A sudden thump on her bed woke Dena from a dreamless chasm. Her heart leapt to her throat and she tried, in vain, to scream. All that came out was a strangled squawk. Confused by the darkness in the room, and her own awkward position, slumped against the headboard, she struggled up to a sitting position and looked around wildly, trying to get her bearings. Her eyes locked with another pair of eyes watching her from the end of the bed. She gasped, and then recognized the intruder.
‘Tory, my God,’ Dena cried, groping about until she found the switch of her new lamp and turned it on. The soft light scattered the shadows.
‘What?’ The child, wearing a flowered T-shirt and jeans, knelt at the end of the bed.
Dena tried to catch her breath. Her heart was thudding like a jackhammer. ‘You scared me. How did you get in here?’
Tory held up a key. ‘We used to come up here all the time when Miss Kay lived here.’
Dena leaned forward, hampered by her large stomach. ‘You shouldn’t have done that,’ she said angrily. ‘Give me that key.’
The child looked abashed and handed it to her. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said in a small voice. ‘I wanted to surprise you.’
‘You surprised me all right.’ Dena rubbed her face and looked around. ‘You scared me half to death.’ Dena couldn’t believe she had fallen asleep. Since about the third month of her pregnancy she could almost fall asleep standing up. But she wouldn’t have thought it was possible after … The last thing she remembered was sitting there shivering in her blankets.
Tory curled up in a ball, as if to hide. Dena saw the contrite look on the girl’s face and took a deep breath. ‘Oh, it’s all right,’ she said irritably. ‘Just don’t ever do that again.’
The child glanced at her warily, and Dena smiled. ‘It’s OK. Really.’ Dena looked at the clock. ‘What time is it?’
‘After supper,’ said the child.
‘Where’s your dad?’ Dena asked.
‘He’s downstairs, fixing the window,’ she said.
‘Oh. Oh no,’ said Dena, frowning. She wanted to show it to the police. ‘Somebody broke it,’ said Tory. ‘He had to fix it.’
‘I know,’ said Dena. ‘I know.’
‘I got an A in social studies, today,’ said Tory.
‘That’s great,’ said Dena, distracted. ‘Did the policeman come yet?’
‘What policeman?’ Tory asked.
‘Never mind,’ said Dena. ‘What were you saying?’
Tory frowned, as if disappointed. Then she gave Dena a sidelong glance. ‘Why are you wearing your coat?’ she asked.
Dena sighed, remembering. ‘I was cold,’ she said. ‘I didn’t want my baby to be shivering.’
‘Is that it, in your tummy?’
Kids don’t believe in the stork anymore, she thought. In answer to Tory’s question, Dena nodded and rubbed her stomach.
‘Can I touch it?’ Tory asked.
Dena was a little taken aback, and her first impulse was to say no. But really, she chided herself, there isn’t any harm in it. ‘All right. Come here.’
Tory slipped off the end of the bed and came up beside Dena, who sat up on the edge. ‘Here,’ she said, placing the child’s hand on her corduroy jumper. ‘He moves around a lot. Can you feel it?’
The child frowned, and stared down at the scatter rug beside the bed, trying to discern some sign of movement under her small palm. All of a sudden she jumped away from Dena, and grabbed her hand as if it had been burned.
‘I felt it,’ she cried, her eyes wide with surprise. Dena laughed, delighted at the child’s reaction.
‘Tory,’ Peter’s voice cried out.
Dena and Tory exchanged a glance. The child looked alarmed. ‘She’s up here with me, Peter,’ Dena shouted.
She wasn’t sure if he heard, but in a moment she heard the muffled sound of footsteps on the stairs. He tapped at the open door and came into the apartment. ‘Tory, what are you doing up here?’
The child looked up at her father. ‘I felt the baby moving around. Inside her tummy. She let me.’
Peter frowned. ‘You’re bothering Dena.’
‘She’s not bothering me,’ said Dena. ‘She was just curious. I hope you don’t mind,’ she added quickly, suddenly realizing that Peter might not want his second grader to know that much about unborn babies. ‘She asked me if the baby was in my tummy, and could she feel it …’
Peter’s frown faded, and then he smiled. ‘That’s such an incredible sensation, to feel a baby moving like that.’
‘It was doing a cartwheel, Dad,’ Tory announced.
Peter held his palm up and pointed toward Dena’s stomach. ‘Could I feel it?’
Dena was startled by his question. ‘Well …’ she said, uncertainly.
‘I remember when my wife was carrying the girls, how wonderful it was to feel that new life. I guess I would just like to experience that again …’ he explained.
It’s fine if it’s your own wife, your own children, Dena thought. She wondered if she was being overly sensitive or prudish or something. It wasn’t as if it was a sexual thing. All he wanted to do was feel a baby’s movements.
She didn’t know how to refuse without sounding uptight. Or, worse, making the child feel that her father had committed some kind of inappropriate gaffe.
‘I guess so,’ she said unwillingly.
He walked over and knelt down beside the bed like a communicant at an altar rail. ‘Can I feel it again, Dad?’ Tory asked in a hushed voice.
Peter looked up into Dena’s face. ‘Can she?’
Dena was suddenly struck by the innocence of it all. Here were two people who were awed by the fact of her baby’s life. She was ashamed of her own hesitation. I’m just not used to the attention, she thought. I’m used to having this baby ignored.
‘Sure,’ she said.
‘Come here,’ he said to Tory, gesturing for her to join him. The child came up beside him and he took her small hand and placed it gently beside his own.
They both waited, smiling at each other and at Dena. Then, obligingly, the baby did something that felt like a somersault in the womb. Tory’s face lit up again, and Peter let out an exclamation of delight. He gazed admiringly at Dena. ‘That’s an athlete,’ he said enthusiastically.
Dena blushed, but was pleased. ‘I hope so,’ she said.
‘I’m sure of it,’ he said. He rose to his feet as Tory said, ‘Let’s wait, Dad. Maybe he’ll do it again.’
‘Oh no, miss. Let’s get going. I left Megan alone downstairs to come looking for you.’
‘OK,’ said the child reluctantly, and slid off the bed. As she started for the door, she turned to see if her father was following her.
‘I’ll be right along,’ he said. Then he turned to Dena. ‘I replaced the broken pane of glass. Did you forget your key?’ he asked wryly.
Dena shook her head and hoisted herself off the bed. ‘It was Brian,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry, Peter.’
Peter shook his head. ‘I thought so.’
‘That wasn’t all,’ she said.
Peter frowned. ‘What?’
‘Don’t tell the girls.’
‘What happened?’
‘He put a … rat … a barn rat in my gym bag,’ she shuddered again at the thought.
Peter screwed up his face in disgust. ‘What happened to it?’
‘When I opened the bag it jumped out and ran into the wall.’ She pointed to the mounds of rags in the corners of the room. ‘I put those around so it couldn’t get out. But I’m worried about your place. The children.’
He shook his head. ‘Don’t worry. More likely it made its way down the wall and is long gone by now. Those shingles out there are like Swiss cheese. You wouldn’t want to spend the winter here.’
‘I hope you’re right,’ said Dena. ‘You’ll check around, won’t you?’
‘Oh, sure.’ His gaze was steely. ‘He’s dangerous, you know.’
‘Yes,’ she said faintly. ‘I know.’
‘Dad,’ Tory screamed from downstairs. ‘Police.’ Peter’s eyes widened.
Dena could hear footsteps mounting the stairs. ‘I called them,’ she said.
‘Well, I’ll just get out of the way,’ he said, ducking out the door.
‘Thanks Peter,’ she called after him.
‘Don’t mention it,’ he said. He sidestepped Tyrell who had arrived at the door.
‘Sergeant Watkins,’ said Dena, somewhat relieved to see his familiar face.
Tyrell watched Peter descend the steps and then looked around with a frown at the dingy little apartment, and Dena, standing in her rumpled jumper by the stove. She didn’t look natural in this setting, he thought. She was pretty in a quiet way. Despite her huge belly she looked fragile, refined. This run-down house didn’t suit her at all. ‘I’m told you had a break-in,’ he said calmly, as if he didn’t recognize her.
She handed him the note. ‘He broke the glass so he could let himself in and deliver this.’
Tyrell read the note without comment and handed it back to her.
‘It came with a small present,’ she said bitterly. ‘A rat.’
Tyrell maintained a blank expression, although he felt secretly shocked at her announcement about the rat. He thought of the young man he knew, Boots, who had always been kind of friendly, and even-tempered. Tyrell had trouble trying to picture him doing something so … bizarre. Of course, these spurned lovers could be crazy. He looked over at her. ‘When you say he …’
‘You know who I mean,’ she said, annoyed at his obtuseness. ‘Brian Riley. The man who hit me the other night. He’s been calling me on the phone repeatedly. Just breathing into the phone.’
‘You sure it’s him?’
‘Who else would it be?’
‘You say he broke the glass?’
‘Yes, and let himself in.’
‘Looked fine down there,’ said Tyrell.
‘Well, my neighbor fixed it when he got home.’
‘He should have left it,’ said Tyrell. ‘How long ago did this happen?’
‘I don’t know. I got home a couple of hours ago.’ Tyrell sighed and Dena saw him shift his weight. ‘Please, sit down,’ she said politely.
‘You should have called us right then,’ he said, refusing the chair.
‘I called, soon afterwards,’ Dena protested. ‘Look, why are you acting like this is my fault?’ she said. ‘A man broke in my house. I’m … I’m making a complaint.’
‘Did he enter your apartment, or just the vestibule?’ Tyrell said.
‘Just the vestibule?’ she said in disbelief. ‘Does he have to be hiding in my closet before you’ll do something about this?’
Tyrell pursed his lips and then he set one long, graceful hand down on the back of a chair. ‘Can I change my mind?’ he asked.
Dena nodded curtly.
Tyrell removed his hat, sat down and tapped his long fingers on the tabletop. ‘Miss Russell. You say Riley called you on the phone but you don’t know that it was him. All right, he left you a note, unsigned …’ he smacked the paper deprecatingly with the back of his hand, ‘but it doesn’t constitute a threat, per se. You say he broke a window, but I don’t see a broken window …’
‘My neighbor will testify about the window,’ Dena cried. ‘And, he put a rat in my gym bag and left it at my door.’
‘And where is this rat now?’
‘It ran into the wall and I blocked up the hole. Pardon me for not keeping it here in the apartment. Are you saying you don’t believe me? Why would I make this up?’
Tyrell held up a hand to silence her. ‘You say you’re afraid of this man, but you saw the broken window and, instead of calling the police, you entered the premises by yourself.’
‘I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction,’ Dena said defensively.
Tyrell gazed up at her with skeptical brown eyes. ‘Of what?’
‘Of … ruining my life. Destroying my peace of mind.’ Dena sank into the chair across from him and stared at the note on the table. ‘Look, I don’t want to have to look around every corner. I don’t want him hounding me. I just want him to stop,’ she said. ‘You can make him stop, can’t you? Isn’t it against the law to do things like this? Can’t I get a court order or something? The other night you told me I could.’
Tyrell leaned forward and gazed at his steepled fingers. ‘Well, the other night you probably could have. But, you didn’t press charges, so the other incident … you can’t take it to court.’ He deliberately made it sound as if it were her fault. He didn’t mention the fact that the chief had made sure there was no record of a complaint. He didn’t tell her that they were officially required to pursue domestic violence complaints – with or without the cooperation of the victim. And he didn’t tell her that when her call tonight was reported, the chief made sure Tyrell was the one to answer it. Tyrell avoided her gaze and tapped on the note. ‘And while this was an ugly thing to do, no judge is gonna issue a restraining order ’cause of this.’
Dena folded her arms over her chest, resting them on her belly. ‘So you’re saying there’s nothing I can do?’
‘We’ll fill out the paperwork on this,’ he said. ‘I’ll file it. The next time something happens, you call the police right away. You don’t go take a bath and have supper and then decide to give us a jingle.’
Dena felt her face flame at this suggestion of her own culpability. ‘I didn’t take a bath. I called for help and you were all too busy to come.’
‘We’re a little preoccupied,’ he said, ‘with trying to find out who killed your girlfriend.’
‘I know,’ said Dena, chastened. ‘Look, Sergeant. This is not some kind of … game I’m playing with Brian. I don’t provoke him. I don’t want any more to do with him. I wouldn’t even be here in this town any longer if it weren’t for the murder investigation. The chief told me not to leave town, so I am stuck here.’
Tyrell stood up, avoiding her angry gaze. ‘I’ll speak to Mr Riley about this – see if we can’t get him to understand how he needs to clean up his act.’
‘I doubt he’ll listen,’ said Dena, but nonetheless she felt somewhat relieved. ‘But I’d appreciate it.’
‘No problem,’ he said.
‘Any news about Jennifer’s murder?’ she asked.
Tyrell shook his head, and then looked at her curiously. ‘You spoke to her that day. Did she mention any work she was having done? We’re trying to figure out if she may have hired someone to do some work on the house that day.’
Dena shook her head hopelessly. ‘No. I don’t think so. She was doing some errands that day. Going for a sonogram. I still can’t believe it. I can’t believe it’s her funeral tomorrow.’
‘If you think of anything,’ he said. He handed her a card with his cell phone and his beeper number on it. ‘And if you have any further problems with Mr Riley …’
‘I will. I’ll call you. And thank you, Sergeant.’
‘Just doing my job,’ he said defensively. He didn’t want her to thank him. It made him feel guilty. Guilty and worried. He’d been trying to trust that the chief’s instincts were right about Brian Riley. Why else would he dismiss such a promising suspect? But if the truth were known, he thought, as he clattered down the stairs of the seedy duplex where Dena was trying to live and mind her own business, he hadn’t exactly been working on her side.