Tyrell Watkins pushed open the door of the squat, red-brick building that was the Monroe police station and went inside. He greeted Peg, the dispatcher, who pointed to an open tin of cookies on her desk and mouthed the words, ‘Have one,’ as she worked the call board. Tyrell took a cookie and began to chew on it gratefully. He was always hungry at this time of night.
Only a skeleton crew manned the station in the evenings, although several patrol cars were out and about. Tyrell started toward his desk to begin his paperwork on this call when, to his surprise, he saw Ken McCarthy emerging from the men’s room.
‘Hey man,’ he said. ‘What’s up? Did you find our boy?’
An uneasy expression crossed the young officer’s face and he avoided the sergeant’s gaze. ‘Yeah, we found him all right.’
‘You couldn’t have processed him already,’ Tyrell said.
Ken shook his head and sighed. ‘No, we didn’t,’ he said.
‘Well, why not? Where is he?’
Before Ken could reply, the door of Chief Lou Potter’s office opened, and a handsome, dark-haired young man emerged, and walked toward them. He was dressed in dirty jeans and a barn jacket and a pair of cowboy boots. He did not look up at anyone as he walked by.
Tyrell peered at the man curiously for a moment and then called out, ‘Hey … Boots.’
Brian Riley looked up in surprise and then his gaze settled on Tyrell. His face broke into a smile and the two men moved to greet each other. They clasped hands, shifted fingers like a lock tumbling, and renewed their grip. ‘Hey man,’ said Brian. ‘I didn’t know you were a cop. It’s been a long time.’
‘Got that right,’ said Tyrell, chuckling. ‘Since high school, isn’t it?’ As he recalled, they’d only played together one year on their high school football team. Boots was a few years younger. He played linebacker – or was it a free safety? The one thing Tyrell would never forget was that Saturday afternoon in the parking lot after the game when a bunch of disgruntled fans hadn’t liked the fact that the wide receiver had dropped two balls in a losing effort. Their insults, most of them racial epithets, still stung when he thought about it. Only Boots, so called for his ever-present cowboy footgear, had stood shoulder to shoulder with him that day.
‘What are you doing here, man?’ Tyrell asked.
Brian smiled sheepishly. ‘Ahhh, I got into a little trouble tonight.’
Tyrell nodded. He could smell the alcohol on the other man’s breath. ‘Can I help?’ he asked. It was a favor that had been years in the returning.
Brian shook his head. ‘It’s been settled.’
At that moment, Chief Potter emerged from his office, rubbing his face with a meaty hand. He was dressed in civvies – chinos and a corduroy shirt and a pair of suede Rockport shoes. Lou Potter was a widower – his wife, Hattie, had died of breast cancer two years ago. Lou was in his mid-sixties, nearing retirement and suffering from heart problems himself. He lived now with his daughter, Kim, her husband and two kids.
He’d hired Tyrell at the rank of sergeant straight out of the service, giving him credit for his military duty over the objections of Heath Van Brunt, who had come up through the ranks and regarded this decision as heresy. Chief Potter looked around the station and then gestured for Tyrell to come into his office. ‘Sergeant. Can I see you in here a minute?’
Tyrell turned back to his old teammate. ‘Hey, I gotta split man. Take it easy.’
Brian gave him a casual salute. ‘Good to see you again, Tyrell.’
Ken, who had been watching their exchange with a strange look on his face, shook his head and returned to his desk. Tyrell frowned at him. ‘What’s with you?’
‘That’s him,’ Ken said.
‘Who?’
Tyrell did not appreciate the cryptic whisper. ‘The boyfriend. Brian Riley.’
Tyrell turned to see Boots heading out the door of the station house into the night.
He walked into the chief’s office. ‘Close the door,’ said Lou Potter.
Tyrell frowned, but obliged. Lou Potter fell heavily into his chair and indicated another chair for Tyrell. ‘Have a seat, Tyrell,’ he said.
‘What’s going on? What are you doing here at this hour, Chief?’
Lou Potter rubbed his face again. ‘I know all about the 911,’ he said. ‘Brian called me when they brought him in.’
Tyrell heard the familiarity in the way the chief spoke the name, and he understood what was coming.
‘Look, I’ve known that boy all his life, Tyrell. His dad and I go back a long way. A long way.’
Tyrell understood. His late grandfather, Reggie Brown, had also ‘gone back a long way’ with the chief. They used to go fishing together, which was another reason that Tyrell was a sergeant on the force. Lou Potter was nothing if not loyal.
‘How’s the girlfriend?’ Lou asked.
‘She’s OK,’ Tyrell admitted. ‘Some bruises.’
‘Ken told me she’s a “reluctant” vic.’
Tyrell nodded.
‘Now, look, Tyrell. You know and I know, these domestic things are not all equal. There was no weapon, right? The kid’s got no record.’
‘No. No weapon.’
‘I’m not excusing him, mind you, but this boy has been through hell lately. Believe me. A while back, my friend Matt, Brian’s dad, had a stroke at the wheel of his car, and crashed it. They’ve had lawsuits, medical bills, Brian’s dad is still in the hospital …’
Tyrell grimaced sympathetically but the chief did not notice and plowed on. ‘The girlfriend was pregnant – she just moved in, on top of all Brian has to worry about. Matt Riley can’t eat, he can’t talk. It’s pitiful, Tyrell. It breaks your heart.’
Tyrell nodded. He knew the chief often visited an old friend at the nursing home. Now that he put it together, he understood. ‘Terrible,’ agreed the sergeant.
‘And you know how these things go,’ said the chief earnestly. ‘I’m talking to you as a friend here. The kid is trying to help out his father, run his business, the baby is on the way, and he’s been stressed out. So you know what happens. The girlfriend’s feeling neglected, and she’s got all the pregnancy hormones bouncing off the wall, so she’s bugging him night and day. He’s been having a few beers too many, just to try to relax, and before you know it – boom, this happens.’
‘Oh yeah,’ said Tyrell.
‘I know what you’re thinking, Sergeant. And believe me, I came down here when he called me tonight, and I read him the riot act. I told him I was sorry for all his trouble, but hitting women was not the way a man coped with this kind of thing. I told him I never wanted to see him in here again – never. He’s a good kid, basically, Tyrell. He was crying when I got through with him.’
‘Listen, Chief …’
‘I know. I know. What good is it gonna do to lock him up? The girlfriend’s not gonna testify. There’s no weapons charge. He’s already got so much weighing him down. I mean, I know all about the new protocols and all that … But I’m talking to you man to man here …’
Tyrell held up a hand. ‘Chief, stop. It’s OK. I know Boots.’
‘Boots?’
‘Brian … Riley. I just didn’t recognize the name when we got the call. We played football together in high school. He’s a good man. And I owe him one from way back.’
Lou Potter sighed. ‘He is a good man. You know how circumstances can build up on a person?’
Tyrell nodded. He knew. He also knew, as did the chief, that there had been times when Tyrell sent a friend on his way with a warning when, technically, by the book, he should have been cuffing him and reading him his rights. ‘I just hope he’ll cool it now,’ Tyrell said.
‘Tyrell, there’s not gonna be a next time. I’d stake my life on it. But listen, why don’t we just keep this between us? No need to get Heath involved in this.’
Tyrell understood exactly what the old man was saying. Heath Van Brunt, who was away at a conference in Rhode Island on Forensics in Law Enforcement, did everything by the book. He would never allow this kind of leeway on his watch.
‘Sometimes a chief just has to use his judgment,’ said Lou.
For a guilty instant, Tyrell thought of the girlfriend, cowering in the bathroom.
Then he dismissed it. ‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘No big deal. Boots has learned his lesson.’
Tyrell saw the doubt and worry flicker in the chief’s eyes. ‘I’m sure,’ Chief Potter said. ‘One hundred per cent.’
Although he also had his doubts, Tyrell nodded in agreement.
Jennifer closed the door to her bedroom and climbed into bed beside her husband.
Ron reached out and put his arms around her, holding her close. He could feel her quivering.
‘Did you tell her?’ he asked.
Jennifer shook her head. ‘I found I couldn’t just blurt it right out. She could tell I had bad feelings about him. I told her he had a history … a reputation for treating women badly.’
‘I’m a little surprised you didn’t give her the whole gory story.’
‘I thought about what you said. Something just made me hold back. She’s just so upset tonight. I felt like she just needed a friend to talk to tonight. She told me about their relationship. It was all too familiar.’ Jennifer freed herself from his embrace and sat up in bed, her flowered, flannel nightgown tenting around her. ‘I told her she should press charges, but she says she won’t.’
‘Why not?’ Ron asked, although he had a good idea of why. It was understandable to him that Dena might not want to get involved in a long, legal process over this. Bad enough to have endured it – she might not want to subject herself to the humiliation of recounting it again and again. Still, there was no point in saying that to Jennifer. She had an unswerving sense of right and wrong. And her experience with Tanya had made her adamant on this subject.
Jennifer shook her head. ‘She says she just wants to be done with him. She says she’s known for a while that they weren’t going to make it together. She wants out. A clean break.’
‘That may not be what he wants,’ Ron observed. ‘Especially with a baby on the way.’
‘I know. The baby adds another risk to the whole thing,’ Jennifer cried. ‘Babies can really up the ante when it comes to these types. Talk about cruel and vindictive. I told you about Clifford.’
It took Ron a second to place the name. Then he nodded. Clifford was her friend Laura’s ex-husband. He’d never met him, but he’d heard the stories. In fact, Jennifer and Laura had met in a support group in Boston for abuse victims and their families after Tanya died. ‘Look at it this way, honey. If she was thinking about leaving him already, this may just give her the push she needs. You know?’
Jennifer nodded. ‘It’d better.’
‘And if she needs an additional kick in the pants, it’s time to tell her about Tanya.’
‘That’s what I figured,’ said Jennifer.
‘I’II ride out there tomorrow and pick up her stuff if she wants.’
‘I’ll go with you,’ said Jennifer.
‘Jenn …’ he warned.
‘You wouldn’t deny me that pleasure, would you?’
‘We’ll see tomorrow,’ he said.
‘And she can stay here as long as she needs to.’
Ron nodded. He wasn’t thrilled with the prospect of an open-ended houseguest, but he wasn’t about to argue with Jennifer on this. He knew the guilt she had suffered for not doing more for Tanya. For not insisting that she leave. For not physically coming and taking her away. She would never abandon a friend in this situation. ‘Sure,’ he said. ‘Now you, little lady, have got to get some rest. We have our own baby to think about.’
Jennifer smiled at him. ‘I’m so lucky to have you,’ she said.
Ron pulled her back into his embrace. ‘I’m the lucky one,’ he said.
Dena sat in a yellow-flowered slipper chair by the guest-room window and stared out into the darkness. Monroe, the sleepy little town she’d once called home, was asleep now, breathing peacefully. Dena felt anything but peaceful.
Jennifer had been a perfect friend. She had let Dena talk, and not berated her for her mistakes. She’d been adamant about Brian – that he was a man to be avoided – and Dena could tell, there was something personal in her obvious contempt and dislike for him. But she hadn’t said, and Dena almost didn’t want to know. They talked for a while, but finally Jennifer had gone back to her room, back to her waiting husband.
Dena felt grateful to her old friend, for taking her in so readily. Not everyone would do that, but Jennifer had always been generous that way. When you were her friend, you knew it. She was lucky to have found such a great husband as Ron. She deserved it, Dena thought, if anyone did. But, at the same time, it was impossible not to envy their happiness a little. This house, so sweet, so ready to welcome a new baby. She had glanced into the nursery as they walked down the hall to the guest room and felt a pang of longing that nearly doubled her over. Where would she bring her own baby, when the time came? She didn’t know now.
Dena often wished that her own mother was still alive, but never more so than tonight. She remembered the years when they had lived here in Monroe, when Dena was in junior high and high school. Her mom worked long hours to support them but, still, they had had good times here. Her mother had never been too tired for a trip to the movies, or a late-night talk.
If only I could talk to you now, Dena thought longingly. But she didn’t need to wonder what her mother would say. When Dena first began dating, her mother said, never let a man strike you, for any reason. Arguing is one thing. Everybody has arguments. You could resolve an argument. But a man who hits you … Your father and I never hit you. Why would you allow someone else to hit you? Especially someone who said they loved you.
I won’t go back, Mom, Dena thought. I’ll never go back to him. She rubbed a hand absently over her swollen belly as she thought of all the dreams she had had that now were lost. She thought back to that weekend of the high-school reunion, when Brian had monopolized her at the party, and then took her back to his ranch to show her the stars. Those romantic, long-distance weekends that followed. The pregnancy, despite their precautions. It had seemed like fate, that they were meant to be together. Her cheeks flamed with shame at how willingly she had overlooked her doubts and dived in. Now, you have to pay for it, she thought, rubbing her belly, apologizing to her baby. No, that was no way to think, she chided herself. I’ve made my mistakes, she thought, but you weren’t one of them. I will take care of you. I will protect you, she promised.
We’ll manage together. Just like Mom managed. That thought was comforting somehow. Soothing, but not soothing enough to make her want to sleep. She stared out the window and watched the starless night.