After she and Rusty had been there for well over an hour, Chief Walters approached and handed her a fresh cup of hot coffee. “Good news, Ms Breitner! A guy in a supermarket parking lot near Ellensburg called 911. Said while he was putting his groceries in his trunk. a half-naked man got out of a Sheriff’s vehicle and hit him over the head. Maybe with the butt of a gun. When he came to, his pants, groceries, car keys, and his car, an old blue RAV 4, were gone and the sheriff’s deputy’s vehicle was there with the door open and the motor running.”
Miranda nodded and sat there still stroking Rusty in silence and wondering if she should call Harry or Pauline. She was grateful that she had friends she could rely on, but she could handle this herself. Harry had enough on his plate. This was not the time to bombard him with news of this evening’s horror. And it was too late to call Pauline who’d wake Nelson and insist on them both coming to the station with clothes and food. Tempting as that prospect was, Miranda recognized it as selfish, too. So she just sat there shivering, muttering, caressing her dog’s ear, and waiting.
Chief Walters finally returned. “Now we’re really getting somewhere. A state trooper just reported seeing a blue RAV 4 turn onto a maintenance road leading to the Cascades. Those roads are closed for the winter. Maybe your alleged assailant’s got a cabin up there or something.”
Miranda felt her stomach cramp at the word alleged. Didn’t Chief Walters believe her? What if Alex Ladin succeeded in discrediting her and no one believed her? She forced herself to listen.
“Anyway, this trooper got ahold of my officers and they all pursued the Toyota and caught up with it, because, wait for it, Ms Breitner, it ran out of gas! The guy he stole it from said he’d planned to gas up on his way home. What a lucky break that was! For us, not for Ladin. He gave himself up. My officers arrested him on charges of sexual harassment, sexual assault, and attempted rape. And I’m no lawyer, but from what you told me and wrote, there may be a blackmail charge in there too. Oh, and the guy he assaulted and whose car he stole is also pressing several charges.”
Miranda felt tears of relief welling and she kept listening.
“They’re bringing him in, and he’s our guest here tonight. So you two can go home now and talk to my officers there and take care of your visitors and get some sleep. You’ve had a hellish night.” He hesitated. “And thanks for pressing charges, Ms Breitner. The gang’s victims and their families are almost always reluctant to press charges. It’s understandable but very discouraging. You’re setting a great example.”
“I’m just doing what it takes to put him behind bars, not behind a badge.”
Chief Walters’ jowls danced again as he shook his head. “Like I said before, these days it seems cops like him are the only ones making the news, and they give the rest of us a real bad smell.”
Miranda and Rusty returned to her B & B. Her heart sank at the sight of the telltale yellow tape at the door even as she slipped under it. She immediately fed her hungry dog and put on some more clothes. She gave the Sunnyvale officers her torn skirt and the water glass Ladin had handled. These officers had already photographed her bra, sweater, and ripped panties in the vacant room where they lay, silently corroborating her account. They bagged and tagged these items. Next they showed her the shot-up lock on the door of that room and pointed to a bullet lodged in the hall floor and the broken frame of the window that the fugitive had forced open to use as an escape hatch. Because that window was already shattered, one of the officers had climbed through it to enter the building and then opened the front door for the other. These thorough investigators photographed the lock and the bullet and then dislodged and bagged the slug to take away with them. They agreed with Miranda that Ladin had come into the lobby to look for his pants and get his jacket but when his pants weren’t there, he had decided that leaving via the front door would expose his bare butt to too many folks driving by. They photographed the broken window frame. They took more photos, nosed about a little longer, and finally left, taking the yellow tape with them.
Only then could Miranda attend to her befuddled and worried guests who’d returned, been herded into their rooms, and emerged to mill about the lobby. She chatted with them while she finished bringing dirty dishes to the counter and began to arrange them in the dishwasher.
“Was there another murder?” The water management expert who’d spoken at Heritage U wanted to know. “Did that kosherer’s killer come back?”
“No. There was no murder here tonight and, as far as I know, Isaac Markowitz’s killer has not shown up in this area again.”
“So why were the police here? Something sure as hell went on here tonight.” The plumber planning to retire and move to the Valley “to grow a few grapes” was curious too.
“Earlier this evening a Yakima County sheriff’s deputy attempted to rape me. I, uh, seriously discouraged him, locked him in the empty guest room, and fled with my dog.”
“How did you “discourage him?” Are you okay?” The water expert’s wife’s voice quavered.
Miranda looked up from loading the dishwasher and caught the woman’s eye. “I channeled Jane Rizzoli and kicked him in the balls. That incapacitated him long enough for Rusty and me to leave.” The water expert and his wife, apparently Rizzoli and Isles fans, chuckled audibly and they all clapped.
“What the hell’s the matter with your dog?” The other guest, a blogger concerned with Western water issues shot a disapproving glance at Rusty and addressed his next question to him. “Why didn’t you take down this creep? You’re big enough.”
Miranda sighed. “Don’t blame him. I held an open house here earlier and a guest’s child is afraid of dogs, so I locked Rusty in upstairs. That was my mistake.” She shook her head, sprayed the counter with vinegar and water, and started wiping it down.
“Don’t blame yourself, either. Are you sure you’re okay?” The woman sounded genuinely worried.
Miranda looked around her at the once-again orderly and inviting space and the kindly inquiring faces. “I’m okay, but I’m done for tonight. I’m going to walk Rusty, take a shower, and go to bed. Again, thanks for your concern. I’m sorry you were alarmed and inconvenienced.”
As much to prove to herself that she was okay as to give Rusty a little air and exercise, Miranda swapped her boots for her running shoes, kissed her mezuzah, and left. Once outside with her companion so close to her leg she feared he’d pee on her foot, she called Harry. When he didn’t pick up, she left word. “This message is for my lawyer. Tonight County Sheriff’s Deputy Alex Ladin came to the B & B and tried to rape me. I got away and called 911. I told the Sunnyvale cops I’m pressing charges against Ladin for at least assault and attempted rape. I’m fine and he’s in jail here. He’ll try to deny the charges by discrediting me. So I’ll need your legal services again. It’s after midnight now and I’m going to bed. Hope the place you and Holly visited today turns out to be a really good fit for your dad. Good night.”
She ran with Rusty through Sunnyvale’s quiet streets, some fringed with willows, others bordered by canals. When she saw how the occasional streetlights and headlights transformed trees and buildings into dark shadows on the white snow, she wondered yet again if this valley she’d thought so Edenesque wasn’t really “the valley of the shadow of death.” But when she and Rusty jogged past the convenience store and the owner, alone for once, returned her wave, she felt better. After all, she’d fought off a brute and said brute was in jail. And with Ladin out of the picture and her Crime Stoppers’ tips to work from, it wouldn’t be long before the sheriff put Isaac Markowitz’s killer behind bars too.
Home again, she organized her breakfast foods, showered for a long, long time, and went to bed. She was afraid sleep, if it came at all, would be troubled by redos of Ladin’s attack or dire imaginings of what would happen when he used her past felony arrest and history of suicidal depression to cast doubt on her credibility. She thought about how this latest blow to her repu
tation and the B & B’s, not to mention Isaac’s still unsolved murder, would make it impossible for her to make good on her promise to her mother. But instead of keeping her awake, her mechanical listing of these familiar fears, a litany worn to dullness by repetition and no longer even entirely plausible, actually lulled her into a deep, restorative sleep.
CHAPTER 24
Guest book: “Miranda Breitner, Innkeeper, is a smart and gutsy modern woman and she runs an excellent B&B! Helen and I will be back to enjoy the comfortable accommodations and stimulating atmosphere here.” John Drew, Water Guy
Local Innkeeper Says Sheriff’s Deputy Attempted Rape…
Sunnyvale PD Arrests Armed Sheriff’s Deputy …No Shots Fired
Man Charges Sheriff’s Deputy and Accused Rapist with Assault, Theft…
Three Lower Valley Teens Claim Sheriff’s Deputy Raped Them…
Miranda couldn’t quite believe it, but the fancy footwork that had felled her would-be rapist synced with the general public’s growing awareness of the overly aggressive behavior of some police towards Indians, immigrants, and other Valley underdogs to make her a local celebrity-heroine almost overnight. At Pauline and Nelson’s groaning Thanksgiving table, she upstaged even the impressive turkey. Before they dug into the holiday meal, the Thurston family and their guests took turns expressing gratitude for their blessings. Pauline, a patina of sweat making her face radiant, was last to emerge from the kitchen and take her place at the table. She was the first to speak. “Thank you, Jesus, for your bounty this year, for our good health, for the mountain snowpack that watered our fields this summer, and for allowing us all to be here together today. And thank you for seeing to it that this year everyone at this table who wants to work has a job. And, last but not least, thank you, Jesus, for bringing Miranda Breitner into our lives and for protecting her from those who would do her harm.”
Nelson, as usual, did not waste words. “Thank you, Jesus, for our health, our sun, our water, and for making sure this season’s cherry pickers didn’t get held up by immigration.” He contracted his brow, as if he’d forgotten something, and then, apparently remembering, added, “And thanks for those Hawks.” A chorus of amens followed.
The young woman across from Miranda, Pauline’s sister-in-law, thanked Jesus for extinguishing a record-breaking wildfire in the adjacent county just hours before it would have destroyed her home. She also thanked him for, so far, preserving the life of her brother on his second deployment in Iraq. It occurred to Miranda that she was not the only one who’d had a stressful year.
But it was the young, fresh-faced guy sitting on her left whose words stirred her most. When he took a seat next to her, he’d introduced himself as Matthew Curtis, a friend of Pauline’s nephew. He’d said he was a recent graduate of the Valley’s first college for health care professionals and a new nurse at Sunnyvale Hospital. “Jesus, thank you for giving me the chance to earn a living helping sick and injured people. And also thank you for making that disrupting and pointless investigation at my workplace finally go away.” Remembering his manners, he added, “Also thank you for this delicious-looking meal and the good company.”
Miranda had no chance to ask him about the investigation he’d mentioned before it was her turn. She spoke softly, diffidently, addressing her remarks to her tablemates. “I’m really thankful to be invited here today, to have Pauline and Nelson as friends, and to meet all of you. Another new friend is my dog Rusty. I’m very thankful for him. And also for my good health and strength. And for the guests who come to stay at my B & B.” Out of deference to the children at the table she didn’t mention how grateful she was to have fended off a brutal rapist.
When everyone had said thank-you and they were all eagerly heaping food on their plates, Miranda held a bowl of string beans while Matthew served them both. “That investigation you mentioned, Matthew, I don’t recall seeing anything about it in the Yakima Herald-Republic.”
“I’ve been complaining about it to my friends for weeks, but, understandably, the hospital downplayed it with the press. Out of nowhere, a detective came to investigate our hospital pharmacy for not reporting the theft of a toxin. Clearly this dude thought one of us had ripped off a med, and he challenged our record keeping. He grilled the pharmacy staff and all medical and custodial people for days.” Matthew kept talking as he plopped mashed sweet potatoes on each of their plates. “Everybody was suspicious of everybody else. I was sure I was going to lose my job.” When she frowned, he shrugged and explained. “You know, last hired, first fired. But this guy wasn’t too interested in me. He interrogated this one nurse four times for hours, but she didn’t do it. I guess they really got to her though because just yesterday the poor woman quit.”
Miranda nodded. “Wow! So what did they find?”
“Nada. What happened is finally the president of the Hospital Board called Lisa, our pharmacy tech honcho and that woman took one for the team. She actually came in from maternity leave with her six-week-old infant! In a few hours, not counting when she was breastfeeding, Lisa untangled the mess the temp made. And she printed out inventory data going forward from the time period in question up until that day, to the hour. Of course the data stream matched up with the stuff in the supply closet every time and showed that every pill and mil of medication was where it was supposed to be and always had been. At Sunnyvale Hospital we’re actually very proud of how carefully we control our drugs. The sheriff apologized. Said they’d been following a bad lead.”
“Well, I know how disturbing it is to have the cops messing around in your workplace and how much trouble they can cause when they get it wrong.” She hesitated and tried to squeeze one more detail out of Matthew. “I know a nurse who works there. She treated me for a bad cut once. Tammy something…”
“Well, for Pete’s sake! She’s the one. Isn’t that something that you should know her?”
“Sunnyvale is a really small town.”
“Yeah. You’re right. I’m from Boise.” He made a grab for the gravy bowl and Miranda spooned some onto his plate. She obliged when he said, “Don’t hold back. Pauline is famous for this gravy. And her dressing too. ”
Miranda enjoyed meeting Pauline and Nelson’s children and grandkids and the other lucky relatives and friends who were regulars at this gathering. After stuffing themselves with turkey and fixings, the kids cleared the table and retired to a bedroom to watch TV. The men took over the kitchen where they divided the leftovers and did the dishes, occasionally glancing at the football game on somebody’s laptop. The women settled in the living room to sip wine or cider and chat. This was clearly a time for digesting. Dessert would come later.
After they had critiqued each dish that had been on the table, apparently a ritual, Pauline’s sister Pearl hit Miranda with a question. “Miranda, Pauline filled us in on how you fought off that big detective.” She shuddered. “I’m glad you did, because you won. But I read that if someone tries to rape you and you even think he’s armed, you’re supposed to submit to save your life. So why didn’t you submit?”
Miranda, usually so secretive, was astounded to hear herself say, “Pearl, I’m really glad you asked me that.” And she was. Although she’d never given birth, that Thanksgiving Day Miranda felt there was something in her heart ready to burst out, a dybbuk perhaps. She looked around at the women, all Evangelical Christians and most of whom she’d just met. These kind and friendly people did not know from dybbuks and so were unlikely midwives, but they would serve. They had to. A wall around her heart was breaking, and she could feel warm tears leaking down her cheeks.
“Pearl, you’re making her cry.”
Miranda snatched the Kleenex Pauline handed her and pushed herself to insist. “No, I’m okay. Really.” She blew her nose, as if that ability proved her fitness. “So, Pearl, do you want the long answer or the short one?”
“The long one.” The others nodded. Pat, Pauline’s other sister, put down her knitting.
/> “Well, when I was thirteen…” They were still sitting there an hour later when Miranda finished describing her concern for Timmy, her arrest and interrogation, how she was arrested and charged with shaking the little boy to death. She explained that the detectives had not followed procedure when informing her of her rights and also how the judge decreed there was no evidence to justify bringing her to trial. She laid out her years as a pariah, her cutting, her suicide attempt, and then she talked about her grandma, her mother and father, their divorce, and her schooling. The women sat riveted, taking in every word, sometimes nodding, other times shaking their heads, dabbing their own eyes. When Miranda recounted suing Seattle PD and winning, everyone clapped. Finally, when she detailed her makeover and her move to the Valley, they cheered.
“So all this is why I had to fight back. I wasn’t going to let another bad cop literally screw me over as if I were still a helpless kid. Been there. Done that.”
“Did you pray on it? While you were lying on that bed deciding what to do?” Pauline really wanted to know.
“I didn’t have to. I’d heard that gun drop. If I just lay there and let that bastard rape me, I’d die inside. I was fighting for my life. And I’m Jewish and we believe every human life is sacred.” The “J” word had slid out like afterbirth. That’s when Miranda realized she no longer felt pregnant. Instead she felt reborn, new. Pauline, Pat, Pearl and the others began to chat about experiences of their own her story had evoked. When Nelson interrupted to announce dessert, they kept talking as they made their way back to the table.
Murder in the Melting Pot Page 26
