Bullet in the Night (21 page)

After a few minutes of small talk, he said, “We’re putting together a solid case against Kirk.” He assured me nothing had changed.

I didn’t tell him about Kirk’s sudden departure. “Even though he made bail and the evidence is still circumstantial?”

“Says who? He’s our primary suspect. My gut says it’s a clear-cut crime of passion. Very common. Prison can make an already angry man into a furious bear.”

“But Lenora had helped rehabilitate him…” 
Yeah, sure.

“I know it’s hard for you counselors to realize you can’t play God and transform every life you touch, but this is truth, raw as it is. Some people won’t change; they just pretend well. May as well accept it.”

I winced. Not what I wanted to hear.

The chief continued. “Why try to make something more out of this shooting? The summer season’s upon us. We’re super busy. This case is straightforward. You’re a counselor; what do you know about ex-convicts? With all due respect, do your job and let us do ours.”

Ouch. Wait until he found out Kirk had taken off. I wasn’t about to be the bearer of that news.

“Thanks for your time.” I stretched the words to avoid sounding sarcastic. It was hard.

Chuck Denton reached me by phone five minutes after I walked into my office.

“Dr. Trevor, I’d like to discuss yesterday’s visit with you. May I stop by this afternoon? I don’t need much time. Say, about fifteen minutes?”

I skimmed my desk calendar. “I have a break at three. You’re welcome to come then. I have several questions for you as well.”

“Thanks. See you later.”

I’m impressed, Mr. Denton. I didn’t have to call you.

I speculated on the reason for his visit. Had Angela confessed to Denton that she’d met with Lenora for counseling? If she had? Had therapy taken place or a social visit? Was her name crossed out because she’d come and the appointment was over or because she’d cancelled? A casual friendly visit wasn’t likely given Angela’s apparent aloofness.

Or, was there another woman named Angela? I couldn’t rule that out.

If Angela had met with Lenora, would Denton be upset? Some husbands, like Rob Malone, were creepy. They got scared at the prospect of having their wives become healthy. Often that meant the husbands would have to change some of their own erratic behavior. Might that be true of Denton?

The day passed uneventfully, a pleasant and rare event of late.

On the dot of three o’clock Denton sauntered in wearing a pinstripe suit, maybe the same one I’d seen the other night. “Now, about Angela.” He plopped into a chair making himself at home. I braced myself. Could I trust a husband’s perspective? I worked hard not to let my impressions of a person be colored by what family members said. It wasn’t always easy to block.

Denton flashed his banker’s smile, not too much teeth, good eye contact, showing no trace of his former testiness. This man could exude great warmth. Great demeanor for a salesman. He definitely looked trustworthy. If the logistics were right, I’d buy insurance from him. Banking was competitive nowadays, too. He probably did well. So why the rundown house? Lack of interest in personal surroundings? Financial issues? Doubtful. Or to keep people away? Strange. He dressed professionally, though.

“Jennifer, I want to apologize for appearing rude yesterday.”

I bit my lip to keep from saying, “More than appearing. You were. Let’s be accurate.”

He turned one of my straight back chairs backwards and straddled it. My body analysis kicked in. I considered this a motion of exhibiting superiority.

He glanced behind him. Was he checking that the door was locked? “I’ll get right to the point. Few people know about my wife’s situation. I certainly don’t intend to broadcast her past, but you seem genuinely concerned. Under the circumstances of what happened to Lenora, I’m going to confide in you.”

“I appreciate your trust.”

He nodded. “My wife has suffered from severe emotional problems for years.”

“How far back are we talking about?”

He took a deep breath. “Since after our daughter was born. It’s why we only have one child. Angela had postpartum depression and never fully recovered. She’s been seen by specialists in Chicago and Milwaukee for years of cognitive therapy off and on.” He paused a moment, looked at his hands, then continued in a dull monotone. “Nothing they ever did has helped except putting her on medication. Even electro-shock failed.”

“How sad for her and you as well.”

“No words could describe it.”

I studied him. Words, no, but I’d expect some sign of emotion to match what he was saying. I made a note of his lack of affect while staying tuned in to what he was saying.

“You can’t begin to imagine what it’s been like. Before we married, Angela was training to be a nurse. Now she barely functions as a recluse. At least currently, she’s getting out of bed. She’s had spells when she won’t even do that.”

“This must be very difficult.”

He nodded vigorously. “Walking and housecleaning are Angela’s only activities. In some strange way, walking seems to soothe her. Thank God for that. I rarely hire household help because she’s fearful having strangers around. Our daughter helps cook and do some chores, and I do what I can.”

I nodded my understanding

“It’s hard on all of us. There are times when Angela withdraws altogether. It’s crazy. I never know what to expect when I walk in the door. I know I may sound insensitive. I don’t mean to, but it does get wearisome struggling to keep up with my job, a home, and care for my daughter.”

I squeezed my hands together and pressed them under my chin. “I understand.”

“I hoped you would. That’s why I’m here.” He stood, turned the chair around, and sat facing me. “It helps to have someone appreciate the reality of our situation. I’m telling you this because I can’t be having my wife regress.”

“Surely there must be something that can be done to help her…”

“The professional consensus is that her issues are best left dormant. Whenever we try to address them, she shuts down. After the last attempt at therapy, Angela cried for days and wouldn’t come out of her room except to use the bathroom. I vowed I’d never put her or us through anything like that again.”

“Is she on medication now?”

“Several drugs. For acute depression and anxiety. I don’t know how many prescriptions it took before the psychiatrist found an effective combination.”

He gave me their names and dosage levels, which I recorded.

“My concern is that her tolerance level will increase, which has happened before. Then we’re back to square one for treatment.”

Denton rattled off clinical terms like a professional, and what he said made sense. But for a reason I couldn’t quite identify, I found it hard to feel sympathy for this distressed husband and father.

He pulled out his handkerchief and blew his nose. “The bottom line is, we finally have a routine working fairly well. I’m not willing to have Angela go through more trauma. For her sake and ours, I want her left alone.” His tone intensified. He became more emphatic with “I” and repeated himself.

I leaned forward and held his eyes with mine. “Without further intervention, Angela may remain a recluse forever and not move toward the recovery she’s capable of experiencing. Surely you don’t think this is wise?”

His demeanor visibly hardened. “Did you hear anything I said?”

“With all due respect, your wife deserves a chance at a normal life. You can’t stop making an effort to get her help. Has she ever been in a support group? Some individuals are helped best in a group setting. It can be less threatening to hear other people talk about similar issues and can be highly therapeutic.”

Denton’s complexion shaded from pink to red. “You counselors are all the same. You each think you have the magic dialogue or pills to help. Don’t you get it? I’d stick Angela’s feet in axle grease every day if it would make her better. I tried everything psychologists suggested. Forgive me if I’ve lost confidence in this mind scrabble you play. Fifteen years without results is long enough. My wife won’t be a guinea pig anymore.”

“Prayer is also an important part of my therapy. I’ve seen the Holy Spirit do some pretty remarkable things. Don’t let her give up hope.”

Denton’s face became redder by the minute. “I thought I could make you understand. You’re as egotistical as every clinician. You think you can find a way when no one has.”

“Sometimes clients do get worse before they get better. You may have stopped too soon. The good news is, it’s never too late.”

“No more psychological garbage.” His eyes sparked.

A shiver climbed up my spine. “So Lenora counseled Angela privately?”

He slumped in the chair. “She had one session. I could tell immediately by her distress when she came home.”

“And you wanted Lenora to stop? Did you insist Angela ask Lenora to cancel her future appointments?”

“You bet I did.” He pressed his palms hard on the arms of his chair.

“When did you tell Lenora? The day she was shot? You may as well tell me. Her housekeeper says she can recognize the voice of the man who argued with Lenora that day.”

“All right, I was there.” He spit out the words and looked at me as if he wished he’d swallowed them instead. “I told Lenora what I’m telling you. I couldn’t have her digging into Angela’s pain and making her worse.”

“How did Lenora respond?”

“Got huffy. We talked at length. I didn’t convince her.”

“Talked? According to the housekeeper, you yelled.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I may have gotten a little hot.”

Suddenly Chuck looked old and tired. “Do you have any idea what’s it’s like to be married to a woman for years and have her refuse to allow you to touch her?”

“I’m sure it wouldn’t be easy living with a wife who doesn’t function in any aspect of the role.”

“Not only handling all the family responsibilities but having to forego physical intimacy?”

I put down my notepad. “My heart goes out to you.”

“There’s not a day I’m not tempted to leave Angela, but she’s my wife. Who would take care of her?” He turned his hands over in a helpless gesture.

“What you’ve gone through has been terrible, I agree, but still, Angela should have a say in the decision about counseling. I simply want to let her know my services are available to Lenora’s previous clients. I promise I won’t try to influence her one way or the other.”

Denton stood up, eyes blazing. “Let me be very clear. I’ll slap a lawsuit on you if you try to treat her without my permission.”

“On what grounds?” The skin on my neck tingled.

“I’ll find one.”

“I don’t think it’s wise for you to threaten me, Mr. Denton. Your wife is an adult. You have no right to keep her from seeking therapy.” I used my voice of authority. Who did this man think he was? A seat on the foundation board didn’t give him a license to intimidate me.

Denton swore then charged toward the door and stomped out.

So much for banker’s manners.

I disliked confrontations, but sometimes they were necessary. Chuck’s visit had given me an idea.

Two, actually.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

The first break in my schedule, I called Nick. “Hey handsome husband, got a minute?”

“For you? I might be able to arrange it. What’s up?”

“You’re not going to like this. Hear me out. I want to re-enact the circumstances of Lenora’s attack. She was shot on a Thursday; today is Thursday. How would you like to take a hike up the hill behind her house tonight?”

“Right, I don’t like the idea. What good will that do? The police have been all over the area.”

“But I suspect not thoroughly.”

Nick, seldom one for subtlety, blurted out, “I think it’s one of your dumbest ideas ever.”

I grimaced. “At least I can always count on you for total honesty. Okay, never mind. Don’t give it another thought.”

“Jennifer, hold on. You don’t back off this easily. You’ll go without me, right?”

I didn’t want to answer so I hedged. “It’s no problem, really.”

Nick sighed. “I have to review material for a deposition tomorrow. I need to finish before I leave. I don’t want you going alone. What time?”

“Around eight. We know the shooting occurred somewhere between eight and ten. I lined up a sitter and will give the kids an early dinner. We can eat later.”

Nick laughed. “You’ve already thought through everything. Okay, I should be home by seven thirty.”

* * *

At seven p.m., I dressed in jeans and polo shirt, crisscrossing the sleeves of a dark blue sweatshirt across my chest. My legs needed to be covered for traipsing through the woods. I wasn’t going to let any skin-piercing, sucking insects attack my epidermis. Fashionably dark, Jennifer the Ripper was ready for her night job. Only one thing was missing. Hunting in my closet, I found two navy baseball caps and plopped one on my head, sticking the other in my back pocket for Nick. I tucked my bangs under the hatband.

When Nick pulled up the drive, I was at the outside porch table skimming the paper for news. He moaned when he saw me. “I was hoping you’d change your mind.”

I rose, walked over, and kissed his cheek. He loosened his tie knot, now two inches from his Adam’s apple.

“You look tired.”

“I can’t imagine why. I’ve only been up since six and had a turkey sandwich for lunch and…”

I kissed his lips. Guilt cinched my chest. “Want to change your mind?”

“No. I need some exercise. Give me a few minutes to greet the kids and change.”

“Your clothes are on our bed; we’ll be twins.”

“A dream come true. You better not run into any clients in your get-up,” he teased.

I tossed my backpack with our supplies on the back car seat, jumped in and pulled out the rough drawing I’d made of the Denton and Lawrence properties to review my penciled-in marks for Lenora’s house and the ravines on the north and east sides. Approximating the size of her acreage, I’d already drawn in their neighbors on either side.

Ten minutes later, Nick returned looking like my clone several sizes bigger.