Melanie said, handing her the report. âBatterer. Put his live-in girlfriend in the hospital. And not for the first time. However, this time it was bad enough, the girlfriendâs ready to charge him.â
Veronica looked the case over. She jotted the victimâs name, address and place of employment on her legal pad, then did the same for the accused.
She met the policewomanâs eyes. âIt says here he owns a restaurant.â
âThe Blue Bayou. In Dilworth.â
âIâve been there. Nice place. Good food. Cajun.â
âThatâs the one.â
âAnd sheâs one of his bartenders.â Veronica pursed her lips. âHeâs done this to her before?â
âYes.â
âBut sheâs never pressed charges?â
âShe has but dropped them. She wonât this time.â
âHow do you know?â
âHe threatened to kill her. Sheâs really scared.â
Veronica made a sound of regret and tossed the file back onto the table. âSorry. No go.â
âNo go?â Melanie repeated, stunned. âBut why? Itâs a good case.â
âWith what youâve got, we canât win. And Iâm not willing to start the clock ticking until Iâm confident we can. Look at it this way, youâve got nothing here but the girlfriend. One whoâs scared silly at that. Scared girlfriends with a history of taking a hike on a case do not make good witnesses.â
Melanie leaned forward, her expression eager. âShe wonât change her mind this time. Iâm sure of it. This timeââ
Veronica held up a hand, stopping her. âIf the victim waffles, if she shows the slightest bit of hesitation, the jury thinks âSo what?â This guy looks squeaky-clean on paper. Heâs the owner of a popular area restaurant. Heâs the picture of the successful, educated citizen.â
âSo he can get away with beating up his girlfriend?â
Veronica met the other womanâs gaze evenly. âYes.â
Melanie made a sound of frustration, collected the report and stood. âThis sucks.â
âTell me about it.â Veronica followed her to her feet. âIâd love to nail this creep, Melanie. Trust meon that. Bring me more and I will. A witness to corroborate. A neighbor, kids. Another woman to stand up. If you can do that, Iâll nail his ass to a stake. And thatâs a promise.â
9
A shley let herself into Miaâs house, using the key her sister had given her for emergencies. She closed the front door behind her, relocking it. She glanced at her watch and frowned. At nearly five oâclock on a Tuesday afternoon, she had been certain she would find Mia home.
She would be soon, Ashley decided, crossing the massive foyer, moving toward the kitchen. In the meantime, she might as well make herself comfortable. First stop, the refrigerator and one of Boydâs expensive, imported beers.
The click of her heels on the marble-parquet floor echoed, and Ashley paused, suddenly aware of how quiet the house was. No ticking clock or purring cat broke the silence. No drone of a TV inadvertently left on or muffled sound of children playing next door. She had always found Miaâs home mausoleum-like. Had always thought it beautiful but cold. Unwelcoming. A kind of gilded cage.
Now, after what Melanie had told her about her sisterâs marriage, she realized just how on the mark her feelings had been.
Maybe she wasnât completely losing it, after all.
Maybe she was hanging on by a thread, instead.
It had been exactly one week since sheâd argued with Melanie about Mia and her marriage and Ashley had been unable to put the confrontation behind her. She had been unable to forget the way the argument had made her feelâangry and resentful. Bitter.
She couldnât understand why Melanie refused to see the truth, why she refused to acknowledge that Ashley might be able to see
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