She Tries To Forget Ch. 15

Passion in James County XVI

After Ann called the store, she walked across the lawn between Martin's house and hers, went inside, and began packing. She had a hard time believing all of the things that had happened that day, and were still happening. Martin had found out that Lonnie wasn't in jail, which made her feel a little better. And the fact that her neighbor believed her, and was helping her, also made her feel good.

"Maybe," she thought as she got clothes out of her dresser and put them into her suitcase, "maybe things are finally starting to change in my life. It would be nice to think I might have a chance at a normal life." Then memories, temporarily buried by her recent troubles, flashed into her mind and her mood fell. "Who am I kidding?" she told herself glumly. "I'll never have a normal life again. Not after what I did all those years ago. Someone like me doesn't deserve to be happy."

Martin got hold of Lieutenant Sonny Dawson, head of the Jamestown Police Department's detective division. Sonny was only slightly miffed that Martin had called him at home fairly late in the evening.

"You calling because you got an arson case you can't figure out, or are you just lonely?" Sonny asked.

"I'm not lonely, and I've got a real case for you," Martin told his friend. "You guys busted a kid for stealing jewelry and electronic stuff from the department store out at the mall today, didn't you?"

"Yeah," Sonny said, "I was just reading the report the uniforms turned in on that. Kid sounds like a real dope. Had the shit sitting on the front seat of his truck, right outside the damn store in the friggin' parking lot. What's that got to do with the Arson Task Force?"

"Nothing," Martin said, "but it might have something to do with blackmail, extortion, filing a false police report, theft, and maybe even stalking and rape."

"Jesus, Martin, you saying this kid did all that shit?" Sonny asked. "I told you, he don't sound like the brightest light bulb in the string. I mean, I figure he just got carried away, you know, his folks are nice people, and he don't have a prior record, not even motor vehicle stuff. You expect me to believe he's some kinda one-man crime wave?"

"Not him," Martin said, "he's one of the victims. The criminal's name is Mark Lewis."

"You been drinkin', Marty? Is that it?" Sonny said. "Lewis is the manager of the damn store. He's the one caught the kid stealing."

"Maybe he's the one set the kid up to get caught," Martin suggested.

"Yeah, right," Sonny snorted, "the goddamn store manager plants a bunch of shit on one of his stock boys. Why, just because the kid's got pimples or something? Jesus, Martin, I think you're losing it. What the hell are you getting at, anyhow?"

"Well..." Martin said, "it goes like this..." He told his friend everything Ann had told him, without mentioning her name.

"Man, that's wild, if it's true," Sonny said. "Who gave you all this information, anyhow?"

"My neighbor," Martin said. "She works at the store. She's the woman Lewis has been stalking and extorting sex from."

"You believe her?" Sonny asked.

"I see no reason not to," Martin said. "Her story sounds legit to me. And some of it sounded too real to be made up. Once you get a chance to talk with her, I think you'll see what I mean."

"OK," Sonny said, "you been at this even longer than I have. If you think she's reliable, I'll take your word for it. How do you figure to handle this? I mean, if this Lewis guy is doing all this shit, he sure as hell ain't gonna admit it to us."

"Oh, I don't know," Martin said, "if we give him a chance, he just might."

"What do you mean?" Sonny asked.

"I have an idea," Martin said. "Why don't you get hold of the P.A.'s office and see if they're interested? I'll drop by your office in the morning and tell you how I think we can get Mr. Lewis to admit his wrong-doing."

"OK, Martin, sounds good," Sonny said. "Hey, maybe I'm being over-cautious, but have you got your informant's name and date of birth? I know you trust her, but I'd like to run a record check on her, just to be safe."

Martin realized he knew Ann's name, but he had no idea of her date of birth. "Wait a minute, Sonny," he said. "I don't have a birth date, but I can get her registration number for you. You ought to be able to get what you need from that." He got up, looked out the kitchen window, and checked the license plate number on Ann's car. Then he went back and gave his friend her name and the license number.

"Thanks, Marty," Sonny said. "I'll see you in the morning."

Ann had just picked up her suitcase and was about to walk out of her bedroom when the phone rang. She set the suitcase down and started for the phone, but then she stopped. "Whoever it is can leave a message on my machine," she thought. She picked up her suitcase again, then tie possibility it might be Lonnie crossed her mind. But, before she could decide, her machine picked up.

"I know you're there, you bitch! Answer the fucking phone!" Mark Lewis screamed. "You better answer the fucking phone if you know what's good for you! You saw what happened today, so you know what I can do! Answer the fucking phone! Goddamit, you cunt! Who the hell do you think you are! Answer the fucking phone you cunt, or I'm really going to make you pay! All right, bitch, have it your own way! I'm coming over, and believe me, cunt, you're gonna be fucking sorry you didn't answer the goddamn phone!"

Ann felt something pressing against her back. She jumped and realized she'd backed up against the dresser as she listened to her boss's tirade. Even though it was only his voice, it was still frightening. "My God!" she thought, "Martin was right! He's gone totally crazy! I...I wouldn't have been safe staying here!" She turned, bolted from the bedroom, raced out of her house and across to Martin's.

Martin saw Ann dash into the house and realized she was pale and gasping for breath. "Ann, what's the matter?" he asked.

"Ma...Mark Lewis, he...he just called me..." Ann gasped. "You...you had to hear him...he...he's gone crazy! He...he said he's coming over to my house and...and..." She began to sob.

Martin didn't think this time, he walked over to the sobbing woman, put his arms around her, and held her against him. "Don't worry, Ann," he said, "you won't be there when he gets there. Did you say anything to him?"

"I-I didn't...I didn't talk...to...to him," Ann replied. She was sobbing so hard her body was shaking. "My...my...ans...answering...ma...machine...answered."

"Did it record what he said?" Martin asked. He felt Ann's head moving against his chest as she nodded.

"Ye...yes...it...it di-did," she whimpered.

"Did you lock your house?" Martin asked.

"Ah...no...I-I didn't," Ann sobbed, "I-I was too scared...I-I didn't think..."

"I'm going to go over to your house, get the tape out of your answering machine and lock up," Martin said. "Then I'll drive you up to Melissa's."

"All...all right," Ann sobbed.

Reluctantly, Martin released his neighbor. "Having Ann in my arms felt kind of nice," he thought as he walked out the back door, crossed the yard, and went into Ann's house. He grabbed the tape out of her answering machine, then he locked her doors and headed back across the yard.

Ann was still standing in the kitchen, sniffling, when he returned. "Come on," he said, "let's get going." He picked up her suitcase, they went out to his car, and he started off down the street.

As he drove toward the Interstate, a thought occurred to him. He reached down and took the radio microphone from the hook under the dash of his car, and put the mike to his mouth. "County A-1 to operations," he said.

"Operations, go ahead, A-1," the dispatcher replied.

"Contact Jamestown P.D. and have them keep an eye on my place and the house next door," he said, rattling off the addresses. "Tell them to keep an eye out for a possible burglary."

"Copy, A-1," the dispatcher said. "Will you be home?"

"Negative, operations," he said, "I'm 10-8 to Lincoln County. I'll be on the air, and I've got my pager with me. Or you can land-line my daughter. You have the number."

"Copy, A-1," the dispatcher said.

"What...what was that all about?" Ann asked.

Martin looked over at her and smiled. "I got to thinking that if Lewis is as crazed as you say he is, he might just try breaking into your house," he told her. "Be nice if there were cops in the area if he did, don't you think?"

Ann smiled back at him. It was a weak smile, but it was sincere. "You think of everything, don't you?" she commented.

Martin felt his face getting warm. "I'm not sure I think of everything," he said, "but I try to make sure all the bases I know of are covered."

They drove along in silence for a while. Ann kept stealing glances at Martin. "He's really quite attractive, in a rugged kind of way," she thought. "I wonder what happened to his wife, and why he never remarried." "Are you sure I'm not putting your daughter out?" she asked.

Martin shook his head. "Not at all," he told her, "in fact, when I told Melissa what was going on, she offered to come down and help bust your Mr. Lewis." He chuckled. "Melissa's kind of a feminist. She drove the guys she worked with nuts the first few years she was on the job."

"He...he's not my Mr. Lewis," Ann replied softly.

"Sorry," Martin said, "It was just a figure of speech."

Ann reached out and laid her hand on his arm. "I'm sorry for being so touchy," she said. "Except for Lonnie, you're the first person who...who's been really nice to me in...in quite a while."

"Here we go with Lonnie, again," Martin thought. He couldn't understand why hearing the kid's name pissed him off. He didn't know Lonnie, although from what Sonny had said, he assumed Lonnie was quite a bit younger than Ann. "So what's the deal with you and this Lonnie guy?" he asked. "He somebody special in your life?"

"He...he's a very good friend," Ann replied. "I guess even a special friend, but he's not somebody special the way you mean it. There is nobody special in my life." "And, judging from what happens to people I care about, it's better that there isn't," she thought. "From this point on, I'm not going to take a chance on getting friendly with anyone any more."

"That's hard to believe," Martin said. "I can't understand why someone as attractive as you are isn't married."

Ann shrugged. The conversation was making her a little uncomfortable. "Maybe...maybe I'm not what you think I am," she murmured.

A smile formed on Martin's face. "Do you expect me to ask you what I think you think I think you are?" he responded.

"Wait a minute," Ann said, confused by his comment. "What I think you think I...?"

Martin chuckled. "Never mind," he said. "I was just being silly. I think you're a pretty nice lady, but I also think something's eating at you, something you're not dealing with. It might not hurt if you could talk to somebody about it."

"What's this, witness protection combined with free psychoanalysis?" Ann said. The minute the words were out of her mouth she regretted saying them and the tone she'd used.

Martin glanced over at her and smiled. "Touched a nerve, did I?" he asked.

Ann nodded. "Can...can we talk about something else?" she asked softly. "I-I'd really rather not talk about me. I'd rather talk about something more pleasant, like your daughter and son getting married."

"You ever think maybe that's the problem?" Martin replied. "Maybe if you talked about yourself a little more you'd feel better. But...if you don't want to do that, OK. Now...I figure having both my kids getting married the same day is gonna cost me a bundle, what do you think?" "What the hell is she trying to hide from?" he wondered. "I bet if I knew, I'd understand why she's been acting the way she has."

"I think you're right about it costing you a bundle," Ann said. "These days, weddings always do."

They spent the rest of the trip talking about Martin's kids, and their wedding plans. And, as they talked, they got more and more comfortable with each other. By the time Martin pulled up in front of a large apartment building in a town Ann didn't know, she was really enjoying his company and realized she was sorry they'd reached their destination.