intimidating length, and glared at the officer. ‘‘You let her go,’’ he said coldly. ‘‘Where’s my brother’s cell phone?’’ he added as an afterthought.
The policeman grimaced. ‘‘In her purse, along with his wallet,’’ he said apologetically. ‘‘I forgot to ask her for them when I left. Tell you what, I’ll swing by her house and get them on my way home…’’
‘‘I’ll go with you,’’ he said curtly. ‘‘I still think she’s guilty. She’s probably in cahoots with the guys who attacked Leo. And she could have paid someone to lie and give her an alibi.’’
‘‘She’s not that sort of woman,’’ the policeman began.
Rey cut him off angrily. ‘‘I don’t want to hear another word about her! Let’s go,’’ he said, grabbing his hat, with a last, worried glance at his sleeping brother. He wondered how the policeman could make such a statement about a woman he’d just met, but he didn’t really care. He wanted her in jail.
He drove his rental car, with the off-duty policeman beside him, to Meredith’s home, following the directions Officer Sanders gave him. It was in a run-down neighborhood, and the house was in poor condition. It only intensified Rey’s suspicions about her. She was obviously poor. What better way to get money than to rob somebody?
He went to the door, accompanied by the policeman, and knocked. Hard.
He had to do it three times, each with more force and impatience, before someone answered the door.
Meredith Johns was disheveled and white-faced. She was clutching a bulky washcloth to her face and wearing a robe over the clothes she’d had on the night before.
‘‘What do you want now?’’ she asked huskily, her voice slurred and jerky.
‘‘Been drinking, have you?’’ Rey Hart asked in a blistering tone.
She flinched.
Officer Sanders knew what was going on. He read the situation immediately. He stepped past Rey, grim and silent, grimacing when he saw Meredith’s face. He went by her and into the living room and began looking around.
‘‘Hard night, I gather? It must be a continual risk, in your profession,’’ Rey said insinuatingly, with a speaking glance at her dress in the opening of the old, worn robe. ‘‘Do your marks make a habit of beating you up?’’ he added with cold contempt.
She didn’t answer him. It was hard to talk and her face hurt.
Officer Sanders had gone into the bedroom. He came back two minutes later with a tall, disheveled but oddly dignified-looking man in handcuffs. The man, who’d been quiet before, was now cursing furiously, accusing Meredith of everything from prostitution to murder in a voice that rose until he was yelling. Rey Hart looked at him with obvious surprise. His eyes went to Meredith Johns, who was stiff as a poker and wincing every time the man yelled at her. The policeman picked up the telephone and called for a squad car.
‘‘Please, don’t,’’ Meredith pleaded, still clutching the ice-filled cloth to her face. ‘‘He’s only just got out…’’
‘‘He isn’t staying. This time, he’s going to be in jail for longer than three days,’’ the officer said firmly. ‘‘You get to the hospital and let one of the residents look at you, Miss Johns. How bad is it? Come on, show me,’’ he demanded, moving closer.
Rey stood by, silent and confused, watching as Meredith winced and moved the bulky cloth away from her face. His breath was audible when he saw the swelling and the growing purple and violet discoloration around her eye, cheek and jaw.
‘‘God Almighty,’’ Rey said harshly. ‘‘What did he hit you with?’’
‘‘His fist,’’ the policeman replied coldly. ‘‘And it isn’t the first time. You have to face facts, Miss Johns,’’ he told her. ‘‘He isn’t the man he used to be. When he drinks, he doesn’t know what he’s doing. He’ll kill you one night when he’s like this, and he won’t even remember doing it!’’
‘‘I won’t press charges,’’ she said miserably. ‘‘How can I? He’s my father! He’s the only family I have left in the world….’’
The policeman looked at her with compassion. ‘‘You don’t have to press charges,’’ he told her. ‘‘I’ll provide them myself. You’d better phone your boss and tell him you won’t be in for a few weeks. He’ll have kittens if you walk into the office looking like that.’’
‘‘I suppose he would.’’ Tears ran down her pale cheeks, all the more eloquent for being silent. She looked at her raging, cursing father and sadness claimed her features. ‘‘He wasn’t like this before, honest he wasn’t,’’ she told them. ‘‘He was a kind, loving, caring man.’’
‘‘Not anymore,’’ Officer Sanders replied grimly. ‘‘Get to the hospital and have your face seen about, Miss Johns. I’ll take your father outside until the unit comes…’’
‘‘No,’’ she groaned. ‘‘Please, spare us that! I can’t bear to have the whole neighborhood watching, hearing him…like that, again!’’
He hesitated. ‘‘Okay. I’ll watch for them out the window. The unit can drop you by the hospital, since it’s going there first….’’
‘‘I’ll take her,’’ Rey said at once, without wondering why he should do such an about-face. He didn’t trust the woman, or even totally believe her story. But she did look so pitiful. He couldn’t bear to leave her in that condition to get to the hospital. Besides, whatever her motives, she had gotten help for Leo. He could have died if he hadn’t been cared for.
‘‘But…’’ she began.
‘‘If,’’ he added coldly, ‘‘you change clothes first. I am not being seen in public with you in that rig!’’
Two
Meredith wished she felt up to a fight. Her long blond hair was down in her face, her grey eyes were sparking fire. But she was sick to her stomach and bruised. She would rather have gone to bed if these stubborn men would just have let her alone. But her face could have broken or shattered bones. She knew that. She grimaced, hoping her insurance would cover a second ‘‘accident’’ in as many months.
When the unit arrived, Meredith turned away from the sight of her raging father being carried off and closed the door. Probably it wasn’t surprising to the neighbors anymore, it happened so often. But she hated having everyone know.
‘‘I’ll get dressed,’’ she said in a subdued tone.
Rey watched her go and then shoved his hands into his pockets and looked around the room. It was shabby. The only bright things in it were books—hundreds of them, in bookcases and boxes and stacked on tables and chairs. Odd, he thought. They were apparently short of cash, judging by the worn old furniture and bare floor. There was only a very small television and a portable stereo. He glanced at the CD case and was surprised to find classical music dominating the discs. What a peculiar family. Why have so many books and so little else? He wondered where the woman’s mother was. Had she left the father, and was that
