The Man Behind the Cop. Janice Kay Johnson

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       CHAPTER TWO

      IT HAPPENED SO FAST.

      The parking lot had emptied quickly. Only a van from one of the battered women’s shelters remained, the director half sitting on the bumper as she awaited her charge. Satisfied with how the evening had gone, Karin was walking back toward the front door of the clinic when, out of the corner of her eye, she caught movement under a streetlight. She turned to see a dark figure rush toward the lone woman halfway between the building and the van. Oh, God. It was Lenora Escobar. She’d just said good-night to Karin.

      “Roberto!”

      The distinctly uttered name struck terror in Karin.

      His arm lifted. He held a weapon of some kind. Lenora screamed.

      The weapon smashed down followed by an indescribably horrible sound. Like a pumpkin being dropped, squishing. Lenora gurgled, then crumpled.

      The arm rose and fell a second time, and then Roberto Escobar ran.

      During the whole event, Karin hadn’t managed two steps forward.

      As though time became real once more, Karin and Cecilia, the shelter director, converged on the fallen woman. Karin focused only on her, ignoring the squealing tires from the street.

       Should I have run after him? Tried to make out a license-plate number?

      But no. There could be no doubt that Lenora’s assailant—not her murderer, please not her murderer—was her husband. His vehicle and license-plate number would be on record.

      Thank God, Karin thought, dropping to her knees, that Lenora hadn’t brought her children tonight. He would have taken them if she had.

      Lenora’s head lay in a pool of blood. A few feet away was a tire iron. Karin’s stomach lurched. Fingerprints…Had Roberto worn gloves? No. He didn’t care who knew that he’d killed his wife for the sin of leaving him.

      “Cecilia, go back inside and call 911. Or do you have a cell phone?” She sounded almost calm. “Unless…wait.” She heard pounding footsteps and swiveled on her heels. “Detective Walker,” she said with profound relief—relief she felt not just because he was a cop and he was here, but because tonight this particular cop had managed to reassure and inspire a roomful of women who had every reason to be afraid of men.

      He was running across the parking lot, holding a cell phone in his hand. Then he was crouching beside her. He spoke urgently into the phone, giving numbers she guessed were code for Battered Wife Down.

      He touched Lenora’s neck and looked up. “She’s alive.”

      Karin sagged. “Can’t we do anything?”

      He shook his head. “We don’t want to move her. The ambulance is on its way.” His gaze, razor sharp, rested on Karin’s face. “Did you see what happened?”

      “Yes.” To Karin’s embarrassment, her voice squeaked. So much for calm. She cleared her throat. “It was her husband. She said the name Roberto. She just left him.”

      “She and her children are staying at the shelter,” Cecilia added. “She didn’t tell him she was leaving him. I don’t know how he found her.”

      “He had to have followed her tonight.” The detective was thinking aloud. “Where are the children? He didn’t get them?”

      Cecilia was a dumpy, endlessly comforting woman likely in her fifties. Detective Walker hadn’t even finished his question before she shook her head. “Lenora’s aunt picked them up and took them home for the night. She’s to bring them back in the morning.”

      Karin’s heart chilled at his expression. “You don’t think…?” Oh, God. If he had the aunt’s house staked out…

      She’d warned Lenora. “Stay away from friends and family,” she’d said.

      Focused on Cecilia, Detective Walker asked, “Do you know the woman’s name?”

      “Yes…um, Lopez. Señora Lopez.”

      Aunt…Karin groped in her memory. Aunt…“Julia.”

      “Yes.” Cecilia flashed her a grateful look. “Julia Lopez. I have her phone number back at the shelter.”

      “Call.” He held out his cell phone. “We need to send a unit over there. She should know about her niece, anyway.”

      “Yes. Of course.” Cecilia fumbled with the phone but finally dialed.

      Karin didn’t listen. She stared helplessly at Lenora, who had been so triumphant Friday afternoon because she’d successfully made her getaway. “He never guessed anything,” she’d told Karin in amazement. “He gave me money Thursday after he deposited his check. He was even in a good mood.”

      Now, gazing at Lenora’s slack face and blood-matted hair, Karin could only say, “He followed her aunt to the shelter tonight, didn’t he?”

      At the first wail of a siren, Karin’s head came up. She prayed fervently, Let it be the ambulance for Lenora.

      A second siren played a chorus. Two vehicles arrived in a rush. A Seattle PD car first, flying into the parking lot, then the ambulance, coming from the opposite direction.

      The EMTs took over. As Karin stood and backed away to give them room to work, her legs trembled as though she’d run a marathon. And not just her legs. She was shaking all over, she realized. For all the stories she’d heard from brutalized women, she’d never witnessed a rape scene or murder or beating. The experience was quite different in real life.

      Cecilia came to her and they hugged, then clung. Karin realized her face was wet with tears.

      Bruce Walker was busy issuing orders to two uniformed officers. Their voices were low and urgent; beyond them, in the squad car, the radio crackled.

      “We should wait inside,” Karin said at last. She needed to sit. “He’ll probably want to ask us both some more questions.”

      Cecilia drew a shuddering breath. “Yes. You’re right.”

      Karin СКАЧАТЬ