Betrayed: Powerful Stories of Kick-Ass Crime Survivors

by Allison Brennan

  “Jack—”

  “And I—I really, really wanted to hit Marla. I have so much rage. I can’t even think of having my own kid. Fucking him up just like me.”

  Jackie rarely cried. Maybe she saw it as a sign of weakness, she didn’t know. But sometimes, the rage took over and every emotion overwhelmed her. Like now. The tears burned behind her eyelids, and a headache grew as she forced herself to maintain control.

  “I don’t know where to start,” Rick said.

  She jumped up. “I gotta go.”

  “Don’t you dare walk out.”

  “I have to. I have to.” She didn’t want Rick’s parents seeing her like this. His sister and her family—fuck, what had she done? They were standing outside in the frigid cold, but certainly everyone was watching them, thinking they were nuts because it was only forty degrees. Rick didn’t even have a jacket on.

  She tried to get past him, but he side-stepped and blocked her. “When you get like this, it’s because your sister got into your head. You don’t want kids, fine. You change your mind, fine. I’m not in love with you because you might give me offspring. I’m in love with you because I fucking love you, and you’re just going to have to deal with that. There’s no strings or contingencies. I can’t turn it on and off. I knew the minute I saw you two and a half years ago, when you came into my emergency room with a bullet in your arm and all-cop attitude that you were different. I know the anger tears you up, and I know why, and I’m here. Dammit, Jack, I know what you went through.”

  “Your family’s perfect.”

  He blinked. “What? You think because my parents didn’t beat on each other I don’t understand?”

  “No, but—”

  “No buts. Fuck, I was in Afghanistan for two tours and saw hell on earth, then when I got back to the big cities, I see just as much violence in the emergency room. Just because you weren’t there and I don’t talk about it, I’ve never thought you didn’t get it. Three days ago, I patched up a gang-banger. Fifteen years old, got his arm sliced because he was playing with a switchblade and didn’t know what he was doing. I had a baby die on me after being shaken, her mother saying it wasn’t her fault, it was an accident. So yeah, I get it, I get you, I get the anger, but let me tell you, you didn’t hit Becker and you didn’t hit your sister and I didn’t hit the mom with the crocodile tears. I need you, Jack. Just like you need me. So don’t tell me what I want or what you think I want, okay?”

  She nodded. She didn’t know what to say. Rick wasn’t a chatty guy. She’d never heard him say so much at one time.

  “I—I’ve never said I loved you,” she said.

  “I know you do.”

  “You do?”

  He took a deep breath, a small smile on his lips. But his eyes were still hard, angry, worried.

  She put her arms around his neck, now mindful that she was freezing. “Well, you’re right.”

  “I usually am, Detective.”

  “I love you. I just—I don’t say it a lot.”

  He raised an eyebrow and she saw his eyes lighten up, just a bit. That somehow fixed everything. “A lot?”

  “Okay, ever. But—yeah. I do. And thank you. I’m sick inside and you’re still here.”

  “You can’t fix people who don’t want help. That fact fucks with us because people like you and me like to fix things. Hell, we need to fix things. That’s why we’re so good together. But you know the most important thing?”

  “What?” she whispered.

  “If they want help, you’ll be there. That’s all you can do. And I love you for it.”

  #

  Saturday was a fun day for Jackie and Rick until he was called into the hospital after dinner when a weather-related pile-up on I-80 resulted in several serious injuries. Jackie tried to relax, but she was wound up. It didn’t help that she was high on caffeine. She debated going to Melissa’s, but instead filled her thermos with coffee and drove downtown to the hottest of Tom Stafford’s restaurants.

  She hadn’t followed Tom in months, but after Melissa’s reaction to Jackie’s visit the other day, Jackie couldn’t get her brother-in-law out of her head. It wasn’t just Melissa—it was the Beckers as well. It was everything, and sitting home alone was the last thing that Jackie wanted.

  Might as well see what Tom was up to, find out who his new mistress was.

  Jackie wasn’t very forgiving about screw-ups, and she knew it. Some people thought everyone deserved a second chance, and in some things, sure. A kid gets popped for robbery, give him another chance to straighten out. Someone gets stoned and vandalizes their school, make them clean it up.

  But cheating? Jackie had never known a guy—or girl, for that matter—who had stepped out on their spouse once, never doing it again. Once a cheat, always a cheat. Didn’t marriage vows mean anything? Jackie wasn’t even married and she’d never sleep with another guy unless she and Rick had split up. It just wasn’t right.

  Jackie almost laughed at herself. Here she was borderline stalking her brother-in-law yet feeling righteous that she wasn’t cheating on Rick. She certainly had selective ethics, but it didn’t bother her.

  It is what it is.

  Maybe it was a cop-out, but at least she could live with herself.

  Jackie slipped her deputy placard on her dash and parked in an official-use-only space on L Street, three blocks down from the Capitol Building, where she was kitty-corner to the restaurant and directly across from the parking garage where she knew Tom would have parked. She had been in Staff’s once, shortly after it opened with her sister and brother-in-law and then three-year-old TJ to celebrate Melissa’s twenty-fifth birthday. Pricey, but the food and drinks were good and the atmosphere was trendy and appealed to the young, hip political staff that had made Staff’s the after-work hot-spot. Saturday night had grown into the post-theater hip spot with reservations required.

  It was after midnight, and she should be home sleeping, but she wasn’t. She sipped her coffee and waited.

  While she didn’t relax easily, she had always liked stake-outs. Her calm, reasoned partner, Chris, was the one who grew antsy waiting. She didn’t know why—maybe it was the anticipation, maybe it was just knowing she was doing her job. In the two hours she sat there, outside Staff’s, she witnessed four prostitutes get picked up by johns—this wasn’t the typical working girl stroll. She wondered if they were new or had they expanded the territory? Saturday night near the Capitol building? Risky.

  She witnessed a half dozen drug deals—minor shit, probably pot or pills. No one looked like a serious gangbanger, though one of the kids made the attempt. She saw one guy stagger out of the bar next to Staff’s and get into his car. Bastard. She called it in, including his license plate, location, and description. She would have gone after him herself, but she was in her civilian car and had no way to pull him over.

  At one-thirty, Tom walked out and headed toward the parking garage. Jackie waited. Three minutes later, he pulled out of the garage and headed down L Street. She followed.

  If he was going home, he’d turn left on 9th, then left on N Street. He did turn left on 9th ... but passed N Street. He continued down to the new trendy townhouses built off R Street.

  He parked in front of the end unit, but walked two down and knocked. Jackie was parked illegally across the street, and he might have seen her. But it was dark. And Jeep Wranglers were common.

  A woman answered the door. Jackie didn’t recognize her, but she was young and gorgeous. Tom went inside.

  Gotcha.

  She wrote down the address to run the name of the owner or renter, and drove around the block. The only parking place she could find was up the street. She had to watch the unit through her side mirror, always more difficult.

  Tom left twenty minutes after he entered. Now that was a quickie. Briefly, she wondered why else he might have gone there—someone he worked with? Business?

  Right, business at one-thirty in the morning.

  She followed To
m to his neighborhood, but didn’t go down his street. By the time she got home, she’d already talked to a friend of hers in Sac PD who worked the graveyard shift who said he’d check out the resident on R Street and get back to her.

  Jackie was surprised to see Rick’s bike in the garage. She went upstairs. He was sitting on the couch in his scrubs, a beer in hand. It looked like he was sleeping, but as soon as she stepped in he opened his eyes and stared at her. “Where’d you go?”

  “Out.”

  He continued to stare and didn’t say anything.

  “I thought you were working all night.”

  “I did what I had to do. Was surprised you weren’t here.”

  “You could have called.”

  “You could have left a note.”

  She poured herself a glass of wine. “I sat outside Staff’s for a couple hours.”

  “Shit, Jack. We’ve talked about this!”

  “He’s cheating on her again. Hard to prove, but he spent twenty minutes in the townhouse of a young, gorgeous redhead.”

  “Twenty minutes.”

  “He might have made me.”

  “If he made you, you wanted him to see you. You’re better than that, Jackie.”

  She frowned. She’d had to park and watch in order to see who Tom was visiting. She supposed she could have been more discreet.

  Rick said, “Dammit, you can’t play these games with him.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Don’t lie to me. Never lie to me.”

  “I want him out of her life.”

  “That’s on Melissa.”

  “Someone has to protect TJ.”

  Rick put his beer down and walked over to where she was still standing in the kitchen, wine in hand. “This isn’t the way to do it.”

  “It’s the only way I know how.”

  They were at an impasse, and Jackie wondered if Rick was going to walk out.

  Instead, he took her hand and kissed it. “We’ll figure it out, Jack. But don’t shut me out.”

  “I’ll try.”

  He touched her lips, then whispered, “As wise Yoda once said, ‘Do, or do not. There is no try.’”

  Chapter Six

  Monday morning, she and Chris picked up a case first thing—a he-said/she-said sexual assault case. Jackie hated those most of all. As a cop, she had to go in and assess each witness statement. When it was a guy and a girl who knew each other, everything became more complicated especially when alcohol was involved. One of them was lying. Who?

  Most of the time, the female had truly been assaulted. She hadn’t consented to sex, and the guy pushed and took what he wanted. Even without bruises, it was still rape. Yet more times than Jackie wanted to admit, the female lied about the events leading up to sexual intercourse, and weeding through that bullshit was difficult. Why couldn’t people just tell the damn truth? What was so hard about it? Why bring the police into every damn disagreement? Sometimes Jackie felt more like a family counselor than a cop. And considering her family, she was the last person anyone should be taking advice from.

  But they did their job, took the statements, and talked to witnesses. In some ways, it helped Jackie put last week behind her.

  Until three that afternoon when her cell phone rang. It was Henry McMahon, the ADA on the Carlo Becker case.

  “I didn’t want you to hear this from anyone else,” Henry began.

  “Why does this sound like bad news?”

  “It’s not good or bad. It’s a plea deal. Felony assault, thirty months behind bars, ten-thousand-dollar fine.”

  “Thirty? That’s bullshit.”

  “I asked for five years, but Elliott said we could go down to thirty as long as we keep the felony. That was a stickler—the PD wanted misdemeanor and probation, and I said I’d take it to trial for the maximum.”

  “Becker took it?”

  “PD is talking to him now. He’d be a fool not to—we have two decorated cops who will testify, plus two witnesses from the house across the street. It also helps our case that there is a history of police calls to the house. He’s looking at ten to twenty because he assaulted a peace officer. Thirty months is a walk in the park compared, that’s what I said, and the PD agrees.”

  “Does Dominguez know?”

  “He will when I get confirmation. It’s a win-win, Jackie.”

  “How?”

  “Felony. Permanent record. He steps out of line again and he’s back behind bars. And thirty months is a long time—maybe his wife will get her act together.”

  That was something Jackie could help with. She knew every halfway house, women’s shelter, employment assistant, counselor, and school that helped victims of domestic violence. And if Marla was on the cusp, this might push her over.

  “Thanks, Henry.”

  She hung up and told Chris what the ADA had said.

  Chris didn’t seem to hear her.

  “What?” she said.

  “The two we interviewed this morning?”

  “Yeah?”

  “The blood tests came back. Trace GHB.”

  “He drugged her? Shit fuck bastard.”

  “No. His blood came back positive.”

  She did a double take. “She drugged him?”

  “Someone did. It could be why he seemed confused when we first talked to him.”

  “Hers were clean?”

  “She still had alcohol in her system this morning, point oh-nine.”

  “She had to have been wasted last night if she was still riding this morning.”

  “They both were.”

  Terrific. This was a lose-lose situation. Both had been violated. But if one of their friends drugged the guy as some sort of sick joke, that could be charged as sexual assault. They just had to figure out exactly what happened.

  They notified the two about the blood tests. Both were confused, didn’t know who would have done something like that, but Chris and Jackie took down the names of everyone the kids remembered from the party. They’d gotten most of them earlier, but the two had been still out of it and now they added a couple names to the list.

  By four-thirty, close to the end of their shift, Jackie said to Chris, “I want to stop by the Beckers’ on my way home, make sure everything’s okay.”

  “I’ll join you.”

  “You sure Sophia won’t be upset? You’ve been putting in a lot of overtime, and while I’ve never had a kid, I know they’re a lot of work. And she’s pregnant.”

  “Trying to get rid of me?”

  “Of course not. I guess—I just want you two to work out.”

  Chris stared at her. “Sophia and I are great. You know that.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “You haven’t seen too many good marriages in your lifetime. Don’t worry about mine. I’ll follow you over there.”

  They told the desk sergeant their plans and left. This time of day it took fifteen, twenty minutes to get over to the Beckers’ neighborhood. Jackie was at a red light only blocks from the turnoff when dispatch called her cell phone since she was in her personal car.

  “Regan.”

  “There are reports of shots fired at 5451 Perrin Way, deputies en route. You were signed out to that address. Are you on site?”

  “Minutes away.” Shit! She and Chris had asked Marla after the first interview, months ago, whether there were guns in the house and she’d said no. They didn’t have a search warrant and no compelling reason to act without one.

  “Tell all units that two detectives will be on-site. Over.” She hung up and sped up as the light turned. She squealed into the neighborhood and called Chris immediately. “Shots fired, back-up’s on their way. We need to go in.”

  “Full vests before we engage.”

  Jackie’s intestines were in knots. She pulled up in front of the Beckers’ house and ordered the neighbors who were standing out front to get back.

  One neighbor who Jackie recognized from previous calls told her, “It sounded like a shot gun.
I go hunting all the time. I’m certain it was.”

  She was already putting on her vest. “How many shots fired?”

  “Three.”

  Murder suicide.

  She prayed she was wrong.

  “Clear the area!”

  Sirens shrilled in the distance.

  Chris pulled up seconds after she did and jumped out of his small pickup truck. He slipped on his vest and checked his weapon.

  “Three shots fired, neighbor thinks shotgun.”

  “We need to wait for back-up.”

  Waiting would kill her, but she didn’t have a death wish. Two deputies pulled parallel to her car a minute later and jumped out. She reported the situation, told them to cover her and Chris.

  “If he’s waiting for us to approach, we’re sitting ducks,” Chris said.

  “Three gun shots, Chris.” She didn’t want to think about what was behind that door. Protect against the threat, rescue any victims. That was her focus.

  “There,” she said, gesturing toward the window on the far right. “That’s the kitchen window. It’s open, and if I remember the layout right, I’ll be able to see the living room and dining room if I can get close enough.

  Chris nodded, pulled his gun out, and said, “I’ll watch the door.”

  Jackie ran down the driveway until it met the narrow walk that led to the front door. She stayed low until she reached the window, then carefully stood and peered inside.