Don't You Forget About Me (7 page)

They hung up, and Sandra started walking faster, the condensation from the ice cream making a puddle in the bottom of the plastic grocery bag. She turned right on her street and saw him standing in front of her apartment building before he saw her. She backed up quickly, going around the corner. She was not going to allow Bill to come into her apartment today after he pulled a knife on Nelda. And she was angry. He made her feel unsafe, and she didn’t like being scared. She slipped into the bagel place on the corner of her street. If she stretched on tiptoe and looked out the end of the window, she could still see him in front of her building. She ordered a bagel so she could stay in the store until Bill left.

The woman behind the counter gave Sandra her bagel and a glass of water. Nodding toward Sandra’s tummy, she said, “You better drink in this heat.” Sandra thanked her.
I guess I’m not that flat, after all, s
he thought.

Pam called back.

“My checks were cashed. That is so unlike Anne! I guess I should have contacted her, but we never stayed in
touch. Maybe pressing charges against her husband didn’t go over well. She must have been forging Bernice’s name.”

“Pam, Bill is standing right in front of my apartment. I’m hiding in the bagel place on Broadway.” Sandra was craning her neck to look down the street again. He was still there. “What should I do?” She was getting angry. She couldn’t hide all afternoon, and she didn’t want to have an argument on the street.

“Oh no!” Pam exclaimed. “He is such a pain in the ass! Call the police, Sandra!”

Sandra thought for a minute and then asked Pam if she had Bill’s cell phone number. “I can call him and tell him I know he is there,” Sandra said.

Pam dug through some papers and came up with what she thought was his number. And then she thought of something else. “Sandra, Andy is here, and he wants me to call the police anyway. Anne has taken checks meant for Bernice and forged her name. If we tell Bill this, only God knows what he will do. He might even harm her. You better call the police, too. Oh, this is getting to be too much!”
Why did he get out of jail so early?
Pam thought. Sandra wrote the number down as Pam read it off. “What are you going to say to him?” Pam asked.

“I think I will say that I want him to leave or I am going to call the police.”
I just want to get home!
Sandra thought. “I’ll call you when I’m finished talking to him.” They said their good-byes, Pam asking her to be careful. Sandra keyed in the number Pam had given her and then craned her neck again to see if he was still there. She watched him get his phone from his pocket and answer it.

“Hello, Sandra. Why aren’t you answering your door? I’m standing outside of your building.”

“If you don’t leave, I’m calling the police. You just got out of prison today; you must be on parole or something. Am I correct?”

“Jesus Christ! Please don’t call them! I am not going to do anything to you! I just need to tell you about an idea we had right after you left. The house is full of art we can sell. We were hoping you would think it was proactive enough to base a loan on.”

Sandra thought that sounded reasonable. But regardless, she didn’t want him hanging around her apartment. “Bill that is a great idea. I definitely will consider loaning you money based on the value of the art. But you should be there now at the mansion, listing it and estimating its worth. You should be able to get an idea of its value right online.” She watched him pace back and forth in front of her building.
Why isn’t he walking away?
“Are you leaving my building?” she asked.

“I’m leaving now,” he said.

But she could see him there.
How can I get him to leave without revealing my position?

“Okay, call me when you have your list ready.” And she hung up.

She then keyed in 911. There was a police car in the neighborhood. She watched it speed up Broadway and then turn onto Eighty-second Street. Bill saw it as it rounded the corner, coming toward him. She watched him looking around, trying to figure out where she was. She could see one of the officers talking to him from their car. Then the doors opened and they got out. One of them was talking
on his phone. Sandra imagined him talking to Pam, getting the scoop on the whole ugly story. Sandra’s heart sunk as they put handcuffs on Bill, leading him to the car. He got into the backseat with their help. The officers got in and sped off again. It wasn’t what she wanted to happen, but he wouldn’t listen to her.

She threw her bagel plate and water cup in the trash can, along with her bag of melted ice cream. She walked as fast as she could to her building, fearful that the police would find out it was all a mistake and bring Bill back. She ran up the walkway to the building, got the door opened, and locked behind her. She hurried to her apartment, making sure the chain was on the door, and wedged a kitchen chair under the handle once she was safely inside.

The apartment had two floors, and the lower floor had a rear-access door. She ran down the stairs to make sure the door and windows were locked, reinforcing the door with another chair. The windows were a concern. She had never felt so insecure before, and Bill was responsible for it. She would call a carpenter on Monday and get a shutter made to fit over the lower-level window. In the meantime, she struggled with a large dresser, pushing it across the carpeting to rest in front of the window. It would have to do for now. She went from room to room, closing shades, making sure everything was secure.

Her phone rang; it was the police. They were going to send someone around to take a statement from her. It was such a mess already, and he had only been out of jail for a few hours.

7

F
ortunately for Pam and Sandra, Andy Andrews was spending the day at the beach when Sandra called to tell her about the mansion confrontation. He was never happier than when his knowledge could be put to use by his friends. When Sandra called the first time, they were taking a walk and didn’t hear the phone. It was obvious to him that the police would have to be called; this Bill guy was a walking time bomb, and unless his shenanigans were documented, if and when he really threatened Sandra, they would have no history to back up their story. Pam felt awful for her late husband’s family. They were disintegrating at record speed. That Anne had gotten herself involved was so sad because it meant she might have to do jail time for theft.

Anne Smith was folding laundry when the police came to her door. She was taken by such surprise; it never even occurred to her that she didn’t have to let them in her house. The checks were the farthest thing from her mind. They didn’t have a warrant yet, but simply wanted to question her. She led them to the dining area of their small brownstone. She had always hated living in the Village like a student. Bill loved it since his college days, forced to go to school in the city and live at home by his domineering father. Anne didn’t know the whole truth. Once he was
going to get married, he wanted to live down here, hoping to recapture some of the glamour of living downtown in a historic atmosphere. It fell flat. He didn’t have a group of friends who lived here anymore. Anne didn’t like their house; it was too dark, the only light coming from north-facing windows. She felt like she was living in gloom all the time. The eating area was the worst; it was placed in the center of the structure and had no natural light at all. To use it meant turning on the light above the table, a hideous glass-and-brass concoction that Bill’s dad had given them and was therefore sacrosanct. It cast huge shadows across the table and was barely good for illuminating their plates and little else.

Even the police officers seemed a little confused by the interior of the house. Was she going to pray with them? It was like the alcove of a church; the only things missing were candles and the scent of incense.

“Would you like a cup of coffee? I was just going to pour one for myself.” She pulled out two chairs, waiting for their answer.

“Coffee would be great—black, please. I’m Tom, and this is Jim,” the younger man said.

The older officer smiled and said, “No thanks.” She went to the kitchen and returned shortly with two mugs of black coffee.

“Do you know why we are here?” he asked. Anne thought it was because of Bill’s release that morning from prison and said so. They officers rifled through a stack of papers they brought and looked at each other, shrugging their shoulders. It was news to them. “Tell us about why he was in prison.” Anne related the minimal details she knew,
including the gruesome story of the knife against Pam’s mother’s throat. It sounds so awful.
Why had I waited for him?
She repeated it out loud to the men.

“I’m not sure why I am still here, why I didn’t leave him. But I am sure you don’t want to hear about that.” She held her mug of coffee, looking down into it as though it contained the answers to life. “I have never said this out loud, but I am afraid of my husband. Why I am telling you two is a mystery; I know there is nothing you can do about it.”

“The reason we are here is because a woman has filed a complaint, charging you with forgery and theft. Do you know of any reason why she would do that?” Anne sat back in her chair.
So that’s what this is all about
. She had almost forgotten about it. There was no earthly reason to lie.

“The woman, Pam, correct? She’s my sister-in-law. She was helping us out each month. Her husband was giving us two thousand a week before he died because my husband’s business tanked. When my husband went to jail, she started sending the checks here, but they were made out to my mother-in-law. She is old and having a hard time with the death of her son, so rather than bother her, I just forged her name, as I do on almost all the correspondence and banking of hers. I certainly wasn’t stealing it.”

“Well, actually, you were. If someone writes a name on a check and you copy it without that person’s consent, it is stealing,” Tom said. “I think we may have a simple misunderstanding here.” They pushed their chairs back and stood up, very synchronized and professional. “We’ll take your statement back to headquarters and see if we can straighten this out.” Tom extended his hand to Anne.
She walked them to the front door and saw them out. She closed the door behind her, locking it, just in case.

It was time to pick her boys up from preschool. She was sorry Bill had rushed off like the ass that he was, to “surprise” his mother, leaving her alone on their first day back together in over two months. There didn’t seem any point in telling the boys he was home. Yet one more hurtful experience regarding their father to add to the many others, such as forgotten birthdays and cruel spankings for no reason. She wondered why she had mentioned to the officers that she was afraid of Bill.
What good did it do?
They didn’t acknowledge her comment. She cleaned up the coffee mugs and grabbed her purse, heading for the door. She would walk to pick up her sons and maybe find something entertaining for the three of them to do for the afternoon. It made no sense to hang around, waiting for Bill to show up when guilt or his mother pushed him home.

8

A
s difficult as it was, Bill managed not to break down crying during the ride downtown in the back of the police car. He was totally spent. It hadn’t occurred to him that Sandra would call the cops. Once again, he had underestimated her. They must have been waiting around the corner, because just as she hung up with him, they were there. He was pretty sure that, once he explained why he was at Sandra’s, they would release him. When they were at the mansion together, he had never come near her in a threatening way. He didn’t understand why she had reacted so strongly.

The squad car pulled into a parking garage under the station. One of the officers opened the door for Bill. He struggled to get out with his hands shackled. The urge to sprint away was strong; the officer must have sensed he was ready to bolt because he took him gently but firmly by the upper arm and led him into the building. No one spoke as they rode the elevator together. Once they got to the office, the man let go of his arm.

“Come with me,” Jim said. He was getting sick and tired of rich people making more work for him. He led Bill to a small room.

Interrogation popped into Bill’s mind when he saw the table and two chairs. He hesitated before walking through the door, frightened at the confined space.

Jim explained, “Someone is using my desk right now. We’ll be more comfortable in here.” A lunatic was screaming in the background. “Don’t mind the noise. He’s here once a week. Have a seat.” He pulled out one of the chairs for Bill to sit in. “Do you want something to drink?” Bill shook his head no. Jim left the room, closing the door behind him.

Bill was so nervous.
What if they take me back to jail?
For the first time since he had arrived home, he thought of Anne and the boys. He hadn’t seen his sons yet. It was obvious his wife was furious with him. Maybe he shouldn’t have rushed off to see his mother like he did.

The officer returned with two cups of coffee and a notepad. It looked like Bill would get coffee whether he wanted it or not.

“So tell me what happened today.” He looked at Bill and smiled. Bill had nothing to hide. There was no reason to withhold anything.

“I got out of jail this morning,” Bill said. Jim put his pen down and looked at him.
How did I miss this news when I did the background check on this guy?