Ten Times Guilty

by Hill, Brenda

  Reese was familiar with all the joints, having busted most of the girls at one time or another when he was in Vice.

  But the faces were always changing. Some of the luckier ones ran back home, while others hung on to the life until they got too old. Or too whacked out on drugs or disease. They were the ones who left in body bags.

  Continuing east, he passed the Zanzibar, a well-known country and western nightspot where he’d spent quite a few evenings. They’d even filmed part of a Clint Eastwood movie inside. Reese drove on, passing Fitzsimmons Army Hospital on his left. Another of his old hangouts sat just past the 225 Freeway.

  He continued for another few miles, then turned north on Eighth until he entered a run-down commercial area. Eighteen-wheelers were on the move, pulling in and out of loading docks. Others parked alongside, waiting their turn in open lots overgrown with grass and weeds. A couple of the buildings sat lop-sided, as if one good gust of wind might tumble the entire lot. Reese wondered how an eighteen-wheeler could ever line up with it, but he guessed they did. Certainly the place enjoyed a brisk business.

  Inside the cramped office of Miles Construction, a young blonde receptionist in jeans and tank top, occupied a desk by the front door. Wearing a telephone headset over one ear, she looked up from the stacks of papers and gave Reese a pert smile.

  “Can I—” she began. The phone interrupted her. “Miles Construction,” she answered, grabbing a pen and notepad. With a nod of her head, she directed him to one of two chairs by her desk.

  An older woman sat at a desk on the far side of the room. Skinny, with cropped gray hair parted in the middle, she looked up briefly, gave him a sour look from behind her glasses, then went back to her ledger. Reese noted the musty smell of the room and wondered if she smelled the same.

  Finally, the blonde turned to Reese.

  “Sorry about that,” she smiled. “Can I help—” The phone interrupted again. She punched a button to answer. Reese reached over and pulled the plug to her headset. ”My turn.”

  The blonde’s eyes were huge.

  “Young man,” old gray hair began, rising from her desk, “I’m calling the manager.”

  “Please do.” Reese flashed his shield. “I’m Sergeant Sanders of the Denver Police Department. I’d like to get some information about a former employee, Anna Mae Foster. Do you know her?”

  Her eyes widening, the blonde shook her head.

  “No, I just started here a couple months ago. Maybe you’d better talk to Mr. Evans.”

  “Thank you, I intend to do that.”

  The old sourpuss watched him carefully, her ice-blue eyes unblinking. He turned to her.

  “Maybe you could help me,” Reese said, “Mrs...?”

  Clearly taken by surprise, she pushed her black-framed glasses up on her nose.

  “Morris,” she said, “Mrs. Morris.” Her eyes narrowed, and she put down her pen. “But I can’t tell you anything, I barely knew her.”

  Your ass, Reese thought. He bet those little eyes took in everything that went on, not only here but wherever she happened to be.

  But he wanted her cooperation, so he encouraged her to open up.

  “Perhaps you know more than you realize,” Reese said, pulling out a small spiral notebook and pen from his inside pocket. “Most people do. For instance, I understand Miss Foster left abruptly. Do you know who she was involved with?”

  “I mind my own business, Sergeant, and I encourage the girls to leave their social life outside of work. A place of business is exactly that.”

  I bet you mind your business, sister. Yours and everyone else’s. “Did you ever happen to overhear any names on personal phone calls?”

  “As I said, I discouraged—”

  “Yes, I know,” Reese interrupted. “Did anyone ever pick her up after work?”

  “I can’t say with any certainty, but she generally left right at five in her own car, no matter how much work was left.” Her face screwed up like a little monkey’s. “I didn’t always pay attention. You see, I’ve been here since the senior Mr. Evans started this business, and I feel loyalty to my employer. I stay until the work is done.” She lifted her chin.

  “That’s very admirable,” Reese told her, “and I bet you just about run this company.” A little flattery never hurt.

  “Well, yes.” She couldn’t hide the beginning of a smile. “Mr. Evans, Junior, does rely on my opinion.”

  “And I bet you could give me a list of all Mr. Evans’s employees and customers from the past year.”

  She drew herself up. “Well, now, I’m not sure about that. I’d have to get permission.”

  “Sergeant Sanders?” A short, stocky man in shirtsleeves appeared at an inner door. “I’m Harper Evans. Sorry to keep you waiting. Come on in.”

  “A tragic thing about Anna Mae.” Evans said, lowering himself heavily onto a chair behind his desk. A lit cigar burned in a metal tray. “We’ve never had anything like that to happen around here before.”

  Reese confirmed some basic facts from the file, but nothing much else was known.

  “As far as I know,” Mr. Evans continued, “she kept pretty much to herself.”

  When Reese asked for the list of employees and customers, Evans called for Mrs. Morris and told her to give Reese any information he wanted.

  Back in the outer office, Reese paced while Mrs. Morris checked her files. “If I may ask, Sergeant, why is this so important? Miss Foster is well, isn’t she?”

  “As far as we know. But there’ve been a couple more assaults, and we’d like to try and prevent any more from happening.”

  “I see.” She frowned. “You know, I seem to recall something about some trouble with a man. Kept pestering her for a date, I think. I believe she used the words, ‘gave her the creeps.’ I think she mentioned his name once or twice, but I just can’t remember. I’ll be sure and let you know if I do.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Everyone tried to make the house look busy that evening. Greg and Judy carried in bags from the grocery store, and Diana made coffee and unpacked pastries for the party. Tracy wanted to help, but in her anxiety, she kept getting in the way. Finally, Diana assigned her to go through the house and turn on all the lights, then to set the table with dessert plates, napkins and utensils. Tracy did fine with the plates, but she dropped the forks and spoons on the floor, and when she bent to pick them up, Diana, who was bringing a pot of coffee to the table, nearly fell over her. Finally Diana took her by the shoulders and sat her down in the back corner.

  “Stay there,” she said, “and don’t move till I tell you. And don’t worry. It’s a great plan. When I talked to Suzy this afternoon, she said she has done this several times before. It’ll work.”

  “Of course it will,” she replied, her hands twisting in her lap. “Suzy knows what she’s doing. I just have to remember that.”

  Diana gave her friend a quick hug, then went back to her preparations. She set a large platter of cupcakes and brownies in the center of the table.

  “Looks like we’re getting ready to feed an army,” Judy said, stepping into the kitchen. “The kids are fine, I’ve got them in front of a Disney movie. Won’t hear a peep out of them for a couple of hours.”

  Diana picked up a chocolate cupcake and took a bite. Two pairs of eyes watched her. “Well, I have to try it, you know. Can’t offer guests something I haven’t even tasted.”

  The back door opened and Greg came in. “Porch light’s fixed, nice and bright.”

  “Good,” Diana said. “Want a bite?” She held a half-eaten cupcake out to Judy.

  “No way. I want to get into my new outfit this weekend.”

  “Looks good to me,” Greg took a big bite, finishing the cupcake, then helped himself to a brownie. With his tall, skinny frame, he could eat anything and not gain weight. When his family wanted to tease him, they called him, ‘The Accountant,’ because he preferred glasses to contacts and had such clean-cut boyish looks. “When does the mob get
here?”

  Tracy glanced at the clock over the sink. Five to eight.

  “Any time, I guess,” she said.

  A car pulled up in the driveway in the back of the house. Suzy and a middle-aged lady got out. Two more cars pulled in behind Suzy.

  “They’re here,” Diana said.

  ***

  Suzy entered the kitchen with seven other women, each carrying a large plastic sack with a well-known home plastics imprint. Diana and Tracy welcomed the ladies and seated them at the kitchen table. Tracy had told Greg all about Suzy, but she could see he was having a hard time keeping a straight face when he looked at her.

  Tonight, Suzy wore a cropped fringed jacket. Along the edge of the collar and the lapels, multi-colored rhinestones sparkled, and running down the front closure, yellow sequins glittered beside the pearl buttons.

  “I like gold with pearls,” Suzy said innocently, following Tracy’s eyes.

  Finally, after a few discreet pokes in the ribs from Diana and a meaningful frown from Tracy, Greg quit staring.

  Suzy introduced the women, all of whom were living temporarily in a safe house, away from an abusive partner. Tracy listened intently as each of them told her story, and while she felt sympathy, she also felt encouragement. Her situation wasn’t hopeless after all. The circumstances were different, but like the women here, she needed to escape from a man who threatened her. Even if it was only a temporary refuge, the safe house was still a place to go.

  Gail Patterson told about marrying a man who seemed to like her height of five feet eleven inches.

  “Most of the guys I’d dated felt intimidated or something, so I didn’t date that much. You don’t realize how hard it is to find tall men. If you eliminate the shorter guys, it seems you date more for something superficial, such as height, than from a genuine liking for the guy.”

  “Yeah,” Wendy said, “I know about someone only wanting you because you look a certain way.” A petite woman, both in height and size, she told them she had also married young. Her husband had treated her like a China doll. But when she began to gain weight after having three children, he started abusing her verbally, then escalated to physical abuse.

  “It began by him yelling at me. Then, he started hitting. He always felt bad afterwards, sometimes even crying, saying he’d never do it again. But he did. And it got worse. The cops couldn’t really do anything, so, here I am. And this time I’ll stay until I can get on my own two feet.”

  “Oh, you’ll go back to him,” Holly said, fingering an unlit cigarette. “Face it, men always have the upper hand.” A short, thin teenager, she was dressed totally in black, a form-fitting shell over tight leggings. Her jet-black hair was stiffly spiked, and her eyes heavily rimmed in black. She seemed very cynical for someone so young, but Tracy sensed something, a vulnerability, possibly, that Holly wanted to hide.

  Gail slowly shook her head.

  “No. At least I hope to God not. We went that route a few times. Me leaving, him promising to do better and me going back. But after the last time...”

  “When Gail got in touch with me, she was a mess,” Suzy said. “She looked like she’d played chicken with a diesel and lost.”

  “That was it, as far as I’m concerned,” Gail continued. “At least I hope I’ve got brains enough to stay away. I think once a person finds out he can get away with doing something like that, he never really quits. Like a drug, I guess. Oh, maybe if he gets help, but no, I don’t think so...”

  Suzy started talking about drugs, and how so many women were abused when their husbands or significant others got stoned.

  “How about you?” Gail asked Tracy. “Your old man beat you up?” Everyone looked at Tracy.

  Tracy couldn’t answer. It was too soon.

  “It’s okay, honey,” Margaret said. “No one’s pushing you. We all needed time.” A large woman, about five-eight, she had prominent cheekbones, and Tracy thought she might be of Native American descent.

  Her story was just the opposite of Wendy’s. Everything had been fine until her children grew up and left the house. Alone for the first time in years, Margaret felt bored and useless and sank into a long period of depression. Finally, she decided to do something with her life and she enrolled in the community college, experimented with make-up, and started losing weight. Her husband didn’t like that, and showed her quite violently how much he objected to the new look. Now, in the safe house, she was trying to overcome guilt and find the incentive to make plans for a new future.

  When they had finished, Tracy saw pain and sadness in all their faces, but she was also aware of their determination, a renewed spirit to change what was wrong in their lives to something right. Tracy admired their strength and courage.

  “It’s ten,” Suzy said. “I think that’s enough time for this little party, don’t you? Let’s get this show on the road.”

  Joyce, a woman in her late twenties, picked one box from the floor and opened it carefully. She pulled out a long, frosted wig pinned to a white Styrofoam head-form.

  “Try it on,” Margaret said to Tracy.

  Joyce took the wig off the form and searched the box for some hairpins.

  Tracy eyed it. It was nothing like the style she wore now, but maybe that’s what she needed.

  “Pin your hair back with these, as flat as you can get it.” Margaret handed the pins to Tracy. Tracy complied.

  “I’ll get a mirror.” Diana left the room.

  Joyce put the wig on Tracy, pulling here, tugging there. She took a hair pick from the box and ran it through the wig, fluffing up the front.

  “Here, look.” Diana came back into the room, holding a hand mirror.

  Tracy looked at herself in the mirror. The wig’s hairstyle was loose, flowing, and with the change in color, she looked totally different.

  “Now,” Gail said, opening a plastic sack and handing Tracy a pair of brown platform shoes with thick soles, “put these on. They’ll give you a couple inches of height, and that’s something you could use.”

  “You wear these?” Tracy asked.

  “I figured, what the hell,” Gail said. “When it comes right down to it, each person has to decide if they want to live their own life or the life someone else has chosen for them. I’ve finally decided to find out what I like, and that means wearing what I want even if it makes someone else uncomfortable. So now I do.”

  Holly snorted. “Wonder how long that’ll last.”

  “Good for you,” Margaret said, pointedly ignoring Holly’s remark. “Maybe some of your gumption will rub off on me.”

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Gail told her. “It took me a while to figure it out. This is my third time in the shelter, and if I can just stick to my resolve, it’ll be my last.”

  “You can do it,” Suzy said. She’d been pretty quiet this session, probably, Tracy thought, because she wanted to encourage the others to talk. She noticed when one of the girls told her story, Suzy looked on fondly, just like a mother hen.

  Margaret took a blue cloth raincoat out of one of the boxes and handed it to Tracy.

  “Put this on,” she said.

  Tracy slipped into the coat; it was large enough to wrap around her twice. “Well?” she asked the group. Standing in the oversized platform shoes, the wig, and the over-sized raincoat, she looked like a bedraggled kid playing dress-up in her mother’s clothes.

  “Wait a minute,” Greg said, leaving the room. Tracy glanced at Diana, and she shrugged.

  “Here we are,” Greg returned, carrying a pillow, some tape, and a couple of his old sweaters. He put the pillow to Tracy’s stomach. “Hold on to it while I tape it up.” He moved in close, first taping across the pillow and then running it around her back.

  As Greg worked, Tracy noticed her heartbeat increase. She began to sweat. She fought the urge to shrink away from him. What was wrong with her?

  Greg worked his way around the front again, crisscrossing the tape to go around her back for added strength
. Tracy’s heart pounded. She was afraid she was going to pass out. She began to whimper.

  “Tracy?” Suzy asked, rising from her chair, “Are you okay?”

  Sudden panic seized Tracy, and she jerked away from Greg. Suzy and Diana rushed over to her, Suzy folding Tracy in her arms.

  “It’s okay,” she soothed.

  “What is it? What’d I do?” Greg turned to Diana, and both of them turned puzzled looks to Suzy.

  Suzy held Tracy. “You didn’t do anything,” she said to Greg. “This is a common reaction of rape victims to coming into close proximity to a man.”

  “But I’m her friend,” he protested. “I wouldn’t hurt her.”

  “It’s not personal,” Suzy assured him. “It happens with husbands and boyfriends. She’ll be okay.”

  “Please,” Tracy said a few moments later, after she had gained some control. “Let’s continue with what you were doing.”

  Greg looked doubtful.

  Tracy came over to him and hugged him.

  “Please,” she looked him in the eye, “let it be okay with us. Help me.”

  Greg studied her. “Okay, I’ll do anything I can. But you owe me, you know. Having a woman collapse in tears when I touch her could damage my ego for life. Let’s see, how could you possibly make up for something as devastating as that?”

  “I can’t imagine.”

  “I know! How ‘bout some of your special chicken and dumplings? I’ll even provide the chicken.”

  “You got it.” Tracy’s heart filled with gratitude.

  “Oh you!” Diana swatted him on the rear. “Always thinking about your stomach.”

  The mood lightened. Tracy held the pillow in position for him to resume taping. He taped across the front again, then ran the tape around her back. When he was through, Suzy said, “Now put the sweaters back on.”

  She did, pulling them over the pillow. The first one fit with a few inches to spare, but the second was snug.

  “You look like you’re ready to deliver,” Wendy said.

  Greg hummed “Charge!”

  “Now, for the pièce de résistance.” He picked up the coat and helped Tracy put it on.