Bullet in the Night (28 page)

Jagged-edged concrete chunks soon would become archaeological history in some landfill project. Dear Lord, we’ll all be history, too, one day. May it be Your perfect plan, Your way, and Your time. Please keep Lenora alive to complete her normal life span, okay? And me, Nick and our precious family, too, please.

Returning to my desk, I picked up my pen to write another question on my pad, a pressing and mysterious query that had never been answered. Who called the hospital pretending to be Lenora’s brother checking on her condition? I never believed it to be a mix-up in names or rooms. Way too coincidental for me. Besides, the nurse had said the caller clearly wanted to know Lenora’s condition. Undoubtedly checking if she were capable of revealing information about her assailant yet.

Had it been Denton? I’d had bad vibrations the first time I met him, an uncanny sense he was involved in some kind of deception.

Ellen knocked and entered my office.

I blinked. She was dressed in a bright lime green short-sleeve knit shirt and 1970’s beige and green jacquard slacks. Nothing neutral about my office assistant. “Nice outfit.”

“Thanks. I bought it in a consignment store and spent the money I saved on more mystery books. At least those I can solve in my head,” she added with a twinkle in her eye.

I ignored her comment and smiled as she consulted her message pad.

“Carrie called. Rob is furious about her joining the group. She wants to come anyway but is letting you know in case he succeeds in stopping her.”

“Okay, thanks.”
Lord, don’t let this man take his anger out on his poor wife.

I loved my job but it definitely wasn’t easy. When I became a psychotherapist, I didn’t know it would lead to tough situations like this. I’m privileged that clients work on personal issues with me. The depth of their pain continued to surprise and distress me.

For Rob to be m-a-d seemed appropriate. The acronym in military circles stood for mutually armed destruction. Wasn’t this exactly what some marriage partners engaged in? Would Rob shoot Lenora to keep her away from his wife? I wrote his name down as a possibility.

My cell phone began to play Marimba, my musical tone of the moment. I checked caller identity and tapped the screen. “Hello, wonderful husband.”

“I’ve got news you’re going to like. Chris, it turns out, has an airtight alibi putting her two states away the night Lenora was shot. Her only crime was carrying. I’ll try to get leniency for that since she was protecting you and hunting for Lenora’s shooter.”

“That’s a relief. I’m eager to talk to her.”

“She has an aunt posting bond for her and will be released this afternoon. Now to my next important item. What’s for dinner?”

We chatted about choices.

Nick offered to stop by the store and pick up vegetables and French bread to serve with the homemade spaghetti sauce I froze in quantity.

“You’re a sweetheart.”

“I’ll show you how sweet I am later. Hurry home.”

I returned to my notepad. Back to the top of my page, I underlined “Who shot Lenora?” There still seemed to be something, someone I was missing.

Hartford and his wife, Sheila, needed to be added to my list. What was he capable of doing for the sweet satisfaction of retaliation?

Next I wrote the name Angela Denton. Was she capable of an aggressive act? Did she regret sharing her secret with Lenora and want to silence her? Buyers had remorse, sometimes counselees did too. I’d see her again next week if she returned to the group.

Could Angela handle a gun? People under duress often performed amazing feats of strength, and some multiple personalities developed extraordinary acting ability.

It was time to pay another visit to the Denton homestead. I picked up the phone. To my surprise, Angela answered. I didn’t give her a chance to object. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” I mentally finished my workshop planning during the car ride.

Half an hour later, I picked my way through vines seemingly even thicker than my last visit and rapped on the paint-chipped door.

Angela’s slim, white hand pulled the picture window drapes back, then dropped them. Moments later she drew the door back. Her terrified eyes reminded me of a little girl’s who had been spun in circles too many times. I pressed past her into the living room before she could retreat in fright or shut the door on me.

In a corner of the living room I saw a bucket of soapy water and some rags. She must have been scrubbing the tile floor on her hands and knees. Everything looked spotless. So that was what she did all day. The home, a remodeled cottage, had a very simple design —country décor, stark motif, and a few knick-knacks.

I shaped my lips into a smile while my mind whizzed in several directions. Concise and direct, I reminded myself. Why not try a bold approach? “Angela, I know,” I said with conviction.

She froze in place and remained motionless, feet planted on the floor. Her coloring, pale pink at first, turned gray.

“You may as well tell me the truth.” I spoke in the tone I’d use with a child who misbehaved.

Angela shook her head as if to lose sight of an ugly picture. She began to babble. “He’s always sorry afterward. He doesn’t mean to do it.”

Professional ethics loomed before me. “Angela,” I said gently. “I can’t offer confidentiality for what you say if I believe you or anyone is in danger, but I will help you in every way I can.” I feared these words would silence her, but I had to do the right thing.

She talked like a wound-up doll. “To protect our daughter and our home, Chuck said I needed to keep quiet. He can make me agree to anything. I always did.” Angela shuddered. “I stay home so nobody can see the marks.”

What she said didn’t shock me. At some level perhaps, I suspected all along.

I fought the sudden urge to throw up. “Why not tell the police?”

I asked but knew the answer. In our first apartment I’d wake during the night and hear our neighbor beating his wife. The next day she’d smear make-up all over her face and deny it.

“Chuck said the police would believe I made it up because he’s such a respectable citizen. Said it would support the mental illness story he told about me. He laughed at the idea of my telling.”

“Did you ever try calling them?”

She shook her head. “You don’t understand.” Angela’s eyes blazed. “Chuck can persuade people. He’s powerful with words. He talks ’till you think yellow is black and lies are the truth. Everybody trusts him. Nobody would believe me.”

“But there’d be physical evidence.”

“He’d say I appeared beat up because I fell and was hallucinating because I was demented. He’d lie his way out. I know.” Angela pled with her eyes for me to understand.

“Did you ever consider escaping to a shelter for battered women?”

“He’d find me. I wanted to run away lots of times, but where would I be safe? And, what about our daughter? He would take her away from me. I’ve quit caring about myself. As long as I stay drugged up enough, I can manage.”

“Exposing him and getting free would be hard but not impossible. I’ll help. I promise. You and your daughter don’t have to live like this.”

“Nothing will ever change.” Angela’s eyes darted toward the door with a worried look. “I shouldn’t be talking with you.”

“Did you really go to several psychologists as Chuck asserts?”

“Only once for meds before my visit with Lenora. He stayed with me all the while. Said I was afraid and I had fits if I was out of his sight. He’s such a liar.”

“Your daughter?”

“Chuck threatened that he’d hurt her if I ever let on and she told anyone. I cover the bruises as best I can, but sometimes she sees me beat up. He tells her its part of my illness. I keep falling down.”

I sensed my fists clench. I had to keep my rage toward him under control.

“The beatings happen usually late at night. In the beginning, he’d stuff my mouth with a handkerchief, but it’s gotten so I can’t cry out anyway. I just go numb all over.”

“Angela.” I spoke with infinite tenderness. “You can’t go on this way.”

“I want to die but can’t because that would mean leaving my daughter with him. He swore he’d put me in an asylum and take away my freedom if I ever talked about what he does. I finally told Lenora—more like she guessed it just like you did. And look what happened to her. I should never have shared this with anyone.” Her eyes widened.

I’d seen this before. The exhausting release that follows truth-telling, coupled with concern for what will happen next.

I helped her to a chair at the kitchen table. She dropped her head in her hands and sobbed. “Now I’ve put you in danger, too.”

I patted Angela’s back soothingly. “I’ll be okay. And think of revealing the truth as giving Chuck a chance to get help, not an act of betrayal. Maybe it’s not too late for him. Some men respond well to treatment for spousal abuse.”

“There’s something else you don’t know.” Her sobbing intensified. “My husband killed his first wife in a fit of rage one night after he’d been binge drinking.”

I wasn’t surprised. Without an intervention, the behavior would continue. “Want to tell me details?”

“One night he said she threatened to leave him and report him. He caught her, dragged her back, knocked her out, and set fire to the house they were renting rather than face being exposed. He made it look like an accident and was never caught. Life’s all about image for Chuck. He’ll say anything, do anything. You see?”

“You could accuse him of murder.”

Angela bowed her head. “I know he’s afraid if I go for treatment there may be questions leading to re-investigation of his first wife’s death. I think he wishes he’d never told me. He did it to scare me into keeping quiet about the beatings.”

“This isn’t the kind of life God wants for you, to be continually depressed, fearful and abused. God wants you free.”

She shook her head. “I walk in the woods and fields almost every day. Things are free there. I feel close to God when I’m outside. It lifts me a little. When the weather is bad, I walk to punish myself for the bad decisions I made ruining my life.”

A thud reverberated from outside. Angela rushed to the door and clicked the lock while I peered out the window. I reassured her. “No one’s there.”

My mind moved 100 mph. Had Lenora confronted Chuck Denton in her office and threatened to turn him in? Was that when Estelle heard a man’s raised voice?

“Chuck’s due home soon. Now that you’ve come, I’m afraid for you. He’ll guess I told you, too. He mustn’t find you here. I need you to leave.”

“I’ll go, but first tell me exactly when did Lenora learn about your husband’s treatment of you?”

“The week she was shot.”

“Did Chuck know you told her about the beatings and about his first wife’s death?”

“I told him Lenora was going to help me with my depression. I don’t know what he believed.” She broke down sobbing. “Leave! I won’t press charges against him. I’ll never repeat what I told you. He’ll...”

“But if you inform the authorities, he’ll go to jail, and you’ll be safe.”

“No one can guarantee that.” Angela’s eyes darted toward the window before answering. “He’ll get out of it somehow.”

“My husband is a lawyer. He and I will help you.”

“You can’t. I know you mean well. I didn’t want to talk to you. I’m just worn down.” Angela crossed her arms across her chest and rubbed her forearms vigorously.

How I hurt for this poor woman.

“Lenora made me feel something I’d lost—a sliver of hope. I sensed life inside me again. I don’t want to go back to feeling nothing, but I don’t want anyone else hurt. I saw what he did to her.”

“We can’t be sure he shot her. That has to be investigated. But, you don’t have to endure his treatment any longer.” I used every argument I could think of to persuade her to turn Chuck in and come for counseling.

Nothing worked.

She stared at me like I was a crazy person for even suggesting it and dropped onto the small tweed sofa near the door. She sat silent for several minutes before lifting her head and stiffening her shoulders. “I know you’re right and mean well, but we’d get hurt real bad.”

Outside, a car spit gravel as it came up the driveway. We stared at each other.

Angela froze.

Denton had to be confronted but not here, not when we were alone with him.

“Angela, let’s leave by the back door, both of us. Now.”

“I can’t. My daughter’s due home soon. If I make him angry, she won’t be safe.”

“We’ll get help and come back for her.”

Footsteps grew louder.

“No, he’ll be crazy. He has to know where I am every minute.”

“All right, then when he comes in, let me do all the talking. I’ll greet Chuck, then leave and get help. He mustn’t know you’ve told me.”

I moved back toward the entry area as if I’d just come.

Seconds later Chuck barged in, his face tight with fury, his teeth set in a grim line. “What are you doing here?” he demanded of me. His coal black eyes gazed menacingly at Angela.

I rifled through my purse with shivering fingers. “Hi, Chuck.” My voice was a decibel high, but I tried to make it sound casual. “I’m delighted to see you. I was just hunting in my purse for pen and paper to leave you a message.”

“Why not just tell Angela since you were here?”

“Good question.” I motioned him aside.
God help me;
let him believe me.
“Angela won’t speak to me,” I whispered. “She’s petrified.” No lie there. “I told her but wasn’t sure she’d give you my message.”

“Angela, why don’t you go and lie down? I’ll handle this.” Chuck turned back to me. “What’s the message?”

“An emergency foundation board meeting’s been called tomorrow morning at Lenora’s home office, nine a.m. It’s important everyone be there. Tucker wants to discuss safety precautions. Lenora’s going to be released, and he wants the board to come up with a press statement about her work continuing.” I’d suggested this plan to Tucker so it wasn’t a lie. He just hadn’t come up with a time.

“Is there a problem with sending a message or using the telephone?” Denton’s voice reeked with sarcasm.