The pounding roused Ben from a dead sleep.
Alex must have forgotten her key. For the past two nights, his wife had been sleeping in her father’s room at Newberg Convalescent. He shifted in the bed and found Alex asleep next to him. Dream, I guess. Man, it got cold in here. He snuggled in closer to Alex, seeking her warmth, but the pounding resumed.
Ben maneuvered around Alex, trying not to disturb her. He stumbled into the living room and finally came fully awake at the sight of Doyle McKenzie and Plate Boyd standing on his porch. Ben opened the door just as McKenzie raised his fist to knock again. The rudeness of it got the conversation off to a bad start.
“Jesus, guys,” Ben said, stepping into the doorway, “what’s going on? What time is it?”
McKenzie closed in, a cigarette hanging from his lips. He began to speak, but Plate put an arm across his chest and cut him off.
“Sorry, Ben, but something’s come up. There’s been a homicide. We need to talk with you.”
“A homicide? No shit, you need to talk to me,” Ben said. He looked at both men and saw they were dressed in jeans and jackets as if ready for a long, cold night. Plate had a five-cell flashlight tucked under his arm and a notebook in his hand. McKenzie was holding a brown paper bag that looked unsealed but was marked with evidence tape. It was obvious to Ben both men were working and had been for a while. “How long ago did this happen? Is the body still at the scene? Doyle, how come I didn’t get notified?”
Boyd jumped back in.
“That was my call, Ben. I’ve got a few questions.”
“What do you mean, questions? Just fill me in.”
“Ben, is your wife home?” Boyd asked. “We need to talk to her.”
Dumbstruck, Ben stared at his fellow cop.
McKenzie sucked on his cigarette, then spoke. “How ’bout it, Ben? Is the little missus in?”
Ben looked back and forth between the men, who stood silent, waiting for an answer. “What are you guys talking about? Why do you want to know about Alex?”
McKenzie blew out a puff of smoke. “Don’t worry about why. Just answer the question. Is she home or not?”
Plate stepped in front of McKenzie. “Shut up, Doyle. I told you I’d handle this.” He turned to Ben and softened his tone. “We just need to have her account for her whereabouts this evening. Say over the past several hours?”
Ben was on the verge of responding until he ran the day through his mind. Alex had not been at home when he’d gone to bed. She’d been with her father. What’s going on?
“She’s home. Home and asleep in bed. Now can I ask why that’s any of your business?”
“So you can vouch for her, then? She’s been home all night?”
Ben felt vulnerable, standing in the doorway while the two police officers looked into his dark, quiet house. He stepped outside and pulled the door closed behind him. He noticed a light frozen rain had begun to fall. Barefoot, in flannel shorts and a T-shirt, he worked hard to ignore the cold and to sound direct in his answer. “Yes. She’s asleep in bed.” Ben could tell that both men picked up on his evasive response.
“What can you tell us about this?” McKenzie pulled a heart-shaped glass picture frame from the brown paper bag. In the picture, Alex was smiling, looking past the camera, her hair blowing gently in the wind. “This is your wife, isn’t it?” McKenzie asked.
Ben found he had no voice. He tried, but nothing came out. Finally he mustered, “Where did you get that?”
Boyd began to speak, but McKenzie talked over him. “The guy that owns that coffee shop downtown, Java and whatever. He’s dead. Stabbed in the gut in his apartment over the store. This picture was on his desk. Couple more on the bulletin board. So like I asked you before: Is this your wife?”
Ben could only stare at the photograph in McKenzie’s hand. Somewhere in the far distance, McKenzie kept talking.
“We also found a couple of wineglasses, broken, on the floor. Looks like our victim was entertaining, then it must have got ugly.” McKenzie paused to drag cigarette smoke into his lungs, then exhaled as he spoke, releasing a puff of smoke with each word. “By the way, the dark green minivan in the driveway—anybody been driving it tonight? Say in the past two or three hours?”
Ben couldn’t tear his gaze from the photograph. “What are you guys getting at? This is insane.”
Boyd chimed in, his voice sympathetic. “All the same, Ben, we’d like to have a talk with your wife. Probably best we do that tonight. Mind if we come in while you wake her up?”
Ben came to life. “I got a better idea. Let’s go down to the scene. I want to walk through it myself.”
“I’m afraid we can’t let you do that, Ben,” Boyd said. “Chief Jorgensen’s orders.”
“Jorgensen? Who called him? For Christ’s sake, Plate, am I the detective sergeant of this department or not?”
“You ain’t calling the shots here, Ben. Now go wake up your wife. Tell her we want to talk.”
McKenzie stepped toward the door, and Ben blocked him. “Go to hell, McKenzie. Get a warrant—if you think you know how to write one.”
Boyd tried to interject. “Ben, calm down. Listen to me for a minute. We got a call of screams coming from the apartment and a blond woman in a green minivan hightailing it out of the area. The door was wide open and we find a guy stabbed to death inside. Looks like he had some kind of relationship with your wife, who happens be a blonde and drives a green van, right? Of course we need to talk to her. You can see that, can’t you?”
Ben’s head was reeling as he processed the information. “Got a call from who? When did all this happen?”
Before Boyd could answer, the front door opened and Alex stepped outside, wearing Ben’s robe. She saw the two strangers on her porch and pulled the robe tighter. Her voice was sleepy. “Ben? What’s going on? Who are these guys?”
Ben turned to her. “Alex, don’t say anything. Go back—”
McKenzie butted in. “Detective Doyle McKenzie, Mrs. Sawyer. We’re investigating the murder of Louis Carson.”
In that instant, Alex came fully awake. She grabbed Ben’s arm but looked straight at the detectives. “Louis? Killed? Oh, my God. What are you talking about? How—”
“Alex, go inside. Right now.” Ben held Alex by her shoulders and began to push her back across the threshold, but she pulled away from him and stepped farther onto the porch until she stood between Ben and the detectives.
“Hey, Doyle.” Ben looked up to see a uniformed officer he recognized as a perennial graveyard slug walk around from the back of the house. “Look what I found in the trash can.” The cop held up a kitchen knife—a large, nondescript knife that belonged on someone’s countertop, not in his garbage can. The cop went on. “Looks like it might have some blood on it.”
This time Ben grabbed Alex by the waist and pulled her back toward the door. His voice was elevated and desperate. “Alex, get inside the damn house.”
McKenzie reached toward Alex and grabbed for her arm. Ben pushed his wife aside and stepped in to deliver a full punch to McKenzie’s jaw. The blow hit solidly, and McKenzie fell backward off the porch, landing in the half-frozen mud. Alex screamed her husband’s name but Ben ignored her. He jumped from the steps and stood over the prone detective.
“You keep your goddamn hands off my wife, McKenzie.”
“Damn it, Sawyer.” McKenzie’s voice was fierce with anger as he pulled himself up off the muddy ground.
Uniformed officers began to pour onto the lawn, coming from down the street and around the house. It seemed to Ben half of Newberg PD had descended on his home.
“Hold him,” McKenzie barked. Ben spun around and tried to climb back onto the porch, but three officers were on him. Ben struggled but couldn’t break free. McKenzie managed to get to his feet, breathing hard. The rain kept coming.
Plate tried to reestablish some level of control. He turned to the officers who were working hard to keep Ben off the porch.
“You guys back off,” Plate said. “Let’s just all calm down.”
McKenzie would have none of it. “Shut up, Plate. I got this.” McKenzie turned to the officers who had their hands full.
“Hold on to that bastard. Sawyer, I’ll have your ass for that, but right now I got more important matters.”
Alex shouted from the porch, “What’s wrong with you people? My husband is one of you. He’s a police officer. Why are you treating him this way?”
Ben did his best to break free, calling out to his wife, “Alex, get inside the house. Lock the door.”
Alex turned to the door, but McKenzie climbed the three porch steps and stood in front of the bewildered woman. Ben could only watch. McKenzie struggled for breath but with what struck Ben as excitement, and his voice sounded labored. “Mrs. Sawyer, you are under arrest for the murder of Louis Carson.”
Ben roared, “McKenzie, stop. Plate, do something.” He tried to jerk free, but the men holding him kept a strong grip. Ben watched as McKenzie pulled Alex’s hands behind her back and handcuffed her. McKenzie began a recitation of her Miranda rights.
Alex looked at Ben as if she was finally ready to listen to him. “Ben, what are they doing? Help me. Where are they taking me?”
McKenzie took Alex by her elbow and led her off the porch. She passed within inches of him and Ben again tried to pull away. His bare feet slipped in the mud that was growing thicker with the rain. He fell onto the cold ground and could only watch as his wife was led to a nearby patrol vehicle. As they approached the car, Alex began to resist in earnest, screaming for Ben to help. She fought and thrashed, refusing to walk. McKenzie pulled and shoved Alex toward the open door and into the backseat of the car. Ben’s oversized robe fell away from her shoulder showing her bare skin. Jake shot out the front door wearing only his pajamas. He jumped from the porch and ran past his father. He reached the police car just as it pulled away with his mother inside, her face pressed against the window screaming his name.
“Mom! Mom!” Jake turned to a uniformed patrol officer who stood statue still in the rain, dazed, as if overwhelmed by the scene that had just occurred all around him. Jake shoved the officer with his hands, knocking the man back a couple of feet. He screamed out, “Where are you taking my mom? Bring her back!”
Blood rushed to Ben’s head, flooding his ears. He looked toward his son’s face, contorted in fear and desperation. Finally the uniformed officers released him, but Ben found he didn’t have the strength to stand. His body was spent. He struggled to his knees. The rain was pouring now. The uniformed officers began to regroup. Car doors slammed and the remaining police vehicles sped away. Jake ran to the edge of the road, and once again Ben could hear the boy’s screams as the last car disappeared into the night.
Then the only remaining sound was the falling rain and Jake’s softer pleas. Ben and Jake were alone.