The Watchman (2 page)

“No, just passing through.”

“How did you come to be outside the home? You couldn't hear anyone scream driving by.”

I looked the cop straight in the eye and lied. It didn't sit well, but I justified it—a kid's safety was on the line. “I pulled over to make a call on my cell phone. I don't like to drive through residential areas while I'm on the phone.” That much was true.

Ryan pointed at me. “Wait here.” He joined Duncan in the squad car. Someone buzzed them through the gate, and the cruiser inched up the drive.

Cody's mother waited in the doorway under the portico as the two cops walked up the steps. Voices drifted from the entrance, too low for me to understand.

Before long, an irate Harry stood at the door. He pointed in my direction and shouted something unintelligible, and probably unflattering.

Duncan motioned me inside.

Ryan took a step toward me as I reached the group. “You said you heard screams?”

“That's right.” If the police didn't believe me, I could always confess an honest mistake. At least Harry would know someone
knew his secret.

“You're a liar.” The vein in Harry's temple popped out again. “No one here screamed.” He glared at Ryan. “He's got the wrong house.”

“I'm certain the sounds came from here. Where's your son?” In an instant, I realized my error. The screams could have been those of a daughter. I glanced at the group around me. No weird looks. I eased out the breath I'd been holding.

Harry's gaze turned hard. “What do you want with my son?”

Duncan turned and locked in on Harry. “Get your son, sir.”

Harry disappeared and after a short wait, he appeared with Cody in tow.

“What's your name?” Ryan asked the boy in a soft tone.

“C-Cody.” He moved close to his mother.

“I'm Officer Ryan, and I'm here to make sure you're safe. You OK?”

Cody nodded.

“Has anyone hurt you?”

The boy shook his head, but his hands trembled, and he chewed at his lower lip.

I moved into his line of vision. “Cody, turn around and lift your shirt.”

Cody blanched and backed closer to Rachel. Apparently he didn't recognize me from our earlier encounter. If so, he gave no indication.

Ryan turned a hard glare at me. “You're out of line, Adams. We'll handle this.” He turned to the boy. “It's OK, Cody. No one will harm you. Lift your shirt.”

Harry's confidence appeared to slip. A red flush started at his neck and spread over his face. He seemed to weigh the danger of refusal. “Do you know who I am? I'm Judge Harold London! You can't come into my home and undress my son. I'm calling my attorney.” Harry swung around to face his wife. “Bring me the phone.”

Rachel hesitated.

“Bring me the phone!”

The two cops looked at each other and then back at me. “You sure about this?” Ryan asked.

I couldn't back down now. “Sure as death and judgment.”

Cody huddled against his mother. Right cheek red, her left arm held at an awkward angle, Rachel reached down, turned Cody around, and raised his shirt. Long black bruises stretched from the top of his shoulder to his waist. Two swollen red welts stood out among the older stripes on his back.

Echoes from my past reared their ugly head, but I pushed them away. This wasn't the time.

Suppressed anger mottled Harry's face. Hard dark eyes stared back at me. In that moment, I knew he wouldn't admit abusing Cody. Survival would supersede any sense of wrongdoing.

Duncan gave his partner a knowing nod and drew Rachel aside.

Ryan returned to the patrol car and came back with a camera and handed it to Duncan. He motioned Rachel and Cody to follow him indoors, presumably to photograph Cody's bruises.

Ten minutes later, Crown Height's finest led a cursing, handcuffed, Judge Harold London away, shoved him none too gently into the cruiser's backseat, and slammed the door.

Large snowflakes fell as the squad car moved down the driveway and onto the street. Arms clasped around her body against the cold, Rachel stood there, Cody at her side, and watched the cruiser until it disappeared from sight.

She looked down at her son. “Do you want something for pain?”

He shook his head. “No, Mom. I'm good. It doesn't hurt.” He turned and disappeared through the entryway.

For the first time, I noticed Rachel London was a lovely woman. Tall, slim, with classic high cheekbones and large green eyes. Pale, bruised, and frightened, but strikingly beautiful.

I caught her gaze. “If you'd like, I'll take you and Cody to the hospital or to a shelter—somewhere your husband can't get to you.”

She gave a short, sardonic laugh that wrinkled her mouth. “That would be useless. Harry knows the location of the Hebron shelter. We don't need a doctor; we need to get far away from here as fast as possible.”

”Do you have any family?”

She stared at some point in the distance then turned to me. “No. I grew up in an orphanage in Cheyenne.”

Typical abuse victim. A woman alone with no family. “I'm sorry.”

Silence filled the space between us for a moment. She gave a dismissive shrug. “It was a long time ago. I'm over it.” Her voice dropped to a husky tone and she looked up at me. “How did you know? Cody didn't scream.”

“Are you sure? Perhaps you were too frightened to hear.”

“Maybe.” Uncertainty clouded her features. “Mr...I don't even know your name.”

“It's Adams, Noah Adams. I'm a private investigator.” I searched my jacket and handed her my card.

She studied it with blank eyes and slipped it into her pocket. A shiver ran through her body, her eyes wide. “We have to leave. Right away. Harry will never see the inside of a cell. My husband is a powerful man, Mr. Adams. A charter member of the good-old-boys network downtown. He'll be home within the hour, and he'll be raving mad. I don't even want to think what might happen.” She shivered again. “We've left before. Wherever we go, he always finds us.” Angry tears pooled in her eyes. “Harry said he would take Cody away from me if I tried to leave again. I'd go mad knowing Cody had to face his father alone.” Her jaw clenched. “Harry London will be a dead man before I let him take Cody away from me.” Desperation resonated in her stiff posture and jerky motions.

“Murder isn't the answer. Cody needs you with him, not in prison. There's a place I can take you, a place where your husband can't find you. You'll need to pack extra-warm clothing for the trip. It's colder in the valley.”

Her eyes brightened. “Where?”

“A friend's ranch near Green River. I'll call and make sure it's all right.” I reached for my cell-phone. “I won't let him hurt either of you again. I promise.”

She stood motionless, not making eye contact.

The toll of clock chimes from the entryway spurred her into action. “Cody, we're leaving. Gather up any toys you want to bring. Hurry. Your father will be home soon.”

He appeared at her side. “Where are we going?”

She gave him a gentle nudge toward the open doorway. “We'll talk about it later. Right now, we must hurry.” Her gaze tracked him down the hallway, and then she followed him inside.

While they packed, I called my friend Emma Hand.

Rachel returned with two suitcases. She blinked rapidly, trying to convey her sense of despair. “I appreciate what you're doing. I...I have to trust someone. There's no place else for us to go. But if you let me down and Harry finds us―” She dropped her gaze and drew a long, shuddering breath. After a pause, she raised her head, and looked into my eyes. “It could cost us our lives.”

 

 

 

 

2

 

Somewhere on Highway 80

City lights disappeared in the rearview mirror as we trekked west toward Green River. An exhausted Cody fell asleep in the backseat soon after we left Hebron. The glow of the dash lights reflected Rachel huddled close to the door, eyes glued to the blackness, white-knuckled hands clasped in her lap.

My mind focused on the small family. They had lived with pain for a long time. Thank God, Emma agreed to take them in.

Emma Hand's place sat two hundred miles from Hebron, off Highway 80, the interstate that ran across the lower half of Wyoming. A desolate, sometimes dangerous, drive this time of year. Relentless winds sheered across the highway, and violent snow gusts often shut down the road for hours.

God's hand guided us through the storm. Red taillights from the tanker in front of us cut a path through the darkness, a shield from the heavy storm.

The long day wore on me, and I began to depressurize from the adrenaline rush of the past hours. I glanced at my silent companion. “If you're in pain, there's aspirin in the glove box.”

She tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her left ear. “I'm fine.”

Wind danced flakes on the pavement before us like confetti at a Christmas parade. Through the flurries, I spotted a fast food restaurant sign at the next exit. “I need a caffeine fix. How about you?”

“I'll take a soda. I'm not much on coffee.”

The drive-thru lane stood empty. I placed the order at the intercom, moved forward, and paid the pimple-faced kid at the first window. He handed me my change, and I inched to the second opening.

Rachel's troubled gaze searched my face. When she spoke, the timbre of her voice hardened. “The first time I left Harry, we went to the shelter. I thought we'd be safe there. Of course, as a judge, he knew where to find me. Harry produced a letter from my doctor saying I'd had a nervous breakdown, and he took us back home. I paid dearly for that little indiscretion.”

“Why would your doctor lie? He could lose his medical license.”

“Dr. Saunders is a personal friend of Harry's. I'm sure my husband applied a great deal of pressure. Anyway, after that I decided to try something new. The last time, Cody and I packed my car after Harry left for work. We headed for California. I'd stashed money for six months so I wouldn't leave a trail he could follow. Somehow, he knew we had left. Before we reached the state line, the police stopped me and brought us back. That's when I knew I'd have to kill Harry to get away.”

While we waited for our drinks, I scanned her face in the dim lighting. Where did she find the courage to keep going with such odds against her? She'd kept herself and her son alive through sheer strength and bravery.

“I can only imagine how hopeless you must have felt.”

She gave a short laugh. “Whoever you are, it's difficult to imagine we could be worse off than we've been with Harry.”

Her chest rose as she inhaled a deep breath. “You're my last hope. I don't know if you're a guardian angel or a serial killer—a stranger who showed up at my door. Yet here I am taking my son on a trip to God-only-knows where.”

“I mean you no harm, Rachel. Though a serial killer would probably say that as well.” I managed a half grin. “But killers rarely call the police, give them their license number, and home address before kidnapping victims. You and Cody were in trouble. I wanted to help. It's as uncomplicated as that. Emma Hand is a fine woman. You'll be safe there, and you can leave whenever you want.”

She frowned and gave her head a slow shake. “I have an appalling record of making the wrong choices where men are concerned.” She lifted her chin. “But this time, I'm leaving Harry for good, and I don't intend to become someone else's victim.”

“Point taken. You're right to be wary of strangers.”

Wind-driven snow speckled the windshield under the drive-through portico. “Do you have access to a bank account or other funds?”

Her eyes widened.

“You won't need money at the ranch, but you will need an attorney, and Cody should see a doctor. You‘ll have to prove ongoing abuse.”

Her posture eased. “We have medical insurance, but Harry can trace us if we use it. I also have credit cards, but he'll cancel them before morning. He always cancels the cards when I leave.”

“Half of everything he has belongs to you and Cody. But you'll have to file for a divorce to get it.”

Her jaw set in an oddly vulnerable way. “Like I would ever do that. Stand alone against Harry in Hebron. He would have Dr. Saunders as a witness. It would be my word against two highly respected professionals. Taking him to court would be the mother of lost causes.”

“I'd be there for you, and I know a good attorney. The sooner you take legal action against your husband, the sooner you'll be free of him.”

The young woman at the window passed two cups out. I handed one to Rachel, took a sip from mine, and placed it in the console holder. “Do you guys have passports?”

“Why?” she asked.

“Just in case I need to move you into Canada.”

She unsheathed the straw and punched it into her drink. “They're in a safe at home along with a large amount of cash. Harry brags there is more than a $100,000 dollars inside.” She shook her head. “But I can't get my part of the money, or the passports. I don't have the combination.”

Not surprising Harry denied her access. Money meant freedom, and abusers liked to keep their victims dependent.

“Does he open the safe often?”

She considered the question for a moment before she answered. “He opens it every Monday before he goes to work to pulls cash for the week. And probably other times I'm not aware of.”

“Where's the safe?”

“In the library, behind an ugly modern painting.” She lifted an eyebrow. “Don't tell me you crack safes in your spare time.”

I shook my head and chuckled. “I can barely crack an egg.”

“Too bad. I was getting ready to hand you my house key.”

“No promises, but there's a good chance I can help you get access to the passports and money when you need them.”