Death by Deceit (Book #5 in the Caribbean Murder Series) (9 page)

The Shelter for Abused Women was about a mile
down a long road that wound through the edge of town. It had no address and was
hard to find, so as to keep the residents safe. Their abusers couldn’t find
them here, and neither could anyone else. Cindy took a cab that wound along a
highway that stretched alone the water’s edge. They got off the highway and
then turned through narrow streets that were bordered by huge, overgrown trees.
 

When the taxi finally found the place, Cindy
stepped out of the cab and looked around. The Shelter was housed in a modern,
open building, with a low, slanting roof, big courtyard and lovely garden in
the back. To her surprise the atmosphere was completely normal, as if there
weren’t women and children, living together, hiding from danger inside.

Cindy walked up the front pathway trying to
sense what it would be like to work here and why Shelly had chosen to do this
kind of work. As soon as she entered, Cindy was greeted by a lovely young
woman, who came over to her, shook her hand and smiled. The young woman seemed
to have been on the lookout for Cindy, expecting her.

“I’m Barbara Harris, coordinator,” the young
woman said. “You must be Cindy Blaine. We’re honored to have you here.”

“Thank you,” said Cindy, touched by her
genuineness.

“We all loved Shelly,” Barbara continued quickly.
“Thank you so much for coming to meet with us. We’re so disturbed that nobody
else spent much time investigating here.”

“I heard that Shelly’s supervisor identified
the body and spoke to the police,” said Cindy, jarred.

“That’s right,” said Barbara, “that was
routine. But we hoped for more attention than that.  After all, Shelly worked
here for over three years. Anyway, thank you.”

Cindy took a deep breath. “It’s my pleasure,”
she said, looking around.

The place was spacious, clean, filled with art work
on the walls. There were paintings in bold colors of hearts, of blood, anger, harm
- and also of healing, sunshine and flowers.  The art work was clearly done by
the residents -some by children, perhaps.

“We’re very proud of our Shelter,” Barbara spoke
rapidly, “especially the art work,” she motioned towards the walls. “These are
done both by the women and children who live here.”

“Wonderful,” said Cindy. Her heart clenched as
she realized that this place was home not only to women but also to children
who were seeking protection, had no other place to go.

“Thank goodness that you can provide a place
like this,” Cindy murmured.

 “We’ll take you on the tour tomorrow,” said
Barbara. “Right now it’s important to go to the orientation about battering and
domestic violence. Have you been to one before?”

“No,” Cindy was ashamed to admit she hadn’t.

“Most people have no idea what’s involved. We offer
this lecture every month and  fortunately you’re here right on time.”

It was fortunate, thought Cindy, as she walked
along quickly at Barbara’s side. There was a whole world inside here that she
knew nothing of. She was glad for the opportunity to find out now, wanted to
learn as much as she could. How could this not have a bearing on the case?

 As they were walking, Barbara stopped for a
moment, smiled, turned and took a long look at Cindy.

  “It’s strange,” she said, smiling, “I don’t
know if anyone has told you - but you look a lot like Shelly.”

 Cindy shivered. Nobody had actually said that,
but Cindy’d thought so herself when she saw Shelly’s photos.

“You could have been sisters,” Barbara went on.
“You have the same color hair, the light freckles, even the same sparkling look
in your eye. She was terrific. Did you know her?”

“No, I didn’t,” said Cindy, “and nobody has
said I look like her.”  

“They probably will,” said Barbara. “If you
spend some time with us, the residents and staff will tell you all kinds of
things. The place will never be the same without her.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Cindy, “I really am.”

 “Me, too,” said Barbara, “it’s a tremendous
loss.”

*

Barbara led Cindy into a large auditorium,
which was filled with an assortment of people who’d come for the monthly
lecture.

“We recommend that the residents come every
month,” said Barbara. “It takes time to really understand what abuse really is,
to get the whole picture. It’s so confusing and so horrific, it can take a long
time to sink in.”

“Who else is here?” Cindy was fascinated.

“There are people here from all over South
Florida - lawyers, pastors, doctors, nurses, social workers. We’re a model
Shelter. We keep on top of all the research, offer all kinds of counseling,
groups, re-training.”

Cindy was impressed. It changed her view of
Shelly as well, to think that she worked here for so long, and was so respected.
At that moment Cindy realized that Mattheus had actually told Cindy very little
about her. When he’d talked about her, it was always about him, and his craving
to find the killer. How much had he actually known about her, anyway? Cindy
suddenly wondered.

Barbara led Cindy to a seat that had been
reserved for them in the front row. “It’s always special to us when law
enforcement attends the orientation,” Barbara said. “Everyone needs to be
really educated about domestic violence. So many things are overlooked,
especially by the police. They think they know what it is, and they don’t. Not
really. It’s easy to minimize things.”

“I can only imagine,” Cindy said.

“It’s especially wonderful to have a woman
detective with us,” Barbara added, smiling at Cindy again. “It’s quite a
journey you must have been on to decide to take a job like this.”

Cindy had never thought of it that way. She
hadn’t considered how her journey might be of help to those who were abused,
living here in hiding. She was pleased to be valued and recognized and to feel
that somehow, she could make a difference.

A tall, stately woman, in her mid-fifties,
walked up on the stage then and took the podium. She looked very professional
in a beige suit with matching pumps and bag.

“Is that Shelly’s supervisor?” asked Cindy.

“No,” said Barbara, “it’s Maria Bolton, head of
research and education.”

 Without losing another moment, Maria Bolton
tapped the microphone and talked into it.

“Testing, testing,” she said. Then she tapped
the
large
screen that stood to her right. A photo of a woman being hit came on. It was
chilling.

“Thank you all so much for coming here to be
informed about a very special topic,” Maria began. “We welcome you to our
community and hope to answer any questions you may have when my talk is
finished.”

Cindy sat up straighter, alert. She liked this
woman very much and was eager to hear what she had to say.

  “What is domestic violence?” Maria continued,
“what is battering and abuse? How can we spot it? Very often we can’t and
don’t. We look the other way, minimize, and call it by different names. Then
we’re shocked when the victim turns up dead. And many do. Make no mistake about
it.”

Cindy swallowed hard. This woman wasn’t pulling
any punches, Cindy appreciated that.

“
Domestic violence affects each
of us, it doesn’t discriminate,” Maria continued. “One in every four women will
experience domestic violence in her lifetime. Domestic violence can be
emotional, physical, psychological, financial, sexual or a combination of these.
One way to stop it is to realize that abuse of any kind is never acceptable!
The victim is never to blame! The violence ultimately becomes a form of terrorism
that destroys the victim one way or another.”

Maria pressed a button on the screen and a
slide of a mother and child crying in the shadows came up.

“So, why does she stay?  It takes an average of
seven attempts before a victim actually leaves her abuser. One of the most
dangerous times for a woman is when she leaves. At that time the abuser works to
reestablish control. They threaten to torture pets, children or even family
members. In a final act of power and control, some kill. Twenty eight per cent
of abused women were attempting to end the relationship when they were killed.”

This was important, harrowing
information. These facts had to impact the work Cindy did, probably far more
often than she’d realized.

Maria flipped another slide on
the screen. It was of a woman running away down a dark alley.

“Many people believe that if
the victim really wanted to leave, she would just go. They say how bad can it
be, she’s staying? This attitude not only dismisses the severity of the
violence, but perpetuates the cycle of abuse.”

Maria then flashed a photo of
a woman crouching in the corner, with a man glaring at her, a few feet away.
Cindy was mesmerized. She couldn’t help think about Clint’s family. They’d been
very emotionally abusive towards both her and Clint during the engagement. She’d
had to struggle every day not to let them to break it up. It had actually been
a mini miracle that the marriage had taken place at all. Ann had warned Cindy
about it, too. Now Cindy wondered what effect their behavior really had upon
Clint Was it possible he might have been alive if this hadn’t gone on?

“Okay,” Maria, said then, walking closer to the
audience on the stage. “Let’s look directly at the question of why women don’t
leave! If he hit you on the first date chances are you would never go out with
him again. Never. But, he waits until you are in love with him, until he knows
you, finds your weaknesses and isolates you from family and friends. It likely
starts out with something simple, like ordering your food for you at a
restaurant.

“She’ll have the pasta and salad,” he says and
you think how romantic, he’s ordering for me. Before long, his behaviors become
more controlling – soon you’re not allowed to answer the phone; you can’t call
family or friends; or you’re at work and he calls repeatedly to check on where
you are.”

Cindy shuddered, as she began
to think back to the men she’d known before Clint. Ann was right, in the past
she’d attracted guys who were controlling, wanted to dictate to her. She’d
liked it then, it made her feel safe and cared for, as if she weren’t alone.

“Abused women stay in their
violent relationships despite the pain and suffering because they love their
partners,” Maria finally announced. She paused after she said it, and looked
around.

Cindy smiled. Love wasn’t a
word heard too often these days.

“They love the guy and struggle
with how to reconcile how he’s acting with who they think he is. They can’t
figure out how their once kind, gentle and loving partner now is the man who
batters her. They want to believe him when he says he’s sorry, that the abuse
will never happen again, that things will be better when he gets the promotion,
sells the house, or his mom’s health improves.”

Had Shelly been battered by
her killer? Cindy wondered. Did she work in the Shelter because she needed
refuge as well? Was this a deeply ingrained pattern in her life, and if so, how
did that fit in to her relationship with Mattheus? All kinds of questions began
stirring around Cindy’s mind.

 “Many abused women feel they
deserve the abuse, or have done something wrong that warrants it. This is a myth
the abuser perpetuates. He makes her believe that if she were better, hadn’t
done that awful thing, changed in ways that pleased him, he wouldn’t have to
abuse her. He creates guilt and low self-esteem in the victim. Those with low self-esteem
feel they deserve what they get.  This keeps them trapped in deadly
relationships.”

Cindy could not help but
wonder how this applied to herself. She’d been the victim of low self-esteem in
relationships for years, until she’d met Clint. The men she’d gone out with
then hadn’t been good for her either. It seemed like a vicious cycle anyone
could easily get trapped in. Could it be possible that Cindy was inadvertently
repeating this again with Mattheus?

  Maria went on - “Verbal
blows and physical assaults along with deprivation of sleep, food, water,
medication, slash a woman’s self-esteem until she begins to think, if I just
had dinner on the table at 5 p.m., he wouldn’t have had to hit me. This
psychological warfare destroys her identity so that she believes it’s true when
he says you’re stupid and crazy. She believes it when she threatens if you ever
leave, I will find and kill you - I’ll kill your family, kids and pets. If you
leave, that’s abandonment, and the courts will never let you see the kids
again!”

Had Shelly been living in a
trap like that?  Is that why she ran away from Mattheus and lived down here all
these years?

“The biggest danger is where
the victim once thought she didn’t deserve this kind of treatment, she slowly
comes to believe that her abuser is right. She identifies with him. Like
prisoners of war and concentration camp survivors, she take sides with her
batterer to survive. This is the Stockholm Syndrome that many of you are aware
of.”

The atmosphere in the room now
grew heavy and silent. Few rustled in their seats anymore. It seemed as if they
were hearing about a national epidemic that was brewing under the surface of
everyone’s life. Vigilance was needed. Cindy felt afraid.

“The main key to a victim’s
freedom is finding someone to believe and value her, to bring information and
reality in,” said Maria emphatically, like a one woman rescue team. “When no
one believes a battered woman, when her assailant isn’t arrested, when she is
criticized and scrutinized, it opens the road to his tracking her down and
killing her, like a piece of meat.”

Cindy felt as if she were
sitting in a war zone, and was on the first line of defense. Had all of this
something to do with Shelly’s death? Cindy almost felt as if she were sitting
in for Shelly now, was absorbed in the world she’d worked in, involved with the
man she’d been married to. A sense of hopelessness began to come over Cindy. She’d
come onto the scene when it was too late for Shelly, but there were so many
others out there who it wasn’t too late for.

 “We have to revolutionize our
thinking and get rid of the notion that to be a real man is to be violent and
aggressive, or to be a real woman is to be submissive. We have to look and see
the ways in which society condones, supports and gives permission for battering,”
Maria seemed to be able to talk indefinitely.

Cindy looked at the audience
out of the corner of her eyes and suddenly felt unbearably sad. Many women sat
there listening, their heads in their hands. They had gone through this
themselves and were now trying to come out of it, to re-build their lives.  Shelly
had dedicated her life to helping them. Now, she herself turned up dead. There
had to be some connection. And her death had to be shattering for the women as
well.

 Maria stepped back from the
edge of the stage and looked out at the audience. Cindy felt for a moment as
though she were looking straight at her.

“We at the Shelter really
appreciate your coming and learning more about what we are doing here. Thank
you for your support and participation. Everyone is needed. Please help us. We
need you. We cannot fight this plague alone.”