First Offense

by Nancy Taylor Rosenberg

  “Yeah,” Reed muttered, feeling he was on to something as he walked up the path to Ann’s house. Sawyer gets caught and placed on probation, a development his South American buddies would surely be unhappy about. To protect his operation, he shoots Ann in the parking lot, or more likely, one of the Colombians does it for him. She’s out of commission long enough that they can close up the lab before she can pay them a visit.

  That was the scenario—if the informant was right. Ever cautious. Reed knew how eager informants were to tell tales that would keep them out of prison. But at least it was a tale that answered some questions.

  He knocked on the door and waited. When Ann didn’t answer, he walked across the soaked lawn to the living-room window. Ann pressed her nose to the glass, the muzzle of her Beretta trained right at Tommy’s head.

  “Shit,” he said, spooking, his feet sliding in the mud. “Let me in,” he yelled. “What are you going to do? Blow my head off, for chrissakes?”

  When the front door opened, Ann peered out from behind it. “I wouldn’t advise you to prowl around my house, Tommy. I’m a little trigger-happy right now,”

  “Ann,” he said, stepping forward and embracing her, “it’s okay. I’m here now. Tell me exactly what happened.”

  “Tommy,” she said, stepping back from him, the gun dangling at her side, her eyes wild, “it was…it was…”

  “Take it easy, Ann,” he said, concerned. She looked as awful as she had after Hank disappeared. “Got any coffee?”

  Ann mumbled something Tommy couldn’t make out, her eyes downcast now. She was dressed in what looked like one of Hank’s old shirts, white cotton panties, and a pair of white socks. She turned around and headed toward the kitchen. Then she stopped in the middle of the floor and stared into space as if she had forgotten where she was going.

  “Just sit down,” Reed said, looking over at the sofa as his eyes scanned the room. He took in the candle set in the ashtray, the muddy footprints on the carpet, Ann’s rubber galoshes tossed by the coat closet. Then he noticed the beige leather recliner, and he brought forth the image of Lenny Braddock sitting there, a cigarette dangling from his mouth. Glancing at the ceiling. Reed saw the ugly brown stain from the cigarette smoke was still there. Hank had painted the walls, but not the ceiling. “I’ll get the coffee myself.”

  Ann took a seat on the sofa, far in one comer, pulling a throw pillow to her chest, her legs curled beneath her. Pressed into the pillow was the hand holding the gun. Ann’s fingers were numb and aching from squeezing it. But she couldn’t let go. The gun had become an extension of her hand.

  When Reed came back in, he set the steaming cup of coffee down on the table and pointed at the gun. “Give me that before you shoot me.”

  Ann’s fingers were locked tight. “No, Tommy, I have to have it. Leave me alone. It makes me feel safe.”

  Reaching over, he forcefully pried her fingers off, his mouth rigid. “Give me the fucking thing, Ann. I’m not going to sit here and look down the barrel of a loaded gun.” Finally he pulled it out of her hand and placed it on his end of the coffee table. He rubbed his eyes, stretched out his legs, and sipped his coffee. After letting his mind clear, he turned to her. “Tell me everything. Tell me sequentially, Ann, and talk slow so you don’t leave anything out. I want to have the whole thing straight in my mind.”

  Once Ann started, she couldn’t stop. Words just spilled out in long rambling sentences. She told him about the man in the hallway, what the man had said, how she had got a fleeting look at him. Then she dropped the throw pillow and her eyes got even wider. “It might have been Hank, Tommy.”

  Reed did a double take. What the hell was she talking about? Then he slapped his coffee cup down on the table. The liquid sloshed onto an old Time magazine. Frowning, Reed rubbed his eyes with his fists. After Hank had disappeared, she’d had them running around in circles, chasing down one worthless lead after another. He’d never live down the fortune-teller episode—the time Ann talked him into digging up a vacant lot in Oxnard, convinced it was the site where he was buried. “It was not Hank, Ann. What are you saying?”

  Alone in the house, Ann had been obsessing over the missing picture. Of all the things in the world her husband had cherished, his son was the most precious. If he had staged his own disappearance as the highway patrol had originally speculated, the one thing he’d be unable to walk away from would be David.

  Seeing the detective staring at her as if she’d lost her mind, Ann began to waver. “I couldn’t see him that clearly,” she said, talking fast. “It was only a second maybe, but the man had similar features and he was the right height and body weight. There was just something about him. I know him. I’m certain I know the man who was in my house, Tommy.”

  “Well, you certainly know Sawyer.”

  Ann gripped his arm. “I don’t mean like that. It’s different. I can’t describe it. Maybe the voice…I don’t know. It could have been his voice, and he did ask about David.”

  “If it was Hank, why, Ann? Ask yourself why. Tell me, huh?” Tommy stood and started pacing in front of the sofa.

  Ann felt like a scolded child. “You’re making this really tough on me. Tommy. You’re supposed to be my friend.” She pulled the pillow back to her chest, hugging it tight against her body.

  “Hey,” Reed said, stopping and throwing his hands in the air. “You want to believe this shit, then convince me. I’m willing to listen, Ann. You’re just not making any sense. If Hank got away from whoever grabbed him four years ago—something I think is next to impossible after this much time—why would he come here tonight and break into his own home, try to hurt you?”

  “Maybe he didn’t intend to hurt me.”

  “Oh, really?” Reed said. “He just broke in here and jumped you in the dark, tried to rape you, but he wasn’t trying to hurt you? Sure, Ann.” While she stared at him with her mouth open. Reed continued, “It was Jimmy Sawyer who came over here tonight. He wants to scare you into leaving town, terrify you so you’ll never testify against him and the others. And if it wasn’t Sawyer, it was someone worse…someone that would make Sawyer look like a choirboy.”

  Ann wasn’t really listening. “It wasn’t Sawyer. I mean, it could have been Sawyer, but the man was too big and his voice—”

  “You said he was wearing a mask, Ann, that his voice was muffled and distorted. It was Sawyer. Even the surgical mask…can’t you see how it all fits? Sawyer probably got that mask from his father’s clinic.”

  “I don’t think so,” Ann said slowly. “Anyone could get a mask like that, Tommy. Even manicurists wear them now.”

  Again her thoughts returned to Hank. She’d been in denial all these years. Hank had hated the job. When he’d failed to get promoted to lieutenant, he’d become bitter and withdrawn. Or, she thought, maybe it wasn’t even the job. Her husband could have become involved in some type of illegal activity. He’d always wanted more than he had, and for a cop the opportunities for corruption were abundant.

  “It was Hank,” she said, nodding in affirmation. “He came for David, he wanted David. He even took his picture off the end table.” She started choking up and then stopped herself. “Don’t you see? Hank wants to see his son.” Although the detective was still glaring at her, Ann saw a flicker of acknowledgment. “How would any of this fit in with what we know about Sawyer? He’s just a high-rolling rich kid in over his head with drugs.”

  “Okay,” Reed said, “if it was Hank, why didn’t he just tell you who he was? Why scare you out of your mind like that?”

  Ann sat upright, tossing the pillow aside and putting her feet on the floor. She looked so young sitting there, Reed thought, her long, thin legs bare except for the white ankle socks.

  “What if Hank staged his own disappearance for some reason? Remember, even the highway patrol investigators had thoughts along those lines.” Ann paused, reluctant to bring up her worst fear—her husband involved in something illegal. “He hated the job, Tommy, yo
u know that. So what if he wanted to quit, leave me, leave everything and start all over somewhere else, but he felt guilty leaving us to survive on my income? If it looked like foul play, I would get his retirement, his insurance benefits.”

  Deeply concentrating, Reed said, “Go on.”

  “Okay, Hank stages his disappearance. Everything goes well and he knows I’ll eventually get the money.

  His plan works. Then he starts thinking about David, how he abandoned him. He tries to enjoy his new life, wherever that is. But he anguishes over David. So he decides to kidnap him and take him with him to this new life….” Ann stopped. Tears were filling her eyes. What she was saying was her husband didn’t want her, didn’t care what happened to her. For all she knew, Hank could have changed his identity and found a new wife, a new family. He only wanted his son.

  “Ann, don’t cry,” Reed said, seeing how upset she was. “It’s late. We’re both tired. Why don’t we just call it a night?”

  “No, let me finish. Tommy.” Ann was backtracking in her mind. “Okay, the man grabs me in the hall. He must have been already inside the house when I got home. It wasn’t a power failure, by the way. Whoever did this purposely turned off the power at the box outside. He didn’t want me to see him. He even wore that mask so I wouldn’t be able to recognize his voice. Can’t you see. Tommy? Why would a complete stranger have to disguise himself? It was dark anyway.”

  Reed was silent, listening. After a few moments, he spoke. “If he was already inside the house, Ann, how did he turn off the power outside? Wasn’t the electricity working when you got home?”

  “Yes,” Ann said, “but after Melanie left, I noticed the window in my bedroom was open, and I’m almost certain that window was closed when I went to sleep. I’d never leave my window open, particularly after what’s been going on.”

  “Keep going,” Reed said.

  “Maybe he was hiding in the house when I got home and waited until I was asleep. Then he crawled back through David’s window to find the electrical panel.

  That could be where he cut himself, not when he came in, but when he went back out after the glass was already broken.”

  Reed shook his head. “I don’t know, Ann. Are you saying that he turned off the power and then entered the house again? How did he get back in?”

  “Through the bedroom window,” Ann said. “Okay, just listen. Hank had window locks on all the windows, so there was no way to get inside the house other than to break the glass. The intruder knew this, see, once he was inside. He probably prowled around in here before I got home.” Ann’s eyes expanded in fear. “I think he was in my bedroom, Tommy. God, now that I think about it, I heard noises, but I just thought it was the wind.” When the detective nodded, Ann continued, “So he releases the window locks and maybe even cracks my bedroom window, thinking he’ll leave the house this way, or to make certain he has a ready escape route if I wake up. Then when I do wake up, he’s in David’s room and dives out the window, probably cutting himself on the jagged glass. Once he’s killed the electricity, he comes back through the window he left open in my bedroom. He was at that end of the hall when he jumped me.”

  “Okay,” Reed said, “let’s get back to Hank.”

  “When he jumped me and started grabbing me,” Ann said, “he kept telling me to relax. I think he got turned on being near me, wanted to touch me…wanted to…”

  “Rape you?” Reed said.

  Recalling the man’s hands on her breasts, she wrapped her arms tightly around her chest. “Maybe not rape me, but close. He could have changed his mind and decided to tell me the truth once he was here.

  Maybe he wanted to really make love to me. Tommy, you know, for old times’ sake. This person…he pinched my nipples. Hank used to do that when we had sex.” Ann turned her head to the side and mumbled the rest. “He loved to do that.”

  “You never told me that,” Tommy said, a curious look on his face. “You mean he used to hurt you in the bedroom too?”

  Ann knew what he was referring to and quickly clammed up, giving him a harsh glance. Tommy knew this topic was taboo.

  Letting it go, he continued, “I still don’t buy it, Ann. According to a snitch Whittaker talked to tonight. Sawyer is involved in a heavy-duty drug operation, not what we originally thought. He’s involved with drug traffickers from Colombia, though he’s only a bit player in the overall picture. These people—” He stopped himself. The less she knew the better. She was terrified enough as it was. “Let’s just leave it at that. That’s where you should worry, not about Hank coming back after all this time.”

  “If these were ruthless drug dealers,” Ann shot back, “they would have been armed to the hilt. Whoever broke in here tonight wasn’t armed. If the guy had a gun, why didn’t he return my fire?”

  Reed put a hand to his face, pulling on his cheek, feeling the day-old stubble. She had a point on that one. “If it was Sawyer, Ann, he might have tossed his gun after he shot you, then just never bought another one. There was too much heat for him to walk into a gun store and buy a weapon. He would be too afraid we’d be sitting there waiting to grab him.”

  “I’m sorry I said anything,” Ann said, annoyed. She got up and headed for her bedroom, leaving Tommy standing there. The long night had taken its toll, and she fell facedown onto her bed. Was Tommy right? Was she acting foolishly, marring her husband’s reputation for nothing? People were treating her the same way they had when Hank vanished and she’d acted irrationally. Well, Ann thought, grabbing a tissue and blowing her nose, maybe they’d act peculiar too if their husband or loved one disappeared without a trace.

  A short time later, she smelled Tommy’s after-shave and rolled over. He was leaning over her bed. “I’ll sleep on the sofa tonight and let myself out in the morning.”

  “Thanks,” Ann mumbled. Then she thought of the attacker’s rough hands on her body, the way he had said David’s name, and sat up sharply. “Is David safe. Tommy? Maybe we should go and get him. I’m so frightened.”

  “I’m sure he’s fine, Ann,” the detective reassured her. “Aren’t the boy’s parents in the house?”

  “Yes,” Ann said, her lower lip trembling. “What am I going to do? What if he comes back to get David?”

  Tommy’s big hands gently pushed Ann back to a reclining position. “Right now you’re going to get some sleep. Put everything out of your mind. Take it one day at a time. If you don’t, you won’t be able to take care of yourself, let alone David.” The detective leaned down and kissed Ann chastely on the forehead. Turning off the bedroom lights, he went to the living room and promptly passed out on the sofa.

  Overtired and stimulated, Ann could not sleep. Her mind was sorting and organizing, trying to find the truth. Hank liked com, and the attacker had eaten com. He was dense and heavy like the attacker, not lean like Sawyer. Being a cop, he was agile and would have instinctively dropped to the ground when she chased him out of the house, fearing she would come out shooting. He also knew what no one else knew—that Ann hadn’t fired a gun in years. Would he have foreseen her hesitation before pulling the trigger? Of course, she thought, recalling a conversation along those lines, her telling him she didn’t know if she could take another person’s life.

  The most convincing factor was the man’s eyes. Peering out into the darkness, she could still see them staring back at her. Tommy and the others could say anything they wanted, she decided. They could call her a hysteric, even call her crazy. She knew she had looked into those eyes before, and even if it was Hank, she never wanted to look into them again.

  Chapter 12

  Once Ann had picked up David at his friend’s house and dropped him off at school, she raced to the office and called Glen. When she told him what had happened at her house, he was appalled. “Can I come over and talk to you?” Ann said. “There’s something about all this that you need to know.”

  There was a long pause before Glen asked, “Can’t you just tell me over the phone, Ann?
I’m swamped right now. I have to be in court in thirty minutes.”

  Couldn’t he even take a moment to listen to her? she thought, miffed. “No,” she said. “I don’t want to talk about it over the phone. There’s no privacy in my office. You know that. Glen. It won’t take more than a few minutes. I’m coming over right now.” Before he could protest again, she disconnected and marched over to the adjoining building.

  The Ventura County district attorney’s office was set up like the probation department: one enormous space divided up into various work stations. But the assistant district attorneys had actual offices ringing the open room, all with windows. It was eight forty-five by the time Ann got there, one of the busiest times of the day. Attorneys were rushing in to go over their notes and arguments one last time before court, printers were spilling out copy, phones were jangling.

  Ann stepped into Glen’s office and closed the door behind her. Hearing the click, he looked up from his work. “Sit down, Ann. Forgive me for being so abrupt on the phone. It’s Friday, though, and it’s been a hectic week.”

  Hectic week? You should have been in my shoes, Ann thought. Her annoyance subsided, though, as she gazed at him. Dressed in a dark gray suit, a lavender shirt, and his customary cowboy boots, he looked rugged and handsome.

  “Anyway,” he continued, “I was hoping we could get together tomorrow night. You know, spend a nice evening together and put all this other stuff out of our minds.”