Listen

by Rene Gutteridge

  Frank unlocked his truck and climbed in.

  “What a night,” Damien said, joining him.

  Frank started the engine.

  “Heard he beat his wife half to death.”

  Frank backed up, swerving around cars and people, into a driveway so he could turn around. “You better get your facts straight. He threw a remote control and it hit her.”

  Damien smiled. “Can I quote you on that?”

  Frank didn’t laugh. He just drove.

  “So you believe him?” Damien asked.

  “I don’t know. I’m just telling you what he told me.” Frank turned left on Arberry Street.

  “Where are we going? My house is that way.”

  But Frank didn’t answer.

  9

  “Frank!”

  Lineup was about to start when Frank’s name was hollered through the headquarters.

  It cut Gavin off as he bemoaned missing some real police action last night. “You should’ve called me! I would’ve wanted to be there. I—”

  “Frank! Now!”

  Frank looked at the kid, who was shaking his head like he’d just heard the news of a relative’s death. “We were off duty. I went in as a favor to the captain.”

  “Frank!”

  “Looks like he appreciates it,” Gavin said in a flat tone.

  Frank sighed and lumbered down the hallway to Captain Grayson’s office. The door was wide open, so he walked in. “Angela?”

  She stood straight, just to the left of the captain’s desk, her arms crossed tightly in front of her slender body. The light pink jacket and skirt, matched perfectly to her lipstick, were not doing much to make her scowl look any softer. Her glare hit Frank like sunlight beaming off a mirror. He knew he was in trouble but with whom? Her or the captain?

  “Frank, sit down,” Grayson said.

  “You stay right there!” Angela barked, pointing her finger at him.

  The captain skittishly ducked.

  Frank froze, unsure what to do. He tried a small smile. “I’m glad you’re okay. I was worried.”

  “Worried? How can you be worried?”

  Frank glanced at Grayson to get a read on him. Yep, he was fuming. “It’s not like you to not be at home. Then work. And then last night, not at home. Again. And—”

  “You came by my house last night?”

  “I was with Damien,” Frank said with a shrug. “I just thought I’d check on you, and when you weren’t there, I, um . . .”

  She grabbed a piece of paper out of her purse and waved it in the air. “A missing person report? Really? Really?” She crumpled it up and threw it at him. It hit his chest and dropped to the floor, where he was looking anyway. “Do you know how humiliated I am? I’m at work, a professional place of business, when two cops show up this morning and start asking me all these questions.”

  Frank tried to keep it in but couldn’t. “Where were you?”

  Angela gasped. “You’re an idiot! I can’t believe you would even stand there and ask that!” She yanked her purse off the chair and swung it over her shoulder. “You have to stop this. Do you understand me? I am a grown woman. We are not married anymore. You have no business being in my business. You need to move on. Why do you even care whether I’m at work or home or elsewhere?”

  Frank glanced at the captain, then back at Angela. “Because I still care about you. That’s why. Some weird things are happening in town, and I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

  She stepped closer to him, her brow so furrowed that the skin between her eyes turned purple. Her finger jabbed his chest. “Leave me alone or I’m going to file a restraining order on you.”

  “Please don’t do this. I, um, overreacted—”

  “You’ve crossed the line. You always cross the line. Heard you gave MaLue a ticket. When are you going to get over that? Get a life. Please. Get a life.” Angela brushed past him and out the hallway. Her stilettos clicked and clacked until he heard the back door open and close.

  Grayson said, “Close the door.”

  Frank closed it and decided to sit down. “Well, I’m glad she’s okay.”

  Grayson’s expression didn’t change. “Captain Stephens sent out his guys on this. Gave it preferential treatment because you’re one of our own. Said you sounded frantic when you were filling out the form at the station last night.”

  “I couldn’t find her.”

  “Yeah, but don’t you think this is a little extreme?” Grayson asked. “We all know the divorce was hard on you. I realize it’s been difficult to let her go, but—”

  “It’s not about that,” Frank snapped. He drew in a quick breath. “It’s not about the divorce.”

  “Then what’s it about?”

  “I just . . . I overreacted. That’s all. I mean, we’ve got dead cats hanging in trees and deacons abusing their wives. Stuff like this doesn’t happen in Marlo.”

  “If she were to press criminal charges against you, you’d lose your job. You understand that, don’t you?”

  Frank leaned forward, trying to relieve the strain on his chest caused by all the emotion that wanted to bubble up and out. None of this would be happening if she hadn’t insisted on a divorce five years ago. He could protect her.

  There was nothing for Frank to say. He froze in his own humiliation. It was one thing for the captain to come down on him, but another for Angela to. He saw the hate in her eyes. It was the same look she’d had for him that morning at breakfast when she announced she wanted a divorce.

  Grayson pulled a folder off his desk. “The woman from last night, the deacon’s wife, she’s not pressing charges. Says it was an accident.”

  “So I guess she’s going to live.”

  “Fractured skull but the bleeding has stopped and the doctors said she’ll make a full recovery. So the case is closed. I don’t know if the neighbors are going to press charges about the cat. I need you to write up your part of the report. Murray will fill in the rest. Now, go on. Get out of here.”

  Frank stood slowly. His knees hurt today.

  “By the way, I told Gavin to report if you go anywhere near Angela.”

  “Is that really necessary?” Frank asked.

  “I don’t know. You tell me.”

  Frank went to the door. The day hadn’t started and already he was exhausted. “Captain?”

  “Yeah?”

  “What about this Web site?”

  “What Web site?”

  “The one where all this information is coming from. It’s got this ominous message on it about our town, and now apparently we’ve got someone recording private conversations and posting them there. Look what it’s already caused.”

  The captain sighed. “There’s always going to be things to get mad about. Any guy that would throw a remote control at his wife doesn’t need a Web site to set him off. It could’ve been anything.”

  “It’s stirring up trouble in our community.”

  Grayson nodded, but his focus had turned to a file on his desk.

  “Aren’t you curious how this person’s doing it?”

  “Doing what?”

  “Listening to people’s conversations?”

  Grayson lifted his hands as if he were at a loss for words. His focus went back to the file he was trying to read.

  “I think we should investigate it.”

  “Come on. We can’t get involved in this.”

  “The Shaws aren’t the first. There are days’ worth of conversations on there now. Some of the conversations are mundane and meaningless. Others have more of a . . .”

  “A what?”

  “There are words. There are words on there that are going to change people’s lives.”

  “Just let it drop. If it becomes a big deal, then it becomes a big deal. Marlo doesn’t need anything else to worry about right now.”

  Frank tried to walk out but he couldn’t. Wouldn’t. “I think that it’s in the best interest of the town to find out at least how the Shaws�
� conversation was recorded.”

  “Frank,” the captain said in a heavy tone, “we’ve got two detectives working all of our departments. Our budget was slashed last year. We don’t have the resources for . . .” His tired expression grew stern. “This is about a man assaulting his wife with a remote control. Whatever caused him to go off isn’t our problem.”

  “But if we could just check their house for bugs—”

  “You mean bring the state in on this? You know we don’t have the resources for that, and the last thing we want is the state involved in our town.” Grayson gave him a hard look. “Now leave this alone. That’s an order.”

  * * *

  “This is great stuff,” Edgar said, skimming the notes Damien had handed him. Edgar sipped scalding black coffee, blowing the steam off the top. “Yeah, I like this. I like the direction this is going.” He tapped the paper. “And this Web site. That’s intriguing.”

  “The Web site? Well, yes, I suppose it is. But I’d like to focus on the Shaws and their—”

  “Oh yes, definitely. Did they or did they not hang the cat? But this Web site. Where did it come from? Who’s doing it?”

  Damien feigned interest by nodding and rubbing his chin, but that wasn’t the story he wanted to cover. He had plans to interview Darla Shaw, then Tim, the neighbors . . . try to figure out how a deacon of the church could end up nearly killing his wife with a remote.

  “You say here that it all started with a conversation that was posted on this Web site, right?” Edgar asked.

  “I guess, but—”

  “So the conversation was about their neighbors across the street, good friends?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then these neighbors find their cat hanging from a tree.”

  “Yes.”

  “And by evening, the deacon has almost killed his wife.”

  “I called the hospital and talked to my cousin so I could get some info. Turns out she’s going to be fine and she’s not planning on pressing charges.”

  Edgar looked delighted. “Even better. Everyone’s fascinated with the wife who’d stay with the abuser. Oprah makes a killing off stories like this. And now it’s our turn.” He stood and grabbed the coffeepot in the corner of his office, pouring himself another cup. “This Web site, though. I want you to do some digging. Let’s follow it regularly in the paper.”

  “Sir, with all due respect, do you think that’s a good idea? What good could come of drawing people’s attention to gossip?”

  Edgar held the coffee near his lips but didn’t drink. “So you’re back to editorial opinion pieces now? If you want to be an investigative reporter, you’ve got to stop thinking about people’s feelings. And your own opinion, for that matter. I want facts. They’re not called cold and hard for nothing.”

  * * *

  Thirty more minutes of office time and then Kay had a showing. Probably the only showing of the day. The economy wasn’t bad in Marlo, but it was all about perception. Nobody wanted to make any big financial moves, including buying a house they couldn’t afford. But truth was, when it came to Marlo, nobody could afford what they were living in. Or driving. Or vacationing to.

  She decided to check on some properties that went up for sale yesterday. But before her hands hit the keyboard, an unfamiliar female voice floated down the hall, asking where Kay’s office was. Soon, Shannon, Zoey’s mom, stood in the doorway.

  “Look at you, all professional and snazzy.” She sauntered in wearing really expensive jeans and a cozy sweater. Long earrings stretched her lobes down, and a small Gucci purse dangled off one shoulder.

  Kay stood because that was the professional thing to do. Normally she might extend a hand to shake, but moms didn’t shake hands. They just gave one another the once-over and an either approving or disapproving look.

  Shannon’s finger traced the air. “Girl, you are rocking it in that pink number.”

  “Oh, uh, thank you. How are you?”

  “Sit; sit.” Shannon flopped herself into the single chair on the other side of Kay’s desk. She kicked her feet up. Ugg boots. Of course.

  “So what’s up?” Kay asked.

  “I had to come talk to you. So we’re at Kelly’s last night, right? Doing the whole scrapbooking thing for the girls. By the way, cuuute picture of Jenna in her cheer outfit. Anyway, guess who stops by? Jill! Exactly. Uninvited as usual. Well, she’s a mess.”

  “A mess?”

  “First of all, she should not be wearing those awful Juicy outfits. Really. She looks ridiculous. Especially when she’s got mascara running down her face.”

  “What was wrong?”

  “It took us fifteen minutes to get her calmed down to even tell us. According to her—and this, mind you, is according to her—Mike is the one having an affair. At least she’s suspecting it. I don’t know why she’s devastated. I mean, she’s divorcing the guy. Cut your losses. Move on. She claims that she’s upset for Natalie’s sake, but come on. The woman is a total codependent. You know what I mean.”

  “Yeah, sure. It’s written all over her.”

  Shannon twirled the hair from her ponytail around her index finger, snapping her gum and seemingly sizing Kay up for a moment.

  “So, what happened?”

  Shannon sighed. “The same thing that always happens. We listen to her drone on and on about her problems. We tell her it’s going to be okay. And we push her out the front door so she can go hit the liquor shop before it closes.”

  “She drinks?”

  “Honey, she doesn’t just drink. She guzzles. Not for pleasure or party either. She can’t get through a day without knocking the hard stuff back.” Shannon stopped twirling her hair. Popping her feet off the desk, she leaned forward, locking eyes with Kay. “I’m sensing something here. You knew Jill before we knew you. I’m not crossing the line, am I? You’re not still tight with her, are you?”

  “Jill? No.”

  Twirling. Again. “All right. Anyway, just wanted to update you. Warn you. In case she starts calling you. I seriously wouldn’t even answer the phone. You’ll get stuck for like an hour.” She crossed her long legs, picked at the fuzz on her pants. “So, how’s Jenna? Heard she had to put one of the girls in her place. But hey, sometimes that’s what it takes.”

  “Jenna? Oh, she’s fine. Great.”

  “Yeah? Liking cheer again?”

  “Loves it. She’s totally happy.”

  “Good. It’s all about keeping the girls happy.” Shannon rose and went to the door. “We’ll probably get together next weekend, plan the sleepover. I’ll call you.”

  Kay stood and leaned casually against her desk. “Sounds good.”

  “See ya.”

  Kay smiled and waved, then slowly sat back down in her chair, pulling her suit jacket closed. Mike was the one having the affair? That was hard to believe. She’d known both of them since Jenna and Natalie were in the fifth grade. He didn’t seem the type.

  She wondered what kind of influence Natalie would begin to be on Jenna, especially if she was acting out. Kay always suspected it was Natalie who influenced Jenna’s style. For the worse. She’d have to keep an eye out for more problems.

  She’d have to keep an eye out, period.

  10

  “What, um, are we doing?” Gavin stared at Frank like he might radio in.

  “I’m just looking into something. Don’t have a cow.” Frank got out of the cruiser, and within seconds, Gavin was right by his side. They both looked up at the large black sign hanging over the strip mall store. Spies Are Us. “Ever been in here?”

  “Why are we going in here?” Gavin scurried after Frank, who opened the front door and walked inside. “What are you doing?” He took a moment to glance from wall to wall.

  “Cool stuff in here,” Frank said.

  Gavin’s face twitched. “Um, I’m not trying to be . . . It’s just that—well, the whole thing with your ex-wife. The captain said I’m supposed to . . . you’re not supposed to do that th
ing anymore.”

  “What thing?” Frank asked, his hand gliding along a glass shelf piled high with spyware. He really loved messing with this kid.

  “Be around her and stuff.”

  Frank stopped and turned to him. “I don’t see Angela here. Do you?”

  Gavin actually glanced around as if she might suddenly appear.

  “Well? Do you?”

  “Um, no,” Gavin said. “But we are at the spy store.”

  “So?” Frank picked up a pair of night-vision goggles.

  “Look, Officer Merret, you can’t do this, okay? You’re not supposed to be around her.”

  “I’m not around her.”

  “But,” he said, dropping his voice to a whisper, “you’re going to spy on her?”

  Frank only smiled at him—a long, prideful smile that caused Gavin’s eyes to widen. Then he continued to the next wall, where they sold the small listening devices one could plant underneath a coffee table.

  “You need to just leave it alone or you’re going to get in trouble.”

  “Trouble? By who? You? You going to rat me out, Jenkins?”

  Gavin tried to maintain a stoic expression. “The captain asked me to report anything to him.”

  “You know what happens to rats in the department, don’t you?”

  Gavin’s expression wouldn’t hold. Fear flitted across his face. “He gave me the orders.”

  “Uh-huh. And what you do with those says a lot. You’re going to rat to a guy that sits behind a desk all day, or are you going to cover for the guy that could keep you from getting killed. The guy that would risk his life to save you if he had to.”

  Gavin scratched his cheek, seemingly thinking this over. He followed Frank as he moved to another part of the store. “Okay, fine. I won’t say anything. But don’t you think you’re taking this a little far? Spying on your ex-wife? What makes you think she’s not going to wig out again?”

  “Well, the very idea of spying is that you don’t get caught.”

  A man, skinny and pale, came around the checkout counter. “Hi. I’m Corbin. What can I help you with, Officers?”