Cindy nodded, trying to hold back the tears. “The jerk must have taken off work early. We’re right back where we started. I just don’t know what to do next.”

  At that moment, a man neither of them recognized came into the center.

  “Do you know where I can find Cindy Stewart?”

  “I’m Cindy Stewart,” Cindy replied hesitantly.

  The man handed her an envelope. “Congratulations! You’re served.”

  “What is it?” Cindy gasped.

  “No idea. Not my business,” the man said, walking away.

  Cindy tore open the envelope, read a few lines, and slumped into a chair.

  “Daryl’s filed for divorce --- and he’s asking for full custody of Sam. He and the company’s attorney are drinking buddies. They’re certainly not wasting any time.”

  “Then the next step is to get with our attorney, Mark Grossman,” Marsha said. “I’ll set it up for tomorrow afternoon.”

  After introductions, Mark Grossman got right to the point.

  “When Marsha called to set up this appointment, I asked her to fill me in on what she knew. Then, I spoke with Jeff Ballinger, your husband’s attorney. Cindy, I’m not going to lie to you, this isn’t going to be easy.”

  “I don’t understand,” she replied. “This is all Daryl. We wouldn’t be doing this if he wasn’t an abusive drunk.”

  “That’s just the thing. According to what you told Marsha, he’s never had a DUI, and you’ve never reported any of the incidents where he has abused you to the police. He may be all of those things, but we have no proof to offer to the court. It gets worse.”

  “How could it possibly get worse?”

  “The judge is going to look at several things. One of them is living arrangements. You left the family home and are basically living in a homeless shelter. Daryl’s attorney will argue that the family home, which you abandoned, is a much healthier environment for Sam.”

  “But I left because I feared for our safety.”

  “Again, where’s the proof. Another thing the judge looks at is the mental and physical health of the parents. Jeff Ballinger says you take Xanex and they can prove it. Is that true?”

  Cindy slumped. “Damn! I forgot to take my prescription when we left. Yes, I take Xanex. My doctor prescribed it for anxiety. I never knew when Daryl was going to come home drunk. I was a nervous wreck wondering if this was going to be the night when he hurt one of us seriously.”

  “Nevertheless, you can see how this looks.”

  “What about Sam? Won’t the judge take into account what she wants to do?”

  “Yes and no. She’s only six. The judge will ask, but kids that age are notorious for wanting one thing, then changing their mind a day later.”

  “So what can we do?”

  “We’re going to put on the best defense possible. The one thing you have going for you is that traditionally, the courts have ruled in favor of the mother unless there is overwhelming evidence to the contrary.”

  Two days later, Cindy was alone in her room reading when her cell phone rang.

  “Mommy! I’m scared and hungry.”

  “Sam! What’s going on? Where are you?”

  “I’m at home.”

  “Where’s your father?”

  “He’s in bed. When he picked me up from school, he was walking and talking kind of funny. Then when we got home, he just went to bed. There was nothing for supper and I got hungry. I tried to get a bowl of cereal, but I spilled it all over the floor. I’m sorry, Mommy!”

  “Don’t you worry, baby. It’s not your fault. Try not to be scared. I’ll be right over.”

  “I’m not scared, Mommy. Puff is with me.”

  Cindy grabbed her coat, purse, and cell phone. On the way, she dialed Walt Williams.

  “Walt, I just got a call from Sam. It sounds like Daryl came home drunk and passed out. It’s eight o’clock, almost Sam’s bedtime, and Daryl is still out. The poor child didn’t even get supper. I’m heading over there now. I’d feel a lot better if you could come over.”

  “Not a problem,” he replied. “I’m on the way. You should wait until I get there to go in.”

  A few minutes later, Cindy pulled up in front of the house. She knew Walt was probably right about waiting, but he was at least fifteen minutes away.

  “To hell with it,” she muttered. “My baby needs me.”

  She climbed the steps, slipped her key into the lock, and quietly opened the door. She listened, and the only sound she heard was a rustling in the kitchen. She tip-toed into the kitchen, stepping around the soggy Cocoa Puffs and milk that Sam had spilled. She spotted Sam, crouched in the corner, eating dry Cocoa Puffs from the box.

  “Sam, I’m here,” she said, putting her finger to her lips. “Let’s very quietly get your coat and get out of here.”

  “Sam’s not going anywhere!”

  It was Daryl. He stood menacingly in the doorway, a scowl on his face.

  “You bitch!” he roared. “You think you can come into my house and take my daughter? Well, you’ve got another think coming. Now get out of here!”

  “Daryl! It’s after eight. You came home drunk and passed out. I’m not leaving without Sam.”

  “The hell you’re not,” he replied, picking up a bowl and hurling it against the wall.

  Sam grabbed Cindy around the leg. “Mommy! I’m scared!”

  “I’m scared too, Sweetie. Tell you what. I want you to go into the other room and hide while your daddy and I talk. I’ll come get you when it’s time to go.”

  “But Mommy!”

  “No buts. Now do as I say.”

  Reluctantly, Sam let go and ran into the adjoining room.

  Cindy turned to her husband. “Daryl, this can’t go on. Sam is scared to death. Please let us go. We can settle everything in court.”

  “We sure as hell will, but Sam stays with me. I’m not going to tell you again. Get out!”

  “I’m not leaving without Sam,” Cindy replied, resolutely, holding up her cell phone. “I’m calling the police. We’ll let them decide.”

  “No cops!” Daryl bellowed. “In fact, I’m getting tired of this shit and I’m going to end it right now.”

  He picked up a knife from the butcher block on the counter. “You broke into my house and tried to take my daughter. You threatened me with this knife. We struggled. I was just defending myself. That’s the story I’ll give to the cops.”

  Cindy retreated as he lunged. He hadn’t noticed the soggy Cocoa Puffs on the floor. His foot hit the gooey mess and he fell forward, landing with a thump and a groan.

  He twitched and then was quiet.

  Horrified, Cindy rushed to his side and turned him over. Blood was gushing from the hole where the knife had pierced his chest.

  “Daryl! No!” she gasped.

  She pulled the knife from his chest and pressed her hands over the hole to try to stop the bleeding.

  Frantically, she looked around, trying to find something to press into the wound. She spotted a dish towel and was about to reach for it when she heard, “Ma’am, step away from the body and put your hands in the air.”

  CHAPTER 14

  Maggie and I were in our love seat recliner, holding hands and watching NCIS when the phone rang. It was Cindy.

  “Walt, I just got a call from Sam. It sounds like Daryl came home drunk and passed out. It’s eight o’clock, almost Sam’s bedtime, and Daryl is still out. The poor child didn’t even get supper. I’m heading over there now. I’d feel a lot better if you could come over.”

  “Not a problem,” I replied. “I’m on the way. You should wait until I get there to go in.”

  I turned to Maggie. “Press pause. I have to meet Cindy at Daryl’s place. If it gets nasty, I might be a while.”

  “Walt, be careful. I don’t want you getting shot in the middle of a domestic dispute.”

  When I turned on to their street, I saw flashing lights. This can’t be good, I thought.

  I got out of the car and walked up to a woman I assumed was a neighbor.

  “What’s going on in there?”

  “I live next door. These two have been at each other’s throats for weeks. I heard yelling and things breaking so I called 911. Who are you?”

  “My name is Walt Williams. I’m a friend of Cindy’s. She called and asked me to meet her here in case things got out of hand.”

  “I’m afraid that ship has sailed.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “From what I’ve been able to overhear, Daryl is dead, and it looks like Cindy did the deed. Can’t say I blame her. Her husband was a real piece of work.”

  “Oh, no!”

  I headed up the steps, but was stopped by one of the officers.

  “Sorry, bud. Can’t go ---- Walt? Walt Williams? What are you doing here?”

  It was one of the cops I had worked with at the precinct.

  “Hi Lou. I’m a friend of Cindy Stewart. She called and asked me to meet her here. Is she okay?”

  “She’s fine. Can’t say the same for her old man. Deader than a doornail. Looks like a domestic that got out of hand.”

  “I’d really like to see her.”

  He thought for a moment. “I guess it’s all right, you being a cop all those years. Just don’t touch anything.”

  “Thanks. I know the drill.”

  I found Cindy sitting in the living room. Her hands were cuffed.

  “Walt! Thank God you’re here. Daryl’s dead and --- and --- they think I did it. You know I never would.”

  “Of course I know that. Try to stay calm. We’ll get this sorted out.”

  At that moment, Detective Derek Blaylock entered the room. I was surprised to see him.

  “Derek, what’s homicide doing here?”

  “In case you hadn’t noticed,” he replied, “there’s a dead body in the kitchen --- with a gaping hole in his chest. A better question is what you’re doing in the middle of my crime scene.”

  “I’m a friend of Cindy’s. She called on her way over and asked me to meet her here in case things got out of hand. Looks like I got here a little late.” I pointed to the handcuffs. “What’s with the bracelets?”

  “You’re behind the times, pal. The first officer on the scene found your friend standing over the body, her hands covered in blood. The murder weapon was beside the body and I’m willing to bet my pension that the little lady’s fingerprints are all over it.”

  I looked questioningly at Cindy.

  “I tried to tell them what happened, but nobody will listen. Daryl came at me with the knife, slipped on the wet floor, and fell on the knife. When I rolled him over, he was bleeding really bad. I pulled out the knife, and was looking for something to stop the bleeding when the officer arrived. I swear that’s the truth!”

  I looked at the detective. “Derek?”

  He shrugged. “Maybe it’s true, maybe not. It’s not for me to decide. I’m here to collect evidence. Until we can sort this out, she’s the prime suspect in a murder investigation. She’ll have to go downtown.”

  “But what about Sam?” Cindy wailed. “What’s going to happen to her?”

  In all the excitement, I had forgotten about Sam. “Where is Sam? Is she all right?”

  “She’s fine,” Derek replied. “She’s in the other room with one of our female officers. With her father gone and her mother going downtown, I’ll have to call Family Services. They’ll find a foster home for her.”

  “Noooo!” Cindy wailed. “You can’t take my baby away.”

  “Derek, I have a better idea. Cindy and Sam have been staying at the Mayview Center. Marsha Coe runs the place.”

  “Yeah, I know Marsha,” he replied. “She’s a great lady.”

  “She is, and I’m sure she would be delighted to take care of Sam until we get this straightened out. Wouldn’t it be in Sam’s best interests to go to a familiar place with people she trusts?”

  He thought for a moment. “Yeah, I can make that happen. Walt, can you take her there?”

  “Of course.”

  “Brenda!” Derek called, “Bring in the girl.”

  A moment later, Sam and Brenda appeared.

  Sam rushed into my arms. “Walt! What are these men doing to my mommy?”

  “Hi Sam. They just need to talk to her about what happened to your dad. She may be gone for a day or two. How would you like to spend the time with Marsha and Billy?”

  She looked at her mother and Cindy nodded.

  “Yes, I guess that would be okay.”

  “Good!” Derek said. “Then it’s settled.”

  I took Sam by the hand. “Try not to worry, Cindy. She’ll be fine and so will you. We’ll get this straightened out.”

  As I led Sam out of the room, she turned to her mother. “When will I see you again?”

  “Soon, baby. Real soon.”

  I hoped she was right.

  CHAPTER 15

  Marsha Coe buried her face in her hands. “Oh my God! How awful!”

  “For everyone,” I replied, “Especially Sam. I hope you don’t mind that I volunteered you to take care of her until we get this straightened out.”

  “Of course not. There’s no way I’d let Family Services place her in some foster home with strangers. Billy will be a big help. They are very close. What’s happening with Cindy?”

  “They’ve taken her downtown for questioning. The detective in charge of the case will present what he has found to the prosecuting attorney. He’ll review the evidence and decide whether or not to file charges.”

  “Surely they wouldn’t ---!”

  “Let’s hope not. We’ll keep our fingers crossed.”

  The next morning, I called Detective Blaylock.

  “Derek, what’s happening with Cindy Stevens?”

  “I wish I had better news for you, Walt,” he replied. “I went over the evidence with Frank Pitts, the prosecuting attorney. Looks like he’s going to charge your friend with second degree murder.”

  I was dumbfounded. “Murder! The guy attacked Cindy, he slipped and fell on the knife.”

  “That’s her story, but there’s no way to prove it one way or another. She was found standing over the body with the victim’s blood on her hands. She could be telling the truth, or it could be an elaborate lie to cover up a murder.”

  “What do you think? Surely you had some input on the decision.”

  “It doesn’t matter what I think. Frankly, Cindy Stewart doesn’t look like a killer to me, but people do strange things in the heat of passion. I’ll tell you something, but you didn’t hear it from me. Understand?”

  “Of course.”

  “The prosecuting attorney and Jeff Ballinger, Daryl’s attorney, are buddies. I think Pitts was leaning toward not charging your friend, but Ballinger got to him and convinced him to press charges.”

  “Damn!”

  “Yeah, I hear you. I hope your friend has a good attorney.”

  “Thanks, Derek. I owe you one.”

  I hung up and called Mark Grossman.

  “Mark, Walt Williams. I just heard ---.”

  “I know,” he interrupted. “Cindy’s been charged with second degree murder. She called. I’m on my way downtown now. Any chance you could meet me there?”

  “Absolutely! I’m on my way.”

  When the three of us were seated, Cindy’s first question was, “What about Sam? How’s she doing?”

  “Sam’s just fine,” I assured her. “Marsha and Billy are taking good care of her. It’s you we need to be worrying about.”

  “That’s why we need to talk,” Mark said. “I’m going to be very honest with you. I appreciate you calling me, but Cindy, I specialize in family law. I’m not a defense attorney. I’ve never even come close to a murder case. This is serious business and we need to find someone who can do you justice.”

  I saw the look of disappointment on Cindy’s face. “I appreciate your honesty, Mark. I hope you have someone you can recommend. I have no idea who to call.”

  “Well, I know a few good defense attorneys.”

  “I don’t mean to butt in,” I interrupted, “but I know just who you need, Suzanne Romero.”

  “Suzanne Romero!” Mark said, somewhat shocked. “Good luck with that. She’s the best, for sure, but she’s one of the most sought-out attorneys in the city.”

  “Leave that to me,” I replied. “Suzanne and I have a history. I think I can get her on board.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Mark said. “Cindy’s going to need the best.”

  Mark was right. Suzanne Romero is the best defense attorney in town. I should know. She defended Ox and me when two corrupt cops framed us for murder, and she defended Mary when an over-zealous prosecutor charged her with murder for whacking an intruder who had threatened her with a knife.

  On the other side of the coin, I had helped her prove her client’s innocence in two other cases.

  It felt good to get an immediate appointment with the most sought-after attorney in the city. It pays to be well-connected.

  “Walt!” she said, extending her hand. “So good to see you again. Who’s in trouble this time? You? Mary? Willie?”

  “No, not this time. It’s a friend of mine. Her name’s Cindy Stewart.”

  I shared Cindy’s story from the moment she and Sam appeared at the Mayview Center on Christmas Eve, right up to the moment she had been charged with second degree murder.

  After I finished, she sat quietly contemplating for a moment.

  “Walt, you’ve punched two of my hot buttons. As far as I’m concerned, wife-beaters are right at the top of my list of despicable people. It’s estimated that 25% of women will experience intimate partner violence over their lifetimes, and that’s just the ones we know about. It’s called the domestic violence iceberg. What we see above the surface, meaning what’s actually reported, is just a small part of what’s actually occurring. Women are afraid to report the abuse for a number of reasons, the big ones being embarrassment, fear of retaliation, and financial dependency. These bullies get away with far too much, and it gripes the hell out of me.

 

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