Cries in the Night (13 page)

The woman hesitated, standing nose-to-nose with the cop until common sense convinced her that it was in her best interest to return to the couch. Reluctantly, with her eyes shooting poison darts at Sam, she backed up and sat.

“Now, what’s going on here?” he asked.

“Nothing!” she shouted. “We were just about to start dinner.”

“Mr. Jansen, are you hurt?” Sam asked.

The man slowly lifted his face. His eyes were dull and sad. “I just want some peace and quiet. I worked a twelve-hour shift at the factory. I was hoping to watch the Broncos game, then go to bed …”

The woman was back on her feet, this time, facing her husband. “All you do is work and sleep, sleep and work.”

“I’m lucky to have a job.”

“Don’t fuck with me. I know you’re sleeping with that slut.”

The man shook his head wearily. It was obvious this wasn’t the first time he’d had this discussion. “I’m too tired.”

“You’re having sex with someone. It’s certainly not me,” Mrs. Jansen accused.

Sam arched an eyebrow that only Julie could see, clearly indicating that he couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to have sex with that woman.

“I just want to get some sleep,” the man muttered.

The woman lunged toward the man. Sam pushed aside the coffee table and wrapped his arms around her while pulling her back from the man who was cowering in a fetal position on the couch.

“That’s it,” the cop declared. “You just bought yourself a night in lock up.” It was quite a struggle, but he finally got the cuffs on her. “I’m taking her in. Julie, will you be okay here?”

It was understood that the cops would stay if Julie or her staff felt uncomfortable being alone with the victim or if the perpetrator was still at large. Since he had Mrs. Jansen in custody, there was no reason for him to stay unless Julie wanted him to.

“We’ll be fine,” Julie told him. “I’m going to stick around and talk to Mr. Jansen for a bit.”

That was like a shot of adrenalin to the woman who jerked away from Sam and advanced on Julie. “If you screw him, I’ll hunt you down and squash you like a roach under my shoe.”

Julie didn’t doubt the woman’s promise. “Mrs. Jansen, I work for the police department, and …”

“I don’t care if you work for the fucking president of the United States. If you touch my husband, I’ll kill you.”

Sam grabbed the cuffs and pulled Mrs. Jansen out the front door. Julie and Mr. Jansen could hear her cursing and screaming all the way to the patrol car.

Julie waited until she heard the doors shut and the car start and drive off before turning to Mr. Jansen. “May I sit down?” she asked.

He nodded, and Julie sat on the chair next to the couch.

“My name is Julie, and I’m here to help you.”

“I’m Fred,” he said, his voice flat and drained of all emotion.

“How long have you two been married?”

After a hesitant start, he eventually poured out a story Julie had heard many times before, but usually told by an abused wife. It was rare to have the husband on the receiving end.

Apparently, Mrs. Jansen had always been overbearing, but it had been focused on their daughter. After their daughter ran off … no surprise there … two years ago, the woman had turned her aggression on her husband. He, in turn, had started working extra shifts to keep from going home. She had become a frequent shopper on QVC, the evidence of which was crowded on every shelf and flat surface in the room. Every time he mentioned that she should cut back, a fight would follow. And each fight was bigger and worse than the last.

“Does she hit you?” Julie asked gently. It was a question she always asked the women, and although it felt awkward in this situation, she wanted to hear his answer.

His eyes darted around the room as if he was expecting his wife to storm back in. Slowly, he pulled up his t-shirt to reveal a huge purple and black bruise coloring his ribcage.

Julie bit back a gasp. “Fred, when did this happen?”

“Yesterday. I accidentally knocked one of her little dolls off the end table and when I bent over to clean it up, she kicked me.”

“Your ribs might be broken. Did you go to a doctor?”

He shook his head. “I don’t want to cause trouble for her. She didn’t mean to kick me that hard. I shouldn’t have been so clumsy.”

Julie was exasperated. It was the same excuse she’d heard from countless women. Apparently, abuse had no gender. “I really think you need to have it checked out.”

His negative head shake was even more emphatic. “Do you know how it would affect my job if word ever got out? I supervise thirty-two men. They’d never respect me if they knew.”

It wasn’t really a surprise that he didn’t want to be treated. Fewer than one-fourth of all victims ever did. They knew their abuse would have to be reported which would cause on-going repercussions to their home life … and usually more abuse. Since Julie couldn’t guarantee that no one would find out if Fred went to the hospital, she couldn’t insist. But his injuries needed to be documented. “Is this the only time?”

“Usually, she just screams a lot. Sometimes, she throws things, but I get out of the way if I see it coming.”

“Why do you stay?”

He was silent for several minutes, and just when Julie thought he wasn’t going to answer, he murmured, “I don’t want to be alone.”

Julie understood that all too well. People were willing to put up with a lot of misery to keep from being by themselves. Sometimes it was financial. Sometimes it was emotional. Sometimes kids, friends or family were involved. None of those things seem to fit this situation. “Wouldn’t it be better to feel safe?”

“It’s my home,” he stated simply.

“Would she consider couples’ therapy?”

“Not a chance.”

“I can’t give you advice. It’s your life and your marriage,” Julie told him. “But I think you’re in danger. From what I’ve seen, this isn’t a healthy situation. I don’t think she’d do it on purpose, but she could kill you.”

“She doesn’t always hit me,” he said, jumping to her defense.

“Verbal abuse can be even more powerful and painful than physical abuse.” Julie looked into his eyes, searching for some sign of self-preservation. “Fred, you look exhausted. Your wife can be bailed out tomorrow. That’ll give you some time to think about this.” She took a card out of her pocket and set it on the table next to him. “Please let me help you. And I mean any time in the future. Just call me, and I’ll get you to a safe place.”

He nodded, but the slump of his shoulders told her more than words could that he felt defeated and hopeless.

“We need to document this injury. Could I take some photos?” she asked. “I promise I won’t do anything with them unless you want me to.”

Fred was reluctant, but he lifted his shirt again. Julie snapped a few photos with her cell phone.

“I’ll hang onto these just in case,” she told him. “You’ve got a lot going for you. You don’t deserve to be treated like this.”

A tear slid down his cheek and he brushed it away quickly. “Life doesn’t turn out like you expect.”

“No, it certainly doesn’t.” She gave him a warm smile and let herself out the front door.

 

Monday morning came all too early. Julie was greeted by a chorus of congratulations and pats on the back for her part in the kidnap rescue. Even the chief came up to shake her hand.

“My phone’s been ringing off the hook,” he told her. “All the TV stations want an interview or a press conference. How’s your schedule?”

Julie’s heart pounded. The last thing she wanted was to see her face on TV again. “Sir, if it’s all the same to you, I want to be left out of it.”

“But you’re the hero of the moment. It’s good publicity.”

“I don’t think it would be good for my relationship with future victims if they think I’m a publicity hound. I’d rather not be interviewed or have my photo splashed out in the press.”

“I see your point,” the chief agreed. “I’ll do the press conference alone.”

“Thank you, sir.” She couldn’t adequately voice her relief. Before he could change his mind, she scuttled into her office and hid there, plowing through several days of paperwork and putting together the schedule for January. Walt would be back from vacation after Christmas, so she put him on for Sundays because he didn’t mind weekends. Sunday nights could be very busy and it was difficult getting to work on Mondays with almost no sleep. Last night had been no exception. She had barely gotten home when the phone rang with another domestic, followed a couple hours later by an apartment fire. She had practically crawled home at three a.m. for a quick shower and a couple hours of sleep.

Maybe it was time she took a break from actually going to calls. After five years, she had to admit she was a little burned out. In her line of work, repeat customers meant failure. Statistics showed that one in four women and one in thirty-three men would be abused or forced to have sex against their will in their lifetime. That guaranteed an abundance of victims which meant that the need for advocates would never go away, even though only about thirty or forty percent of abuses were reported to authorities. Add to that the disturbing fact that most victims were likely to have suffered through seven to ten incidences before they reached a point where they accepted help and tried to change their situation. That is, if they survived. Every day in the United States three women were killed by their spouse or partner. And for almost all of them, it had not been their first abusive incident.

It was all so overwhelming and hopeless. How long could she go on pounding her head against the wall for these people who usually ended up going back into the arms of their abuser?

Julie leaned back in her chair and stared at the large oil painting of an alpine meadow, lush with wildflowers, alive with a crystal-clear stream curving across it and surrounded by the rugged peaks of the Rocky Mountains. The artist had captured the serenity of the scene, as well as the majesty. Looking at the painting, Julie could almost imagine herself there, sitting on a large boulder by the stream, surrounded by deer and bunnies and other innocent creatures that lived in peace and compatibility. There were no wolves or bears or mountain lions in the meadow. No black eyes, broken bones or deep bruises to a body or a soul. No tears or regrets. Nothing that could hurt anyone or upset the peaceful balance of nature. She felt safe there.

It was probably the only place she felt safe, and sadly, it wasn’t real and she couldn’t physically hide there.

CHAPTER NINE

Rusty was glad to get back to work. The chief had wanted him to miss a shift to recover, but Rusty had been eager to return. Even though there were no outward scars, it had been an unnerving incident that had shaken Rusty more than he would admit, but after a few days at home and some restless nights punctuated by nightmares, the energy of the firehouse was a comfortable refuge.

The guys didn’t cut him any slack, which was oddly comforting. After being fussed over by his parents and the press, it was good to get back to normal. There had been an unusually lingering cold spell. There were still remnants of the last snowfall on the ground, and every other day brought a fresh inch or two. Cold weather brought more than ice on the roads. There was always a rash of fires started by portable heaters and carbon monoxide poisonings from poor ventilation. These cold snaps, frozen pipes and the usual rash of fires fueled by Christmas trees kept the fire trucks on the road almost constantly.

Rusty welcomed the activity. The shift left him exhausted, but invigorated. He took a shower at the firehouse, then stopped for breakfast at Denny’s. Working a twenty-four hour shift from 7:30 a.m. to 7:30 a.m. might seem unconventional to most people, but he liked it. Now he had two days off. From the look of the heavy clouds hanging over the mountains, the powder would be fresh and deep, perfect for skiing. He sent texts out to his brothers to see if they were off and wanted to join him.

His eggs and bacon arrived just as answering texts from Sam and Chris came through, both declining his offer. That sucked. He hated skiing alone. Without even asking, he knew his fellow firefighters had families and other responsibilities that would keep them home on their days off. Mentally, he ran through the list of his female acquaintances, but while they were good for a roll in the hay, there wasn’t one of them he wanted to spend the whole day with, especially during the car ride there and back.