Free Little Belle Gone by Stephanie Whitlock

of the elevator and down the narrow hallway to the victims’ rooms. Another uniformed officer stood guard and, seeing them approach, withdrew the key he had no doubt gotten from the manager. He unlocked the door and pushed it open for them, returning to his stiff-postured post.
    Elizabeth walked through the familiar apartment with a sad and apprehensive pace. Everything was exactly as she remembered it. Nothing seemed out of place or missing, no signs of a struggle. There was still the smell of fresh coffee in the kitchen and soapy steam in the bathroom. The bed had not been made and street clothes were laid out neatly on top of it, as if prepared before hand for when they got back. “Looks like they had a pretty normal morning, coffee, showers, even laid out clothes for after their gym visit.” Matthew’s voice called to her from the bedroom as she stood in the small living room, reliving a moment just over a week old. A moment that saw the three of them sitting warmly in this living room talking about the weather and work, a shallow but pleasant conversation, after a delicious meal. While she had heard him, she didn’t respond. Concerned, Barrow had come up behind her.
    “We sat right here last Friday night. Talking about the weather, if you can believe that. I never was very good at conversation. What did I really have to share ‘So yeah, I let my self get attacked by a rapist in the park last night, how was your day?’ They were probably the only people who knew me in this city and they didn’t even know I was a cop.” In that moment she was filled with regret. Would it have been so terrible to have let them in just a little bit? To have confided some small parts of her in them? Feeling his warmth beside her, she decided that she wouldn’t be that reserved anymore, starting with her new partner. He knew what she did already, and it seemed they would be spending more and more time working together. It might actually be nice to have someone she could call when she needed a companion. Looking up at him, her throat tightened. Letting him in might be dangerous.
    Shifting her eyes away quickly, she noticed the answering machine was blinking. She pointed to it and they both moved closer. Using the end of a pen, she pressed the play button. A series of messages, some a week old, filled the apartment. Their dry cleaning was ready, Carl’s laptop had been repaired and was ready for pick-up, Pam’s sister was confirming their visit in two weeks, adding snidely that they might want to look into a hotel if they planned to bring ‘that dog’, and then there was Bruce’s voice. His message was short, asking them if they minded taking Liz’s class that very morning as she was too tired to make it. His was the last message, time-stamped at five thirty am. Remembering the dog, Elizabeth looked around the room. Whistling, she called out, “Bucky! * kiss-kiss* Bucky!” Somewhere back in the bedroom came the sound of clinking dog tags as a small West Highland White Terrier trotted into view and right to her. Bending down, she lifted the dog into her arms and giggled slightly as he struggled to lick her face. He seemed exceedingly lonely but well fed and there were no signs of dog mess anywhere in the apartment so she just assumed he had been expecting his owners to come home to him so much sooner than they would now. Sadness washed over her face as she snuggled the familiar beast, comforting grief he would never feel.
     
    Watching Elizabeth snuggle with the white fluff ball made his pulse race. It was licking her face, flicking his tongue lazily over her chin, cheek, and neck. Matthew forced the lump in his throat down with a firm swallow. “What do you plan to do with him?” She looked up from the dog with sad, murky green eyes and he had to look away. He needed to be serious, professional, not emotional. “I would suggest the sister, but it didn’t sound like she was a dog lover.”
    “Well, Carl never mentioned any