struggled once
again to deal with the guilt. She didn’t want to speak with Irene. Not tonight,
not after she’d just earned her badge back following a two-week suspension for
dereliction of duty. That was the term the brass used when they’d learned she’d
fallen in love with one of the witnesses who testified on Irene Brenner’s
behalf, arguing that she suffered from Battered Women’s Syndrome and shouldn’t
be held accountable for wrecking her vehicle and killing nine-year-old David. And
Andrew Hoffman—the man she loved—had been legally compelled to test in a federal
drug case just days after Irene was acquitted.
Now he was
gone, tucked away in whatever safety net the federal government had spent
millions of dollars building for him. But her duty to protect trumped the
desire to wallow in self-pity. Now here she was on this cold, dreary night,
kind of wishing she could exchange her detective shield for laminated teaching
credentials.
Jessica
pulled into the vacant parking lot and waited for Irene to arrive. Her unmarked
vehicle smelled of fresh women’s perfume. Not too much, but not too little.
Sometimes she still missed the nights where she was allowed to be gorgeous. The
nights where she could dress up in her favorite heels and skirt and go out with
a few of the girls. Those days had ended long ago.
It was sad to
think she had so few friends, and even less family. Her mother and father had
handed her over to her grandparents. And both of her grandparents had passed away
as well, leaving her with painful, but fond memories of how the couple had
raised her.
The substitute
parenting played a role in why she was sitting in a parked police cruiser,
huddled down in a dark car, when she was supposed to be attending a mandatory
strategy meeting at the precinct.
Jessica
waited. A homeless man walked slowly down the sidewalk. A laughing family of
four exited a pizzeria adjacent to the empty lot. Five minutes passed. Ten.
Fifteen. She began to grow impatient.
The police
radio garbled out a report of a domestic disturbance, producing a nauseating
wave of agonizing memories from her earlier days working for Baltimore PD’s
recently formed Domestic Abuse Prevention Task Force. After suffering from
flashbacks that haunted her days and nightmares that kept her waking up
repeatedly, she’d chosen to leave the task force and apply for a transfer to
Homicide.
And of course
there were the memories of college days, where everything had gone perfectly
until she’d met the wrong guy. It only took a few days before the beauty and
optimism that had always radiated from her transformed into a constant feeling
of hopelessness and rage.
Knuckles
rapped softly on the car window. Instinctively, Jessica reached for her sidearm
but realized it was Irene. She appeared a little more frantic than usual. Jessica
rolled down the window and stared at the pint-sized redhead who was in fear for
her life.
Reassurances
couldn’t help this woman as she was forever confident that her ex-husband would
try to kill her for accidentally taking their son’s life. Even after half the
squad had assured her he was no longer a threat and had reluctantly moved on
with his life.
“Hey girl,
how you doin’?” the detective asked the distraught young woman. “You still
making it to those meetings?”
Irene’s head
bobbed up and down, her dull, untreated red bangs showing signs that she hadn’t
shampooed in at least a week.
“You sure?” Jessica
pressed. “You know if you miss those addictions meetings you’ll end up in
jail.”
“I know, I
know,” Irene whispered, her eyes frantically darting, searching the darkness
for the stalker she assumed was lurking in the shadows. “Detective Galloway, I
need your help.”
“Honey, I
can’t help you anymore. My commanding officer told me to stay away from— “
“I know, I
know,” Irene repeated. “But I know he wants me dead. I ruined his life.
I knew him for years, remember? He
again to deal with the guilt. She didn’t want to speak with Irene. Not tonight,
not after she’d just earned her badge back following a two-week suspension for
dereliction of duty. That was the term the brass used when they’d learned she’d
fallen in love with one of the witnesses who testified on Irene Brenner’s
behalf, arguing that she suffered from Battered Women’s Syndrome and shouldn’t
be held accountable for wrecking her vehicle and killing nine-year-old David. And
Andrew Hoffman—the man she loved—had been legally compelled to test in a federal
drug case just days after Irene was acquitted.
Now he was
gone, tucked away in whatever safety net the federal government had spent
millions of dollars building for him. But her duty to protect trumped the
desire to wallow in self-pity. Now here she was on this cold, dreary night,
kind of wishing she could exchange her detective shield for laminated teaching
credentials.
Jessica
pulled into the vacant parking lot and waited for Irene to arrive. Her unmarked
vehicle smelled of fresh women’s perfume. Not too much, but not too little.
Sometimes she still missed the nights where she was allowed to be gorgeous. The
nights where she could dress up in her favorite heels and skirt and go out with
a few of the girls. Those days had ended long ago.
It was sad to
think she had so few friends, and even less family. Her mother and father had
handed her over to her grandparents. And both of her grandparents had passed away
as well, leaving her with painful, but fond memories of how the couple had
raised her.
The substitute
parenting played a role in why she was sitting in a parked police cruiser,
huddled down in a dark car, when she was supposed to be attending a mandatory
strategy meeting at the precinct.
Jessica
waited. A homeless man walked slowly down the sidewalk. A laughing family of
four exited a pizzeria adjacent to the empty lot. Five minutes passed. Ten.
Fifteen. She began to grow impatient.
The police
radio garbled out a report of a domestic disturbance, producing a nauseating
wave of agonizing memories from her earlier days working for Baltimore PD’s
recently formed Domestic Abuse Prevention Task Force. After suffering from
flashbacks that haunted her days and nightmares that kept her waking up
repeatedly, she’d chosen to leave the task force and apply for a transfer to
Homicide.
And of course
there were the memories of college days, where everything had gone perfectly
until she’d met the wrong guy. It only took a few days before the beauty and
optimism that had always radiated from her transformed into a constant feeling
of hopelessness and rage.
Knuckles
rapped softly on the car window. Instinctively, Jessica reached for her sidearm
but realized it was Irene. She appeared a little more frantic than usual. Jessica
rolled down the window and stared at the pint-sized redhead who was in fear for
her life.
Reassurances
couldn’t help this woman as she was forever confident that her ex-husband would
try to kill her for accidentally taking their son’s life. Even after half the
squad had assured her he was no longer a threat and had reluctantly moved on
with his life.
“Hey girl,
how you doin’?” the detective asked the distraught young woman. “You still
making it to those meetings?”
Irene’s head
bobbed up and down, her dull, untreated red bangs showing signs that she hadn’t
shampooed in at least a week.
“You sure?” Jessica
pressed. “You know if you miss those addictions meetings you’ll end up in
jail.”
“I know, I
know,” Irene whispered, her eyes frantically darting, searching the darkness
for the stalker she assumed was lurking in the shadows. “Detective Galloway, I
need your help.”
“Honey, I
can’t help you anymore. My commanding officer told me to stay away from— “
“I know, I
know,” Irene repeated. “But I know he wants me dead. I ruined his life.
I knew him for years, remember? He
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