by Diane Kelly
While the male judge looked down on her, passive and expressionless, Adriana’s attorney stated their request for a protective order and, in support thereof, began to run through the events of the past few weeks.
“A brick was thrown through my client’s bedroom window,” she said. “Given that my client has no conflicts with anyone else, we believe Mr. Downey had to be behind the incident.”
Ryan’s attorney leaped to his feet. “Your Honor, Mr. Downey was not arrested for the incident and there is no solid proof he committed that act of vandalism. To say he threw the brick is pure conjecture and speculation.”
Given that conjecture and speculation were synonyms, I thought the attorney’s words were redundant and repetitive, but who am I to judge? The judge was to judge, not me.
The judge looked from Ryan’s attorney back to Adriana’s. “Go on, please.”
“The brick was only the first of a series of stalking incidents, which became progressively more threatening and dangerous.” She looked back to where I sat in the gallery. “Your Honor, I’d like to call Officer Megan Luz to the stand, please. She’s the officer who responded to the various calls and is familiar with the police department’s investigation.”
The judge waved me up. “Come on up, Officer Luz.”
I led Brigit over to the witness stand, where I raised my hand like a dutiful Girl Scout. Brigit looked up at me and raised her paw, too.
“Do you promise to tell the truth,” the bailiff asked, “the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?”
Truth. What an elusive concept. When you only knew parts of the truth, those parts could be misleading and taken out of context. If only I had complete knowledge of what the hell was going on between Adriana and Ryan and who was at fault. Then I could set the record straight, enforce the law. But I knew that even if the facts I had were incomplete, it was all the court had to go on. I was the only unbiased witness here.
I answered the bailiff’s question. “I do.”
As if she, too, were swearing to tell the truth, Bright let out a bark. Woof-woof!
The bailiff reached down and ruffled her ears.
Adriana’s attorney launched into a line of questions for me. “You collected a pair of shoes and a brick from outside Mr. Downey’s apartment the night my client’s window was broken, correct?”
“I did.”
“And the Fort Worth PD’s crime scene lab determined that Mr. Downey’s shoes had been used to make the prints on the patio behind the house leased by Ms. Valdez.”
“That is correct.” Of course, they weren’t certain the prints had been made naturally, or whether they’d been faked. My gaze reflexively went to Ryan’s attorney, anticipating that he would raise the issue.
As expected, he leaped from his seat with an objection. “No arrest was made after that incident, Your Honor. In fact, the crime scene team concluded it was probable the prints had been manufactured.”
“Possible,” I corrected him. “Not probable.”
The judge looked down and admonished me. “Only speak in response to a question, Officer Luz.”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
The judge looked at Adriana’s attorney. “Continue.”
She eyed me and asked another question. “The brick you collected from Mr. Downey’s apartment was the same brand and type as the one that had been thrown through Ms. Valdez’s window, correct?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
When she moved on to the next incident, the judge said, “Let’s take these events one by one, okay? Otherwise I’m going to have a hard time keeping it all straight.” When the two attorneys murmured in agreement, he looked to Ryan’s counsel. “You got anything else you want to ask about the broken-window incident?”
He stood. “I do.” He gestured at Brigit. “Did you have your dog track that night?”
“I did,” I said. “She sniffed around but seemed to only go to the side fence and around the yard and kitchen door.”
“So that meant whoever had thrown the brick came from inside the house,” he said.
It was a statement, not a question, but I knew in this instance the judge would want me to correct the attorney. “Not necessarily,” I replied. “The person could have gone over the fence into the adjacent yard. Unfortunately, the neighboring gate was locked. I shined my flashlight over the fence but didn’t see anyone.”
“No arrests were made in relation to the broken window; isn’t that true, Officer Luz?” he asked.
“That’s correct.”
Ryan’s attorney indicated he had no further questions about the window and sat down.
Adriana’s attorney glanced back at the courtroom full of families and addressed the judge. “Your Honor, could you ask the parents to cover their children’s ears for just a moment?”
“This ought to be good.” He banged his gavel to get the attention of everyone in the gallery. Bam-bam. “Cover your kids’ ears or take them outside,” he instructed. “We’ve got some adult content to discuss.”
Once the parents had either cupped their hands over their kids’ ears or shuffled them out the door, he waved his gavel at Adriana’s attorney to indicate she could continue.
“We believe Mr. Downey is behind a later incident in which a profile of Ms. Valdez was entered into a cell phone app known as Kinky Cowtown.”
The judge’s brows lifted. “Did you say Kinky Cowtown?”
The two male bailiffs exchanged glances from either side of the room, both of them fighting grins.
“I did, sir,” Adriana’s attorney continued. “It’s a site people use to find sexual partners who live in the area. A photo of Ms. Valdez was uploaded to the site along with her address and a request that men who responded bring both a leather whip and marshmallow whip.”
The bailiff on the right couldn’t take it. He snorted in an attempt to rein in a guffaw, but tried to cover his blunder with a cough. I supposed I might find the situation humorous, too, if I hadn’t seen firsthand how terrified Adriana had been when creep after creep had come to her house looking to hook up with her.
Again, Ryan’s attorney argued that there was no proof Ryan had committed the crime. “In fact,” he said, “the tech specialists with the Fort Worth Police Department determined that the profile had been uploaded via the server at the rehabilitation center where Ms. Valdez works. Isn’t that right, Officer Luz?”
“That is correct,” I replied.
Adriana’s attorney pointed out that Ryan had accessed the rehab center’s Wi-Fi system at a previous time and could have retained the information he’d need to log into it remotely.
Ryan’s attorney scoffed. “That seems awfully farfetched, wouldn’t you agree, Officer Luz?”
Hell, I didn’t know if it was far-fetched or not. I barely understood how the technology would work.
Before I could respond, Adriana’s attorney objected. “He’s asking for an opinion, not facts, Your Honor.”
The judge agreed the question was objectionable and didn’t require me to answer it.
Over the next half hour, the two went back and forth over every event, pulling me metaphorically back and forth between them as if engaged in a game of legal tug-of-war. Yes, I’d questioned Adriana regarding the woman with the balloons who’d come to Ryan’s complex and attempted to gain access to his apartment. No, I had not arrested her afterward. No, I hadn’t arrested Ryan the first time Adriana had called about him following her. Yes, I’d seen Ryan swerve toward Adriana’s car in his Camaro. Yes, I’d found a loaded gun, ammunition, zip ties, and duct tape in his car. Yes, the gun was within his reach. Yes, I’d decided to have him arrested that particular night. Yes, I’d found a GPS device affixed to Adriana’s engine. No, prints were not found on the device.
Adriana’s attorney mentioned that charges were still pending against Ryan relating to the night of the car chase. “He’s likely to be found guilty of various charges,” she said, “including assault. He should’ve been charged with attempted
murder, if you ask me.”
“Well, we didn’t ask you!” snapped Ryan’s attorney.
The judge raised his gavel in warning. “Speak to me, not each other. I’ll not tolerate rude behavior in my courtroom.” He pointed the gavel at Ryan’s attorney to let him know he now had the floor.
“The prosecutor offered a plea deal. Six months’ probation for attempted vehicular assault.” The attorney forced a chuckle. “They obviously know they can’t prove anything more. We’re not planning on accepting the offer. They’ll end up dropping the case.”
“They don’t know that,” Adriana’s attorney said sharply. While her eyes were on the judge, it was clear her comment was directed at Ryan’s lawyer.
The judge let this one slide and instead turned to me. “Has the police department closed the investigation?”
“We’re not actively pursuing other suspects or witnesses,” I told him, “but we’re planning to continue having extra patrols drive by both of their residences.”
“For how long?”
As long as it takes. “Indefinitely.”
The judge sat back, the handle of his gavel in one hand, the head in the other, as he contemplated his decision. Still hunched, Adriana leaned forward in her seat, her face pained and pensive. Ryan’s face, on the other hand, looked slightly smug.
His smugness didn’t last long.
The judge looked my way. “The gun he had in his car is still in the possession of the police department, right?”
“Yes,” I said. “It’s in the evidence locker along with the ammunition, zip ties, duct tape, box cutter, and bandana.”
The judge turned away and gave Ryan a pointed look. “Do you own another gun, Mr. Downey?”
“Yes,” he replied. “I bought another one over the weekend.”
Wow. He hadn’t wasted any time replacing the weapon we’d seized, had he?
The judge said, “I’m granting the protective order. Mr. Downey, be aware this means you cannot possess a gun until such time as the order is revoked.” He banged his gavel once to indicate the finality of his decision. “Officer Luz, I order you to take custody of Mr. Downey’s weapon.”
Ryan’s mouth gaped and he turned to his attorney. “What the hell?” he shrieked.
The attorney quickly silenced him, and whispered in his ear. I wasn’t sure what he said to Ryan, but whatever it was didn’t seem to sit well. He shoved his chair under the table after they stood, taking his anger out on the furniture.
I nodded to Adriana and her attorney as I followed Ryan and his lawyer out of the courtroom and across the street to the parking garage where he’d left his car. We took the steps up to the second floor. Ryan wore no smirk now. In fact, his countenance bore more than a little trepidation. Was he scared of how the protective order might affect his life? Or was he scared of Adriana? How I wished I could get inside his head and find out!
As we approached the Camaro, I asked, “Is the gun in the console like the one you had the other night?”
“Yeah,” Ryan said softly, sounding a little choked up.
“You unlock the doors,” I said. “I’ll get the gun.” No way in hell would I let him reach in for it. He might turn around and blast me in the face. That would be a closed-casket funeral.
He stood back several feet with his attorney and aimed his fob at the car. Bleep-bleep. Click.
I instructed Brigit to sit. Keeping one eye on Ryan, I opened the car and, as quickly as I could, grabbed his gun and the new box of ammo he’d purchased.
He looked at me, his expression troubled. “If she comes after me, and I can’t defend myself, it’ll be all your fault, Officer Luz.”
Oh hell no. He wasn’t going to lay responsibility for his or Adriana’s actions on me. “All I did was tell the truth.”
“You don’t know the truth!”
“Then tell me.”
“Dammit!” he screamed, bringing his fists down on the trunk of his car. “I’ve tried!”
His attorney looked at me. “I think it’s best you leave now.”
I thought that was best, too.
THIRTY-SIX
AWAITING ORDERS
Brigit
The man was yelling and had hit the car. Brigit knew this was the type of behavior that often came before Megan ordered her to take someone down. She could also smell his adrenaline. He was angry, that was for sure. She stood at the ready, one eye on the man, one eye on her partner.
As it turned out, Megan didn’t tell her to take down the man. Instead, she told Brigit to “come on.” As Megan walked away, Brigit stepped into place beside her. She cast a final look back over her furry shoulder.
The man’s eyes locked on hers in challenge.
You really want to go there, buddy? When Brigit silently curled back her lip and showed her teeth, the man pulled his head back, his eyes dilating in fright. Yeah, that’s what I thought.
THIRTY-SEVEN
ROCK, PAPER, SCISSORS
Adriana
The protective orders between the two of them were meaningless. A mere piece of paper, a few words signed by a judge, wouldn’t stop what had been set in motion. Paper might beat rock, but it didn’t beat scissors, and it sure as hell wouldn’t beat her.
THIRTY-EIGHT
WHAT A PARE
Megan
While Adriana’s protective order gave police the right to arrest Ryan if he violated it, the awful truth was that it was merely a piece of paper. It wouldn’t stop him from violence if he was intent on committing it. I could only hope he wasn’t. Maybe the order would prove to be a tipping point, make him realize he needed to back off and move on, maybe see a therapist or counselor to deal with his emotions.
He behaved himself all week. I hoped that was a good sign, that his anger had abated rather than festered and grown during those days.
Shortly after eleven on Friday night, dispatch came over the airwaves. “Officers needed on Vickery at Stage West Theater. We have reports of a female suspect causing property damage. Civilians have restrained the suspect.”
Many times, people were hesitant to get involved in stopping a crime or apprehending a criminal, and with good reason. Criminals could turn on them, sometimes with deadly consequences. But sometimes people stepped up, risking their own safety. Looked like there’d been a hero or two taking in the play tonight.
I grabbed my microphone and pushed the button. “Officers Luz and Brigit on our way.”
I took a right on Hemphill Street and hooked a left onto Vickery. A block and a half later, and we’d arrived at Stage West. The theater had been founded by Jerry Russell, an accomplished actor and father to Wendy Davis, a politician who’d served on the Fort Worth City Council and in the Texas Senate. She’d risen to national fame when she’d filibustered for eleven hours on the final day of the legislative session against a bill that imposed restrictions on women’s access to reproductive health care. Though the bill later passed, the stand Wendy took, in a pair of pink running shoes, had nonetheless made her a living legend. And when the Supreme Court later ruled the law unconstitutional, she was vindicated, even though she’d lost a bid for governor in the interim. Interestingly, the theater’s current offering was Ann, a play based on the life of Ann Richards, another brassy female Democratic politician who was also a legend in Texas. Like they say, well-behaved women rarely make history. They also rarely get a Broadway play written about them.
People were filtering out of the theater, the show having apparently just ended. As I drove up, two women waved their arms to get my attention. “Over here!” one of them called.
I quickly parked and retrieved Brigit from the back of my car, clipping her lead onto her collar.
The women who’d called to me scurried over. “When we were leaving the theater, we spotted a woman scratching up our car. Our dates ran over and tackled her.”
As they led the way, I strode over with them. “Is it someone you know?”
“No,” she said. “None of us have
ever seen her before.”
I found their dates hunkered down between two cars, both of which had been scratched to pieces, the paint cut through to the metal underneath. The two men were situated at either end of a blond woman who lay facedown on the asphalt between the cars. One of the men had dropped down over her legs to try to hold them, while the other had sat on her back to hold her arms. She struggled against the men, grunting and groaning as she exerted and strained to raise herself up. Her efforts were futile. Not only did the men outweigh her by at least four times, they had gravity on their side.
I caught the men’s eyes. “Keep a hold on her until I secure the area, okay?”
They both nodded.
“Stop struggling!” I ordered the woman. “Now! Or I’ll deploy my dog!” I gave Brigit a hand signal and she let loose with her most ferocious growl and a warning bark. RUFF!
Still facedown, the woman went stock-still.
A knife lay on the asphalt, just inches from the woman’s hand. She must have dropped it when she’d been tackled. Holding Brigit close, I circled between the adjacent car to the right and bent down to take a closer look at the weapon. It appeared to be a paring knife. The blade, which was around four inches in length, bore the words WÜSTHOF CLASSIC. The black handle was contoured, with three stainless steel circles in a row and a red square with a three-tined fork logo. It was an unusually fancy tool for an act of vandalism that could have been accomplished with a set of keys or a simple pocketknife. Had the woman also planned to peel and mince a human victim, too?
Lest she somehow regain possession of the blade, I used my toe to push it back a few feet. Time to find out who this woman is and why she’d taken it upon herself to go all Etch A Sketch on these vehicles.
“Ma’am, you need to—”
Before I could speak to the woman, an outraged squeal erupted nearby and a kazoolike male voice yelled, “What the fuck?!”
Wait a second. That voice sounds familiar.
The two women who’d flagged me down stood at the rear of the vehicles. They looked to their left, where the voice had come from.
