by Jason Parent
“Believe me, I wish I could.” Sam felt like an ant beneath a magnifying glass on a sunny day. Masterson would walk, and it was on her. All because I had to take shortcuts. I just wanted to see him imprisoned before he could hurt someone else. She slouched, vaguely recalling a famous quote concerning good intentions. She straightened. “I’ll find the evidence we need.”
“No,” Cotillard said, standing. “You’ll stay away from him. You’re off the case from this point forward. You’re lucky I’m not suspending you. But there will be an internal investigation into the matter. You can bet your ass on that. If the recommended punishment comes back as termination, so be it. I would hate to do it, but you’ve really forced my hand here.”
Sam didn’t argue. She knew she had screwed up. She thought she understood how Michael felt when he said he always got in trouble for trying to do the right thing.
The chief ran a hand across his bald head. “In the meantime, keep a low profile, and stay the hell away from Masterson. And if I hear you’re giving that kid any more ride-alongs, you’ll be suspended immediately without pay. You got it?”
Sam nodded.
He pointed at the door. “Now, get out of here.”
Sam left the room, then the precinct, only stopping by her desk to grab her overcoat and keys. She felt humiliated and dejected. She seemed to be losing her hold on the only thing in the world that made sense to her, being a cop.
She plodded over to her car, opened the door, and slid behind the wheel. She started the engine then sat there, unable to bring herself to pull away from the precinct. For the first time since her partner and mentor had passed away, Sam broke down and cried.
Chapter 23
If they were trying to speak so that Tessa wouldn’t hear them, they were doing a poor job of it. She heard nearly every hushed word. She sat in an uncomfortable wooden chair with a placemat-flat pastel cushion, pretending not to be listening while she stared at a spot on the canary-yellow wall, wondering where her future lay.
Not with him, she prayed. I can’t go back to him. She knew what returning to Father meant: punishment. And it would be brutal, potentially deadly.
When she was younger, Tessa didn’t know better. She thought she had to do what Father said without question. That was what good girls were supposed to do. Father always said so. As the years passed, Father tried to keep her sheltered. She would have even been homeschooled had her mother not fought so hard against it, one of the few times Mom had dared to speak against Father’s commands. And how Mother had paid, beaten so badly she couldn’t get out of bed except to make him dinner and do other household chores. Maybe Mother was the lucky one. She got away from him, even if she had to die to do it.
When Tessa had found her mother in that tub, she knew Father was responsible, and not only in the he-drove-her-to-do-it kind of way. No, Tessa believed he had slit her mother’s wrists and made it look like suicide. Of course, she didn’t see him do it, and she would never dare ask him about it. But the way Father avoided questions about her death, skirting around the very mention of her, always made Tessa feel as though he was hiding something.
After her mother’s death, Tessa began seeing the wrong in Father. Still, she did as he commanded, more from training than from fear. After all, he was her father. Good girls listened to their fathers. Good girls did as they were told.
The violence became worse with each passing year. Not only did Father direct it at her, but also he began lashing out at those he felt had slighted him. He lost his job as an insurance agent for tossing his boss through the office’s plate glass window. Claiming post-traumatic stress disorder from his tour of duty in Iraq, Father avoided prison.
Father had to go to court-ordered psychiatric appointments, but he somehow managed to fool the doctor because he was eventually put on disability for PTSD. That meant that he spent much more time at home, all alone with Tessa. She could only imagine the ugly things war did to people. But Father’s “condition” had nothing to do with his service. Recently, Tessa had decided that he had enlisted only for the chance to hurt people where he wouldn’t get in trouble for it.
Her life had become a walk across a tightrope. The slightest slip, and Tessa was lost. Still, she did as she was told, even when she knew it to be wrong. As Father got worse, her fear of him was enough to keep her in line. She knew what he was capable of; she’d seen it firsthand. He forced her to help him clean up his “messes.”
Then he began making Tessa watch. To her shame, she never protested. She felt as though Father had molded her into a monster just like him. With each kill she witnessed, she felt a little less human.
But she couldn’t tell anyone. He would kill her if she did. He’d promised it many times. And she knew he would find her, no matter where she went or how well she was hidden.
She hadn’t said a word to the cops other than to confess to Father’s crimes. She’d told them that she had murdered Gloria Jackson, turning a horror to her advantage. Going to jail was far better than living with him. And maybe since she’d gotten him off the hook, Father wouldn’t come after her.
Am I… free? Tessa found the idea peculiar. She was alive. She was unharmed. She was away from Father.
“Gloria called me about her, but at that time, she only had a hunch,” said the young woman wearing an embroidered vest over a pressed black skirt. Her name was Janet. Tessa had met her only once, the day after she got to the center. Even at a whisper, Janet’s voice carried through the reception area. “We couldn’t do anything about it then.”
“It could have been her instead of Ms. Jackson,” Detective Reilly said. She seemed strong and sure, her voice uncompromising.
Tessa kind of liked the detective. The woman had appeared like an avenging angel after Michael called her from the grocery store that horrible night. And Michael obviously trusted Reilly completely.
But Michael had hurt Father. Tessa had seen the blood. He’s not going to let that go. Tessa’s knee bounced uncontrollably. Father would be coming for them—Michael, Robbie, the detective, and Tessa. None of them were safe. She squirmed in her seat. He’s coming for me. She felt the warmth of urine between her legs. I’m doomed no matter what I do.
Tessa glanced at the detective. She didn’t look like much. Average height and slim, Detective Reilly probably wouldn’t have won a lot of ass-kicking contests. Some of the girls in Tessa’s class were bigger. She had seen Father tear more intimidating adversaries to shreds. Without her gun, the detective seemed no different than all the soccer moms Tessa saw collecting their kids after school while she hung back, afraid to go home. What made her so different from Mother, who had sworn to keep Tessa safe? A lot of good that promise had done her. Tessa was sure Detective Reilly would soon make the same promise, but she wouldn’t be able to keep it any better than Mother had.
“We do what we can, Detective,” Janet said. “Same as you.”
Detective Reilly looked as if she wanted to take a swing at the woman. “Well, Janet, we can’t exactly put her back there. He’s a killer. Have you not listened to a word I’ve told you? It’s outrageous that you would even consider it.”
“Where else would you have her go? Her father’s already called for her. You said yourself there are no charges pending against him. Tessa shows no signs of recent physical abuse. The scars on her back are old, and she’s not saying how she got them. She says the bruises on her wrist came from the Turcotte boy. The size and shape of the markings are consistent with her story. Her personality exhibits half a dozen signs of abuse, from flinching and timidity to introversion, but even combined, these symptoms can be indicative of a host of psychological or behavioral disorders. To top it all off, she’s confessed to murder.”
“She’s confessed to a crime she couldn’t possibly have committed. Her father is the prime suspect, and she’s the key witness. Yet you want to send her home with him?”
“As I understand it, no charges have been brought against Tessa, either,” Janet said. She shrugged. “We can’t keep her here under the present scenario. I’m sorry, Detective.”
“Let me talk to her,” Detective Reilly said. It sounded more like a command than a request.
“I planned on it. She said she would only talk to you.”
“Me?” The detective seemed surprised. Tessa wondered if she had made a mistake in thinking she could trust her. But she figured that Michael liking the woman had to count for something, and Tessa really didn’t have much in the way of choices. She didn’t expect much anyway. She hoped when Father got to her, he would make it quick, not like he did with Ms. Jackson.
Janet replied, “Yes, only you. But one of our people will need to be there with you. You know, for the sake of the child. It’s policy. I’ve got time if you would like to talk to her now.”
Tessa saw no need for a chaperone. She wasn’t afraid of the detective. Nothing the law could do to her would even come close to rivaling what Father likely had planned.
Detective Reilly glared at Janet then apparently realized there was no point in arguing. “Whatever.” Without waiting, she spun and strode across the room, over to where Tessa was sitting. “Hello, Tessa. I’m Detective Samantha Reilly. If you recall, I was the officer who picked you up at the supermarket the other day. You were a little out of it, and—”
Tessa nodded and whispered, “I remember.”
“Good.” Detective Reilly sat in the chair beside her. “I’m a good friend of Michael’s, but you know that already. Anyway, Janet tells me that you wanted to speak to me. Is that so?”
Tessa nodded again. She could feel the dampness in the crotch of her pants and hoped it didn’t show. But if Reilly noticed, she was kind enough not to say so.
The social worker coughed as she approached. “We have a room set up. It’s just through there,” she said, pointing toward a doorway.
Reilly stood, and Tessa followed. She took short steps to keep her legs together as much as possible, not wanting the women to notice her accident. They walked down a short corridor and veered into a small box of a room that looked like something right out of the movies, one of those rooms where cops would take turns yelling at a suspect while a commanding officer watched from behind a two-way mirror. It even had the blinding overhead light above the table in the center. Tessa stopped in the doorway.
Detective Reilly waved her inside. “C’mon in and sit down. We’re just going to talk.”
Pulling her shirt down over her crotch, Tessa strode past the adults and took a seat at the table. Reilly sat across from her.
Janet fiddled with a video camera in the corner. “We like to record our sessions. We find the practice keeps questioning more appropriate and helps our team evaluate… um, things.”
The video camera made Tessa extremely uncomfortable. What if Father sees the recording? She turned her body to the side so she could face away from the lens.
Reilly must have noticed Tessa’s discomfort. “Janet, can you hold off for a minute?”
“But—”
“Just give us a minute,” Reilly said more firmly.
Janet looked ready to protest, but Reilly stood and pulled her outside. They shut the door, so Tessa couldn’t hear, but Reilly came back alone. Tessa wondered how she’d convinced the woman to break the rules.
Looks like Detective Reilly will be playing the good cop. Tessa wasn’t stupid. If she told the detective anything, it would only be because she wanted to tell her everything. She just wasn’t sure she had it in her to cross Father.
Reilly sat down again, reached across the table, and placed her hands over Tessa’s. She gave them a squeeze. “It’s just you and me here. The camera’s off. No one’s listening. Nothing you tell me gets repeated unless you want me to repeat it.”
“How do I know I can trust you?”
“You asked for me, didn’t you? Part of you must think you can. Why don’t you trust that part of you?”
“Fine. How do I know you can stop him?”
“Believe me, I’ve put away bigger and scarier men than your father.”
“He’s scarier than you know.”
“How so?”
Tessa slid her hand out from beneath Detective Reilly’s and slouched against the back of her chair. She studied her sneakers beneath the table. I can’t tell her anything. I just can’t. She bit into her lower lip, wanting the detective’s help, needing it, but feeling more alone than ever. Once Tessa opened her mouth, once she spilled Father’s darkest secrets, she couldn’t shove them back in, no matter how much she might want to. Once she told, two things would happen: the police would be going after Father, and Father would be coming for her. His speak-no-evil policy was the only rule for which he had a definite penalty. That penalty was death. But first, he would make her hurt.
All that would stand between her and her father’s tyranny would be this unimpressive woman sitting in front of her. Would a badge and gun be enough to stop Father? It had never been enough in the past. The detective would need more than that to face him. She would need courage, more than Tessa had, and the will to pull the trigger.
“Tessa, I can’t help you if you don’t let me.”
“It’s too late to help me. He’s going to punish me for what Michael did to him. He’s going to blame me for everything. They shouldn’t have come over. I never invited them. They just showed up.”
“So you’re afraid of your father. That much is obvious.” Reilly leaned forward. “What is not so obvious are your reasons for being afraid. What has he done to you?”
Tessa thought back to the burns, the scrubbings with the wire brush, the scalding baths, her white blouse wet and sheer, exposing her budding breasts and clinging to her lobster-red skin as she wailed and begged. Heat flooded into her cheeks, and she imagined her skin reddening, this time from humiliation. She wouldn’t talk about those things, not those things, not ever. Father’s hands knew no boundaries.
She thought back to the whippings and shuddered. Father’s techniques had improved since those early days. He had learned cleaner ways to punish her, ways that didn’t leave marks. But no matter what he did to her body, nothing came close to the pain she’d felt when Father took her mother away from her.
Mother.
Tessa couldn’t swallow. He had beaten her mother, broken her, taken away her pride, her joy, her self-worth, even her love for Tessa. A store mannequin, hollow and soulless, was all that remained of Tessa’s mother in her final days. When she had only her life left to give, Father took that, too. Years passed, but Tessa’s pain remained.
Just then, she felt it resurging, as though she were a bicycle tire being pumped full of air and then pumped some more, until the stitches that tied her together bulged and ripped.
“I hate him!” Tessa slapped a hand over her mouth. She’d never dared to say that aloud. The release came with a mixture of terror and relief. Had Father heard her say it, he would have retaliated hard. But he didn’t hear her. The world had not ended when she said those words. No repercussions came her way. “I hate him,” she said again, almost smiling. “I hate him, and I want him dead.”
“I can understand how you feel, Tessa.” Detective Reilly pushed her hair behind her ears. “Unfortunately, it’s not my job to kill him even if he deserves it. Would you settle for a nice long prison sentence?”
Something about the way the detective spoke seemed genuine. Tessa wondered if she might actually be able to trust the woman. But words were words, and actions were actions. Tessa was ready to talk and see where it would get her, but telling anyone about what Father had done to her and to others would pour salt on many wounds, old and new.
As if she could read Tessa’s mind, Detective Reilly moved to a less personal topic. “Why don’t you tell me about Gloria Jackson? We don’t have to talk about every
thing all at once. We can start there.”
Tessa nodded and took in a deep breath. “Ms. Jackson wanted to help me, to get me away from him, just like you say you do. I warned her. I told her to stay away from him, but she wouldn’t listen.”
“Do you know how she died?”
Tessa again found it difficult to swallow. Her barriers were crumbling as she recalled that Saturday. Tears came before she could stop them. “At first, he made me watch. He always makes me watch. It’s like it makes it more fun for him.” Her nose started to run, and she swiped at it with the back of her hand. “Father started cutting into her. She begged for help, for me to help her, but I just… I just sat there. Then… then…” Tessa started to sob.
“Then what, Tessa?”
Tessa buried her head in her arms on the table. Her body shook uncontrollably. “Then he made me do it.” She started to heave and thought for sure she would vomit, but after a burp she was able to get her stomach under control. She looked up at Detective Reilly, and the room began to spin. A second later, Tessa was on all fours, vomiting all over the floor.
When her stomach was purged, Tessa felt the detective stroking her back. She remembered how her mother used to do that.
“We need to get him, Tessa. We need to put him away so that he never hurts anyone again, never hurts you again. You understand that, don’t you?”
“Yes.” Tessa got up and dropped back into her chair. Spots speckled her shirt, and the smell almost made her puke some more. Even then, she was frightened that Father would not approve of her appearance.
“Can you tell me something, anything, that we might be able to use to prove his guilt?”
“You have his knife. He keeps them all very sharp and—”
Reilly frowned. “Besides the knife. What about her clothes, jewelry, a purse… you know, did any of that get left behind? What did your father do with it? What about the… pieces of her that he removed?”