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Authors: Susan R. Sloan
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have been a willing partner and things just got a little out of hand.”
“You didn’t see her the way I did, dumped under those bushes,” the veteran policeman replied. “I don’t think you can call that a little out of hand.”
“So maybe she teased him, led him on a bit and then, when it was too late, changed her mind and went virginal on him, and he lost his temper. That kind of thing happens all the time, you know. Women say no when they mean yes, and yes when they mean no, and who knows what they really want?”
“I don’t think so.” Tug shook his head. “I think it happened exactly the way she said it did.”
“You may be right, Sergeant,” Haller said with another shrug, “and I’ll follow through on the investigation because that’s what I get paid to do, and because maybe I feel a little sorry for her, too, all beat up like that. But take my word for it,
the DA won’t prosecute. You know as well as I do these cases are tough enough to prove even when there are half a dozen eyewitnesses,
a ton of physical evidence, and we’re dealing with a known offender. But a guy from Harvard Law School? Jesus, he could represent himself and still make mincemeat out of that girl.”
“He shouldn’t walk,” Tug insisted.
“Maybe not,” Haller agreed, pushing his glasses up his nose and reaching for his car keys. “But in the end, it’ll be her word against his.”
“If it was one of my granddaughters lying there, looking like that, I’d rip the balls off the bastard.”
Haller sighed again. “If she were my granddaughter,” he said, “I’d tell her to go home and forget it—and be more careful the next time.”
seven
B y Saturday afternoon, Karen had forgiven the policemen. She reasoned they probably didn’t realize they were being offensive.
More likely, it was their way of being polite, deliberately trying not to show any emotion as she plodded through her grim recitation.
Still, there was the feeling that they hadn’t believed her that kept nagging at her, that they thought her in some way responsible for what Bob had done. But of course that was absurd—she had tried everything she could to stop him. Karen decided that it was only because the policemen were strangers and knew nothing about her values or her upbringing that they had cross-examined her in such a harsh way.
She sipped the last of her afternoon shake as she waited for her parents to arrive, knowing that, even though she would have to tell her grim story again, this time she would be talking to the people who knew her best and loved her and would, above all, understand.
“Hi, sweetheart,” Beverly cooed shortly before four o’clock.
The black was gone. Her mother was wearing a bright-red suit with a cropped jacket and a flattering A-line skirt that Karen had never seen before, and she had been to the beautyparlor. Her hair was perfectly coiffed and her nails gleamed with red polish.
“How’s my girl?” Leo asked, looking rather drab beside his flamboyant wife as he took the seat farthest from his daughter.
“Better,” Karen told him. It wouldn’t matter if it were true or not; she knew it was what he needed to hear.
“That’s good.” He nodded, satisfied.
Leo Kern was the kind of man who found it easier not to see ugliness in the world around him. He spent his days in a sterile stainless-steel cocoon, where defects could be fixed, as if by magic, decay could be drilled out of existence, and discoloration could be polished to gleaming purity. He left his wife to deal with the harsh realities of raising a family, and Karen sometimes felt he was more involved with the lives of his patients than with the lives of his daughters.
“What is that you’re doing with your fingers?” her mother asked.
“Closing the hole,” Karen told her. “So I can talk.”
“And is that what you’ve been doing since Thursday—talking up a storm?”
“I guess,” Karen answered. “The police came to see
“You didn’t see her the way I did, dumped under those bushes,” the veteran policeman replied. “I don’t think you can call that a little out of hand.”
“So maybe she teased him, led him on a bit and then, when it was too late, changed her mind and went virginal on him, and he lost his temper. That kind of thing happens all the time, you know. Women say no when they mean yes, and yes when they mean no, and who knows what they really want?”
“I don’t think so.” Tug shook his head. “I think it happened exactly the way she said it did.”
“You may be right, Sergeant,” Haller said with another shrug, “and I’ll follow through on the investigation because that’s what I get paid to do, and because maybe I feel a little sorry for her, too, all beat up like that. But take my word for it,
the DA won’t prosecute. You know as well as I do these cases are tough enough to prove even when there are half a dozen eyewitnesses,
a ton of physical evidence, and we’re dealing with a known offender. But a guy from Harvard Law School? Jesus, he could represent himself and still make mincemeat out of that girl.”
“He shouldn’t walk,” Tug insisted.
“Maybe not,” Haller agreed, pushing his glasses up his nose and reaching for his car keys. “But in the end, it’ll be her word against his.”
“If it was one of my granddaughters lying there, looking like that, I’d rip the balls off the bastard.”
Haller sighed again. “If she were my granddaughter,” he said, “I’d tell her to go home and forget it—and be more careful the next time.”
seven
B y Saturday afternoon, Karen had forgiven the policemen. She reasoned they probably didn’t realize they were being offensive.
More likely, it was their way of being polite, deliberately trying not to show any emotion as she plodded through her grim recitation.
Still, there was the feeling that they hadn’t believed her that kept nagging at her, that they thought her in some way responsible for what Bob had done. But of course that was absurd—she had tried everything she could to stop him. Karen decided that it was only because the policemen were strangers and knew nothing about her values or her upbringing that they had cross-examined her in such a harsh way.
She sipped the last of her afternoon shake as she waited for her parents to arrive, knowing that, even though she would have to tell her grim story again, this time she would be talking to the people who knew her best and loved her and would, above all, understand.
“Hi, sweetheart,” Beverly cooed shortly before four o’clock.
The black was gone. Her mother was wearing a bright-red suit with a cropped jacket and a flattering A-line skirt that Karen had never seen before, and she had been to the beautyparlor. Her hair was perfectly coiffed and her nails gleamed with red polish.
“How’s my girl?” Leo asked, looking rather drab beside his flamboyant wife as he took the seat farthest from his daughter.
“Better,” Karen told him. It wouldn’t matter if it were true or not; she knew it was what he needed to hear.
“That’s good.” He nodded, satisfied.
Leo Kern was the kind of man who found it easier not to see ugliness in the world around him. He spent his days in a sterile stainless-steel cocoon, where defects could be fixed, as if by magic, decay could be drilled out of existence, and discoloration could be polished to gleaming purity. He left his wife to deal with the harsh realities of raising a family, and Karen sometimes felt he was more involved with the lives of his patients than with the lives of his daughters.
“What is that you’re doing with your fingers?” her mother asked.
“Closing the hole,” Karen told her. “So I can talk.”
“And is that what you’ve been doing since Thursday—talking up a storm?”
“I guess,” Karen answered. “The police came to see
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