What a Week!

"You seem to me like a good person. A good person shouldn't have to suffer because of the actions of a bad person. This is a lot to get over but I hope you can get back to being the person you were before."

"Oh, Pete, I'm going to need you so much until I can get over this. On my own, right now, I doubt that I could walk a block down the sidewalk. I'd probably just flop down on the ground in the fetal position and cry and moan. You give me strength. I was proud of myself when I walked across the street to the policeman to give him my keys, and then walked back to your car. Every step I took, I was saying to myself, 'Look at me. Look at how straight and tall I'm holding myself. Look at how steady my hands are.' Is that ridiculous or what? I'm a hiker! Across the desert. Up the mountains. I'm strong. I'm tough. But look at me now, reduced to a helpless little blob by a rotten criminal. You're going to have a frail little old lady on your hands, hanging on your arm and depending on your strength. I'm sorry, but I'm afraid that's how I'll be for a few days. Be prepared to deal with an invalid."

"Mel, except for going to college, did you ever live on your own, without your parents, for very long?"

"Well, I guess it depends on what you mean by 'very long.' I was here for six months before I moved in with them. Does that count?"

"How did it make you feel?"

"I liked my job right from the beginning, and the people I work with. I remember getting up in the morning and being anxious to get to work. Then at the end of the day I felt a little lost, I guess. I'd often stay at work late, and I was - oh, reluctant, I guess - to go out of the building and be on my own, pick up my dry cleaning, get my supper, be in my apartment alone. I felt that I was just drifting, sort of purposeless. I often thought that I was like a zombie, just doing what had to be done, one thing after another, without any feelings about it. I was very neat, just the way I've always been, but I didn't feel any satisfaction from it."

"Did you call your parents and cry on the phone?"

"Yes. How'd you know that?"

"Just a lucky guess. Okay, one last question. Exactly when are your parents supposed to get back here?"

"If I had my purse I could pull out my little calendar and show you. I'll check the calendar when we go into my house and give you an exact answer. Roughly two weeks from now."

"All right, here's what I think. I may be totally wrong, because I don't have all that much to go on, but I think that you'd better stay with me until they get home. You're telling me that you didn't do all that well living alone before they got here, and with all that's happened this weekend I think it's not going to work out well if you have to go home alone every night. I don't mind if you move into my house for a while, in fact I enjoy your company. Let's see how it goes these next couple of days and nights, especially the nights. Maybe we can get a clue for how we ought to plan the coming weeks until they're back here."

"I'm sure you're right. I never thought of myself as such a delicate little wildflower that I need my mommy and daddy with me at all times, but maybe I just never outgrew that feeling. You know how girls can't wait to get their own place and be on their own? I never felt like that. I moved out of our home and into a dorm at U of M, just as a convenience, but my folks were nearby. Am I just naturally dependent? I can hold my own in a meeting, stand up in front of customer reps and our own top management and rattle off facts and figures without a quaver. A couple of times wiseguys have tried to embarrass me because I'm a woman in a man's job, and I've made them look like idiots. So maybe it just depends on the setting and the context. Something I ought to give some thought to. Maybe we can talk about it some more when I'm safe in the cocoon of your house. Right now, I know that I need you with me to feel safe. Let's see if that feeling fades during the first week."

It seemed like a long time until Detective Vincent called. It might have been an hour, maybe longer - I was totally unconscious of the passage of time. When we got to Mel's house, he was waiting for us in the front yard. He took Mel by the arm and guided her up the front steps and into the little entryway that leads to the living room. I was following close behind, and I could see that nothing seemed out of order. He was talking softly to her, almost whispering in her ear. His attitude was calming and considerate. That was exactly what Mel needed, but I couldn't hear what they were saying. They were in the middle of the living room, looking all around, and I suppose she was telling him that she didn't see anything out of place.

They progressed into the dining room, which was a different story. A very expensive-looking case, that looked to me like polished cherry wood with wrought silver hinges and latches, was askew in the middle of the table, and silver flatware pieces had been pulled out of it in such a hurry that many of the little elastic straps that held knives, forks, spoons, and serving utensils in place had been torn right out of the flannel lining. When Mel saw that, she gasped and grabbed the detective's arm with both hands to support herself. "Oh, God, my poor mother will be so hurt when she sees this!" she cried out. Then the detective said something and they both looked down at the floor, where a white pillowcase containing the silverware had been dropped and the contents had partially spilled out onto the carpet. He gestured with his hand toward the opposite wall, and I saw that a very handsome glass fronted china closet in the far corner of the room had been pulled open and some of the contents were spilled out onto the floor, about half of the pieces broken. The door itself was hanging crookedly from one hinge, and its beveled glass was broken.

Not much seemed out of place in the kitchen. Some glassware had been pulled out of a cupboard, but it seemed to have been set carefully on the counter. A food processor that retailed for about five hundred dollars had been left untouched, probably because it would be heavy to lug out to the van. The burglar had also passed up some very expensive cooking pots and frying pans, probably near to a thousand dollars worth in all. Mel looked carefully at a little statue of Buddha that was actually a ring holder. No rings were on it, and she said something to the detective about that.

Upstairs the master bedroom was a mess. A free-standing jewelry box was lying on its side. I overheard him tell her that the jewelry had been shaken out onto a bath towel that was over by the door.

Mel's bedroom had not been torn up very much. Detective Vincent stood in the doorway going into that room from the hallway and explained, loudly enough for me to hear, that the burglar had apparently just gone in there when he was interrupted by the arrival of the police. He came out and went into the bathroom across the hall when the police came up the stairs. Then he came out partway and fired a shot at the policeman who was in the lead. The bullet was stopped by his Kevlar vest. The policeman shot back, hitting the burglar twice in the chest. The burglar fell down but still held his gun. From the floor he was trying to get off another shot at the policeman, who beat him to it and shot the burglar in the neck and forehead, killing him. The bathroom was splattered with blood, as were the hall carpet and the wall beyond the bathroom door. Down on the baseboard I could see some pieces of bone, along with gooey stuff that I recognized as brain tissue. If the burglar had made better use of that stuff, he might have left the house in handcuffs instead of a body bag.

There wasn't much more to see upstairs, and rather than stand there admiring the bloodbath we went back downstairs and sat down at the kitchen table. Detective Vincent had left his attache case sitting on a chair, and he opened it to pull out a file folder containing his notes and report on Mel's purse snatching. He scanned the report quickly and said, "I took a very quick look in the van that's out in the driveway. I think there's a purse on the floor on the passenger side. If it's yours we may be able to recover some of the stuff that was stolen from you. We'll go out that way when we leave here and look at it.

"Now about the house. I have here a card from a company we sometimes use for cleaning up crime scenes. In this case, it will be up to you to decide if you want to get some expert help on that, but you saw the upstairs hall. I doubt that you want to clean that up yourself. I wouldn't. I can call them and get somebody here to look the place over, or you can wait to see what the insurance adjuster says.

"Do you know what company your homeowner's insurance is with? While we're here we ought to get them working on this. They may have some additional thoughts on the cleanup."

"It's Allstate. They insure my dad's car, too. We ought to look at that just to be safe, but the garage has a brand new padlock on it and if it hasn't been tampered with the car is probably okay." I looked sideways at Mel's face as she was talking. The words came out smoothly, not in little gasps, and her voice sounded normal. I hoped that meant that she was coming to grips with the crime scene that used to be her home. I reached over and put my hand lightly on hers. She squeezed my hand quickly but didn't hesitate to let it go, which also seemed encouraging.

The detective was scribbling notes on a yellow legal pad. "Miss Sanger, where will you be staying until we release the crime scene and the cleanup is completed?"

Mel turned to me and was about to ask a question, when I said, "She'll be staying with me. I have a house with extra bedrooms, and she can bunk there for as long as it takes. I think you have my address and phone numbers in your folder already."

"All right. Now about your parents, Miss Sanger. They are in Europe, is that right?" She nodded. "Do you have a way to contact them?"

"The travel agent said that in an emergency I should call her, and she would be able to get a message to them, tell them to call me, but that it might take a day before I'd hear from them."

"Do you remember the travel agency? You probably have their card in your wallet, but that may be missing."

"Pete, would you please get the phone book out of the top drawer, right below the wall phone?"

I got it and she flipped to the yellow pages. "Here it is. I marked it so Mom could call them when they were planning the trip. World Wide Travel, on Broad Street."

"Would you like me to place the call, or would you prefer to do it?"

I spoke up. "Why don't we leave that till we're at my place. I can call from there, on the house phone, and that'll give them a number to use for the message, since your phone is missing. May I just tear that page out of the book?"

Mel, the champion of neatness and order, looked aghast at the suggestion and laid both hands over the page protectively. "No, of course not."

"Oh. Sorry. I'll copy down the number." I pulled out one of my business cards to write on. "Do you have a name I can ask for?"

"Ellen."

"Okay, got it. I'll call her Monday morning. What else needs to be taken care of?"

"I'm lost without my phone. If it's in the van, may I take it with me now?"

"Not today. I can have it examined by a tech on Monday and you can probably pick it up at the station Monday evening."

"If my purse is in the van, I'd like to get out some of my business cards. Could you help me with that, please?"

"Not just yet. You can't handle the purse or anything that's in it. Our people will want to lift prints off the contents to find out who has handled your stuff since it was snatched from you. We'll see what we can do.

"Anything else come to mind? No? Then let's go out to the van."

The detective put on gloves before he opened the doors. "Don't touch anything If you see something that's of interest to you, just point to it. But first I'm going to take pictures of the interior, so just look around while I'm doing that."

Mel spotted her purse on the floor by the front passenger seat. It was larger than I would have expected, considering how neat and orderly she was. I decided that it probably had a bunch of little pockets inside, or maybe some sort of an organizer. She would never just throw her keys, wallet, card case, phone, makeup and whatever in there, then burrow through the pile when she needed something.

Mel looked around the rest of the van's interior but didn't see anything else of interest. Detective Vincent opened the rear doors to get a better look. "It looks as if he hadn't come back out here at all. I think he was spotting things that he'd steal. He must have thought that he had all afternoon to do this, and planned to get the loot all together by the back door and then lug it out to the van around sundown. That way, if anybody saw him taking things out of the house and called 911, by the time the police got here he'd be long gone. We're looking at a well planned, systematic attempt to clean out the house of anything that he could get a fast buck for. This certainly wasn't the first time he'd done this. I know you don't want to think about your personal involvement in the apprehension of this robber, but thanks to you, a career criminal, probably one who was responsible for a whole lot of crimes, has been taken off the street permanently, at minimal cost to the taxpayers."

Mel seemed to accept that comment without revulsion, although she held onto my arm a little tighter. None of it bothered me very much. I hadn't expected to see the brain tissue on the baseboard, but I was pleased to see that a criminal career had been terminated. The fact that the police had been able to wrap it up so quickly and so finally, made me feel grateful for their protection. Better that they were there to shoot it out with the robber, than me or - God forbid - Mel. The danger inherent in their job was illustrated by the fact that the bad guy got off the first shot, and only a lightweight vest of Kevlar kept it from killing the lead policeman. I may gripe about overeager enforcement of speed laws, but I try to keep in mind that those guys in uniform are doing a job that I wouldn't sign up for on a bet, and the guy they're protecting and serving is my very own personal self.

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SATURDAY NIGHT

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When we'd got home and changed into our color coordinated sweatsuits and sat down in my living room, I looked over my list of things to do and checked off the ones that were done. Sunday would be our day of rest. The only things that still had to be done were the ones that would wait for various people to come to work on Monday. Leaving a message for Mel's parents was the most delicate of those. Walking through the house with an insurance adjuster would be grim, but not as shocking as discovering the grisly mess the robber left, on Mel's first walk-through. If the adjuster could handle the cleanup contractor, it would take a load off Mel.

Mel looked worn out. I could sympathize because I felt tired myself. Getting your emotions tied up in knots can be as tiring as doing hard work, it seems. I sat down on the sofa and she sat in a reclining chair, but after a few minutes she came over and sat on the sofa with me. "Pete, I don't want to embarrass you or put you in an uncomfortable position, but would you please hold me for a few minutes? I've been trying to be a brave girl ever since lunchtime, and my bravery tank is empty. I need to be held and reassured and protected for a while."

I took her in my arms. She was sitting right next to me, and she leaned toward me as I wrapped my arms around her. Her head wound up in the middle of my chest. I stroked her hair gently, and my other hand patted her shoulder. "It's all right," I kept repeating, like a mantra, finally changing the lyric to a chorus of "I've got you and you're safe in my arms." All the time I was doing this, I was running over in my mind just how safe we really were.

Before I moved into my house I had a professional do things like pinning my doors, installing heavy duty deadbolts, and putting redundant locks on my windows. Next a security company installed a good, basic alarm system. Then I stashed six handguns around the house and put a shotgun under my bed. It wasn't impossible to break in, but it was pretty difficult, and an intruder wouldn't be happy with what would greet him if he did. The more I thought about it, the more I thought Mel would be safer in the master bedroom, with me sleeping on the living room sofa where I could head off an intruder before he could get to her.

"Mel, I think you ought to sleep in my bed tonight. I'll sleep right here, sort of like a guard. I want you to be safe, and I want you to feel safe, too. You need a good night's sleep."

"I don't think you'd sleep very comfortably on this sofa, Pete. You're too big."

"That's all right. If I get uncomfortable I'll get out my old air mattress and put it on the floor. You seem exhausted. Let's get you into bed." I took her by the hand and guided her into the master bedroom, where I picked her up and laid her on the bed, then took off her slippers.

I made sure the pillow was positioned just right for her head and pulled up the covers. "Now go to sleep and think beautiful thoughts. Good night."

"Will you kiss me good night, please."

"Sure." I bent down and kissed her gently on the lips. "Good night."

I walked to the door and had my hand on the knob when she said, "Pete."

"Now what? Do you want me to read you a bedtime story?"

"No. I just want to thank you for all you've done for me."

"You're welcome." I slipped out and closed the door softly. I went to the linen closet and got out a pillow and a light blanket, in case I got cold sleeping in my sweatsuit, which seemed unlikely. It took me a couple of minutes to get myself adjusted to the sofa, and then I switched off my mind and drifted off to sleep.

"Pete." I felt a small hand on my arm and opened my eyes to see a small, pretty face looking at me. "I'm scared. I need you to hold me. Please?"

"Mel, if we sit here on the sofa and I hold you, neither of us will get any sleep."

"No. I mean in your bed. It's big enough so we can be comfortable. I'm not trying to seduce you, but I need to be held and protected and comforted if I'm going to get any sleep. Please, Pete."

Well, who could say no to that? I tried my best to convince Little Pete to stay down and not spoil my attempt to be what this little girl needed right then. The strange thing was that long after we'd gone to sleep wrapped in each other's arms, I kept holding onto her. I'd wake up and check on her, and every time I was holding onto her as if my life depended on it. What was that all about? Wasn't I in bed with her because she needed me? Did I need her just as much?

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SUNDAY MORNING

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I woke up first, but I didn't want to move right away and wake Mel. So I adjusted my position a little, put my arms around her again, and dozed off into a light sleep. When she started to move around I loosened my hold on her and let her figure out what she was doing there with me. My eyes were still closed when she raised up, leaned over me, and gave me a sweet kiss on my lips. Then she snuggled her head down onto my chest and muttered, "Thank you, Pete. My protector. Thank you."

I waited until Mel got up and went into the guest bathroom before I did the same, using the master bathroom. Not knowing what the day would hold for us, I shaved right then and swapped off the sweatshirt for a clean T shirt. I went to the kitchen and was pleased to see that the elves had put a pot of coffee together, and it was dripping down, requiring no effort on my part. A stray thought drifted through my mind, to the effect that I could really get used to this every morning. I shook my head to get rid of inappropriate ideas like that, but even after chastising myself I could feel a smile on my face.