Bullet in the Night Read online

  Nick and the kids came back at ten thirty and found me on the chair in the living room. They fussed over me when they saw the crutch at my side. I reveled in their tender hugs and solicitous attention. Tara brought me a pillow. Jenny said not to worry. She could go to bed on her own.

  “Sweetie, what a night.” Nick laid his hands gently on my taped ankle and prayed for a complete and rapid healing.

  “Yes, heal me up quick, please, Lord,” I added when he finished. “And Lenora, too.”

  I’ve witnessed enough of the healing power of prayer to believe God still heals, but His heavenly timetable and method wasn’t always the same as mine. And I knew sometimes healing was heaven-side.

  When Nick and I were alone, I confided my fear during the run. “I was in a vulnerable position when I went down. Why didn’t the runner show up then?”

  “The woman, you said her name was Chris, perhaps her sudden arrival scared off the person following you.”

  “Or, I imagined everything. I have been under immense strain lately.”

  Nick assisted me onto the bed and assured me nothing irregular had happened. If only that were true. I snuggled joyfully in his arms, grateful for pain pills but remained unable to throw off the fact that the night had clearly been a warning.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  My pressing question as I rolled around in bed at seven the next morning was whether I could handle my client schedule at the office. My ankle pain had subsided, but I was nowhere near a hundred percent. I moved my foot, wiggled my toes, and decided the discomfort would be manageable. My brain hosted a light layer of fog from the pain pills but not enough to keep me from being functional.

  I reached for my iPhone on the bedside table and opened to my calendar.

  The sound of Nick washing up in our bathroom made me feel guilty. Poor man had to be tired. He’d managed to keep my ankle iced off and on during the night and brought me painkillers every four hours.

  He emerged, clad in a towel. Moisture steamed into our bedroom with him.

  “Oh no you don’t, Mrs. Trevor. Back to sleep with you. You need lots more rest.”

  “Thanks, hon. I think I’ll be fine.”

  “Thinking won’t cut it.”

  “Nonsense. I intend to go to my office. Kirk’s due in. Don’t forget, I sit most of the day. If it’s too uncomfortable, I’ll cancel my afternoon appointments and come home.” I added that to pacify him.

  Under protest, not the least bit disguised and mumbling all the while, Nick drove me to my office.

  Ellen mouthed more words of concern as she rearranged chairs so I could keep my ankle elevated. I promised to take my meds every four hours to keep the pain and my caregivers at bay.

  Providentially, my second client of the day cancelled. I had no doubt how to use this unexpected free time. “Ellen, bring me my file for T. Hartford.”

  She hurried back and peered over my shoulder as I opened to the list of eleven possible numbers. “Can I help?” Ellen glowed. “I could come up with a good story to get information. We need to be sneaky to find out anything.”

  This was clearly feeding Ellen’s inclination for detective work.

  “No, but thanks, amateur sleuth. I can handle the calls, and I refuse to lie. You know I despise deceit.”

  “If you don’t fudge a little, how can you find anything out?”

  I closed the folder and held her eyes with mine. “I’ll start like this: ‘Hello, Mr. Hartford. This is Jennifer Trevor. I’m contacting University of Wisconsin Whitewater Counseling Program alumnae. Is it correct you attended the University?”

  “And if he says yes?”

  I smiled. “Haven’t got that far but you can be sure I’ll pray about what to say next. Now, it would be lovely to chat, but I’m sure you have work waiting at your desk.”

  Ellen shuffled out, shoulders drooping, as I picked up the phone.

  My first calls to T. Hartfords on the list had disappointing responses. “Sorry wrong number.” and “No one here by that name.” Two phones were no longer in service.

  On the sixth call, to Woodstock, IL, a leathery-voiced, sweet older man said in response to my questions, “Sure, me and my son, T. Hartford. Named after me. We both attended University of Wisconsin. Fine school it used to be; not sure about it anymore.” He referred me to his son, T. Hartford Jr., in Virginia. He would have continued talking, but I hurried him off the line.

  When I called the son’s number in Norfolk, a male voice answered. “Thomas Hartford here.”

  A chill crept up my spine. I squeezed the phone. “Hello. I’m researching what graduate students from the University of Wisconsin are doing after leaving the University counseling program.”

  “I didn’t graduate.” His tone was icy and abrupt.

  Bingo. My heart skipped. Before he could hang up I hurriedly responded, “No problem. That’s not a criteria.”

  “Strange. Nobody cared about me when I was there. Why now?”

  I prayed for the Holy Spirit’s guidance and heard myself opting for transparency. “My name is Dr. Jennifer Trevor.” I gave him Lenora’s name and described our relationship. “You were her student?”

  Hartford sucked in air before answering, frosty and sarcastic. “In another world.”

  “I understand you had a professional conflict with Lenora. I’d appreciate hearing the details from your perspective.” I tried to sound kind but professional, praying he’d talk.

  “Whatever for? What is this about?”

  “I’m investigating Lenora—”

  “I’m not discussing Lenora with you or anyone. If you’re digging through University records for a class action lawsuit against the woman, I’m not interested.”

  Great. How to get past his defenses? “It’s nothing of the sort.”

  Giving him the complete status on Lenora, straight and simple, remained my only chance. “Mr. Hartford, Lenora’s been shot. She’s in critical condition even as we speak.”

  Dead silence.

  “Are you still there?”

  “That’s an unfortunate circumstance, but it has nothing to do with me.”

  “I understand you and another student had grievances against Lenora.”

  “Many years ago. I prefer to forget the incident and suggest you do the same.” Thomas Hartford spoke with authority. A shame I couldn’t respect his wishes.

  “You saw her recently… I’d like to talk with you in person about that visit. We’re trying to reconstruct the time period before she was shot.”

  “Why should I consent to such a thing?”

  “It’s in your best interest. I don’t believe the police know about your association. I expect you’d prefer me in your living room rather than them. Your cooperation will be a sign you have nothing to hide.”

  Silence again. Was he evaluating my words like a poker player?

  “What did you have in mind?”

  “Thirty to forty-five minutes, max. I’ll be in Virginia the end of the week and would like to come by your home. Is seven thirty Thursday night convenient?”

  “I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this, but I will see you. Make it eight. We’re having a house party. I can slip away, briefly.” He emphasized the last word before hanging up.

  I jotted the time on my calendar. This trip to Virginia with Nick could fit into my schedule. I would need for Ellen to rearrange a few appointments.

  The rest of the day flew by. By five I was exhausted, nowhere near done with my paperwork and still had another appointment.

  At five thirty my cell phone vibrated. “Where are you? I thought you were leaving early.” Nick’s voice sounded testy.

  “Didn’t you get my voice mail? Kirk’s coming in for a counseling session. I’ll be home at seven.” To soften his irritation I added, “Honey, good news. Want to guess? It’s your turn.”

  “No way, not with the world’s most unpredictable woman.”

  I chuckled. “I’m accepting your invitation to travel to Virgini
a Beach with you for the American Justice Center Legal Conference.”

  “That’s great.” Nick was obviously pleased. My man loved having me travel with him whenever I could. “What made you change your mind?” Suddenly he sounded wary. “Last week you said you had too much going on.”

  “Well, I do have an additional reason. While you’re at the conference, I’ve arranged a meeting with Lenora’s former student, Thomas Hartford.”

  “Isn’t that the man whose name was in her appointment book?”

  “Yes. I’ll drive to Norfolk to question him. It’s only thirty minutes from Virginia Beach.”

  “Why do you need to meet with him? Talk to him on the phone.”

  “It’s a long shot but worth checking. I want to watch his reaction in person to assess him as a suspect. He had a beef against Lenora—festering wounds and resentment from an old grudge. He could have hired the man who shot Lenora or done it himself.”

  “If that’s true, you could be in danger.”

  “You don’t understand psychology. His vendetta against her was for a particular situation. I doubt he’s a serial shooter. Don’t worry. Besides, lots of other people will be around. He’ll have a party going on while I’m there.”

  Nick scoffed. “Oh, that’s very reassuring. You’re a married woman and the mother of three children who need you. Will you please remember that?”

  I sighed. When Nick got like this—hungry, tired and annoyed that I wasn’t home for dinner—there was no talking to him. I understood, but still didn’t like his response.

  “I’m sure this visit is just routine to rule Lenora’s former student out.”

  For his sake and mine, I hoped Hartford was innocent.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Kirk was ten minutes late for his appointment. He’d been late for his meeting with Lenora, too, the day she was shot. A prickle raced down my spine. I’d just counseled a woman who’d been raped in her office. Not conducive to settling my nerves.

  I filled a cup with water to rescue the ivy plant on my bookshelf and poured liquid life over its suckling roots.

  The distressed client who’d just left still suffered panic attacks two years after the tragedy. Once a violation occurred, it was difficult but not impossible for a woman to ever feel safe again. I used every which way I could to reassure her she could move on with her life and ended with a prayer that seemed to soothe her. Lord, help her; she needs inner healing.

  I settled into my chair, resting my elbows on the desk, to write up her progress notes. My sympathy surged out to women who have experienced physical violation. Some never wanted to leave their house afterwards. Although staying home alone didn’t make them feel secure either. It was as if there were nowhere safe.

  My recent feeling of panic during my run was still fresh. The lump at my temple had flattened, leaving a black and blue effect as if I’d been stamped with an inkpad. As long as I wore flat shoes, I could walk without limping, though my ankle remained slightly swollen and tender.

  I now identified fully with the panic feelings clients described. I tried to verbalize what came over me—smothering fear that what happened to Lenora could happen to me. I shook my head. Mustn’t dwell on that.

  I’d finished writing and was pushing the file aside as the door opened and Kirk strode in behind Ellen. He eyed my office as if sizing it up for a prison break, circling the room twice before choosing the chair closest to the door.

  In response to my hello, Kirk’s face worked itself into an ugly glare. I noted his day’s growth of beard. Maybe he didn’t feel like he belonged to the daily-shave class yet. At least he’d dressed neatly in a short-sleeve broadcloth shirt and belted black jeans.

  Ellen scurried back to her outer office. I fought the urge to follow her.

  Instead I said, “You seem uneasy, Kirk. Are you okay being here? I mean, it’s not scary is it? You’ve had counseling before and have an idea what to expect at least.”

  He shot me a cold stare. His voice when he finally spoke resembled a growl. “Truth is, I don’t buy this counseling crap. How can talking fix hurts from the past? Words aren’t worth a...” He caught himself. “...a darn.”

  I forced a smile. Then two of us are not completely eager at this moment, Kirk. I kept my reaction, hardly a professional response, to myself. “I hope you’ll give our counseling a chance and begin to trust me as you did Lenora.” I felt like a pediatrician talking a child past normal immunization age into getting shots.

  “Whadda you expect you can do?” He spoke with the enthusiasm of a rapper at a violin concert.

  I picked up my notepad. “Let’s get underway and see.” I swiveled my chair closer to him. “I know the basic data on your adult life from the foundation’s file, Kirk. A brief walk through your earlier years might be helpful. Let’s start with your first clear memory?”

  Kirk’s face darkened. He sat silent a few seconds. “That’s easy. Dad beating Mom is my strongest. Sorta became his weekend sporting event.” His tone was almost matter-of-fact, but his pain was palpable.

  “How terrible for her and you, Kirk. Did she ever report him?”

  “No. A couple of times neighbors reported a ruckus. Whenever the police came, Mom would deny what happened, never pressed charges. Dad musta known she wouldn’t ’cause he kept at it.”

  I shook my head. “How sad.” Stories like this were way too common.

  “When I was fourteen I had enough size on me and got the nerve to fight him. I’ll never forget his look the night I pulled him off Mom. He threw me across the room, but I came right back at him and let him have it good. He woulda known the day was coming, if he wasn’t so dumb.”

  “Was he a drinker?”

  “Binged mostly on weekends. Drunk, he was no match for my size and strength.”

  “What happened after you beat him up?”

  “Scared the… I mean, scared him good. I didn’t just beat him; I threatened to kill him if he touched her again. He left, and we never saw him again. As far as I was concerned, he died that night because I wished him dead and wanted him to be.” Kirk narrowed his gaze, maybe checking to see if I was shocked.

  “Then what?”

  “My mom, my sister, and me stayed together a couple of years. Funny thing, after a while I became as much of a tyrant as my dad, except for I never hit either of them.” He lowered his head. “When I was fifteen, Mom had enough of me. My sister was older than me, and she’d already taken off. I don’t remember much else about family stuff.”

  “Have you been able to forgive your dad for the way he hurt you, most likely not even knowing the harm he was doing to his children?”

  “Forgive?” He rubbed the hair on his forearm. “You had to bring that up. When Lenora visited me in prison she talked about forgiving all the time. Said I had to or I’d be drinking poison every day. Wouldn’t ever be free inside or be able to help others.”

  “And?”

  “Dunno. I had a lot of thinking time in prison. Even went to a retreat inside. A priest heard my confession and helped me see that my old man was doing the best he could. I let it go at that.” Kirk looked up sharply.

  “And your mom?”

  Hardness formed in his facial expression. Had it reached his soul? “Moms are supposed to be kind and gentle and loyal. Mine wasn’t.”

  “She gave you life, didn’t abandon you, kept you fed and cared for until you could provide for yourself. That’s huge.”

  “Isn’t that what moms are supposed to do?” He fiddled with the stretch band on his watch, an old scratched Timex, snapping it in and out.

  “Not all do.” I shook my head slowly and sighed. “But we try to forgive them.”

  “Mine turned me out as soon as she could. I read in the Bible respect is what kids owe parents. I tried to forgive, but I’ll never forget. You make it sound like something simple. It’s not.” Kirk twisted in his chair as if trying to wiggle out of his emotions.

  “I don’t mean to make it appear like
it is. Relationships are tough, but they do get easier when you strip layers of blame away. It’s incredibly hard, but if you can focus on the good God puts in people and choose to forget the bad they did, you’ll be a lot healthier and happier.”

  “I said I forgave her. Lenora knew ’cause I told her.”

  “Good. Did you have any other family close by? Aunts, uncles, grandparents?”

  “None I knew. Hey, my immediate people were problem enough.”

  “How did you support yourself when your mom put you out on the street?”

  Kirk pushed up his shirtsleeves revealing a curvaceous, tattooed purple lady decorating his muscular forearm. He flexed his muscle, and she moved. “I fended for myself, whatever it took. I never went hungry. I worked the streets with a buddy. I learned fast, had to or I wouldn’t survive. It’s not my fault I got screwed up. What else was I supposed to do?”

  This wasn’t the time to bring up homeless shelters or church outreaches. “Kirk, you certainly had a lousy childhood. I don’t want to minimize that. However, I don’t buy the victim theory. You’re responsible for choices you made messing up your adult life. A bad start isn’t an excuse. People shake childhood abuse and dysfunction to become solid adults. We all stand before God to give account of one life—ours. Lenora must have told you this.”

  “Yeah, I heard it.” Kirk looked me square in the eye for the first time. “Plenty.”

  “What about other female relationships in your life?”

  “I had a few girlfriends I crashed with off and on. Even got myself married in Chicago after a spell, but it didn’t last.”

  “Why?”

  “Let’s just say, my career got in the way. Angie stood by me for a year, then left. Who’d want to stay with a loser like me?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Said she’d take me back in a minute if I’d straighten up but wasn’t gonna put up with what I made her live through no more.” Kirk brushed the back of his hand across his eyes.

  “Sounds like a good woman.”

  His tone softened. “She was. Not ’till Lenora came along did I get it. Lenora helped me; I gotta admit. Talked to me about stuff like self-dignity, achievement, and God making me for a purpose. By then it was too late for Angie.” He looked down.