From Father to Son

by Janice Kay Johnson

  I’d have slept through it.

  All week he was irritable at work. Tuesday he nearly lost it when a guy he was arresting for beating the shit out of his wife slammed an elbow into his gut and made a run for it. For everyone’s sake, he had to let a fellow detective cuff the bastard and wrestle him into the back of the car.

  He called Conall, something he rarely did, but his brother’s cell phone was turned off.

  “It’s Niall,” he said to voice mail. “Nothing important. I was, uh, thinking about some things. That’s all.” He hung up feeling like an idiot. Great message.

  Some of the worst times were when he was with Rowan and the kids. They’d be going back to school next week, after Labor Day. He suspected he’d see less of them then. Des would have homework, soccer practices. Rowan would be tired. As it was she never came out on the porch at night anymore. He looked, hoping. When he joined her, Des and Anna in the yard in the still-hot early evenings, she was friendly but distant. She did let him take Desmond to the school to practice soccer, which was something.

  But not enough.

  The Peeping Tom made no reported appearances that week, increasing Niall’s frustration.

  As his mood got darker, he thought about talking to Duncan. Once upon a time, he would have dropped in on his big brother. They’d have had a beer together, and when he had to he could have left. But things were different now. Jane would be there. Even when he was invited, she’d be there, and he didn’t want to talk to her.

  Duncan did still drop in on him sometimes. He’d wait.

  Friday evening of Labor Day weekend, Niall and Desmond had the entire soccer field at the school to themselves. Plenty of families went away for Labor Day. Camping was popular. Niall wondered where Rowan’s family was. Had she called her parents? Didn’t they know she needed them?

  Des was starting to move the ball down the field pretty well, and Niall could see him becoming a goalie. He threw himself on the ball with real enthusiasm.

  As they walked home, dusk catching up with them, Niall asked if he’d ever watched the bigger kids play soccer.

  “Nuh-uh. I coulda played last year, but Grandma Staley thought five was too little.”

  Niall looked down at him. “Do you mind not seeing your grandparents?”

  Des stared down at his feet, scuffing the first leaves that had fallen from an old maple tree. “Not really,” he mumbled.

  “It’s okay if you do. Even when we’re mad at someone, we can love that person, too.”

  The boy lifted his head, his eyes like his mom’s trained on Niall’s face. “Did you ever feel that way?”

  Niall’s fingers twitched. He’d have been drumming a table or the arm of a chair if he’d had the chance. “Yeah,” he said. “I told you about my mom leaving us kids.”

  Desmond nodded.

  “I was mad and hurt, but I guess I kept loving her anyway.”

  “Do you still?”

  He had to think about that one for a minute. “No. She never came back. It was like she wiped us out of her life,” he said finally.

  He could see on the kid’s face how unimaginable that was. Even now, Niall found it stunning that his mother could do that.

  He didn’t say, I’ve been thinking about her more lately, because he wouldn’t have wanted to explain why. He didn’t miss her anymore; he didn’t love her. But he did wonder.

  Desmond hopped over a few cracks in the sidewalk. “Sometimes Grandma was real nice,” he offered.

  “Not Grandad?”

  Des’s steps dragged. He grabbed Niall’s hand when they reached a corner, which he always did. Mom said he had to, he’d explained.

  “He said I’m like Dad.” The kid sounded worried, lacking his usual animation. “Real special. He liked to hug me and stuff.”

  Niall felt like a cartoon character with a lightbulb blinking on over his head. Dark corners were suddenly, hideously illuminated.

  He kept his voice casual. “You don’t like it when he hugs you?”

  Desmond cast an anxious glance at Niall. “He likes me to sit on his lap and he doesn’t let go when I want him to. Grandma just says, ‘What are you fussing about?’ But… I don’t know.” He was quiet for half a block. “He said he liked to cuddle Daddy, too, when he was a little boy.”

  I bet he did. Grimly lining all the ducks up in a row, Niall felt dense for not suspecting sooner.

  Andrew Staley had been sexually molested as a boy. As an adult, he had a clearly dysfunctional relationship with his parents. A push-pull, Rowan said. Resenting them, and needing them. He was incapable of a normal, healthy sexual relationship with a woman, even the one he loved and had married.

  Desmond’s grandfather liked to hold the boy on his lap. His “hugging” made the six-year-old uneasy, although he clearly didn’t understand why.

  A man had been peeking in the bedroom windows hoping to see naked boys all about Desmond’s age.

  He’d taken the greater risk of climbing onto the carport roof to look into Desmond’s window. Desmond was his one target that was a little bit outside his usual geographic range.

  He had been desperate enough to try to abduct his grandson and granddaughter.

  It fit. It all fit so well, Niall thought he’d have seen it sooner if his thinking hadn’t been muddled by all this unfamiliar emotional crap.

  When they reached home, they found the backyard empty. Rowan and Anna had already gone in. The back door stood open, the screen door keeping out bugs. Niall followed Des inside.

  “Mom, where are you?”

  Niall cringed. The kid really knew how to bellow.

  “I’m upstairs,” Rowan called. “Giving Anna a bath. She’s almost done and it’ll be your turn.”

  Des gave an exaggerated groan. “Do I hafta?”

  “Yes, you ‘hafta,’” his mother said firmly.

  “Niall’s here.”

  Silence.

  Niall raised his voice. “Rowan, can you come down when you get a minute? I want to ask you something.”

  Another silence.

  “Give me a minute.”

  Niall handed over the soccer ball he’d been carrying under one arm. “You’d better get going, buddy. She sounds like she means it.”

  Des groaned. “I’ll get dirty tomorrow. Why do I have to take a bath?”

  Niall grinned. “I have no idea.”

  The boy sighed and started trudging up the stairs. Halfway he stopped. “It was fun playing soccer.”

  “Yeah, it was.” Niall smiled at him. “I’ll probably see you tomorrow.”

  He waited in the kitchen, too restless to sit. He might as well have had a shot of adrenaline. He liked this feeling, the knowing he was closing in on some scumbag. Some cops got their highs kicking in doors; he liked solving mysteries. His mind raced, his skin tingled and he paced her kitchen, a lot roomier than his own.

  “What is it you wanted?” she said behind him.

  He swung around, startled. How had she gotten down the stairs without him hearing?

  She was barefoot, that was how, her long legs exposed by denim cut-offs. Bath water had splashed onto her thin cotton shirt, the wet patches clinging to her stomach and breasts. Niall’s body reacted predictably, but he tried to keep his gaze on her face.

  “Where do your in-laws live?”

  Her astonishment showing, she pushed a damp tendril of hair off her forehead. Her ponytail was giving up the battle, as it often did. “I told you they’re not that far from here. Why do you want to know?”

  “Rowan, tell me.”

  “You could have looked them up in the phone book.”

  “You lived with them for a year. Did Glenn make a habit of taking evening walks?” />
  “What?” She stared at him.

  Niall waited, and saw slow, horrified comprehension awaken in her eyes. Her mouth opened, closed, opened again. She gave a small, anguished cry. “You’re saying… Oh, God! Desmond.”

  Niall stepped forward and gripped her upper arms. “No. I’m pretty sure nothing has happened, Rowan. I talked to him tonight. That’s what got me thinking. He doesn’t like the way his grandfather hugged him and insisted he sit on his lap, but I think mostly he was confused and uneasy. He wasn’t afraid or holding back.”

  “Dear God.” Her teeth chattered, and she whirled and hurried to the foot of the stairs. “Des?”

  His voice floated down. “I’m washing my hair, Mom.”

  “Okay,” Rowan called, then turned back to Niall. “It doesn’t make sense. Why would Drew have stayed in contact with his parents if…” She couldn’t even say it.

  “Because kids who are abused or molested get really messed up about their parents. You said yourself his relationship with them was strange.”

  “Yes, but…” She had a death grip on the bannister. “He loved Desmond. How could he put him at risk?”

  “Did he ever let you leave him alone with his father?”

  She was dazed, so scared and shocked she didn’t protest when Niall led her a few feet into the living room and seated her on the couch.

  He sat on the coffee table close enough to touch her.

  “I never thought about it.” She was thinking now, though, and her eyes widened. “No.” It came out as barely a puff of sound. “No. It never occurred to me, but there were times…”

  Niall nodded.

  “Why didn’t he tell me?”

  “Maybe because he’d have had to admit what happened to him. You’d have asked him the same questions you’re asking me, and he didn’t understand himself why he still wanted his father to love him.” Niall spoke harsher than he should have. “And, Rowan, it could be I’m barking up the wrong tree entirely and getting you upset for nothing.”

  Her eyes, unguarded and distressed, met his. “But it makes sense, doesn’t it?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “What can we do?”

  He warmed to the sound of that we. “Tell me where they live.”

  “1390 Cedar Street.”

  He visualized the town grid, and felt the tingle of certainty again. That placed Glenn Staley within the handful of blocks where Niall had guessed the Peeping Tom lived.

  “You think it was him looking in Des’s window.” Rowan bent forward, her hand pressed to her mouth. “His own grandfather.”

  From upstairs, Des called, “Mom, I got out.”

  Somehow, she pulled herself together enough to tell him to get ready for bed. Then she looked at Niall. “What will you do?”

  At least she had enough faith in him to be leaving it in his hands.

  “An old-fashioned stakeout,” he said. “Does he take evening walks?”

  “Yes.” She bent forward again as if she was nauseated or her stomach hurt. “This is unbelievable. Yes. Yes, he does.”

  “Then he’s going to have company the next time he goes for one.” He hesitated. “Unless he admits it, we won’t be able to prove he molested your husband....”

  “I don’t want that.” She shook her head. “Drew didn’t want anyone to know. This will be horrible enough.”

  Des yelled again from upstairs.

  “You need to go tuck him in,” Niall said. “Are you all right, Rowan? Do you want me to stay?”

  She straightened, pulling her dignity around herself as if it were a warm afghan she used to ward off a chill. “Of course I’m all right. I’m shocked, that’s all. And so grateful I moved out of their house. I would never have forgiven myself…”

  He couldn’t help himself. He had to touch her, whether she welcomed it or not. Niall took her hands in his. “If his grandfather had tried anything, it wouldn’t have gone very far. Des would have talked to you, Rowan. And you’d have listened. It wouldn’t have been the same as it was for your husband when he was a little boy.”

  “You’re saying he tried to tell his mother.” She shivered. “Of course he would have. But Donna wouldn’t have believed him, would she? No, I can imagine it. She supports Glenn, no matter what.”

  “If a woman let herself believe such a thing,” he said quietly, “it would devastate her, undermine everything she thinks she knows about her husband and how he feels about her. I’m not defending her, but I can see how she might convince herself it can’t possibly be true.”

  Rowan shook her head and kept shaking it as if she didn’t know how to stop. “But her own son.”

  “It might not turn out to be true,” Niall reminded her. “I shouldn’t have said as much as I did.”

  Her eyes pinned his. They were as dark as he’d ever seen them. “You’ll tell me as soon as…as…”

  “You know I will.” He stood and drew her to her feet, cocking his head at the sound of Des calling.

  She raised her voice. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

  “You said that last time,” he complained.

  Niall chuckled. “Not so patient, is he?”

  “Were you, when you were six?”

  “Probably not.”

  Somehow she’d come to be standing several feet away, holding herself stiffly. She wanted him to go away. There wasn’t any softening, any suggestion she would let him hold her or, God forbid, kiss her good night.

  He heard her saying, I’m through, and saw again that she meant it. His heart clenched.

  Niall inclined his head. “Good night, Rowan.”

  She followed him to the kitchen and said good-night. The minute he was out the door, he heard her locking it behind him.

  THE NEXT NIGHT WAS a bust. Donna had decided to accompany her husband on his evening walk.

  An unhappy hunter deprived of his prey, Niall followed them for a few blocks. He caught enough snatches of conversation to know that Glenn hadn’t welcomed the company.

  “Why did you insist on coming if all you wanted to do was dawdle along like this?” he grumbled. “You know this is how I get my exercise.”

  She complained in turn about how there was nothing on TV but reruns, and she thought it would be nice to look at the neighbors’ yards. Why couldn’t they walk earlier while it was still light?

  “It is still light,” he snapped, but she was closer to right than he was. It was dusk, time for predators to come out.

  Irritable, Niall went home.

  The following night, Glenn didn’t go out at all. Niall heard some crying and then some shouting from the house. He imagined they’d heard from Rowan’s attorney via their attorney.

  Each day when Rowan looked at him, Niall shook his head. Not yet. The strain showed on her face.

  On night number three, Glenn went out by himself, Niall a ghost behind him. Sure enough, not two blocks from home the creep melted into the darkness and made his way along the side of a house. Niall couldn’t see even a shred of light around tightly pulled blinds, and Glenn didn’t linger. He tried several other houses with no more results. Niall would have been justified in arresting him for trying to peek in windows, but Glenn might have come up with a believable excuse. No, better to wait. Eventually Glenn gave up for the night.

  His tension must be ratcheting up, Niall thought with satisfaction.

  Half a block from home, he saw a big, dark SUV sitting in front of Rowan’s house and tensed himself before he recognized it and the man who sat on the bumper.

  “You could have been more comfortable on my porch,” Niall pointed out when he was close enough.

  His brother straightened. “I didn’t want to alarm Rowan if she spotted me.�
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  Niall nodded. “Still have time for a beer?”

  “Coffee, maybe.”

  Sam met them joyously inside the gate and accompanied them to Niall’s door. He let the dog in, as he’d taken sometimes to doing. Duncan raised his eyebrows at that, but didn’t comment.

  “You abandoned Jane,” Niall observed.

  “She conked out at least an hour ago. She’s tired all the time.”

  He sounded worried rather than disgruntled, but still Niall grinned. Jane had barely gotten over being sick all the time, and now this. “You’re going to forget you ever had a sex life.”

  A smile that was both lighthearted and smug changed Duncan into another man. “Now, I wouldn’t say that.”

  Well, damn. Duncan had gotten some before his wife conked out. Niall was painfully jealous.

  “Is there a reason for this visit?” he asked.

  His brother shrugged. “Haven’t talked to you in a while. I almost left, thinking you were at Rowan’s, but I could hear her and the kids and not you.”

  “I’m conducting a stakeout.” Niall hesitated, but finally chose to explain.

  “Son of a bitch,” Duncan muttered.

  “Brace yourself. The shit is going to hit the fan. He’s a banker with Northwest Federal. I don’t intend to let him go quietly.”

  “He targeted the wrong kid.”

  “Yes, he did.”

  His brother’s gaze on him was thoughtful, but he only nodded. “Consider me braced.”

  Niall poured coffee for both of them and pulled out a chair.

  “Things okay with you?” The question was casual, the sharp look not. Duncan must have heard something.

  Even though a part of him had wanted to have this talk, Niall’s reflex was to say, Sure, why wouldn’t it be?

  A soft grunt escaped him. “No.”

  The furrows on his brother’s forehead deepened, but he only waited.

  “It’s… Oh, hell.” His fingers bit into his thighs. “I’m, uh…” Why couldn’t he say it? He looked helplessly at Duncan, pissed to see a trace of amusement in his eyes. “You think this is funny?” he bit off.