The Stalked Girl

by Evan Ronan

  But you were a guy, Greg. You could take care of yourself. No girl was going to take advantage of you and get you pregnant.

  But you’ve raised Tammy to be tough. And she’s smart. She knows what she wants. She has a plan. The girl is already talking about running track in college—

  My ex cuts through the ponderous internal monologue with, “Greg, I can hear the ponderous internal monologue you’re having.”

  I say, “The law is the law, Lorelei. I don’t want to give her the idea it’s okay to break it.”

  “It’s just drinking, Greg. If she wants to do it, she will find a way to do it.”

  Where did all the time go? And when did Lorelei become a permissive parent?

  “Who are you and what have you done with Lorelei?” I say.

  Bad move.

  “You know what, Greg?”

  Uh-oh.

  “Our daughter is a straight-A student and she’s a star athlete already. Two of the local private high schools are recruiting her. And—”

  “I wasn’t trying to indict your parenting abilities. You’re a great mother and you’re doing a fantastic job with our daughter. I was just surprised, is all. Back when we were together, you didn’t like me to even have a beer in front of Lorelei.”

  “I what?” she asks.

  Most women I know have photographic, date- and time-stamped, memories. They’re ready at a moment’s notice to call you out on something that happened years ago.

  But everybody’s memory is selective. Even my ex-wife’s.

  “When she was little, you talked to me more than once about drinking in front of her,” I say.

  “You must have been—”

  “I was never drunk around her. This happened when we went out to dinner. I’d order a beer and get The Look from you.”

  “I don’t remember that,” she says, very defensively. “I don’t remember that at all.”

  This is about to blow up.

  “Look,” I say, “my only point was, I feel like your opinion on drinking as it relates to our daughter has changed and I was surprised. That’s it.”

  Have I just hit the tipping point?

  Thankfully not.

  Lorelei takes a breath. “Did I really do that?”

  “It was a long time ago,” I admit painfully.

  “I honestly don’t remember. I guess I am different. Things that used to worry me don’t anymore.”

  “I hear you.” I remember when we brought Tammy home from the hospital. I viewed the world as one enormous, pain-filled death trap.

  “You’re with her every day,” I add, “so you’re more used to seeing her explore boundaries than I am, I guess.”

  She chuckles. “Right now I’d say she’s ignoring boundaries.”

  “I’ll give her a call later about the party, and about speaking to you more respectfully.”

  “To us more respectfully.”

  We catch up for a few minutes. Last year, a competitor approached her with a can’t-turn-it-down offer. Her employer countered by matching it and offering her the role she always wanted. Now, nearly twelve months later, the money is great but the role isn’t exactly what they promised it would be, and I get the feeling that she’s put the feelers out there again for a new job.

  More cause for concern for me. Lorelei is very good at what she does and there are pharma companies all over the country—all over the world, as a matter of fact—that would probably love to have her. She has primary custody of our daughter, so if she goes …

  I can’t even think about it.

  “Alright, I’ve gotta run,” I say, because I want to reach Bob’s attorney before end of business.

  “Did you want to do dinner tonight?” she asks.

  “I’d love to, but I just took on a new case.”

  Dead.

  Silence.

  “You what?”

  “One of my old friends,” I embellish a little bit, “reached out. His daughter is being stalked. I’m helping him out with it.”

  More.

  Dead.

  Silence.

  “You’re helping him out with it?”

  “Please don’t do the Jeopardy thing.”

  “The Jeopardy thing?”

  “You just did it again. It’s where you repeat the last thing I say in the form of a question.”

  I wait for the explosion.

  In a long-suffering voice, she asks, “What are you doing?”

  “I’m just quietly looking into some things for him and then, in a couple of weeks, I’m playing bodyguard for his daughter while she trains for a triathlon.”

  “Greg.” Pause. “You were almost murdered on the last case.”

  “Almost only counts in horse shoes and hand grenades.”

  “Eighty-twenty, rule, as you’re always saying, Greg.”

  Ahhhh, hoisted by own petard.

  She finishes with, “Almost counts a lot more than people give it credit for.”

  “I will be careful, I will be vigilant, and I will work as quickly as I can so the job is over as soon as possible.”

  “Greg.”

  Another loooooooooooooong pause.

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to take cases. You’ve got so much going on already, and our daughter is entering a difficult phase of her life. I just think it’s … not a good idea.”

  I’m ready to go with the nuclear option again, say—

  You’re my ex-wife, you don’t get a say in what I do anymore.

  But I know that’s not fair. She’s thinking about the one thing she should be: our daughter. Neither of us wants Tammy to grow up without a father.

  Especially me ;-)

  “Hey, it’s going to be fine. Nothing I can’t handle. You forget I was a Marine. Nothing that happens over here can compare to what I saw over there. Believe me.”

  I wait for the inevitable challenge, but Lorelei claws it back.

  “Okay, Greg. Just please be careful.”

  Five

  On my way out to the Bob’s place, I phone their attorney. She’s expecting my call, so I get past the legal assistant with astonishing speed.

  “This is Leanna Justice.”

  “Hey, this is Greg Owen.”

  “Greg, it is nice to hear from you. I am glad you’re working with us on this case.”

  Us.

  “Me too. Robby—I mean, Bob—and I go way back.”

  “So I’ve heard. He told me you were really good friends back in school.”

  Bit of a stretch, that.

  “Tell me what your game plan is,” I say, “and I’ll see how I can help.”

  “The number one priority in a case like this is getting the restraining order. Once we have that in place, it’s an all-purpose weapon. If Adam complies with the court order, he stays away from Lucy. We win. If he doesn’t comply with the order, we can have him arrested. Then the penalties become more and more severe and we can build a strong case to have formal charges brought. We win. So the order is everything.”

  “And if we don’t get the order?” I ask.

  “We keep trying until we do.”

  “So, to put it as delicately as possible, there’s no backup plan?”

  She’s not thrilled with this. “One step at a time, Greg.”

  “Fair enough. No use worrying about something until it actually happens, to paraphrase Seneca.”

  “Right,” she says, in a way that I know she’s never read any Seneca.

  “In an odd way, it sounds to me like it’d be better if he didn’t comply with the court order. Better to have his ass in the clink. Let him rot in there for a while, get him away from her, maybe he reforms or turns his obsessions elsewhere.”

  She neither agrees nor disagrees. “One step at a time, Greg. We first have to get the restraining order.”

  “Aye, aye, counselor.”

  “You were a Marine, as I understand it?”

  “Once a Marine, always a Marine, ma’am.” I fall back int
o the patter so easily.

  “So you know how to handle yourself.”

  “There is only one thing I fear: a dry wedding.”

  Leanna laughs just to be polite, which paradoxically is irritating.

  “I’m glad to hear that, Greg, because this kid is in Olympic-like shape and he has a lot of friends who are as well. Monroe has a great swim program, the best in the northeast corridor, apparently, so Adam and his friends are physical specimens. Also, he’s part of a fraternity. Some of them are like mini-mafias, if you take my meaning. One for all, all for one, in a dark, twisted way.”

  “Understood.”

  “He’s one of the school’s better swimmers.”

  “That could explain why the Dean might not have gone as hard on the kid as he should have. He’s worried about next swim season. Maybe you should bring that up at the hearing.”

  “I’ll have that in my back pocket. Because you can bet defense counsel is going to bring up the fact that Adam rearranged his life at school for Lucy and the Dean didn’t feel the need to take any significant action.”

  “Adam has counsel?” I ask.

  “Yes. And he’s a heavy, heavy hitter. Mort Salomon.”

  I’m not one of these people who pretends: “Never heard of him.”

  “He’s been practicing in the County forever, knows all the judges, and for the most part he plays fair so he’s got credibility with the Court. He’s a very good attorney.”

  “And so are you, from what I hear.”

  “I fight for my clients and never give up. And this case is near and dear to my heart. A big part of my practice is focused on violence and intimidation against women, domestic abuse, stalking. I treat this job like it’s a calling, because that’s what I believe it is. No offense to you specifically, but men have it easy compared to women. They are stalked from time-to-time, but statistically speaking there’s no comparison to how much more women get stalked, intimidated, assaulted, and raped.”

  “No offense taken. Men are more likely to be criminals and are definitely more violent than women. That’s just how it is. All women should know that.”

  “And all men should remember it too.” She pauses. “I really am glad to have you part of the team. I first heard about you last year, when you helped set Nick Carlisle free.”

  I’ll never live that one down.

  “I was happy to help. Nick’s Dad is a raging asshole. Nick had suffered from anxiety and depression his whole life and his parents didn’t do much about it. His old man just kept pushing him and pushing him till Nick was a shell of a person. When he found love, Nick found another reason to live, beyond pleasing his jerkoff father: for his girlfriend. But when she was murdered, it was like he had nothing to live for. What little fight there was went out of him. With the circumstantial evidence and his personality called into question, he didn’t stand a chance at the trial. And nobody gave him one. His own father told him not to testify because he thought his boy would do a lousy job at telling his side of the story.”

  “My God.”

  “Yeah, it was that bad. And with the evidence, even I didn’t want to give Nick a chance at first blush. I thought he was guilty as hell. But I started looking into the case and finding little inconsistencies and, before I realized it, I believed he was innocent. You know the rest, so I won’t bore you with the details.”

  “We’re going to need the same passion and fire out of you for this case too,” Mary shifts, ever so deftly. “We will have Haley’s testimony and sworn statements to present to the Court, but defense counsel will counter by demonstrating how quote-unquote reasonable Adam has been since this was brought up to the Dean and also he’ll note how the University took no formal action beyond that.”

  “You need more evidence,” I say. “I can look into Adam’s past. Chances are, there’s a pattern here. Maybe there was another girl.”

  “Yes, exactly. There’s always more to the story. These things don’t happen in a vacuum, this is a pattern of behavior driven by an individual’s personality. Adam has something inside him. There’s a compulsion eating away at him. He has an addictive personality that becomes easily obsessed with women. You’ll hear this from Lucy, but he’s basically delusional. They never even dated, not once, and yet he believes they’re in love and destined for each other. He’s said things like that to her.”

  “Jeez.”

  “So we need whatever dirt you can dig up on him,” Leanna says. “Anything, everything. If you can find people willing to testify in Court, it would go a long, long way.”

  “Leanna, I’m reading between the lines here and it sounds like the restraining order isn’t a sure thing.”

  She sighs. “It’s not. We have to demonstrate that Adam engages in repeated conduct that places Lucy in fear for her person, either physically or emotionally. If he’d hit her, it would have been a slam dunk. If he’d sent her threatening messages, like texts or voicemails or emails, saying he’d hurt her if they didn’t get together, again that’s a slam dunk. But we don’t have that here. Lucy is reasonably scared of him based on the totality of the circumstances, but the Court needs to see the evidence.”

  “If there’s something on the kid, I’ll find it,” I say.

  “Thank you. Now, Greg, TROs move fast so the hearing is coming up. We don’t have much time to gather evidence and present it to the judge. I’d like a status update from you tomorrow.”

  Who am I working for here? Bob or Leanna?

  I swallow my pride because Leanna is right: the Court order is the most important first step here. Once we have that, the chips will begin to fall into place.

  “You got it.”

  “And Greg? One more thing. Be very careful about how you interact with Adam. I’ve seen strong cases, stronger than this one, get tossed out of Court because well-meaning people working for the victim grew overzealous and behaved inappropriately.”

  “Meaning: don’t kick the little shit’s ass.”

  “Meaning: don’t lay a hand on him, or threaten him, or even look at him funny.”

  “Aye, aye, counselor.”

  “Alright, Greg, I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

  “Hey, something I wanted to ask.”

  “Yes?”

  “Leanne Justice, Attorney-at-Law … is that your real name?”

  She laughs. “Everybody asks.”

  “Does everybody get an answer?”

  “Talk to you soon.”

  ***

  The Hales live in a really nice two-story home that looks about four-thousand square feet from the outside. The roof is definitely new, the windows are probably new, and there is not a blade of grass or leaf or anything out of place on the lawn. As I pull in and park in front of the garage and under a basketball hoop with a glass backboard, I get a glimpse of the pool and the hot tub in the backyard as well.

  Smoke wafts toward me. And then the smell. Bob Hale is out back grilling.

  “Hey, Greg!” He appears on the deck edging the back of the house, wearing an embarrassing Dad-Grilling-Apron and smiling. “Come on back here.”

  I manage to open the gate to the black metal fence without incident and traipse through their Ireland-green lawn to the deck. Where Bob Hale hands me a beer.

  “Stout, right? That’s what you were drinking earlier.”

  “Much obliged.” I tip the glass back, remembering he doesn’t drink, and I sip. It’s really cold, like he just pulled it out of the freezer. “Great house you’ve got here.”

  “Thanks, Greg. We’re very happy here, and very lucky of course.” He motions me to follow, and I step onto the wooden deck toward the grill. He signals with a spatula. “Grilling some steaks, sausage, brats, and dogs, I hope that’s okay?”

  “It’s more than okay.” Another sip. I don’t usually like the dark stuff out of a can, but this has been chilled to perfection. “Where’s the brood?”

  “Julian is inside resting. My wife took Lucy out clothes shopping. She wanted to pick out so
mething appropriate for the hearing.”

  I nod. Sip some more beer.

  Bob opens the grill, and a cloud of smoke froths out. I was supposed to hit the gym today, but this thing came up, and now I want to stuff my gullet. I’ve kept in decent shape since I got out of the Corps, but work just eats up too much of my day. Half the time I’m eating on the run and then a week, sometimes two, will go by where I don’t get to the gym and move the iron like I need to. So little-by-little, the pounds have added up over the years in the wrong spots. Nobody would think me fat, but when I catch my profile in the mirror, I can tell: I’m no longer that freakishly fit Marine I used to be way back.

  “I spoke to Leanne Justice,” I say. “She seems competent.”

  “She came highly recommended.” He gives me a dark look. “Friend of a friend was having some trouble with an ex-boyfriend. You wouldn’t believe how many hoops she had to jump through before they could get their restraining order.”

  He shakes his head.

  “How are you feeling about it?” I ask.

  He flips one more burger, rolls another dog, and closes the grill. “Leanne is optimistic, but I can tell by how she’s careful with her words that this case isn’t a sure thing.”

  No point in pumping sunshine up his ass. “Same vibe I got. But that’s okay. You’ve got me. I’m going to dig up what I can on this kid. Where there’s smoke, there’s fire.”

  He nods. “I really appreciate it, Greg. Really.”

  I wave it away. “So, Bob, you’ve done well for yourself.” I gaze appreciatively back at the house. “Good for you, pal. What do you do?”

  He tells me, and I can’t for the life of me follow the hustle. It has something to do with consulting within a very specific niche area of customer service within a particular slice of the credit card industry, and damned if I can follow the money. I feel like Theseus without his thread in the labyrinth. But it further proves my undying belief that it really is possible to make money doing just about anything.

  Bob begins taking the meat out of the grill and depositing it on a big, oval plate.

  “I heard you sold the store?” Bob says.

  “I did. Friend of a friend bought me out,” I explain vaguely. “Then sort of the same thing happened with the laundromat, and since then I’ve been looking into real estate. I was this close to buying an apartment complex last year, but somebody beat me to it.”