What a Week!

Mel materialized out of nowhere. One minute I was alone in the kitchen, and the next minute she was in back of me, wrapping her arms around my torso and snuggling her face into my upper back. "Pete, I've got to tell you something. I slept better last night than I have in years. All because of you."

Years? What's that all about?

Around eleven we headed out to Mel's house to get some more of her clothes. I called the police to ask if it was all right for us to go into the house without an escort and the desk sergeant said it would be all right. He said that as soon as the insurance adjuster had gone through the place with a policeman they'd remove the crime scene tapes, and as long as we didn't take anything but clothes it would be all right.

I was just slowing down in front of the house, ready to turn into the driveway, when I spotted a red Subaru way back in the driveway, almost to the garage. "Holy shit!"

Mel hadn't been looking ahead, and she jumped when I said that. "What is it?"

"A car in the driveway. Punch 911 on my phone. Deja vu."

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SUNDAY AFTERNOON

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"Police department. What is your emergency?"

"This is Peter Donnelson, near the Sanger house at 1226 East Aurora Avenue. I've brought Melanie Sanger to her house to get some of her some clothes, but just like yesterday, there's a car in the driveway that we don't recognize. Please send some policemen to investigate. Since there's probably someone in the house who shouldn't be there, I suggest a silent approach."

"You said this happened yesterday? Is this the house where the suspect was shot to death?"

"Yes. Exactly."

"Where are you right now?"

"Down the street, sitting in my SUV."

"All right. Someone will be there in a few minutes. Please stay in you car. Do not get out of it, and whatever happens, do not go into the house. Please stay on the line until the police have cleared the house."

As before, I drove slowly down the street until we were not quite directly across from the house. Mel was very quiet through this whole interchange. "Pete, could this really be happening again?"

"We won't know until the police get here and clear the house. Do you have your license and keys ready?"

"Right here. We're getting pretty good at this."

The phone came to life. "Is this Detective Vincent's case?"

"Yes, it is."

"Thank you." Pause. "Two patrol cars are on their way."

What followed was truly deja vu almost all the way. This time there were no gunshots, and the policemen finally brought a man out in handcuffs, and put him in the back seat of the patrol car that was parked behind me. Then the policeman who had gone in the front door came over and invited us inside.

This time there were two cardboard boxes near the back door. The silverware had been put into one, along with a pillow case that appeared to contain jewelry. The other box contained various items of electronics, with the interconnecting cables still attached. "There's more upstairs. But it's such a mess up there that I doubt that you'd want to go up there."

"But that's where I have to go. We came here to get my clothes, and they're upstairs. The bedroom at the end of the hall, on the right side. Is that badly torn up?"

"Come with me and see for yourself."

We climbed the stairs and Mel let out a scream. "Look what that son of a bitch did to my dressing table! And look at my clothes, pulled out of the closet and thrown across the bed! What kind of a rotten bastard could have done this?" I was as shocked by her language as she was by the mess that the thief had made of her bedroom.

I was in the doorway, and couldn't see a whole lot with the policeman in my way. I glanced around and noted that the dresser drawers were closed. I asked the policeman, "Is this where the burglar was working when you came in?"

"Yes. He was in here, taking the clothes out of the closet. He didn't even stop when I yelled from the front door. Maybe he was in the closet and couldn't hear me. I don't know what he expected to find in there. These are good clothes, but they're not what I'd expect a burglar to go after. Seems pretty strange."

"It's almost as if he expected to find something in back of them. Mel, is there anything back in the corner of the closet?"

"I think I put a box of old records in there. You know, vinyl disks that play music. And there may be a pair of old hiking boots. You don't think he'd want them, do you?"

"No, I was thinking of something more valuable. Something he could easily convert into cash."

"But there's a whole attic. If he thought something was hidden in the house, why look in my closet?"

"Look, you've got to get your clothes out anyway. Let's take a few minutes to straighten them all out, and put them into my car. Then if there's something funny going on in this closet, we can look around in there and see what it is." I backed the SUV into the driveway and folded the back seats down. Mel got a sheet out of the linen closet and laid it across the cargo space, and as I brought the clothes down from the bedroom, Mel laid them out flat on the sheet. Three trips later, they were all there, and Mel folded the rest of the sheet over them. Then there were the shoes, which we put into trash bags and set carefully just ahead of the sheet, so we wouldn't wrinkle her clothes with them.

Back in the house, I asked the policeman what his plans were. "I've got to stay here to watch the place. They're sending out a truck to get the Subaru, and somebody should be coming out to secure the back door again. That door's getting a lot of abuse. One more burglary and it'll be firewood. When you drive out, I'm going to back my car into the driveway and sit there, where I can watch the house and the street. If you folks want to go get a bite to eat, I'll stay here till you get back."

Before we left, I took Mel back up to the bedroom with me to have another look at the closet. It just didn't look right to me. The right side and left side didn't match, yet there was no apparent reason not to make the closet symmetrical. I did some pacing and arm reaching to get approximate distances, and while it was pretty approximate I still thought it wasn't the way it ought to be. Maybe exact measurements would help answer the question.

Then back to Barney's we went. While I was waiting for our food to be served, I made a call to Rudy Berg, a friend of mine from back when I was married, who did house repairs and renovations. He knew where Barney's was, and agreed to meet us there in a half hour. Our phone conversation had just ended when the waitress came out with our lunch. The pastrami on rye was outstanding, and the cole slaw tasted good, too. The draft beer I saw being handed around looked mighty tempting, but I stuck to coffee and Mel had iced tea.

Rudy arrived when I was on my second cup. I offered him lunch or something to drink, but he declined. When we left he followed us to the house. I explained to the policeman that Rudy was there to look at the closet with us, and invited him to go upstairs with us, but he said to just go ahead. In the bedroom, Rudy went over the closet with a flashlight and said he needed to do some measuring. He went into the next bedroom, then came back to Mel's, carefully measuring and jotting notes in a little pocket notebook. Finally he asked us to step into the closet with him. It was a tight fit. "Look over here and you can see what the left end of the closet looks like. It's finished off with drywall, all taped and sanded, and you can see the baseboard that matches what's in the rest of the house. Now look at the right end. See how the wall looks sort of uneven and lumpy? And notice that the baseboard is missing.

"I've measured, and I believe that about two feet of your closet space is missing. In other words, somebody has put up a false wall, making a two foot square hiding place in back of it. I don't know what's in there, but they didn't go to all that trouble for the fun of it. There must be something important hidden back there, maybe something you couldn't hide in the attic. My guess is that your burglar knew about it and was trying to get at it when the police arrived today."

I didn't want to get carried away playing detective, and decided to blow the whistle on our discovery. I asked Rudy to stay in the living room with Mel, while I went out to the driveway to talk with the policeman.

I explained what we thought we had found, and asked if Detective Vincent could join us. It turned out that he had already been called, although he hadn't said he'd come to the house. I asked if he could be called again, and waited while the policeman talked to the desk sergeant. Then he turned to me and said, "He'll be here shortly. Shame to do this to him on his day off, but that's the job, isn't it. Just don't let anybody touch anything till he gets here. He's very particular about his crime scenes."

I said that we'd wait in the house, and went into the living room to wait in upholstered comfort with Rudy and Mel. The three of us speculated on what the secret treasure might be, and kept coming back to two favorites, a large amount of money, and a body. Nothing else seemed to make any sense.

Detective Vincent joined us. I didn't know that he and Rudy had met before. Rudy quickly explained what he had found upstairs, by measurement and by direct observation, and took him upstairs to show it to him. When they came back down, the detective sat quietly, lost in thought.

Finally he addressed his remarks to Mel. "Miss Sanger, the criminals who have targeted you and your family must have you pretty well on edge. We investigate crimes like these every day, but they usually come one or two at a time. The way these crimes against you have cascaded, one after another, is new to me. First your purse was stolen, then your home was burglarized, then there was a shootout with the police, then another burglary, and now we suspect that there may be something of importance, walled over in your closet.

"I'd bet my paycheck that these crimes are all connected somehow, and the key to all of them may be behind that false wall in your closet. Looking forward, we'll catch the people who are behind this crime wave, and when we do I want to see the DA get convictions. We could tear out that false wall right now and maybe convince a judge that we were justified in doing it, but I'd rather take the time to get a warrant before we touch it. That's going to slow down the process but I think the delay is justified. I'd like to review everything with a lawyer representing your parents, who own the house, before going to a judge with a warrant. That way we can assure you, and the state, that everything has been handled properly.

"Do you understand all this?"

"Yes, you've explained it clearly. I'll feel a lot more comfortable if you deal with my father's attorney. I'll go upstairs to my father's office and get his name. Be right back."

I was opening my mouth to ask the detective how the mystery in the closet related to the other crimes, when Mel's voice shrieked, followed by, "SON OF A BITCH!"

Detective Vincent was quick. He leaped up from his easy chair, drawing his pistol as he ran to the stairway, and took the steps three at a time. I was right on his heels, too close to see around him. Rudy was right behind me. When we got upstairs, Mel was backing out of the room, a small bedroom made into an office. The detective took two steps into the room and knelt on the floor, and I could look over him to see a man's body lying on the floor. The detective felt for a pulse on the neck, and then slid his hand down inside the shirt. "Dead, completely cooled to room temperature." He lifted the man's left hand a few inches. "Rigor mortis has set in, and hasn't let up yet. The rigor says that he died between three and twenty-four hours ago, but his body temperature says it was more than four hours ago. No blood that I can see. Could we have been walking around up here with that body lying there all the while?"

He rose up slowly, as if he was suddenly very tired of these discoveries, and said, "Rudy, I need your business card so I can call you when we're cleared to take out that closet wall. Now all three of you, get out of here and don't come back until I call you. Our crime scene people will need to do a lot more than they did before, and this place will be crawling with people very shortly. Also, this may be a dangerous place to hang around. No telling what'll happen next. And besides, I'll be yelling at a few people, really loud. You go home and forget all about this. Say nothing to anybody about anything we've seen here. Check to be sure you're not being followed. If you are, drive normally but call 911 right away. Lock your doors and windows at home. Try not to be alone. Got that?"

We all nodded, and when he jerked his head toward the stairs we walked out, and drove slowly away, without another word.

By the time we got back to my house, I was feeling just as tired as the detective was of this whole business. It seemed that all of the emotions connected to this series of events were piled up in my brain and blocking out all conscious thought. I drove slowly, mechanically. We got home all right, but if you asked me exactly what streets I took, I couldn't tell you. I went in through the garage and did a quick walk through to make sure the grim surprises hadn't overflowed from Mel's house into mine. As I walked back to the garage, I passed Mel hauling the first load of clothes. I got an armload of clothes and a bag of shoes and headed to the guest room. Mel looked up from sorting out dresses, and she looked tired, too. "Oh, Pete," was all she said. I took two steps and wrapped her up in a gentle hug. "Pete, will you ever forgive me for getting you involved in this mess?"

"Just breathe, Sweetie. Try to relax as much as you can. Focus on what you're doing and try to let your brain stop thinking about things that are scary and confusing. Put every hanger onto the closet rod as straight as you can. Space them evenly. Let that simple task be so important that it blots out everything else. All right?"

"What did that mean?"

"What? Didn't you understand what I was telling you?"

"Of course I understood that. But what you called me? Don't you know what you said?"

"Well, I, wait, I think I - no. What did I say?"

"You called me Sweetie. Did you mean that?"

"Oh, that must have slipped out." I stopped to try to collect my thoughts. "Mel, I've been trying hard not to let my feelings for you get out in the open because I didn't want to presume - or - oh, I've been having very special feelings about you, and I didn't want to let you know because I really have no right to - ."

"Stop right there, Pete. I've been feeling that way, too. You can call me Sweetie any time you want. That's the first good thing to come out of all this, this, this mess."

We just stood there for a year or less, holding each other close and enjoying the way it felt. Finally I said, "I'll go down and bring up the last of the stuff from the car, lock up, and we can go in on the sofa and talk some more, let it all hang out. Please."

"I'd like that."

Later, on the sofa, I fought hard to do what I'd promised, say how I felt and try to invite Mel to do the same. "Look, Mel, do you mind if I call you Sweetie? How's Honey?"

"I like you to call me whatever pet names you want, because it makes me feel warm, secure, wanted, everything that I haven't been feeling. Well, any name except Poopsie. I didn't earn a master's degree to be a Poopsie.

"I've been so alone, Pete, and you know I hate to feel alone. Oh, that makes me sound like some kind of a weakling, and I'm really not, but I don't like to feel that I'm doing everything just for myself. I want to feel part of something bigger, like a family. Or a relationship. I want to do everything to the very best of my ability for my own satisfaction, but even more for somebody who will be proud of me. And until I met you I'd been feeling that nobody cared what I did or felt. You make me feel attached, and appreciated, and wanted.

"I don't think that came out the way I wanted it to. But please try to understand."

"I do. Mel, I've been feeling alone for a long time, too. Ever since things started going sour with Celia, I've been keeping my thoughts and feelings to myself. That's about three years. Three long years.

"Now listen, because this is important. When your house gets all cleaned up, no more corpses, fake walls, hidden treasures, unwelcome visitors - when it's all safe for you to go back there, I don't want you to go back. I want you to stay here with me. We need to see if we can have a normal relationship, and see if we're as special for each other as we hope we are." I paused while I searched for the right words.

"Mel, I'm looking for a miracle. I need you to fall in love with me."

We were on the sofa. I was as far at the left end as I could get. She was sitting a little bit away from me, turned toward me and looking right into my eyes. I laid my right arm across her shoulders. Without any pulling on my part she slid over against me, and with a wiggle she sort of molded her body up against mine. Her head leaned against my chest and she let out a sigh. I knew that she was done talking, but she surprised me with one last request. "Pete, love me. Carry me to your bedroom and undress me. I don't know what I want you to do, but I want to feel your skin against my skin. Nothing separating us. Can you do that, please?"

I was totally surprised by her request, but I went along with it willingly. We relaxed together, feeling the comfort of each other's body. We didn't do anything or say anything, mainly because we didn't need to. Communication by osmosis, I guess. Eventually we fell asleep that way, and we hadn't moved a muscle when the phone woke me an hour later.

The caller ID window had some abbreviations that I didn't recognize, so I answered, "This is Pete Donnelson."

"Hello. This is Professor William Sanger. I got a message to call this number, although I don't know why."

"Oh good. Professor, you got the right number. I'm a friend of Melanie. She's here with me, at my house. There have been some unusual things going on at your home on Aurora Avenue, involving criminal activity. Melanie is all right. I'm keeping her with me so I can protect her. The police are investigating what's happened at your home, and right now it's a crime scene. That's the best summary I can give you in a few words. Now I'll put Mel on and she can tell you all about it."

Mel tried to talk calmly to her father, but eventually the tears came spilling out. I tried not to listen, but she was sitting on the far side of a king size bed from me - what's that, about six feet? - so it was hard not to get every word. I was on the side toward the wall, so when I got up to give her some privacy I had to walk right past her. She reached out and took my hand, and pulled me down to sit beside her. So much for privacy. She didn't cry long, and kept on talking. "Daddy, I want you and Mom to go on with your cruise, and see all the things you've been dreaming about all these years. There's nothing to be gained by coming home. In fact, if you did you couldn't even stay in the house. It's all roped off with yellow tape, and swarming with people who work for the police. There has been very little damage in the house, and once the police are done with it, I don't think it'll take a long time to get it back to normal."

There followed a period of silence at our end, while the professor voiced concern for his little girl. "No, Daddy, I'm just fine. I'd be an emotional wreck if it weren't for Pete. He's been wonderful. He has a nice house, and I have my own bedroom and bathroom and even my own cable TV. It's like a three star hotel but better because Pete's here to watch over me." Long pause, and a little chuckle. "Yes, I hope so. We'll see. Hold on a sec. I'm going to put Pete back on."