by Pat Warren
“Yeah, he swore to us he was going to cut back, to spend more time with her,” Lou interjected. “I just can’t figure what she’s got to gain by faking a rape.”
“How about sympathy and more attention from the husband?” Nick volunteered.
“We’ve got to follow through even if her story’s suspicious,” Harris told them. “Send her home with her husband and put out a description of the rapist.” He walked out of the viewing room ahead of his detectives. “But don’t let’s drop this. Wait a few days, then call her in again, just to clear up some points. Put on a little pressure. If she’s faking, maybe she’ll break down.”
“Right.” Nick strolled back to his desk, his mind already back on what he’d been doing when they’d brought the rape victim in. Sitting down at his desk, he booted up his computer.
“Hey, Nick, you mind if I take off a coupla hours?” Lou asked. “We’re not up for a while, fourth in line actually, and our shift’s over in an hour. I’ll have my cell with me. My son’s first Little League game’s today.”
“No problem. Have fun.” Nick went to work on a fishing expedition, keying in various lead words, hoping to learn a thing or two. More than one way to get information if the lady refuses to confide in him, he’d decided. Tate Monroe was a mystery he was determined to solve.
He wasn’t an expert on the computer, nor could he surf the Internet or the police information network as expertly as some, but he usually could find what he needed. Strictly speaking, the data he was seeking had little to do with the home invasion of Maggie Davis and a great deal to do with his curiosity and interest in Tate Monroe. Okay, so there was no use hiding the truth from himself. He was intrigued by the woman and wanted to know everything he could about her.
As he scrolled through choices, highlighting a few, he began to make headway. Tate had been born twenty-nine years ago to Dennis and Rita Monroe in Tucson. The father, who’d died last year at sixty-nine, had been a tailor at an upscale men’s store, yet he’d earned only about thirty thousand in his best year. That meant her father had been about forty when she’d been born, nearly twenty years older than his wife, Rita, who seemed to have vanished off the data base. Nothing on her since way back when Tate was quite young. She also had a brother, Steve, two years younger, a career navy man, currently an instructor at the navy base in San Diego.
So much for family. He punched in more facts he knew in order to get facts he didn’t know. Tate had entered the University of Arizona at eighteen and graduated at twenty-two with a Fine Arts degree in Literature. The bookcase at Maggie’s had been stuffed to overflowing and he had a feeling most of the books were Tate’s. Her social security number, from the information sheet she’d filled out for the officer on the scene, revealed that she’d never made much money, mostly due to a sporadic work schedule. Not one year since graduation had she worked the full twelve months. Why? Nick wondered. Because of her son? He’s been through a great deal in his short life, Tate had said about Josh at the hospital. What had she meant?
He tapped into Brennan’s Book Emporium site, employee information, and found Tate had been working there, on and off, since a part-time job during high school. Currently she was listed as manager of their eastside store; district manager was Judith Dunn, and Tate’s assistant was Dave Anderson. She’d lived for a while in an apartment on State Street. There was a gap five years ago where she’d taken a leave for nearly two full years, returned to live at Maggie’s address, then left again, returning only four months ago. That was about the time her father had died.
Nick glanced around the bull pen and saw he was almost alone, so he continued his clandestine search. Strictly speaking, he’d wandered off Maggie’s case and moved into personal information on Tate Monroe. Checking records on births and deaths again, he found that Josh had been born on March 1 seven years ago. A home birth, taking Tate’s last name, father listed as unknown. That he seriously doubted.
Just for the hell of it, he checked her status with the police department and found a record of an assault two years ago, a man who’d invaded her apartment and attacked her. The police report said she’d had numerous bruises and contusions, a black eye and a cracked rib. The assailant, described as “tall, husky, with a long, black ponytail” had never been apprehended.
There was that description again.
Nick sat back in his chair, his mind busily considering possibilities. A coincidence that recently both Maggie and Josh and a while back Tate had encountered the big guy with the ponytail? Highly doubtful. If the man was one and the same, why wasn’t Tate able to give them a description, if he’d been in her apartment? Tate had endured a beating similar to Maggie’s and mostly likely dished out by the same thug. Why wouldn’t she have mentioned this to Nick since it could hardly be labeled irrelevant? Did she know the man and was, for reasons unknown, trying to protect him? Josh was blond so it seemed unlikely his father would have black hair. Who was this ponytailed character?
Hands behind his head, Nick narrowed his eyes. Tate didn’t strike him as the type who’d stand still for a beating. Unless she had a very good reason. And where had her son been that night? Not a mention of a child in the report. The officer in charge had written that he’d advised Tate to get an order of protection, but there was no record of one being issued. Yet shortly after that, she’d taken a leave of absence from Brennan’s and disappeared with her son. Curiouser and curiouser.
Where had she gone for nearly two years? An intensified search could find no trace of her. No job record, no medical reports, no address nor phone numbers available. Had she stayed with one of those roommates she put such store in? Something to check out since both were well off financially. Or did she have relatives somewhere who’d put her up along with Josh? No mention of any other Monroes related to her father. Could she have looked up her mother and gone to her?
Nick straightened, realizing that in getting some answers, he’d also brought up more questions. He checked his watch and saw that he was off the clock in twenty minutes. Maybe he’d run over to Brennan’s and see if Tate’s co-workers were inclined to discuss their manager with him. He’d have to be careful, though. If Tate found out, she wouldn’t be pleased.
Dave Anderson, assistant manager at Brennan’s, was about five-eight with a wiry build, thinning sandy hair and brown eyes behind horn-rimmed glasses. In the absence of his boss, he was in charge and took the job seriously. After checking his credentials, he ushered Nick to a quiet corner where two easy chairs faced a low table.
Brennan’s encouraged their customers to linger, to browse through aisle after aisle of their thousands of books on every topic imaginable, to stop at their coffee bar at the far end of the huge room and have a latte while perusing a book. The homey atmosphere must work for Nick noticed at least two dozen people strolling around, sitting at the coffee bar or in comfortable chair groupings.
“What is it you want to know about Tate?” Dave asked, getting right to the point.
“First, I need to tell you that this interview is confidential, Mr. Anderson. Ms. Monroe is not in any trouble nor is she a suspect in any way. But the rooming house where she lives was invaded several days ago and her landlady badly beaten. I just want to ask a few questions, such as, have you seen anyone hanging around the store, someone who might have a particular interest in Ms. Monroe?”
Dave chuckled behind his fist as he crossed his legs. “Have you met Tate, Detective? She’s a knockout. We have lots of guys come in here who notice her, some who practically drool over her.”
Nick had suspected as much. “I’m sure you’re right. But I mean someone who looks just a little different, who sits staring at her from one of these little seating areas you have, who stays longer than is usual. Maybe a tough-looking guy.”
The man looked thoughtful for a moment, then shook his head. “I honestly can’t remember anyone like that. This is a fairly upscale neighborhood. We don’t get many tough-looking guys in here.”
“That�
��s why someone like that would stand out, eh?”
“I suppose. But I don’t believe anyone like that’s been in here. If I had a good description, perhaps I could watch out for him, maybe call you if I spot him?”
A junior detective, but he couldn’t risk civilian involvement. “I can’t give you a good description. Tell me, does Ms. Monroe ever respond to these…admirers of hers?” It was the man wanting to know, not the detective.
Quickly and emphatically, Dave shook his head. “No, never. She’s nice, always polite, but she discourages every one of them. Listen, I’ve tried for years to get her to notice me. I’ve asked her out, done her favors, tried to win her over. She just smiles and thanks me, but she won’t date. Not anyone.”
Why that made Nick feel good he wasn’t willing to think about right now. Rising, he stuck out his hand. “Thanks for your help. And please remember, this visit is between the two of us.”
Dave pursed his lips together and nodded conspiratorially. “I’ll remember.”
“Here’s my card if you can think of anything that could help our investigation.” Nick left the man studying his card as he turned and walked through the big double doors. Keys in hand, he decided he’d drop in on Maggie to see how she was doing after being home from the hospital for two days now. If Tate was there, well, so much the better.
“The problem with growing old, Nick, is that it sneaks up on you and you’re never ready,” Maggie Davis said, then chuckled at her own observation. They were seated on her long corduroy couch across from the fireplace, Maggie stretched out at one end, Nick in the opposite corner, his body angled toward the small widow with the gentle smile. He could easily believe Maggie had been far more than a housemother to Tate, for she just looked maternal and loving. Much like his own mother.
“My mom says the same thing. She just turned sixty and although I don’t think she looks it, she often tells me she feels it.”
Maggie pushed her gold-rimmed glasses higher on her nose, thinking she liked this young man. Liked him a lot. His smile was warm and sincere. “Do you have any brothers or sisters?”
“Oh, yeah. Two older brothers, two younger sisters. I’m the middle one. They’re all married. I’ve got seven nieces and nephews and another on the way. A big, noisy family.”
“And you love it,” Maggie said, and it wasn’t a question.
“Yeah, I guess I do.” But he wanted to talk about her and her roomers, not himself. “How are you feeling, really?”
“My throat’s better, as you can tell from my voice. The ribs hurt, especially at night, and this cast is uncomfortable. But I’m doing okay. It could have been worse, I suppose.”
Much worse, Nick knew. He glanced around the neatly kept room. “I guess Tate and Josh are out?”
Maggie sighed. “Yes, and I feel so bad that she has to scramble around to find someplace to leave the boy so she can get back to work. I can manage alone here if I move slowly, but I can’t take care of Josh yet. Poor Tate. She always has so much to cope with.”
She’d given him an opening and he grabbed it. “You mean because she’s a single mother raising her son alone?”
“I know that lots of women do that these days, but it’s never easy.”
“What about Josh’s father? Does he help, at least financially?”
“No, he’s not even in the picture.” Maggie picked up her ever-present cup of lukewarm tea and took a sip.
Exactly what Tate had told him. “Do you know his name?”
She shook her head. “Tate never said and I didn’t ask.”
Nick was puzzled. “But, according to my calculations, she was living in your house, still going to college, when she got pregnant. You must have seen the man, or did she date a lot of guys?”
“Oh, she had boys hanging around by the carload, but she was intent on studying. Then she met this man, not a boy from the university, an older man. That much she did tell me. Tate was young and naive. He filled her head full of promises, from what her roommates and I gathered, and she fell for him really hard. But he never came to the house. Tate always met him elsewhere. She was radiant, so very happy. Then suddenly, something must have happened because she stopped going out and she cried a lot, wouldn’t eat.”
Had the guy been married? Or maybe transferred out of the city? “He walked away from her and she found out she was pregnant?” Nick ventured since Tate had told him that Josh’s father hadn’t known about her condition.
“Yes. I told her that it takes two to make a baby, that she needed to tell him, but she refused. She said she wanted nothing more to do with him, not ever. So Molly and Laura and I helped her all we could, even delivered the baby right here in this house. And we didn’t ask any more questions. It was none of our business, really.” Implying it was none of his, either.
Maybe he needed to explain himself. “Maggie, I’m not asking out of simple curiosity.” Although that was a part of it. “The officer you talked to the day you were hurt said that you mentioned that the man in the mask kept asking you where Josh was. Who would want to know the boy’s whereabouts so badly that he’d try to beat the information out of you?”
Sighing, she lay back against the pillows. “I don’t know. I really don’t. I asked Tate and she simply said she’d take care of it and not to worry. But, of course, I worry. That girl’s like my daughter, Josh like the grandson I never had.”
Nick leaned closer, needing to convince her. “Then help me, Maggie.” He felt she knew more than she was telling, maybe small facts she wouldn’t think important. “Tell me what or who she’s running from. I want to help, but I can’t if I don’t know who’s behind this. From what I gather, she’s been on the run from the time Josh was about two years old, living with you, then leaving, returning, but never staying long. Why would a mother who loves her son the way I know Tate does do that to him, disrupting him regularly?”
Maggie’s sharp blue gaze dropped to study her hands restlessly fidgeting in her lap. “I believe you do want to help her, but I don’t feel comfortable telling you any more about Tate’s past. She’ll have to be the one to explain. And good luck on that. She rarely confides in anyone nor does she trust easily. She doesn’t want to burden anyone with her problems.”
“But we can’t help her if she doesn’t let us know what’s going on.” Frustration had sharpened his voice.
“I know that.” Her eyes had filled with tears and she dabbed at them with a tissue. “She’s going to need help, I can tell you that.” She slipped her hand into the pocket of her robe and pulled out an envelope, holding it out to him. “Maybe we’ll all need help.”
Nick took the white envelope with Maggie Davis written on the front in black block letters. He withdrew the single sheet of paper and read the short message written the same way.
You’d better not talk to the cops or next time, I’ll finish the job.
His mouth a grim line, Nick looked up. “May I keep this? Maybe we’ll get lucky and pick up a fingerprint.”
“Sure, take it.” She drained her tea, looking drained as well.
“Have you shown this to Tate?” he asked.
“No. I found it between the door and the screen this morning. It upset me terribly, but I didn’t want to get Tate worked up as well.”
Maybe if Tate knew, she’d be more forthcoming, give him enough information to get this guy. It had to have something to do with Josh’s father, but, if that was so, why was he trying to get his son in such a bizarre and unlawful manner? Why not go through legal channels, demand a DNA test, visitation rights, etc? Of course, he obviously hadn’t paid child support, but some agreement could be reached on that with Tate. Or was she simply refusing to negotiate anything? Still, in recent years courts have recognized fathers’ rights and would force the mother to comply, provided the man was legit. But was he?
More unanswered questions.
He had to try harder with this little widow. “Maggie, were you aware that a couple of years ago, the man with the
ponytail forced his way into Tate’s apartment and beat her up almost as badly as you?”
Maggie closed her eyes as she nodded. “Yes, of course. That’s why Josh is so protective of his mother and so very fearful of men.”
“He was there and saw the attack?”
“No, but he saw the results. Both her eyes were black-and-blue, she had a rib that was broken, not just cracked, and could hardly get around for weeks. The way she looked frightened Josh. The two of them moved away for a long while after that.”
“Where did she go?”
“I wouldn’t tell you that, even if I knew. It might jeopardize Tate and Josh’s safety.”
Nick drew in a deep breath, trying to be patient. “All right, we’ve got this guy in black who beat on Tate, who beat on you, who’s hanging around the park and outside your home, who’s sending threatening letters—and still Tate won’t help me put him away? I don’t understand.”
Maggie didn’t respond, just toyed with the hem of her robe, folding and unfolding it. Finally, she raised her eyes to study the detective’s face for long minutes, as if trying to see into his heart, to determine if she could truly trust him.
“Talk to me, Maggie, please.”
“She’s afraid, Nick. Afraid for Josh and now me. Probably for herself, too.” She waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, she hasn’t said so in so many words, but that’s what I think. Yes, I think Josh’s father is behind all this. I can only imagine that he has something on Tate, or that he’s a dangerous man and she’s afraid to expose him. Maybe…maybe you can persuade her to tell you more.”
“I don’t know,” Nick stated honestly. “She doesn’t trust me.”
“She doesn’t trust men, period. Ever since she was a young girl, men have been after her, but for all the wrong reasons. Then, when she thought she’d found someone who truly loved her, he betrayed her, too. Do you blame her for not trusting men?”
