Bullet in the Night Read online

  “I appreciate your trust.”

  He nodded. “My wife has suffered from severe emotional problems for years.”

  “How far back are we talking about?”

  He took a deep breath. “Since after our daughter was born. It’s why we only have one child. Angela had postpartum depression and never fully recovered. She’s been seen by specialists in Chicago and Milwaukee for years of cognitive therapy off and on.” He paused a moment, looked at his hands, then continued in a dull monotone. “Nothing they ever did has helped except putting her on medication. Even electro-shock failed.”

  “How sad for her and you as well.”

  “No words could describe it.”

  I studied him. Words, no, but I’d expect some sign of emotion to match what he was saying. I made a note of his lack of affect while staying tuned in to what he was saying.

  “You can’t begin to imagine what it’s been like. Before we married, Angela was training to be a nurse. Now she barely functions as a recluse. At least currently, she’s getting out of bed. She’s had spells when she won’t even do that.”

  “This must be very difficult.”

  He nodded vigorously. “Walking and housecleaning are Angela’s only activities. In some strange way, walking seems to soothe her. Thank God for that. I rarely hire household help because she’s fearful having strangers around. Our daughter helps cook and do some chores, and I do what I can.”

  I nodded my understanding

  “It’s hard on all of us. There are times when Angela withdraws altogether. It’s crazy. I never know what to expect when I walk in the door. I know I may sound insensitive. I don’t mean to, but it does get wearisome struggling to keep up with my job, a home, and care for my daughter.”

  I squeezed my hands together and pressed them under my chin. “I understand.”

  “I hoped you would. That’s why I’m here.” He stood, turned the chair around, and sat facing me. “It helps to have someone appreciate the reality of our situation. I’m telling you this because I can’t be having my wife regress.”

  “Surely there must be something that can be done to help her…”

  “The professional consensus is that her issues are best left dormant. Whenever we try to address them, she shuts down. After the last attempt at therapy, Angela cried for days and wouldn’t come out of her room except to use the bathroom. I vowed I’d never put her or us through anything like that again.”

  “Is she on medication now?”

  “Several drugs. For acute depression and anxiety. I don’t know how many prescriptions it took before the psychiatrist found an effective combination.”

  He gave me their names and dosage levels, which I recorded.

  “My concern is that her tolerance level will increase, which has happened before. Then we’re back to square one for treatment.”

  Denton rattled off clinical terms like a professional, and what he said made sense. But for a reason I couldn’t quite identify, I found it hard to feel sympathy for this distressed husband and father.

  He pulled out his handkerchief and blew his nose. “The bottom line is, we finally have a routine working fairly well. I’m not willing to have Angela go through more trauma. For her sake and ours, I want her left alone.” His tone intensified. He became more emphatic with “I” and repeated himself.

  I leaned forward and held his eyes with mine. “Without further intervention, Angela may remain a recluse forever and not move toward the recovery she’s capable of experiencing. Surely you don’t think this is wise?”

  His demeanor visibly hardened. “Did you hear anything I said?”

  “With all due respect, your wife deserves a chance at a normal life. You can’t stop making an effort to get her help. Has she ever been in a support group? Some individuals are helped best in a group setting. It can be less threatening to hear other people talk about similar issues and can be highly therapeutic.”

  Denton’s complexion shaded from pink to red. “You counselors are all the same. You each think you have the magic dialogue or pills to help. Don’t you get it? I’d stick Angela’s feet in axle grease every day if it would make her better. I tried everything psychologists suggested. Forgive me if I’ve lost confidence in this mind scrabble you play. Fifteen years without results is long enough. My wife won’t be a guinea pig anymore.”

  “Prayer is also an important part of my therapy. I’ve seen the Holy Spirit do some pretty remarkable things. Don’t let her give up hope.”

  Denton’s face became redder by the minute. “I thought I could make you understand. You’re as egotistical as every clinician. You think you can find a way when no one has.”

  “Sometimes clients do get worse before they get better. You may have stopped too soon. The good news is, it’s never too late.”

  “No more psychological garbage.” His eyes sparked.

  A shiver climbed up my spine. “So Lenora counseled Angela privately?”

  He slumped in the chair. “She had one session. I could tell immediately by her distress when she came home.”

  “And you wanted Lenora to stop? Did you insist Angela ask Lenora to cancel her future appointments?”

  “You bet I did.” He pressed his palms hard on the arms of his chair.

  “When did you tell Lenora? The day she was shot? You may as well tell me. Her housekeeper says she can recognize the voice of the man who argued with Lenora that day.”

  “All right, I was there.” He spit out the words and looked at me as if he wished he’d swallowed them instead. “I told Lenora what I’m telling you. I couldn’t have her digging into Angela’s pain and making her worse.”

  “How did Lenora respond?”

  “Got huffy. We talked at length. I didn’t convince her.”

  “Talked? According to the housekeeper, you yelled.”

  He rubbed the back of his neck. “I may have gotten a little hot.”

  Suddenly Chuck looked old and tired. “Do you have any idea what’s it’s like to be married to a woman for years and have her refuse to allow you to touch her?”

  “I’m sure it wouldn’t be easy living with a wife who doesn’t function in any aspect of the role.”

  “Not only handling all the family responsibilities but having to forego physical intimacy?”

  I put down my notepad. “My heart goes out to you.”

  “There’s not a day I’m not tempted to leave Angela, but she’s my wife. Who would take care of her?” He turned his hands over in a helpless gesture.

  “What you’ve gone through has been terrible, I agree, but still, Angela should have a say in the decision about counseling. I simply want to let her know my services are available to Lenora’s previous clients. I promise I won’t try to influence her one way or the other.”

  Denton stood up, eyes blazing. “Let me be very clear. I’ll slap a lawsuit on you if you try to treat her without my permission.”

  “On what grounds?” The skin on my neck tingled.

  “I’ll find one.”

  “I don’t think it’s wise for you to threaten me, Mr. Denton. Your wife is an adult. You have no right to keep her from seeking therapy.” I used my voice of authority. Who did this man think he was? A seat on the foundation board didn’t give him a license to intimidate me.

  Denton swore then charged toward the door and stomped out.

  So much for banker’s manners.

  I disliked confrontations, but sometimes they were necessary. Chuck’s visit had given me an idea.

  Two, actually.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  The first break in my schedule, I called Nick. “Hey handsome husband, got a minute?”

  “For you? I might be able to arrange it. What’s up?”

  “You’re not going to like this. Hear me out. I want to re-enact the circumstances of Lenora’s attack. She was shot on a Thursday; today is Thursday. How would you like to take a hike up the hill behind her house tonight?”

  “Right, I d
on’t like the idea. What good will that do? The police have been all over the area.”

  “But I suspect not thoroughly.”

  Nick, seldom one for subtlety, blurted out, “I think it’s one of your dumbest ideas ever.”

  I grimaced. “At least I can always count on you for total honesty. Okay, never mind. Don’t give it another thought.”

  “Jennifer, hold on. You don’t back off this easily. You’ll go without me, right?”

  I didn’t want to answer so I hedged. “It’s no problem, really.”

  Nick sighed. “I have to review material for a deposition tomorrow. I need to finish before I leave. I don’t want you going alone. What time?”

  “Around eight. We know the shooting occurred somewhere between eight and ten. I lined up a sitter and will give the kids an early dinner. We can eat later.”

  Nick laughed. “You’ve already thought through everything. Okay, I should be home by seven thirty.”

  * * *

  At seven p.m., I dressed in jeans and polo shirt, crisscrossing the sleeves of a dark blue sweatshirt across my chest. My legs needed to be covered for traipsing through the woods. I wasn’t going to let any skin-piercing, sucking insects attack my epidermis. Fashionably dark, Jennifer the Ripper was ready for her night job. Only one thing was missing. Hunting in my closet, I found two navy baseball caps and plopped one on my head, sticking the other in my back pocket for Nick. I tucked my bangs under the hatband.

  When Nick pulled up the drive, I was at the outside porch table skimming the paper for news. He moaned when he saw me. “I was hoping you’d change your mind.”

  I rose, walked over, and kissed his cheek. He loosened his tie knot, now two inches from his Adam’s apple.

  “You look tired.”

  “I can’t imagine why. I’ve only been up since six and had a turkey sandwich for lunch and…”

  I kissed his lips. Guilt cinched my chest. “Want to change your mind?”

  “No. I need some exercise. Give me a few minutes to greet the kids and change.”

  “Your clothes are on our bed; we’ll be twins.”

  “A dream come true. You better not run into any clients in your get-up,” he teased.

  I tossed my backpack with our supplies on the back car seat, jumped in and pulled out the rough drawing I’d made of the Denton and Lawrence properties to review my penciled-in marks for Lenora’s house and the ravines on the north and east sides. Approximating the size of her acreage, I’d already drawn in their neighbors on either side.

  Ten minutes later, Nick returned looking like my clone several sizes bigger.

  “Cute.” I whistled.

  He ignored me. “Okay, tell me why we’re doing this.” He started the car and we were off.

  “I want to know how long it takes to climb the hill and return to a car parked below. The sniper could have driven up Lenora’s driveway and walked around the house into the woods, but if so, Lenora would have heard the car. Chances are he or she came up the back through the woods on foot. It’s likely a car parked somewhere back there would have gone unnoticed because the houses are so spread out.”

  When we reached the spot where I told him to stop, Nick examined the map. “What are these dots?”

  “The dotted lines show the easiest area to climb up from the road below. I’m guessing the police were so sure Kirk did it that they didn’t expend manpower checking details. They figured when Kirk pulled up to Lenora’s the night of the shooting, he’d been there earlier and came back with a weapon to shoot her.”

  “And Kirk said he was an hour late for his appointment with Lenora because of a flat tire.”

  “Remember though, I doubt Kirk is capable of that kind of duplicity.”

  “The police wouldn’t waste men investigating a case they see as clear-cut. Okay, let’s go.”

  Nick put the convertible top up.

  “Perfect timing. I want to start up the hill just before it’s completely dark.”

  I pulled two flashlights from my backpack. Before we exited, I checked the back seat and flipped the door locks. I didn’t want to return to a guy crouched inside. It showed how jumpy I was.

  “As we ascend, keep your eye out for anything unusual, broken branches or an item that would indicate someone trekked through,” I said.

  “Big deal. The police roamed through here, so we’ll be on their trail.”

  “Maybe, maybe not.” I checked my watch. “Let’s head up.”

  Halfway to the top, two paths about sixty yards apart converged into one.

  I glanced at Nick. His mouth was set in a grim line. “Look happy, love.”

  “Sorry. Hunting for evidence of a potential killer doesn’t thrill me.”

  “Me either.” I shuddered.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  The ground, strewn with wet leaves, nearly obliterated the narrow, ancient path. I let Nick lead. He parted the mass of brambles. A thorn bush snapped back, and I blocked the sure slap in the face with a quick hand in front of my face. This area hadn’t seen tourist traffic ever. Forging through the brush with no designated path was far from a fun walk.

  Every now and then Nick mumbled, “This was a dumb idea” to let me know how thrilled he was to be here, in case I forgot.

  “Thanks for coming, sweetie. Keep your eyes open. I think the shooter came up this way.”

  “Why do I let you talk me into these things?” Nick’s voice reeked frustration.

  “I will admit, it’s tougher than I expected. I’ll lead for a while.”

  “Why couldn’t we do this earlier in the day?”

  “I told you. I wanted to see it at dusk.”

  “Some view. Even if there were evidence here, nature’s quick to cover man’s intrusions.”

  Snarled, thick vines scarfed broad oak branches. We entered an area where the terrain resembled more jungle than forest with thick foliage.

  I struggled to keep a steady pace, using my flashlight to sweep the area in front of us. Not that it was totally dark, but the light helped illuminate shadowy areas, and I also hoped it would warn any critters to move out of the way.

  We penetrated a chunk of particularly dense woods. I held out my arm and stopped.

  “Nick, did you hear that?”

  “What?”

  “It sounds like a car creeping along the road beneath us.”

  “So?”

  “Cars usually speed by here; they don’t creep.” I looked down the trail. Trees blocked my view of the road. No lights were visible, so if there was a car below, its headlights were off.

  I grabbed Nick’s arm. “I heard it again.”

  “Somebody probably saw our car down there and wondered what kind of crazy people were up here walking around.”

  “Not necessarily. They might think we ran out of gas and went for help.”

  “Whatever. Come on, Girl Scout. Let’s get this over with.”

  I waited a few more minutes but heard nothing.

  “C’mon. Whoever had been down there must have moved on.” I whispered to Nick, as if the animals were interested in overhearing our conversation. “I had told Tucker to leave the house lights on in Lenora’s study when he went back to the hospital. Hopefully he remembered.”

  We continued to thread our way up the trail with care. I stumbled on a fallen pine tree jutting into the trail.

  “Be careful,” Nick snapped.

  “I’m trying.” I worked to keep irritation out of my voice. “When I was a child I remember running into the woods behind our house looking for places to hide. I’d pretend the huge oaks were guards protecting me.” I fell silent, reliving struggles of my childhood and the emotional quirks I’d developed for survival in an alcoholic home.

  Two hundred feet from Lenora’s house we came across an actual once-upon-a-time-used trail, bordered by long overgrown day lilies now struggling for existence. Rocks set about two feet apart on either side of the trail showed someone had once cared for this section of woods
. The trail split into a “Y” with two forks as it approached the rear of Lenora’s house. At the center of the “Y” sat an old, weathered, almost hidden, bench.

  “Look, Nick. Long ago somebody dragged a bench from the house along this rugged narrow path. It’s a perfect spot for seeing the house.”

  “But how would the sniper know the bench was here? Certainly Kirk wouldn’t know these grounds unless he did yard work for Lenora.”

  “I asked. He didn’t. Estelle said Lenora’s had the same gardener for years. A gentle old fellow—very unlikely he’d have a motive to shoot her or be capable of scurrying back down this hill if he did.” I lowered my body gingerly onto the bench, testing out the once-green wooden slats. Could it support my weight? It was probably strong enough to survive ten children.

  Lenora’s house was now visible straight ahead. We had a clear view across the rear deck into the study. “Someone waited here for the light to go on in Lenora’s study.” I pointed to show Nick the line of access. “They could see her exactly where she sat.”

  “The view is good, I agree. The police would have found this spot when they checked the trajectory of the bullet, and they should have combed the area.” Nick scanned the ground with his light.

  “They might not have, not with Kirk all wrapped up with a bow. Move the beam slower. The police would have looked at this spot after they had Kirk in custody and assumed he was the perpetrator.”

  “They still had a job to do.”

  “How thorough would they be?”

  He shrugged.

  “Let’s synchronize our flashlight beams.”

  We scanned the ground inch by inch then raised the level of the light in one foot increments making a circular sweep within a diameter of about eight feet. It was tedious. We had to move slowly. About five feet up, I elbowed Nick in the ribs, calling his attention to the low-hanging branch I illuminated. “I think I see something. Keep your light steady right there.” I walked over to where a speck of white had caught my eye in the sweep of the flashlight.