While assigned one of the end-zone posts at a football game, they had a chance to speak one-on-one. The public setting kept Jane relaxed, while Luke’s stories kept her smiling. By the end of the game, when he asked if she wanted to grab a coffee sometime, she reluctantly turned him down.
“I don’t date. You know how it is when you have a school-age kid. They’re so needy. And long ago I promised myself I would never give her any reason to feel threatened.”
“Really? You’re turning me down?” He pressed a fist to his heart. “I’m crushed. You probably don’t realize it, but I’ve been working on asking you out for the past year. Refining my concerned but casual tone. Was I too pushy? Too cavalier?”
“No, no, it’s nothing you said. It’s me.”
He groaned. “The old ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ line! Am I that hopeless?”
“If I dated, and I don’t, you’d be at the top of my list.”
“Wow. Not even a pity date?”
Jane couldn’t help but chuckle as she looked toward the crowded bleachers. “Besides, we’ve got a few hundred sets of eyes on us. If we were seen together anywhere in Mirror Lake, we’d be a school scandal.”
“It’s hardly immoral for two coworkers to date.”
He was right about that. Two of their colleagues, Ben and Mary Ellen Kitcher, had met right here at Mirror Lake High and married two years ago.
“Besides, we could get outta town. Go into Portland.”
It was a sweet fantasy: a cup of hot tea at an outdoor table in the Chinese Gardens on a cool autumn day. Or wandering among the booths with Luke at Portland’s Saturday Market. Or maybe a ride out to the gorge to hike the trail to the top of Multnomah Falls. She knew Luke was a hiker.
“Look, you don’t have to answer now. Especially if your answer is no. Take some time and think about it. But I’m going to stay positive, Jane, and hope you’ll eventually say yes.” He winced. “Ooh, I’m starting to sound like a used car salesman. I think the nineties are calling, and they want their pickup line back.”
“Yes.” The word was out before she could check her impulse. After nearly a decade of following a strict code of behavior, she was caving, but with good reason. Luke made her smile. She had seen the mutual respect between Luke and his ex-wife, the camaraderie among Luke and his colleagues, the wonder in the eyes of his students. This was a good man, and wasn’t it time to let a little light back into her life? “Yes, Mr. Bandini,” she said aloud for the benefit of a handful of students passing by with soft drinks and hot dogs in hand. “I think we should try your idea.”
“You . . . what?” His dark eyes brightened. “Really?”
“Incognito.”
“Okay. Top secret.” He grinned. “This could be fun.”
They kept their secret for more than two years, getting together only when Harper was involved in an activity. They met in Portland and surrounding areas or at Luke’s place, where Jane used a remote to open the garage door, pull her car inside, and close the garage door before any of the neighbors saw her.
“It’s magic!” Luke would tease when she appeared in his kitchen. “Discretion can be so damned sexy.”
From the start, they both agreed that sneaking around for their limited time together made things exciting. “You won’t have a chance to get sick of me,” Jane said.
Although she was sparing with the details about her past, once he learned that she had escaped an abusive relationship, he gave her breathing room. “You can tell me as much as you want when you’re ready,” he told her. “I’m not going anywhere. Unless you kick me out.” That earnest, boy-scout quality won her trust. Luke had been in his late thirties, but she teased him that he still looked young enough to be in a boy band.
Her only problem with Luke was sleeping. To close her eyes and abandon all control—that required supreme trust. The first night they were together, she stared sullenly at the ceiling while Luke lay beside her, filling the space in her bed and in her life that had yawned empty for so long.
He would not pull her hair during the night; she knew that. He would not close his hands around her neck, squeezing until she lost consciousness.
He would not be standing over her when she awoke. Luke did not have issues with insomnia the way Frank had. Pacing through the night, sometimes cradling a baseball bat. Muttering. Frank’s monsters came out in the darkness, though it took her months to realize the rants were not caused by alcohol. It was all Frank.
When he’d told her that he came from a family of crazies, she had thought he was joking. Another mistake.
Chapter 7
The Shari’s Restaurant in West Green was one of the few places in the area that was open twenty-four hours. Usually Jane and Harper had trouble getting past the glass case of pies by the door: swirls of meringue or thick cream, sugared crusts, shiny dark berries, and wedges of dense cream custards. Tonight, Jane strode by the display to the man sitting at the table by the window.
Her fury must have been evident. Dennis Alvarez’s small eyes opened wide as he dropped his menu. “You look mad, Ms. Ryan. Why don’t you sit down and I’ll buy you some coffee.”
“I’m not here for coffee.” She pulled out a chair and sat facing him. “Just information.”
“I’ll take some coffee.” Luke was beside her, checking out the detective, up close and personal. He introduced himself simply as her friend Luke. Back at Jane’s house, Luke had insisted that the Mirror Lake Police confirm the detective’s identity. Two phone calls to California had confirmed that Dennis Alvarez was a detective for the San Joaquin County District Attorney’s office, and that he was out of town on a case. Jane was relieved to have Luke at her side, thinking clearly.
They ordered two coffees and a chamomile tea for Jane. A truckload of chamomile wasn’t going to help her sleep tonight.
“You want any pie with that?” the waitress asked. An older woman with a dry, smoker’s voice. “We got Marionberry, just in.”
“Ooh. Can’t resist that.” Luke ordered a slice, then turned back to Alvarez. “You know, I’m really glad I didn’t shoot you. That would’ve freaked me out.”
“Yeah? Me too.”
“So how long you up here for?” Luke asked.
“Not sure yet. I’m trying to wrap up some business.”
Jane dove in. “Involving me. I used to live in San Joaquin County. Is this . . . has something happened to my parents?”
He shook his head. “I spoke with Sandra and Ron a few weeks ago. And believe me, they didn’t have a clue about your whereabouts. They’re convinced that you’re fine. I guess they got some messages from you. But they’re not too happy with you for deserting the family.”
She let that one slide off her back. It was amazing how family barbs could still sting more than a decade after separation. “So how did you track me down?”
“That’s a long, dull story.”
“Did you just find me today, or have you been stalking me for a while?”
“Just today, and there’s a difference between surveillance and stalking.”
“You were banging on my door. I thought you were going to break it down.”
“Sometimes doorbells don’t work. Look, I’m sorry I frightened you, but most people don’t call the cops when someone rings their doorbell. Who’d you think I was?”
“No one. Nothing.” The waitress arrived with their drinks. Jane tore open the wrapper on the teabag and started dunking. She wanted to run from the restaurant. She was grateful for Luke’s hand pressing into her thigh under the table. Stay. Hear him out.
Alvarez watched her as he took a sip of black coffee. “Look, like I said, I didn’t mean to scare you. Sorry about that. If you’re worried about Frank Dixon, you can relax. He’s locked up right now.”
Jane stopped dunking and let the teabag go. “Officer Frank Dixon? From Burnson?”
“That’s the one. Burnson’s most decorated cop. Well . . . he used to be.”
Relief flooded throug
h her. Frank was in jail.... No longer a threat. The unexpected news was hard to digest. “On what charges?”
“Sexual assault. He’s serving seven years.”
Seven years? Frank would not be a threat for seven years. . . .
“And that’s just for one count, but there are other charges pending, based on a pattern of criminal activity. Dixon used to arrest a young woman for DUI, then offer to let her go in exchange for sexual favors. Apparently this went on for years, and no one came forward until two years ago. Dixon tried his scam with the wrong woman—my boss’s daughter. We’ll call her Jane Doe. After he raped her, she wasn’t afraid to come forward, and the DA pressed charges. There are rumors that some young women had tried to file complaints before, but the cops at the precinct shit-canned them. After this story hit the news, two other women came forward.” His gaze softened, and for the first time she noticed the half-moon creases under his eyes. “This Dixon is one bad apple, all right. My job is to find evidence to put him away for good.”
While Luke questioned Alvarez, Jane retreated into herself and considered the string of assaults. Frank’s abusive behavior had been no anomaly; after she had escaped, he had repeated it over and over again. What else had she expected from a true sociopath? She felt for all those women, she really did, but she had wrung the guilt out of herself over the years. If she’d had the strength and means of stopping Frank, she would have done so. As it was, she’d had nowhere to turn; her family and Frank’s cop buddies had been in denial about his heart of darkness.
No wonder he didn’t come after me, she thought. He was busy hunting new prey.
“You know,” Alvarez said, “I’m surprised you didn’t hear about this on the news. It’s been a big deal, at least in California. The whole good-cop-gone-bad angle.”
She shook her head. As a part of her therapy, she had stopped scouring media accounts of terrible things that happened to young women. The neurotic need to gather clues about the terrible hunters in the world had ruled her for years. The only way to quiet the roar of fear had been to stop devouring tragic news.
“I’m glad he’s behind bars,” she said. “But I don’t understand what you want from me. To track me down here . . .”
“I’d like to ask you about Dixon. I know you were involved with him for a while. When the news of the trial hit, your father came to the precinct. He said that you left the state to get away from Dixon after the relationship went sour.”
So her father had come forward; at last he believed her side of the story, though it was too little too late.
“I’m gathering evidence for a few other cases involving Dixon. One in particular involves a young woman who was involved with Dixon for a while. She’s authorized me to share her name, hoping it will personalize her case for her. Lana Tremaine is her name. Just a kid, really. Tremaine can’t recall a two-year period of her life. We believe that Dixon beat the memories from her.”
Or he squeezed them out, his hands around her neck, clamping flesh and cartilage, cutting off air and life. Jane squinted into her tea, then looked up at Alvarez. “What is it you want from me?”
“I want to know everything you can tell me about Frank Dixon.”
She shook her head slowly. “It was a long time ago.... I don’t know how it would help you.”
“With more information, with your deposition, we can pursue other charges. Assault. Possibly kidnapping. Did Dixon detain you against your will?”
“He did, but . . .” She covered her eyes. “I don’t want to go there. I can’t.”
“Lana Tremaine can’t testify because she doesn’t remember.”
Jane shook her head. “I have a daughter to protect.”
“Don’t you think you and your daughter will be safer with Dixon behind bars for years . . . maybe even for life?” When she didn’t answer, he pressed on. “Lana was a nurse. Her parents said she was a wallflower when she met Dixon. Apparently, he’s a charming guy, and she fell, hook, line, and sinker.”
“He was a charismatic person.”
“He was Lana’s first boyfriend. That’s probably why she was willing to overlook the charges he was facing, at least in the beginning. Her parents say that she left him once, and he coerced her into returning. Then, a month or so later, Beth Tremaine got a call from her daughter. Lana said she was calling in secret, afraid of what Frank might do if he found out. She said Dixon wouldn’t let her leave the house for long periods of time. That he choked her until she passed out. That he patrolled at night with a baseball bat.”
“That’s all true. He used to clamp his hands around my neck, and he always kept the bat handy.” Jane pressed her hand to her mouth as a vision of Frank filled her senses. The rank, salty smell of sweat. The way his bare chest glistened. The black snake tattoo on his arm that scowled at her, coiled and ready to strike. He had prodded her with the baseball bat and told her to get up. Get up and clean the floor. Get up and suck him off. Get up and go to work, even though it was the middle of the night and the school didn’t open for hours.
“The Tremaines called the police. By the time they got to Dixon’s house, Lana was gone. Dixon claimed she had left him to return home. Two years later, Lana Tremaine was found unconscious in a motel parking lot on the coast. Her injuries were consistent with blunt force trauma and strangulation. We suspect that she was held at another location by Dixon, but we haven’t been able to identify where he might have kept her. We just don’t have enough evidence to charge Dixon with Tremaine’s kidnapping and assault. That’s where you come in.” The detective sounded tired. “Your testimony can make this case. It might be the difference between Dixon’s getting out of prison in six years or sixty. Don’t you want to do that for your daughter?”
It was more than Jane could have ever hoped for. Yes, yes, she wanted Frank out of her life, off the streets forever. But she wasn’t sure she could dredge anything of value from her painful memories.
“I need to think about it. I don’t know if I can help you. Not to make excuses, but those days are a jumble in my mind. I mean, I remember, but I don’t know dates or times.”
“Anything you can tell me might help our case.” The detective handed her a business card. “Best-case scenario would be a deposition—an official statement that could be used in the trial. I can arrange to do that with you down at the courthouse in Oregon City or even in your home if that’s easier for you. Just you, me, and the court reporter.”
“Not at my house, please . . .” She couldn’t let her daughter find out about this right now. She wasn’t ready to tell Harper that her father was a violent criminal. “I need time to sort things out. I’ve spent nearly half my life putting Frank Dixon behind me.”
“I understand.” Alvarez’s eyelids drooped in a wistful expression. “But don’t drop the ball, Jane. You know this guy is a monster. He needs to be locked up for good.”
Acrid memories seeped into her consciousness when she looked Frank up on the Internet during the car ride home. In the dozens of articles stamped with photos of his handsome face, his steely sapphire gaze had a piercing effect. The past still held power over her, a phantom wound with its curious aches. But back at the house, as she and Luke sifted through news accounts at her kitchen counter, the situation began to take on a new shape.
“He’s been caught,” she said. “Whether or not the DA can make other charges stick, Frank Dixon is behind bars. Not on my tail, not coming after me with a vengeance.”
Luke closed a page on his iPad. “And that changes a lot for you, not having to hide. You must be relieved.”
“A little. Right now I’m afraid to let myself feel anything.” From her bed by the window, Phoenix snored quietly; a blissful sleep. “Still processing,” Jane added.
“Do you want to go back? See your family in California? I mean, now that it’s safe for you to go there.”
She let out a grunt. “Absolutely not. There have been times when I pined for my lost childhood. Burnson was a great place to l
ive before the city went bankrupt. But I have no desire to reconnect with Ron and Sandra. I’m glad Dad contacted the police, but that doesn’t change the fact that my parents let me down when I needed them most. I mean, look at these accounts. Just about every article paints Frank as a serial rapist. My parents must know that the man they chose over me is in jail now. And did they reach out to let me know? Did they send an e-mail? A short apology . . . or just a message to say they’re glad I made it out alive?” She shook her head. “Nothing.”
Luke put an arm over her shoulders. “I’m sorry you’ve had to go through all this.”
“It’s not your fault,” she said, taking comfort in his arms.
“I know, but someone in the world should apologize.”
Melting against him, she began to relax into the new reality of her situation.
She was free.
When Luke offered to make biscuits, she moved to the other side of the counter to continue her research. She focused on the coverage of Frank’s conviction. The news accounts reported that the victim had gone to the emergency room immediately, and evidence collected through the rape kit had held up in court. Jane was grateful that this victim had possessed the courage and resources to pursue criminal charges against her attacker.
“I knew he was a wicked man, but I didn’t realize he was a monster,” Luke said as he cut frozen butter into perfect rectangular prisms. Luke’s buttermilk biscuits were a vice that both he and Jane found therapeutic. “From his description in the media, it sounds like he’s a sociopath.”
“I’ve thought about that. Frank used to say that his family was crazy. In the beginning, I thought he was exaggerating. I was wrong about that.”
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