The Dust of Death

Chapter 12

There was hardly anything that would have stood out to make Sophie Jenson remarkable. She was an average little girl of average intelligence, obedient and kind, but not overly so. She lived in an average house on a quiet street in a neighborhood known for its hardworking, average families. Her mother was a housewife, her father, a blue-collar worker. She was a second-generation American citizen.

And she had been murdered.

That is why the papers had such a field day when Sophie Jenson's body was found in the woods near the baseball diamond at the park. That kind of horrific nightmare did not happen in the quiet neighborhoods where little girls like Sophie Jenson lived. That kind of thing never occurred to nice, law-abiding folks like the Jensons.

They were just your everyday average people. Like anybody else. And that is the mirror that everyone looked in when they read the papers and saw the photograph of the little girl named Sophie Jenson. Fear gripped hearts. If such a terrible thing could happen to that family, then, God forbid, it could happen to any child.

And that is just the angle the newspapers played up.

Circulation jumped twenty-seven percent.

Henry Lime made sure he bought the morning and the evening editions of the papers during the days that the missing Sophie Jenson made the headlines.

"Oh for goodness sake, Henry," Marion complained. "Can't you find anything else to read? A book? The Bible? Anything?"

"What is it, Marion," Henry said, "don't you want to keep abreast of current events? The world is changing so quickly, you know."

"It's not current events you're keeping up with, Henry. It's not weddings and the weather. Those are current events. You've become obsessed with those horrid newspapers and their stories about that poor little girl. It's obscene," said Marion, tormenting a ragged nail.

Once she had discovered the hang nail, she found she could not leave it alone. How long had it been like this, she wondered?

Henry eyed her drolly above the edge of the latest edition.

"Cripes," Marion said. "It's bleeding."

She sucked the finger until it stopped.

"You sit here with your head buried in that gossip rag. And now, they find she's murdered! What in heavens is this world coming to when a little girl is not safe to roam the park! Oh, I can't stand to think about it! And every day you drag in the latest edition and sit there across from me at this table, hiding behind your blasted paper while her face stares out at me on page one. It's driving me batty, Henry. There's no escape! Her eyes seem to follow me around the room," Marion said.

"Don't be silly. You're just overwrought," Henry said, flipping the front page over so that he could get a better look at Sophie Jenson's photograph. "You're simply imagining things, Marion. I've always said you are too high strung for your own good. Any little thing drives you into hysterics. You need a hobby. Something to relax your nerves. Maybe knitting or something."

Henry folded his paper neatly under his arm and rose to leave.

"Where are you going," Marion said.

"To the club," Henry said. "At least there, I can read in peace."

*****

"Phalen," the disembodied voice over the phone sounded distressed, "I may need your services. I'm really not sure."

"What is it, Tom?" Phalen asked. "What on earth are you talking about?"

"I know this is short notice, but can you come over to the rectory?" Tom asked. "I've just had a disturbing visit from the police. Sophie Jenson's been found. She's been murdered, and the police have been here to question me."