Damn, she wasn’t sure what she thought. “Fuck it, I don’t know. I don’t know! Maybe I shouldn’t be doing this anymore. Maybe I should just walk away, or solve old-fashioned homicides. Some gang-banger takes out a rival. An idiot shoots his boss. Revenge, greed, anything else but this.”
“Is that what you want? To pick and choose the cases you work?”
She only half-heard Monroe’s questions. “Do you realize that most of the women who let me help them have kids? I’ve always been able to use that card—to point out that if their husband or boyfriend is going to beat on them, they’ll someday beat on their kids. It doesn’t always work, but more often than not, it’s the one way I can get through to them. Because they love their children. They may be scared, but they’re willing to fight back because they have the maternal instinct to save their kid. Over time, they learn self-respect and self-sufficiency. Hell, not all of them, but enough that it makes it worth it, you know?”
Monroe nodded.
“But nothing I said worked with Marla. Nothing. Oh, Chris and I thought we were close, but I think she just was too intimidated to argue with us. I bullied her just like her husband. I tried everything—playing bad cop, good cop, promising everything under the sun to get her and Lizzy away from that man. I might as well have been talking to a brick wall. I asked her multiple times if she or her husband owned a gun. She always said no. I had no cause to search her house. I didn’t know… I should have.”
“How? Because you should be able to see through walls like Superwoman?”
“I should have just known.”
“You’re not psychic.”
“I should be.”
“You take these cases personally. You can’t do that and survive in your job. You have enough stress as it is. You have to accept that you can’t save everyone.”
“I can’t.”
“Short of dragging Marla Becker away in handcuffs and putting Lizzy in foster care, is there anything else you could have done to stop what happened?”
“I could have sat on their house twenty-four-seven.”
“And is that practical? You staking out their house all day and night for weeks?”
Of course it wasn’t, which is why Monroe said it.
“Point taken.”
“No, it’s not. You still think you should have done something more. I read the files, Jackie. And your reports, the responding officers, your partner. I read everything, and there was nothing you could have done differently to change this outcome. You must accept that. These tragic deaths are laid firmly at the foot of the man who pulled the trigger.”
“Intellectually, I know that.”
“But.”
“What if it’s Melissa?”
Jackie got up from her chair and started pacing the carpet.
“Jackie, did something happen with your sister?”
“I know that her husband is abusing her. He doesn’t let her bruises show. She’s told me a few things—things that got my instincts humming. But she’s always vague, talks around the situation. Tom Stafford is different. He’s intelligent. He’s attractive. Successful. Has friends everywhere. He successfully cut her off from her old friends, isolated her. Her friends are his friends. Every time I push her, she pushes back. She’s not a cowering woman like Marla. I see her fight and independence, and I try to appeal to that, but she just tells me I’m wrong.”
“But you’re certain.”
She nodded. “Nothing I can prove, nothing but my gut instincts. Marla Becker acted like the abused spouse, with the way she talked and defended Carlo, but wouldn’t meet my eye. The visible bruises. Her whole demeanor. But Missy—she denies everything, gets in my face, looks me in the eye when she tells me I’m wrong. But sometimes she walks… stiffly. She has... I don’t know. It’s just instinct and I know I need more. And I think, how can she let him do it? She’s smart, she’s vibrant, she stands up for others, but she won’t protect herself? And she has a kid. My nephew.”
Monroe nodded. “I see.”
“She won’t let me help. Last time I pushed hard—she was in the hospital with a concussion because Tom tripped and accidentally bumped her down a flight of stairs—she wouldn’t let me see TJ for two months. I can’t—I can’t lose him.”
“Him? Or your sister?”
“Both. I failed her. Somehow, I failed Missy and she married a man just like our dad. Prettier and smarter, but with the same dark soul. She married our father and I’m becoming him. And I don’t know how to stop the cycle.”
“Jackie, you are most certainly not your father.”
She didn’t say anything. She couldn’t believe she’d said it out loud. Her darkest fear, that she was a violent predator just like her miserable father, had haunted her for years.
Monroe said, “Listen to me, Jackie—your desire to protect Lizzy Becker motivated these feelings of anger and frustration with her mother. You recognize that Marla was a victim, but at the same time you blamed her because she reminded you of your own mother, who wouldn’t leave her abusive husband. Your mom either couldn’t—or wouldn’t—stop her husband from taking a belt to his daughter. Your job is a difficult one, especially for someone with your background. You could easily ask not to work on domestic abuse cases. I would support you in that.”
Jackie shook her head. “I’ve thought about it, but if not me, who? I see things other cops miss because I lived it.”
“But it’s tearing you up inside.”
It did, but not like before. For the first time in her life, she realized she could manage everything better. Because of Dr. Monroe? Or was it Rick’s support? Perhaps her own maturity? She didn’t know.
“I’ll be okay.”
“Will you?”
“Yes. I’m not going to lie to you—sometimes it’s hard. But I have a great partner. And I have Rick at home. Rick gets it, and he’s always there when I really need him. I’m not running to a bar every night and getting drunk and thinking about my failures.”
For a long minute, Dr. Monroe sat quietly, then, “I want you to take a few days off. I’ll recommend paid administrative leave. It’s not uncommon when an officer has to face the death of a child in the line of duty. I’ll clear you starting Monday.”
“Doc—I need to work. I can’t dump my cases on someone else.”
What would she do if she didn’t have the job?
“You need to decompress. I wish I could send you and Rick to Hawaii for a week—a place where you can forget everything.”
“Last I heard, Hawaii has crime, too.”
Dr. Monroe smiled. “I’m sure it does. Technically, it’s only five days. You agree, and I won’t make you come in again—at least not often.”
Jackie raised an eyebrow. “I have a choice?”
“Not really. I’d like to see you again, just to talk, but we’ll do quarterly meetings and I won’t make them mandatory unless you start avoiding me. You’ve learned to handle your frustrations but I’m not sure beating up your freezer or keeping everything bottled up inside is the smartest move. We need to find you another outlet.”
Jackie wanted to argue, but she’d lost the energy. She just wanted to go home and sleep. Maybe she’d sleep the week away.
Monroe walked her to the door. “You couldn’t have saved them,” she said quietly. “Don’t blame yourself anymore. It’s not healthy or productive.”
Chapter Eight
At Jackie’s place on Wednesday morning, Rick woke before dawn. “I have three days of twelve on, twelve off. Come to my apartment later. I’ll be there after eight tonight,” he said. He swung his feet over the edge of her bed and stretched. “Go back to sleep.”
She hadn’t slept much. Everything about the Beckers’ demise had been playing around in her head. She and Rick had gone to bed late, but Jackie had stared at the ceiling half the night.
“I’m fine,” she said, rubbing her eyes.
“You will be.”
“What that mean?”
&n
bsp; “You’re smart. Figure it out.” Rick looked concerned. Was she that bad off that even her tough, ex-military boyfriend was worried?
“I hate forced time off.”
“You hate time off, period.”
“Not so much anymore,” she said, reaching for him. She ran her fingers down his bare back.
“Ditto.” He leaned down, embracing and kissing her. “I wish I could stay.”
“Forced time off wouldn’t be bad if we could go away somewhere.”
“Let’s take off after your nephew’s party.”
“It’s going to rain all week. I like riding on your bike but don’t like getting drenched.”
“There’s supposed to be fresh powder in Tahoe.”
“Oh?”
“We’ll head up before dark Saturday, have steak for dinner followed by lots of fabulous sex, then take the slopes all day Sunday.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck. “You’re serious?”
“Very. Work hard, play hard. You need to learn how to play more, and I know you love skiing.”
“Deal.” She pulled him down for another kiss.
Rick glanced at the clock on her nightstand and grinned. “I think I have a little time to play hard this morning.”
“Don’t waste it.”
#
As soon as Rick left, Jackie took a long shower, then took the time to make bacon and eggs which she ate while watching the rain fall into the Sacramento River. She cleaned her kitchen, made her bed because she was bored, then read two chapters of a good thriller. That thirty minutes was the maximum she could sit still, so she put the book down and changed into her work-out clothes.
It was eight in the morning.
She drove to the gym near the sheriff’s office, where her buddies worked out. At least she could catch up on gossip and not feel like she was being punished. She understood why Frisk had sent her to Dr. Monroe, and she sort of understood why Monroe wanted her to take a break. The death of a child was the hardest for cops to deal with. And yeah, Jackie personalized things.
But she didn’t do leisure. After Jackie got her fill of working out and gossip, she had lunch with a couple buddies who had the day off, then started back to her house.
She made a detour to Melissa’s. Tom’s car wasn’t in the driveway, so Jackie knocked on the door.
No answer.
She called Melissa’s cell phone. Jackie thought it would go to voicemail, but after the fourth ring, her sister picked up. “Hello?” she answered, her voice groggy.
“It’s Jackie. Did I wake you up? At two in the afternoon?”
“Two? I have to pick up TJ in an hour.”
“I’m at your door.”
Melissa hung up and a long minute later, the deadbolt slid open and Melissa opened the door. “I need coffee,” she said.
“You look like shit.”
“Screw you.”
But Melissa didn’t kick her out.
“What happened? Long night?”
“Pretty much.”
Melissa went about making coffee in the kitchen. Her long, dyed blond hair was a tangled mess, and she hadn’t taken off her make-up the night before. She wore a short bathrobe. There were bruises on her thighs.
“What happened, Melissa?”
“Lose the cop voice.”
Jackie watched her sister closely. She was stiff and in pain.
“Did he hit you again?”
“No. Shit, Jackie, you always think the worst!” Melissa whirled around. She had dark circles under her eyes.
Focus on the evidence. Control your temper.
“You have bruises on your thighs,” Jackie said calmly. Slowly. “You walk like you’re sore all over.”
“Don’t tell me sex between you and Rick doesn’t get hot and heavy sometimes. It’s a turn-on, and you know it.”
“Hot and heavy doesn’t mean Rick leaves bruises on me.”
“Bet you leave bruises on him. You’re such a dominatrix bitch.”
It was so hard to remain calm when she wanted to tell Melissa to fuck off, but something more was going on, and if Jackie let her anger and frustration loose, Melissa wouldn’t talk to her.
“Sit.” Jackie took out ingredients to make breakfast. She scrambled up some eggs, ham, and toast, then poured Melissa her coffee. She poured herself a cup. Putting the food in front of her sister, Jackie watched her start to eat. The whole process calmed Jackie down more than anything. Sometimes, taking a step back did help.
“These are good,” Melissa said, changing the subject like she always did. “You were always a good cook.”
“I had to be. Mom didn’t know how to boil water.”
“You’re always so hard on her,” Melissa said. “She did the best she could.”
Maybe she had, maybe Rhonda just couldn’t do any better. All Jackie felt was pity. She wished it was different. She wished she could love the woman who had given birth to her. She wished she could understand all the stupid-headed choices Rhonda had made over the years.
But Jackie loved her baby sister, Melissa. They were three years apart, and Jackie had taken the belt for her. She’d protected her and loved her unconditionally their entire lives. When they were little, Melissa always turned to her. Always. Now? Never. She no longer let Jackie in.
Why? Embarrassment? DV victims were often humiliated by what happened to them, as if they were somehow to blame, which was why they often didn’t talk about it with people who cared for them. They were so manipulated by their partner that they thought they deserved the punishment, that the situation was not as bad as it actually was. Did Melissa think that Jackie would think less of her?
Jackie was sometimes her own worst enemy. She wasn’t as sensitive as she should be. She was good at getting to the truth of a situation—but not as good at coddling anyone. Her partner was so much better in that area. For the first time, Jackie could see how her gruff cop attitude might make Melissa clam up. Melissa was a smart woman. She had to know what Tom was doing was wrong, but maybe she just didn’t want Jackie to think less of her. How did Jackie convince her that she would be proud of her if she stood up to the truth?
She needed to think on it, and she needed more evidence. Solid evidence that Melissa couldn’t twist around into something else.
“I need to get TJ—do I really look that bad?”
“Yes. Why don’t I pick up TJ from school? You can take a shower and put yourself together. I don’t mind.”
“Why aren’t you at work?”
“I had case—little girl died. My boss told me to take a hike for the week.”
“Oh, God, that’s awful. What happened?”
She’d asked. Jackie wanted to be blunt, but Melissa was asking, curious. Maybe this was the time for tact. She couldn’t sugarcoat it, but she shelved the domestic violence angle. After all, the facts would be self-explanatory and Melissa wasn’t an idiot.
“It was a murder-suicide. Her father killed his wife, his six-year-old daughter, then himself. With a shotgun. It was messy. We thought the girl might survive… but she’d lost too much blood.”
Melissa reached for her hand. “Oh, sis, how awful.”
“Yeah.” Jackie kept her eyes down, but furtively watched her sister clearly processing Jackie’s words. Was she imagining that the same could happen to her? “I went to give blood, but it was too late for her.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Her mother didn’t know how to ask for help,” Jackie said. “I don’t know if she was embarrassed or just didn’t realize how quickly her husband was escalating to the point of killing his entire family.”
Melissa didn’t say anything. Jackie didn’t want to go too far, but she’d planted the seed. She cleared Melissa’s plate, put it in the dishwasher, and said, “I’ll grab TJ and take him for a pre-birthday ice cream.”
“You sure?”
“Of course. He’s a good kid.”
She smiled. “The best. I’m lucky to have him.”
Jackie wanted to say more, wanted to ask about the bruises, the so-called “rough sex,” see if she could get Melissa to talk, but right now, they had a connection and any pushing was going to blow it.
Maybe Jackie was learning something.
Every victim is different.
Jackie walked out, jumped in her Jeep, and drove the short distance to TJ’s Catholic school. They weren’t even Catholic. Tom might have been once. Maybe you didn’t have to be Catholic to go to the school.
Jackie wasn’t religious. She didn’t know or really care if there was a God. He hadn’t been around when she was growing up, so she didn’t feel like she owed some unknowable deity anything. But her partner, Chris, was a believer, and she respected and listened to him, knew a little how Catholics thought, so she had some ideas about what TJ might be learning.
Jackie might be able to use that to her advantage.
She grabbed her umbrella and walked to the yard where the kids emerged after dismissal. It wasn’t raining hard, just a depressing drizzle, but it could get worse quickly. The school required ID to pick up a child if the person wasn’t known to the supervisor, but Jackie had picked up TJ often enough over the years that she knew most of the staff.
TJ spotted her immediately. “Aunt Jackie!”
“Hey, kiddo. Want to get ice cream?”
“Yes!”
Everything with TJ was an exclamation. He truly was a happy kid—unlike Jackie and Melissa had been growing up. Jackie didn’t think he would be this happy if he knew what his father did to his mother, but it did give her pause. Most children in violent homes either hid inside themselves, were nervous and scared, or became bullies. Most. Not all.
Every family is different.
Melissa was good at hiding her injuries. She kept up the act. Probably because she didn’t want to believe it. She had convinced herself that she wasn’t an abused spouse, so it was easier to convince TJ that everything was fine. It made sense, based on what Jackie knew of Melissa’s unique situation.
“Where’s my mom?” TJ asked as they got into the car.
“I went over for lunch and she was tired. I told her I’d pick you up.”
Betrayed: Powerful Stories of Kick-Ass Crime Survivors Page 43