catch her up on the craziness happening in her neighborhood. “I need to call Lana and have her keep the boys a little longer. It’s mayhem here, and I can’t see this letting up for a while. The dogs are super cute, but they’re working. Keeping the boys away from them would be a fight.”
“Do you want to spend the night here with me?” Nadia asked.
“I feel like I need to be with the computers overnight. Right now, I think I’m going to go to the nursery and buy some new flowers. Once everyone’s done trouncing over my lawn, I can get them in the ground.”
“Now, why would you do that?”
“Court is coming up, and one way or the other, I’m getting the heck out of here. As soon as the judge makes his decision, I’m putting a for sale sign in the yard. It can’t look like it does now, the curb appeal says, ‘stay the heck away, this place is hell.’”
“Planting pretty flowers might be construed as false advertising.”
“Absolutely. But I’m not planning on leaving a forwarding address. They’ll never find me to press charges. I may just go live on some desolate island somewhere where my only human contact is the boys and the internet.”
“Hard to get cable service on those uninhabited islands.”
“True. I may have to reconsider that plan. Right now, though, doesn’t it sound like Nirvana?”
“Speaking of which, we have our Boiling River dates. We need to leave July 3rd. I’ve already talked to Lana, and she’s ready to keep the boys for you.”
“Your sister is a saint and my savior.”
“Yeah, she likes to polish up her halo. She thinks it’s a good look on her.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Brian
Monday a.m.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Nutsbe said, checking his computer screen.
Brain and Thorn were settling into their seats with coffee. Today was the day. No one was happy.
“What’ve you got going on?” Thorn asked.
“The forensics report on the trowel Brainiack brought in last night. It’s the same fingerprints as the bolts that popped Sophia’s tires.”
Brian canted his head. “I thought you said those prints didn’t ping the computer. Marla’s prints—well, Betty Campbell’s—were in the FBI database.”
“And we would have gotten a hit if these were Betty’s, but they’re not. I’m doing a side by side right now, and they’re not even close. That means that while Betty was hissing in Sophia’s ear, threatening her, and trying to run her off the road, she was not popping her tires, and didn’t dig up her garden and move it to her own house.”
Thorn leaned forward. “Sophia has two people stalking her? Could it be Mr. Rochester? Or Pierre Richards?”
Nutsbe b
rought up more files. “No to Mr. Rochester. Checking Richards…and that would also be a no. Any other ideas?”
“Sophia’s life is kept deliberately small. Her kids. Lana. Nadia. And we can account for Nadia’s whereabouts, and for the most part Lana’s as well,” Thorn said. “Of course, a lot of times a stalker picks up on a victim for random reasons. Though Sophia eats dehydrated food and avoids being seen in public. That leaves her chai shop, her daycare, and her colleagues whom she accesses on line—none of whom are close enough to have done this.”
“The whole thing is damned improbable.” Brian stared at the floor between his boots, searching who and what he knew of Sophia’s life. “I would have bet good money on Betty being culpable for it all. I guess we could have her minions trying to ingratiate themselves. There are two who are frequent fliers in the Marla/Betty crazy-club, Penny and Kay. I’ve met Kay. I’ve never seen Penny. And then there’s the Sheppards across the street. But Sophia says they try to keep their heads down just like she does. She doesn’t see Janice at all, except in the window or sometimes on the porch for coffee.”
“It’s off the charts, I’ll give you that. But it’s not going to matter for much longer.” Thorn scowled. “What’s the newest on the FBI playbook, Nutsbe? Have they said what they want to do? Are they going for headlines or the long game and turning Sophia?”
“They said they’re going to see how she behaves. If she’s forthcoming and helpful they might be able to work a deal. If she lawyers up and won’t answer their questions, they’ll go for the jugular. They’ll have folks in the airport in time for the Turkish jet. They’re hoping Jael isn’t flying in on diplomatic credentials. They’d like to pick him up for questioning. They’re going to be moving on him as delicately as they can. US relations are already stressed with Turkey and Israel. No one wants to start an international brouhaha.”
Brian crossed his arms over his chest, trying hard to keep the scowl off his face. “What’s the plan once they’re in custody?”