Betrayed: Powerful Stories of Kick-Ass Crime Survivors

by Allison Brennan

  “It was an accident, I already told you!” Marla’s voice rose, but there was a hitch to it.

  A bailiff approached them. “You need to take the conversation to the second floor, Detective.”

  “W-we’re done,” Marla said and walked quickly away.

  Chris tapped Jackie on the arm and she had no choice but to drop it. They walked the opposite direction, down to the end of the hall, and Chris whispered, “We’ve done everything we can.”

  “Have we? Really, Chris?” It just didn’t seem like it was enough.

  “She’s seriously thinking about it. We’ll talk to her again, maybe this afternoon or over the weekend. On Monday. We’ll keep pushing. Carlo is going to do time, and that gives us the in.”

  “She’s fragile right now. She’s going into that courtroom, she’ll see her husband. He’ll do or say something that will bring her back under his thumb and we’ll lose our small gain.”

  “We can’t force her to leave. Until she speaks up or we have a reputable witness or bruises show up on her daughter, we can’t do anything. You know it, I know it. It’s fucked, Jackie, but it’s the truth.”

  In the three years she and Chris had been partners, Jackie had rarely heard him utter a curse. He must be really angry.

  “How many Hail Marys for the eff-word, Medina?”

  He sighed, smiled. “See, you still have a sense of humor. Don’t lose it.” They started back to the courtroom, then said, “Ten.”

  “Wow, harsh church. I’d be on my knees for months.”

  #

  Fifteen minutes later, they were seated in Judge Bean’s courtroom and Hank McMahon—a good ADA from what Jackie knew of his past cases—laid out the charges against Carlo Becker. He mentioned the repeat calls of Sac County Sheriff to the Becker home, the citations, and the situation that resulted in Deputy Dominguez being in the hospital. The public defender countered that it was an accident, and Mr. Becker then panicked and fled the scene, but didn’t resist when police tracked him down less than an hour later. He said previous police calls shouldn’t be considered, as Becker had a steady job, a family, and ties to the community. From the tone, the PD sounded like he’d be amenable to a deal—but a police officer had been put in the hospital, and Jackie hoped that the ADA wasn’t about to cut him any slack. If Carlo Becker could go away for a couple of years, maybe Marla would realize what peace really was and leave him for good.

  But the arraignment was first, then bail, then the deal was out of Jackie’s hands unless it went to trial and she had to testify.

  The people asked for a hundred thousand dollars bail. The PD asked for release on own recognizance.

  The judge said, “Bail is set at ten thousand dollars, and the defendant will not leave the county of Sacramento until his hearing, or he’ll be remanded to custody.”

  “Ten K?” Jackie said before she realized she’d spoke out loud.

  “Detective Regan, not one more word,” Judge Bean said.

  McMahon shot her a look and she bit her tongue to keep from complaining. Ten thousand? For hitting a cop with a car and fleeing the scene? Where was the justice in that? She would have walked out right then if she didn’t fear being called for contempt of court for disrupting the proceedings, considering her earlier comment.

  Jackie watched Marla closely. The woman sat right behind her husband, a deer in the headlights, confused by what was happening. When the judge adjourned, the PD spoke to Carlo and Marla in quiet tones before the bailiff escorted Carlo out. He, too, looked surprised by everything that had happened in the last day.

  Jackie caught up with McMahon outside the courtroom. “Counselor, what’s going on with that low bail?”

  McMahon looked from her to Chris. “Hello, Detective Regan, Detective Medina. Good to see you again.”

  “Forgive my partner,” Chris said. “She’s not good with small talk.”

  “Or keeping her mouth shut in court.”

  “It was a hit-and-run. Victim is a cop.” Jackie didn’t have it in her to play nice today.

  McMahon motioned for them to walk over to the center aisle to avoid being interrupted by a bailiff. There were multiple courts still in session.

  “He’s not going to get off scot free,” McMahon said.

  “He needs to be in jail. He’s an abuser. It was in our report.”

  “And the wife won’t press charges and we don’t have a third-party witness.”

  “You have us. We’re working on her. But if he goes home, we’re going to lose everything we’ve gained.”

  “You’ve never seen him hit her.”

  “Did you see her in court? Sporting a black eye barely covered with concealer? She probably buys Maybelline by the gallon!”

  “Keep it down, Detective. You make the case, I’ll add the charges, but I talked to Mrs. Becker before the hearing, and she wouldn’t talk about her husband with me. All she said was that the hit-and-run was an accident. I couldn’t get her to talk about the abuse.”

  “Do you believe her? That her husband accidentally hit Dom with his car just like he accidentally gave her a black eye?”

  “It doesn’t matter what I believe. I need hard evidence and she’s not cooperating. This isn’t my first rodeo, Detective.”

  “What about that law—even if the victim doesn’t testify, you can go after the abuser, right?”

  “There are very specific things that need to happen, and we don’t have any of them. We don’t have a third-party witness. We don’t have forensic evidence from a medical doctor. We can’t compel Mrs. Becker to go to the hospital. You’ve already sent CPS out to the house and the child has not been abused. Verbal fights that get the cops called? Not going to cut it. You know the drill, Jackie.”

  She did. She was just hoping… hell, what was she hoping? That unicorns were real and pigs could fly? Because that would be more realistic than a woman like Marla Becker admitting to anyone that her husband was an abusive prick.

  Chris said, “What about the charges? He hit a cop.”

  “Yeah, and the PD wants to talk plea deal. I’m not giving him anything that doesn’t include jail time, so don’t give me that look, Regan.”

  “What look?” she asked innocently.

  McMahon just shook his head. “I’m working on it, but if we can get the plea and put Becker in prison, maybe you can work on the Missus.” He glanced at his watch. “Got a meeting in an hour with the district attorney about this and my other cases, so hang tight. I’m not going to let him walk away from this, okay?”

  “I’m sorry,” Jackie mumbled.

  McMahon smiled. “Medina, you’ve been a good influence on her. I don’t think Regan has ever said sorry for anything.”

  He walked off, and Chris said, “Day off. Go, see your boyfriend. I’m taking Sophia and the girls to the zoo and ice cream.”

  “How is Sophia?”

  “Morning sickness is over—got over it much faster than with the girls.”

  “Are you going to peek? See what you’re having?”

  He shook his head. “We want to be surprised. I’d be happy with either, honestly. After all the medical issues with Gracie, I just want a healthy kid, you know?”

  “Give the kids an extra scoop of ice cream from me.”

  Chris left in the opposite direction from her. She walked briskly back to her Jeep, frustrated but expecting everything that had happened. She trusted Hank McMahon, and the DA was a solid, law-and-order guy. Jackie had to trust the system. It was her only option.

  #

  After court, Jackie went home, but she still couldn’t relax. Rick had left a note that he was running errands. He reminded her they had planned dinner at his parents’ house that night, and he’d be by at five to pick her up. She texted him.

  It’s raining, I’m driving tonight.

  She liked Rick’s family, but visits always made Jackie a bit uncomfortable. His parents were perfect, and she didn’t believe in perfect—yet she’d found no chinks in their ar
mor. And she looked hard. His dad had served in the Army for six years, then went to college on the GI Bill and became an accountant. His mother was a newly retired schoolteacher. His younger sister was married to a California highway patrol officer and they had two small kids. The family members genuinely liked each other and their only arguments involved sports—Stephanie’s husband was a die-hard Dodgers fan, and the Hunter clan were unwavering Giants fans.

  Rick had cleaned up after dinner last night—he was a neat person in general—so Jackie didn’t have much to do around her townhouse. She didn’t know if his tidiness was because of his eight years in the military or just his personality. Probably both. She unloaded the dishwasher, wiped down already clean counters, and ran a vacuum over the carpet in the living room.

  She couldn’t hang out here. Not when her mind was working overtime and she couldn’t get Marla Becker and her kid, Lizzy, out of her head. Jackie was in a foul, tense mood, but she had to check on Melissa, especially after the way they left things last night. She almost couldn’t help herself.

  Tom’s sporty Mercedes was in the driveway and Jackie almost drove on by. But she saw Melissa walking down the street toward the house, TJ at her side talking a mile a minute. Melissa had an umbrella, the rain a steady drizzle. TJ saw her Jeep and waved, jumping up and down. Jackie parked on the street across from their house and by the time she crossed the street, TJ and Melissa were there.

  “Aunt Jackie! Eight days and it’s my birthday!” He hugged her and Jackie hugged him back. “We’re renting a video game truck!”

  “That sounds like fun.”

  “They have everything. Do you have to work? Can you get the day off?”

  His big blue eyes looked a bit anxious. Jackie missed a lot of moments because of her job. Another reason she didn’t want kids. Or was he anxious about something else? Something he saw in his house? Jackie had never dared to question TJ—if it got back to Melissa or Tom, she’d never be allowed over again. And then she wouldn’t be able to keep her eye on her sister or nephew.

  “Already took it off. I’m not even going to be on-call. I’m all yours. Rick will stop by when his shift is over at the hospital, too.”

  “Great!” TJ grinned. His two front teeth were too big for his mouth. He’d lost his baby teeth last year, and the adult teeth had grown in huge. He was a happy kid.

  Jackie figured Tom kept his abuse of Melissa out of sight of his son.

  Melissa was staring at her, not talking, just watching them.

  “Go inside, TJ,” Melissa said. “Your dad has to leave for work soon, talk to him, then we’ll start making dinner.”

  “Okay, Mom.” TJ waved at Jackie and ran down the driveway to the back door.

  Melissa’s eyes narrowed. “What do you want?”

  “I’m sorry for last night.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  True. She wasn’t sorry for what she said. She was sorry that Melissa was angry and upset because that might prevent Jackie from seeing her nephew. So, Jackie swallowed her pride. She didn’t counter Melissa but didn’t start a fight. Shouldn’t she get credit for that?

  “I don’t want you to get hurt, Missy,” Jackie said, “or TJ.”

  “Don’t project your job on me. I’m fine. TJ is fine. Tom loves us, and you’ve just got to stop this bullshit, okay?”

  She nodded because she couldn’t speak. She didn’t lie well. “I’ll be here next Saturday,” she said. Just to make sure Melissa wasn’t going to cut her off.

  “Remember what I said about Mom. Step out of line and you’ll be the one leaving, not Mom.”

  It took all of Jackie’s willpower not to argue with Melissa. “Fine. But keep her away from me because if she starts singing Billy’s praises, I’m going to lose it.”

  “That’s on you, Jackie.” Melissa looked Jackie right in the eye. “That’s on you.”

  #

  Jackie found herself parked in front of the Beckers’ house.

  She should not be here.

  She sat in her Jeep for a long five minutes, debating whether to go up to the door. It was four in the afternoon, and she hoped Carlo was still in jail. He’d be able to afford the bail, it was low enough, but sometimes it could take all day to process.

  His truck had been impounded because it was evidence, so the fact that it wasn’t in the driveway didn’t mean squat.

  You’re just making a welfare check. You do this all the time.

  Dammit, just do it.

  She got out of her car and went up the front walk. Rang the bell. Carlo answered.

  Shit.

  “Hello, Mr. Becker. I’m just checking in with you and your family.”

  It was so damn hard to be nice to him.

  Becker was not much taller than Jackie with slicked-back black hair and hard eyes. He’d taken over a local chain of hardware stores for his father, but the economy and big box stores had put him out of business. He held on a little too long and walked away with nothing. He was now a manager at one of the big box stores that had put his family legacy out of business.

  Bitter. Defeated. That’s what Jackie saw when she looked at him, and she didn’t like it. That defeat could turn violent in a heartbeat.

  “Checking in? Right. You’re checking in. You and your people have caused nothing but problems for my family.”

  She had to bit her tongue. Seems like she was doing that a lot today. “Marla was very upset after you hit Deputy Dominguez, and she seemed upset at court this morning. Can I talk to her?”

  “I’ll take care of my family, Detective Regan. If you come back here, I’ll... I’ll sue you for harassment.”

  She’d heard that more times than she could count.

  “Sir, if—”

  “You can’t talk to me without my lawyer. You’re breaking the law.”

  “No, sir, I’m doing a welfare check. May I come in?”

  “No.” He slammed the door on her.

  She had no probable cause to enter without an invitation. Why had she even come here?

  Because you’re frustrated by the system, frustrated by Melissa.

  “Frustrated is my middle name,” she mumbled to herself as she climbed back into her Jeep and left.

  Chapter Five

  Jackie was in a funk most of the dinner. She tried to socialize with Rick’s family, and managed to be polite and chat with everyone, but it was so hard. She watched how Peter Hunter treated his wife. He was so… sweet. There was no other word for it. He was a large man, not overweight, just all around a big guy. His wife, Anne, was petite. They looked so odd, but every time Peter looked at Anne, he smiled, as if just happy to see her in the room. They already had their Christmas tree up and decorated, and Stephanie’s kids—ages five and three—searched the presents under the tree looking for their names. Jackie had Christmas trees growing up. Some years they were large and lit, other years scrawny and her mother couldn’t be bothered with the lights. Jackie had no mementos or decorations from her childhood, but that was fine. She didn’t want to remember anything about growing up.

  Rick and his sister, Stephanie, cleared the table, and Jackie helped Anne with the dishes. The woman was sixty and had retired last year, but chatted about working at the school as a teacher’s aide part-time, planning her garden for the spring, and a fortieth-anniversary cruise to Alaska she and Peter were taking next summer.

  She was happy, but also perceptive.

  “You’re quiet tonight, Jackie,” Anne said as she finished putting away the leftovers. Jackie was loading the dishwasher.

  “Tough week. You don’t want to hear about crime. Dinner was delicious.”

  “I’m glad you could come. You and Rick have hectic schedules.”

  She’d cancelled the last couple of dinners with Rick’s family, and he’d gone without her. He visited his parents at least once a week, and every Sunday during football season when he didn’t have to work. Jackie knew she should make more of an effort. For Rick. But it was so hard to ma
ke small talk. So hard to try and be normal.

  She didn’t know what she was doing anymore. Rick was right. She couldn’t let things go.

  She started the dishwasher, and when Anne went back to the family room, Jackie stepped outside. In the summer, it was a welcoming yard, with a koi pond and small grassy area and lots of trees and flowers. Now the evergreens were full but the other trees were bare. The flowers were dormant, except for pansies hanging in pots on the back porch.

  She sat on the bench in the far corner of the yard, looking at the koi pond lit with low-wattage blue lights. The rain had finally stopped, but the night held a deep chill and promise for more rain later. The cold made Jackie feel something other than the anger that had been building ever since she’d been called back to the Beckers’ house last night and learned that Carlo had hit a cop. The anger that remained when her sister defended her violent husband, that grew when Marla’s husband got out on a low bail when they were this close to convincing her to walk away. Jackie might be a hot mess, but at least she knew she had issues.

  The back door opened and Rick walked across the yard toward her. During the day, they could watch the fish swimming around them, but the fish were settled for the night. Jackie was relieved when Rick didn’t flip on the bright outdoor lights. She liked being in the dark.

  “It’s cold out here,” he said, sitting next to her.

  “It’s fine.”

  “I’m usually good at reading you, Jack, but you’re going to have to tell me what’s going on. Because this time, I can’t read your mind, and something has been bugging you all day. Is it Melissa? TJ?”

  “I don’t want kids.”

  He didn’t say anything. What did she expect?

  “So,” she continued awkwardly, “if you want kids, you probably should find another girlfriend.”

  Maybe Melissa was right. She might have her own life screwed up, but Melissa was pretty smart when it came to other people.

  “Where the hell is this coming from?”

  “I’m a disaster, Rick. Hell, the last two days are normal for me, and I nearly broke my wrist again and I almost got called for contempt of court and I didn’t want to come here because your parents are too nice. I realized that I’ve cancelled the last half dozen dinners. They are truly wonderful, and I’m afraid my bad attitude is going to rub off on them. You know what I wanted to do instead? Park out front of the Beckers’ house and wait for something to happen so I could have an excuse to run in and pound that bastard. I want to slap sense into Marla because she doesn’t see what’s right in front of her. Worse—she sees it, she damn well knows—but thinks she’s not worth shit, that she should be grateful that she has a man, as rotten as Carlo Becker is. And poor little Lizzy Becker sits and colors and doesn’t talk to anyone and I just see—I can see her future. Her future is going down the same damn path as her mother. I want to drag them both out of there. But I can’t do anything.”