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I have to admit I sort of knew that. Back in the day, I’d used a manila envelope to get into office buildings in Chicago. Apparently, my boyfriend could do the same thing without props.
Seeing who was in the bed, he said, “Candy, darling, what happened?”
For the first time since she called me, she crumbled and began to sob.
“I didn’t tell him any—” I began.
“No, he didn’t,” Ronnie said. “I married a secretive bastard.”
That comment had layers to it.
“Can you talk about it?” he asked.
Candy pulled herself together, took a few long breaths, and then said, “When I lived up in L.A., my neighbor was raped. I thought I saw the man leaving her house. I was wrong, I guess. That man was just released from prison.”
“One of the men you got out,” Ronnie said to me, giving me a look like I was personally responsible. Which was not that far from what I was feeling in that moment.
“Anyway, he showed up at my door. Stu Whatley, that’s his name. He showed up at my door earlier this evening. I thought he was there for an apology, which seemed very reasonable. I let him in. I realized he was very angry right before… he grabbed me and pushed up the stairs. He talked a lot. Telling me things. What he wanted to do to me. He wanted to do it in my bedroom. On my bed. He wanted me to hate my own room. To hate my bed. He wanted me to know what it was like to live somewhere I didn’t want to be.”
Ronnie had pulled a chair up next to the bed, taken her hand in his and was petting it. “You’re so brave,” he said.
“I got away from him. Just for a minute. I was out on the balcony, screaming. No one heard though. He threatened to kill me if I tried anything else like that. I gave up. I stopped struggling.”
“That was very smart of you,” Ronnie said.
“He said no one would believe me if I reported him. I think he’s right. I made a mistake when my neighbor was raped. They’ll think I’m making another mistake.”
“Did he actually say his name?” I asked. A defense attorney would try to discredit her I.D.
“Yes, he did. When I opened the door he told me who he was. I knew though. I’d seen pictures of him before his trial. I’d seen him in the courtroom. Wearing a cheap gray suit. I’m not wrong. Not this time.”
It was beginning to seem like she might make a very credible witness. I was about to say so when a very young police officer pushed back the curtain and stepped into the space. His hair was blond and clipped close to his head, his eyes blue, his uniform tight enough to show off his muscles. He looked like the kind of kid who’d grown up on the beach with a surfboard tucked under one arm and then gone right into the marines. He wore a navy blue uniform with two chevrons on his sleeve and introduced himself as Corporal Todd Lance.
I guessed that the conviction rate fell with each step away from the crime scene. Had Candy called from her house the minute Stu left they might have sent an actual sex crimes detective.
Corporal Lance confirmed that Candy was the victim and then asked the rest of us to leave. I knew that was probably a mistake on his part, but I wasn’t going to pipe up and say so.
John went back to work, while Ronnie and I walked out to the waiting room. We stood near a wall since there were no chairs available.
“You shouldn’t have come,” I said.
“Don’t be like that. Candy wasn’t upset to see me.”
“You were very good with her, and you still shouldn’t have come.”
“You wouldn’t tell me what was happening. I thought it might have something to do with Lydia.”
“Lydia’s just your client.”
“My clients become my friends. I thought that awful husband of hers might have done something.”
“Duncan is a dick, but he’s harmless.”
“That’s what they say about serial killers before they catch them. So have you called Lydia?”
“No. I feel like there’s a conflict of interest here. Stu Whatley is her client.”
“Is he?” Ronnie asked. “I mean if they arrest him, she won’t represent him. Will she?”
