“That seems a little over the top, Mr. Ballencoa,” Dixon said. “I’m sorry if you were . . . inconvenienced . . . but I haven’t really heard anything here that warrants a formal complaint.”
Ballencoa picked up the cassette recorder and pressed the Play button. The voices that came out of the speaker seemed small and tinny, but there was no mistaking who they belonged to.
Dixon listened, his gaze hard on Mendez. Mendez wanted to turn and kick a hole in the wall. He was angry that Ballencoa had the balls to come in here and do this, but he was almost as angry with himself for not keeping a better handle on his temper. He couldn’t argue that he sounded threatening on the tape. He had meant to sound threatening. He had put his own dick in this wringer.
The tape ended. Ballencoa looked at the sheriff.
“That was a threat,” he said. “I won’t stand to be treated that way, Sheriff Dixon. I won’t hesitate to file suit against this department if this kind of thing continues.”
“Now who’s making threats?” Mendez grumbled.
Dixon cut him a hard look, then turned back to Ballencoa. “I apologize on behalf of my office if Detective Mendez came on too strong, Mr. Ballencoa. Your point is taken. I completely agree with you—it’s not our job to pry into the lives of law-abiding citizens.”
Ballencoa was beginning to look pleased with himself.
“On the other hand,” Dixon said, “you do have a record for a serious offense, and there is a . . . unique history involving Mrs. Lawton. I’m sure you can understand—”
“I understand my rights,” Ballencoa said firmly. “I would like to file my complaint and leave.”
There was no talking him out of it. Dixon escorted him out of the conference room. He would take Ballencoa to the desk sergeant to do the paperwork. Mendez watched them go down the hall, waiting for them to turn the corner. As soon as they disappeared, he stepped back into the conference room and shoved a chair on casters so hard across the room that when it hit the wall it sounded like a gun had gone off.
“Fuck! Fucking pervert, child predator, woman stalker has the balls to come in here and complain about me? Fuck that!”
Hicks shrugged and spread his hands, as if to say This is what you get for being an asshole. “He’s smart. He wants a short leash on you.”
Ballencoa’s complaint would go on Mendez’s record. He was building a paper trail for his lawsuit if he decided to file one. A single complaint wouldn’t get him far, but if he accumulated several, he would have established a pattern of behavior.
“He’s building himself a buffer,” Mendez said. “If he can make us back off and keep our distance, he’s got breathing room to do what he wants.”
“This ain’t his first rodeo,” Hicks said.
“No. He’s got his system down,” Mendez said, pacing the width of the room with his hands jammed at his waist. “What else was in that bag of his?”
“A sketch pad. A notebook. A couple of rolls of film. Some breath mints.”
“No photographs?”
Hicks shook his head.
“He had his eye on that bag like there was something in there he didn’t want us to get our hands on.”
“Then why did he bring it in here at all? He could have put that recorder in his pocket.”
“I should have shot the fucker and solved everyone’s problems,” Mendez grumbled. “I sure as hell thought he was going for a gun.”
“Me too.”
“Man, I seriously need a drink after this.”
“You’re buying.”
Dixon came back into the room then, his fury barely contained. He backed Mendez into the wall.
“I ought to beat your ass like a rented mule!” he shouted. “What the hell were you thinking?”
“I don’t have an excuse, sir,” Mendez said. “He made me angry and I lost my temper.”
“Well, I certainly know how that feels,” Dixon said sharply. He paced around in a little circle, shaking his head. “That temper is going to ruin you, detective.”
“I’m sorry, sir.”
“If you aren’t, you will be,” Dixon said ominously. “You’re suspended. Two days without pay, starting tomorrow. I don’t want to see you, I don’t want to hear from you, I don’t want to hear of you. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now put your ass in a chair and explain to me what the fuck is going on.”
27
Leah hadn’t slept well. She had pretended to. She had spent the whole evening pretending to be normal, and the whole night pretending to sleep. It wasn’t that she hadn’t enjoyed her time at the Leones’ house with Wendy. She had . . . and yet it hadn’t seemed real.
As she thought of it now, it was almost as if she split herself into two entirely separate beings—her body-being going through the motions while her mind-being stood off to the side and watched. She didn’t like that feeling. It frightened her. When she felt that way, a crazy panic gripped her that someone would notice there were two of her, and she would be revealed for the fraud and the freak that she was.
She had been terrified the whole evening that Anne Leone would see. Most people just didn’t look closely enough. They didn’t want to look beyond the surface. They didn’t really want to know what it was like to be her. They all treated her differently because of everything that had happened to her family, but at the same time wanted to think that she was normal because they wouldn’t know what to do with her if she wasn’t.
And even though Wendy had been through a lot too, Leah didn’t think Wendy saw what she was feeling. She didn’t think Wendy ever felt the way she felt. Not exactly. Leah didn’t try to tell her. Wendy was the only friend she had. If Wendy decided she was a freak, she wouldn’t have anybody.
Anne Leone was a different story. Anne paid close attention. Leah worried that Anne probably saw everything everybody was thinking or feeling. Leah had felt like she should hold her breath every time Anne looked at her, like she had as a child, when she believed if she held her breath and stood very still, she would become invisible to everyone around her. She didn’t want Anne to think she was a freak.
Anne was so nice. Wendy had told Leah about some of the terrible things Anne had been through, yet Anne was so open and so happy, and so cool. She loved her children so much it almost hurt Leah to watch. Haley and Antony were constantly running to her for a hug or a kiss, or a tickle and a giggle. It made Leah wish she could have gone back to being small, before she knew there was anything wrong with the world or the people in it.
Her mom had been like Anne then. She had loved to spend time with her daughters. They had done all kinds of fun things together. And there had been lots of smiles and hugs and kisses.
Leah missed that. She missed it so badly it hurt to watch Anne with her children. More than once during the evening, she had had to fight to keep the tears from flooding her eyes. She had felt so alone . . .
The tears rose up now in the remembering as she went about the job of grooming her horse. The barn was quiet. The full-time groom, Umberto Oliva, had gone for his lunch. Maria had gone to the house for the same. There were no lessons scheduled until three thirty. Leah was the only human in the barn.
She leaned into the task of polishing Bacchus’s coat until he gleamed like a wet seal, and when a shaft of sunlight struck the lighter parts of his coat, big dapples stood out. He watched her quietly from the corner of his eye—the wise, all-knowing Bacchus. He was like a creature from another world, his soul ages old.