dozens of books, mainly fiction. Authors included Bowen, Crichton, Gross, King, Koontz, Mofina and Patterson, all arranged in alphabetical order by title. Below them was an assortment of legal tomes, shelved alphabetically as well.
Ben's brow furrowed. Someone suffers from OCD.
"Your husband has an interesting collection," he said.
Lorraine Sampson snorted. "He treated these bookcases as if they were made of gold. Always filing the books and binders just so. God forbid if he found one out of place."
"So everything here looks as it should?"
Scanning the shelves, she frowned. "Hmm…that's strange."
"What is?"
The woman ran her hand lightly over the top of a row of legal binders. "There's one missing."
"Are you sure?"
"I dust these shelves every day, Agent Roberts. I think I'd know if a binder was missing." She nudged a red binder and pointed to the empty space beside it. "There's usually a blue one right here."
Ben removed his gloves and examined a binder. It contained mostly legal mumbo-jumbo. He pulled out the next binder. It was much the same. Maybe Natassia could make sense of them later, after an evidence team picked them up.
He'd hoped to get a vision, but he didn't sense a thing.
He picked up the red binder. It was dated 2011 and contained notes on the year's federal budget and prospective bill proposals. The missing binder must hold similar paperwork for the current year.
His pulse quickened. "Do you know what's in the blue binder?"
Lorraine shook her head. "Like I said, Porter's been keeping to himself these days. I never read these anyway. Never wanted to." She released a sad sigh. "I'm sorry I can't be of more help."
"Can you tell me if anything else is missing or not where it should be?"
Lorraine opened a desk drawer. Her fingers skimmed across the contents and she picked up something small and round. "Porter's one-year coin."
"For…?
"My husband is an alcoholic, Agent Roberts."
When she handed him the coin, his psychometric senses immediately kicked in. He could feel Porter Sampson's struggle with alcoholism, his intense shame and his eventual relief. Sampson was proud of his accomplishment.
Lorraine smiled. "He's been sober for over a year, God bless him."
"You mentioned a wall safe," he said.
Lorraine pointed to a four-foot mirror in a leafy brass frame. "Behind that."
He examined the mirror. It was hinged to the wall for easy access to the safe behind it. He swung it open, exposing a Brinks wall safe, an older model with a touch screen access panel set for a seven-digit combination.
He touched the safe with bare hands.
Not one flash. Damn.
"Do you know the code, Mrs. Sampson?"
The woman shook her head.
He tried their phone number first.
Nothing happened.
"When did you get married?" he asked.
She told him and he tried the date. He tried birthdays next―hers, Porter's and their sons'. Still nothing.
"Can you think of any numerical code your husband would use?"
"Not really." She glanced at the shelf beside the safe. "Unless he used a date from one of these. He was a long-distance runner in university."
Ben picked up on of the trophies. "1975 National Senior Championships," he read.
"Our first date was the night of the Championships," Lorraine said in a soft voice. "Porter looked so handsome. It was the first time I ever saw him look nervous. We both were. And we've never forgotten that day."
"What was it?"
"June 30, 1975." Lorraine's face lit up. "Such an exciting night. He picked me up in his Corvette and drove me to the field. It was so exciting watching him run like he had the devil on his tail."
Ben was no longer listening. He tapped out the date, month first. Nothing. He entered the day first. Still nothing. Then he tried year, month and day.
Bingo!
The door to the safe gave a soft pop.
As he eased the safe door open, he glimpsed a manila folder. However, he never got a chance to examine it because they were abruptly interrupted by an angry voice behind them.
"Just
Ben's brow furrowed. Someone suffers from OCD.
"Your husband has an interesting collection," he said.
Lorraine Sampson snorted. "He treated these bookcases as if they were made of gold. Always filing the books and binders just so. God forbid if he found one out of place."
"So everything here looks as it should?"
Scanning the shelves, she frowned. "Hmm…that's strange."
"What is?"
The woman ran her hand lightly over the top of a row of legal binders. "There's one missing."
"Are you sure?"
"I dust these shelves every day, Agent Roberts. I think I'd know if a binder was missing." She nudged a red binder and pointed to the empty space beside it. "There's usually a blue one right here."
Ben removed his gloves and examined a binder. It contained mostly legal mumbo-jumbo. He pulled out the next binder. It was much the same. Maybe Natassia could make sense of them later, after an evidence team picked them up.
He'd hoped to get a vision, but he didn't sense a thing.
He picked up the red binder. It was dated 2011 and contained notes on the year's federal budget and prospective bill proposals. The missing binder must hold similar paperwork for the current year.
His pulse quickened. "Do you know what's in the blue binder?"
Lorraine shook her head. "Like I said, Porter's been keeping to himself these days. I never read these anyway. Never wanted to." She released a sad sigh. "I'm sorry I can't be of more help."
"Can you tell me if anything else is missing or not where it should be?"
Lorraine opened a desk drawer. Her fingers skimmed across the contents and she picked up something small and round. "Porter's one-year coin."
"For…?
"My husband is an alcoholic, Agent Roberts."
When she handed him the coin, his psychometric senses immediately kicked in. He could feel Porter Sampson's struggle with alcoholism, his intense shame and his eventual relief. Sampson was proud of his accomplishment.
Lorraine smiled. "He's been sober for over a year, God bless him."
"You mentioned a wall safe," he said.
Lorraine pointed to a four-foot mirror in a leafy brass frame. "Behind that."
He examined the mirror. It was hinged to the wall for easy access to the safe behind it. He swung it open, exposing a Brinks wall safe, an older model with a touch screen access panel set for a seven-digit combination.
He touched the safe with bare hands.
Not one flash. Damn.
"Do you know the code, Mrs. Sampson?"
The woman shook her head.
He tried their phone number first.
Nothing happened.
"When did you get married?" he asked.
She told him and he tried the date. He tried birthdays next―hers, Porter's and their sons'. Still nothing.
"Can you think of any numerical code your husband would use?"
"Not really." She glanced at the shelf beside the safe. "Unless he used a date from one of these. He was a long-distance runner in university."
Ben picked up on of the trophies. "1975 National Senior Championships," he read.
"Our first date was the night of the Championships," Lorraine said in a soft voice. "Porter looked so handsome. It was the first time I ever saw him look nervous. We both were. And we've never forgotten that day."
"What was it?"
"June 30, 1975." Lorraine's face lit up. "Such an exciting night. He picked me up in his Corvette and drove me to the field. It was so exciting watching him run like he had the devil on his tail."
Ben was no longer listening. He tapped out the date, month first. Nothing. He entered the day first. Still nothing. Then he tried year, month and day.
Bingo!
The door to the safe gave a soft pop.
As he eased the safe door open, he glimpsed a manila folder. However, he never got a chance to examine it because they were abruptly interrupted by an angry voice behind them.
"Just
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