The Devil's Wire (7 page)

14

Officer Petra Rosen could have been no more than thirty but wore the hard, world-weary look of someone who'd seen things she would rather forget. In the seat opposite, Jennifer watches the officer click open a file and take out a checklist and place it in front of her.

"Have you been the victim of a domestic assault?"

"No."

"Has your husband ever struck you?"

"No."

"Has your husband ever called you names and made you feel worthless?"

"Not really."

"Has your husband ever used sexual violence to intimidate you?"

"No."

"Does your husband own a firearm?"

"No."

"Okay."

Officer Rosen places the final tick in the box and returns the form to the file and pulls the legal pad toward her.

"Go ahead," she says, pen poised. "Tell me what happened."

Jennifer's yanks a stray hair from her mouth and realizes she's trembling.

"I don't know where to begin," she says.

Officer Rosen puts down the pen and reaches for a typed statement from the file.

"Let's start with your husband's version then."

Jennifer sits back in her chair. "He's been here?"

"I spoke to him this morning."

"I don't believe this," says Jennifer.

"He said allegations had been made. Molestation of a minor, your daughter." Officer Rosen lifts her eyes from the document. "He says he didn't do it."

"Well, I'm not making it up," says Jennifer.

"Divorce can be ugly."

"Don't let him fool you."

"I'm not stupid, Mrs. Blake. I didn't say I believed him." She pauses. "What does your daughter say happened?"

"McKenzie won't talk about it, but I know he did it, the neighbor saw him."

"And will this neighbor give a statement, testify if it ever gets that far?"

Jennifer hesitates, places her hands palm down on the table.

"I don't know."

"I need evidence, Mrs. Blake – dates, times, places, specifics of the actual acts. DNA from inside the child's body, on her underwear."

"I don't have any of those things."

"Then it's only your word against his."

"You can't just let him get away with it."

"Want me to call child services to come and talk with your daughter? They might take her."

"To foster care?"

Officer Rosen nods. "Or a group home, until the matter gets resolved and who knows how long that will be."

"No."

Officer Rosen looks down at the statement.

"There's something else," she says.

"What?"

"He says there was an incident when your daughter was less than a year old."

Jennifer can't believe he would stoop so low.

"You left the baby alone in the bath – " continues Officer Rosen.

"It was a moment's inattention. I was tired, not thinking straight, that's all."

"And as a result treated in a psychiatric unit for post-partum depression."

"So now I'm a crazy woman making this whole thing up?"

"That's what he'll argue."

Officer Rosen shuts the file and gets to her feet.

"Get some evidence, Mrs. Blake, real evidence, then we can take the matter further."

*

Jennifer manages to make it to her car without falling apart. She starts the engine and tells herself to relax before she snaps the steering wheel right out of its column and McKenzie loses the one good parent she has left. Her mind spins. She thought the police would help, so now what? This was uncharted territory, with no point of reference, no just turn east and you'll hit land, no You Tube advice like there was for fixing a burred screw.

The Leeston Avenue sign appears and Jennifer turns left and tries to put a lid on her rage because she doesn't want McKenzie to pick up on the negative energy – she was already dealing with enough.

Jennifer had suggested that maybe it was better to take some time off school, let things settle for a bit, but McKenzie had been unmoved. There was nothing more to talk about, she'd insisted, she was going to school whether Jennifer liked it or not.

So Jennifer had given in, but now, as she pulls up outside the entrance and sees McKenzie looking so upset, she knew that had been a mistake. McKenzie gets in the car and nods toward the enormous Sugar Maple near the school gymnasium.

"It's Dad," she says.

Jennifer follows her gaze. Hank is parked in his pick-up watching them. Her pulse begins to race.

"Ignore him," she says, pulling away from the curb.

"He's mad at me, isn't he?"

"McKenzie, you don't need to worry about his feelings."

Jennifer looks in the rearview, expecting him to follow, but he starts his car and goes the other way.

"Why did he do that?" says McKenzie.

"I don't know."

"This is your fault," says McKenzie.

Jennifer's phone rings. It's him. She answers on the second ring.

"You bastard, you won't get away with this."

"This is our family and this is our business and we take care of it."

Then he hangs up before she can reply.

15

This was like the time with Alice Jackson. Hank could be out there watching just like that guy in the park, the guy who sprang from the bushes and hissed
"little Yankee sluts"
and chased Alice and Jennifer with a knife when they were thirteen and drinking cider bought with Alice's fake id and taking a short cut to the 7-11. He had looked like a netherworld goblin and he was fast and wily and Jennifer and Alice tore up the pathway to get away from him but they were deep in the park and it was a long way to the exit and it took forever and Jennifer could hear him pounding behind them, growling like a wild goat, and Alice grabbed at Jennifer's sleeve, trying to keep up, gasping wait,
don't, please, wait
, but Jennifer shook her off and kept running, half aware Alice was falling behind, but Jennifer couldn't stop, propelled by naked fear, she just ran and ran, until she finally made it out the gates and onto the other side.

Jennifer looks out her bedroom window and wonders what Alice Jackson is doing now.

Alice Jackson with her black Doc Martins and trench coat purchased from an army surplus store with rips in the cuffs where she could put her thumbs through. Alice Jackson who didn't like to wash because her stepfather had taken off the door to the bathroom. Alice Jackson who had looked at Jennifer and said "You were going to leave me behind" to which Jennifer had lied and said "No, I wasn't" but they both knew it was true – how she would have thrown Alice to the wolves just to save herself.

As Jennifer surveys the streets and roads below, and over there, by the green and more green of the woods, she tells herself that was a lifetime ago. She's a different person now, a mother, with the fierce instinct to protect her own young and she would sacrifice her own life for McKenzie's if it ever came down to it.

Jennifer hears the scrape of furniture against the floor next door and goes to check. McKenzie is on her hands and knees, surrounded by every possible cleaning product they have in the house, wiping down the skirting boards.

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing," says McKenzie, dipping the cloth into a bucket of steaming water.

The furniture had been rearranged too. The bed was now on the other side of the room against the wall, the book cases were lined up next to the wardrobe, the posters gone.

"What are those?" says Jennifer, pointing to two bulging trash bags.

"Stuff I don't need anymore."

Jennifer reaches inside one of the bags and withdrew a summer dress.

"But you love this."

McKenzie doesn't say anything and gets to her feet and begins cleaning the walls.

"You don't need to do that," says Jennifer.

"I want to."

Jennifer pauses and sits down on the bed.

"Listen, hon, I was thinking about arranging counseling."

"Why?"

McKenzie drags her bucket behind her and shifts to the next section.

"It's not good to bottle things up," says Jennifer.

"I'm not."

"I think it will help."

McKenzie plunges the cloth into the hot water then squeezes it out with her two red hands.

"You go, then," she says.

*

A general feeling of unease stalks Jennifer all the way to work and she finds herself watching the rearview more than the road and nearly collides with some senior in a polar fleece crossing the street with her Bichon Frise. There are black pickups everywhere, waiting round corners, idling at the lights, parked up in alleyways, pulling in behind her. But none are him. This makes Jennifer more nervous than if he'd actually been following her because by now he should have received the divorce papers and she would have expected something. A phone call. A visit. But the silence is deafening.

She reaches the clinic car park and there's no vehicles there except Rosemary's red Starlet so Jennifer locks her car and goes inside, forbidding herself to check over her shoulder. Mrs. Mendoza is already in the waiting room reading
Woman's Own
with a giant magnifying glass from a home shopping catalogue.

"I'll be with you in a minute, Mrs. M."

"No need to rush. I'm happy with my book."

Rosemary gives Jennifer an eyebrow raise.

"You okay, you look a bit frazzled," she whispers, handing over Jennifer's messages.

"I'm fine."

"You have toothpaste on your cheek."

"God," says Jennifer, rubbing her skin with her index finger.

"Other side."

Jennifer tries the left cheek. "Okay?"

"Roger that."

"It's been one of those mornings."

Jennifer hurries to her office, checks her email, inspects her face in the mirror for more toothpaste then returns to the reception.

"Mrs. M? I'm ready for you now."

Mrs. Mendoza looks up.

"I was just getting to the good part. The girl fell from an airplane for two miles into the Amazon rainforest still strapped to her seat."

"Tell you what – keep it."

"I couldn't."

"Bring it back the next time you come in."

"Well, thank you," she says, slipping the magazine into her hessian bag.

They retreat into Jennifer's office and Mrs. Mendoza sits down in the exam chair, her sensible navy loafers and mismatched socks peeking out from beneath her trouser cuffs.

Mrs. Mendoza stares at her. "You have that look about you."

"That look?"

"You know – the 'man trouble' look."

"Oh." Jennifer picks up the ophthalmoscope and directs the light into Mrs. Mendoza's right eye and moves slowly from left to right. "Maybe I'm menopausal."

"Don't kid a kidder, I've been there myself."

"How have the drops been working?"

"He was a big rig driver and having sex with underage girls at truck stops. I found photos on his phone."

"Any loss of peripheral vision?"

"Even with the photos he denied it."

"What about the dog?"

Mrs. Mendoza stops and looks at her. "What dog?"

"The helper dog."

Mrs. Mendoza laughs. "I thought you were talking about my ex-husband."

"Mrs. M, that's disgusting."

"I wouldn't put it past him."

Jennifer lowers the light and sits back.

"That must have been hard on you," says Jennifer.

"It was. At first. But after the divorce I realized it was the best thing that could've happened to me. Now I can do whatever I please. I only have to cook for myself and do my own laundry. It was like being set free from an awful burden I didn't know I was carrying."

"Your eyes look good. You must be using the drops diligently."

"You were worried because of the socks. I saw you looking. But I've been using the medicine every day like you said."

"Good."

Jennifer unlocks the cabinet and gives Mrs. Mendoza two more bottles.

"I'd like to see you in another six months, and even though you're doing well now, I think it's still a good idea if you did a course at the sight clinic to prepare."

"So I don't set fire to my arm when I'm cooking?"

"Something like that."

Mrs. Mendoza gets up and puts on her coat, retrieving a knitted peach-colored hat from the pocket. She pulls it down so it covers her ears.

"The photograph's gone," she says.

"Sorry?"

Mrs. Mendoza nods at Jennifer's desk. "The one with your daughter and husband."

She tucks curls of brown hair into the hat, first the right side then the left.

"Just goes to show, you never know," she says.

"Never know what?"

"When there's a snake in the grass."

*

That night Jennifer doesn't dream of snakes but of cats, one cat, its grey feather-soft pelt, the black tip of its tail, her arms encircling its warm cat body until it yields against her like an infant, heart pacing through its chest like footsteps. And she could be anywhere. But then he's here.

"I don't know what's wrong with me, Jen."

She opens her eyes. Hank is standing at the foot of her bed. Fear floods her bones and she scrambles backward to the other side of the mattress.

"I need help," he says, looking down at his gloved hands, cheeks glistening with tears.

Somehow she finds her voice. "Leave now."

"A divorce?" he says, pained.

"Hank, I don't want you here. Get out."

He begins to sob. "You're all I have."

She reaches for her cell phone but it's not there.

"God, I'm so disgusting." He hits his head with a closed fist. "I make myself sick."

Jennifer searches for an escape route, but any way she plays it, he can get her.

"This is the end for me," says Hank.

Jennifer's fear turns to anger. "Don't be a child."

"Without you and McKenzie, what's the point anymore?"

"Don't you dare leave McKenzie with that guilt."

"I'm begging you, Jen. I can't go on without you."

"If you love us so much, you'll leave us alone," she says.

He seems to calm himself and wipes each eye with his forearm. He takes two steps forward, bends down and drags his knuckles against her cheek.

"We'll see," he says.