Stolen By Order

Chapter I

THE NOTE

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Mae ran into Henry's office, her arms overflowing with case files and notes. She had successfully filed Winona’s motion.

The judge had wanted to see Henry at two o’clock regarding his ruling.

Throwing down her armload, she peered up only to see Henry's arm hanging languidly from the chair, his head tipped back at a wrong angle. She blew out a loud sigh, hoping to rouse him. Sleeping, really? She knew he’d tossed and turned all night, but now he needed to get to the courthouse.

“Henry, you’ll never guess what I found!

” Mae announced as she dumped the notes and files onto the wooden desk, whipping around to shake him awake.

Her hand froze mid-air and came instead to her mouth.

His eyes were open, his brown irises rolled up to the left.

His mouth gaped crookedly to the side. “Henry?” she gasped.

“Henry!” She reached forward tentatively to touch his shoulder.

The tweed of his suit jacket was still warm.

She cupped his face with her hand as a low moan escaped her throat.

Her world vibrated. She needed help. “Help.” It came out soft at first, her brain reminding her to breathe and think.

“Help!” she shouted as the word bounced around the empty room.

She grabbed onto both his shoulders now and shook him violently.

“Henry…” she sobbed. His body felt heavy, and his head lolled back and forth with slow movements. It was no use.

Mae frantically ran to the front of the office and threw open the door.

The call box. The call box. As she pulled herself around the corner of the building, her heel slid on the flagstone sidewalk, and she felt her ankle bend awkwardly.

Where was it? There! She lunged for the metal box, and her hand slammed into the citizen call lever.

She yanked it down hard and then—nothing.

No bell. No ring. Of course, the call box was broken.

Nothing in this part of town ever worked properly.

A woman stopped pushing a carriage, and her mouth fell open as her eyes grew wide.

Maybe it was not supposed to ring aloud?

Where were they? Should she go to another call box?

Her head spun around to look down Beekman Street, then Park Row, her eyes searching wildly.

The woman was now partway down the block with her carriage.

Her chest heaved as she continued to search for help.

She glimpsed a navy jacket coming around the corner and her heart quickened.

She hobbled toward him and then stopped.

There were no brass buttons, no badge. She retreated quickly to the call box.

Should she go back to check on him? Her eyes danced frantically.

Her ankle throbbed as she searched for the next closest call box. She shifted her weight and held the call box to steady her balance. She heard footsteps from behind her. “Ma’am?” The officer approached her calmly and took in her off-kilter stance. “Do you need assistance?”

“Oh, Officer!” Mae proclaimed as she turned toward the office. “It’s my husband! Hurry!” Mae limped toward the office, trying to keep her weight on the ball of her foot. “He’s… not moving…” she called over her shoulder as she made her way into the office.

The officer followed her promptly. As they entered the room, she rushed to Henry and turned expectantly to the officer.

The officer had stopped short and looked down at her husband’s frame, slumped in his chair, eyes still open.

He leaned in and put his cheek in front of Henry’s mouth, then calmly placed a finger on his neck and waited.

She felt the blood pounding in her ears.

Do something… Do something! The only sound in the room was her ragged breathing.

She hovered in front of the two men. Finally, the policeman looked up. “I’m sorry, Ma’am,” he started. “But…”

She couldn’t hear. She stared at his face as his lips formed words that she couldn’t process.

Her mouth fell open as she crumpled to the floor in front of her husband.

She felt a hand on her back and one on her arm.

“Nooo…” The loud sound reverberated through her body and pulsed in her ears.

The sound was coming from her. She felt the policeman’s grasp tighten on her arm and his other hand move to her waist as he hoisted her gently off her husband’s lap.

She grasped the familiar tweed material of her husband’s jacket as she clawed to keep him near.

“Ma’am, the body must not be disturbed…”

The body? It was her husband! Her Henry!

Her eyes flicked to the officer’s face and flattened into slits.

Every muscle tightened as she turned her intensity on the officer.

This man of the people who couldn’t do anything to help her.

Nothing to help Henry, who now sat lifeless in his favorite chair.

“The body?” She shrieked into his face as heat burned up her neck to her face.

Clenching her hands into fists, she rounded on the officer and felt the sides of her fists slam into the brass buttons and badge that, just moments ago, she had sought so desperately.

The sharpness of the badge ripped through her skin and sent shocks of pain up her arms.

The officer gripped her wrists and forcibly held her away.

He didn’t become angry. He didn’t try to quiet her.

He just held her wrists up in front of her, and she saw the sad look in his eyes that told her he’d experienced this before.

It was that moment of connection between their eyes, his showing calm observance, hers filled with angst and growing disbelief.

In that moment, her world cracked. Her chest heaved in one large sob, and her legs gave out from under her.

The officer didn’t move. He let her descend to the floor and fall into a heap at his feet.

She felt his gentle touch on her shoulder.

“Ma’am, I need to call this in.” He wrapped a strip of gauze around her hand, which instantly turned red.

She gazed up into his patient eyes and felt her head bob.

“I need you to let him be until I get back. The detective will want him to be just as he is when he gets here. Can you do that?” Again, her head bobbed.

The officer gave a gentle squeeze to her shoulder and turned toward the office door.

Mae lay on the floor as everything felt surreal.

She loosened her tightly balled fists and slowly slid them across the floor until her face lowered onto her forearm.

The smell of linseed oil polish she’d used just yesterday drifted up from the worn pine planks of the floor.

She couldn’t bring herself to raise her eyes to the office chair.

Instead, she focused on the small gap in the floorboards that ran from her face and stopped just steps from the office door.

It wasn’t wide, maybe a quarter of an inch, but as it extended away from her, the gap grew larger.

Upon its end, it had grown considerably to perhaps half an inch.

She could see the buildup of linseed oil and the grit stuck to the enlarging gap from this point of view.

Funny, she had never noticed there was such a gap before.

A solid and rhythmic pulse came from the floorboards.

The sound grew louder, and the vibration buzzed into her forearms more distinctly until a set of black cap-toe boots appeared and settled upon the grimy end of the long crack in the floor.

The worn boots tracked in muddy prints that marred the previously polished floor.

Mae could hear the policeman take a deep breath before addressing her, “Ma’am, the detective is on his way.

” She saw the boots bend forward as he crouched down.

The wool of his navy-blue trousers stretched against his knees as it pulled taut against the black stripe running down the side hem.

The knees became blurry, and Mae blinked to clear her vision.

She felt those same gentle hands at the same time touch her shoulder and her right hand.

“C’mon, let’s get you up and set you on this chair over here. ”

Mae felt herself being lifted up slowly.

Her gaze shifted from the floor to the back of Henry’s chair.

She could see the top of his brown hair over the leather upholstery of the chair.

She concentrated on the chair, on the strong walnut curve of the chair with its solid brass brads holding the leather taut on the backing.

It was Henry’s finest acquisition for the office.

As Mae studied the chair, she noticed how it had withstood the years of use from her husband’s thin frame.

The solid dark walnut structure had lightened to a softer golden brown over the years, owing to the sunlight spilling in from the small window behind the desk.

While the joints fit tightly with no gaps, the caster wheels were slightly tarnished.

Instead of detracting from the overall appearance, it added to a comforting feeling of experience.

They had saved for months. Yes, this chair had been worth the hundred-dollar price.

“Ma’am,” the officer interrupted her drifting memory. “If I could collect some basic information from you, it would help the detective.” Mae nodded numbly as she managed to give coherent answers to some of the questions, but others he had to repeat several times before she could respond adequately.

Upon noting down her last response, the door burst open, and a cold draft blew in along with the detective. His boots thunked across the floor as if he couldn’t be bothered to pick up his feet. “Hey, Mac,” he addressed the officer. “Is this the guy?”

“Yes,” the officer responded. “And this is his wife, Mae Turner.”

“Hello, Mrs. Turner. I’m Detective Bates. I’ve been requested to look into your husband’s death. When did you find him?”