"You'd be surprised what neighbors will do," Wilford said.
"Sometimes they even kill each other. Not unusual at all. It's a strange world we're living in."
"You're wrong," she said hotly." It was the old woman. The dog and the face at the window-they were both connected with that old woman."
He sighed." You may be right."
"I am right."
"I was only suggesting that we keep our minds open," he said.
"Good idea," she said pointedly.
He closed his notebook." Well, I guess I've got all the details I need."
Christine got up as the officer rose from his chair. She said, "What now?"
"We'll file a report, of course, including your statement, and we'll give you an open case number."
" What's an open case number?"
"If anything else should happen, if this old woman should show up again, you give the case number when you call us, and the officers answering your call will know the story before they get here; they'll know what to look for on the way, so if maybe the woman leaves before they arrive, they'll spot her in passing and be able to stop her."
"Why didn't they give us a case number after what happened last night?"
"Oh, they wouldn't open a file just for one report of a prowler,"
Wilford explained." Last night, you see, no crime had been committed-at least so far as we could tell. No evidence of any sort of crime. But this is. a little worse."
"A little worse?" she said, remembering Brandy's severed head, the dead glassy eyes gazing up at her.
"An unfortunate choice of words," he said." I'm sorry. It's just that, compared to a lot of other things we see on this job, a dead dog isn't so-"
"Okay, okay," Christine said, increasingly unable to conceal her anger and impatience." You'll call us and give us an open case number. But what else are you going to do?"
Wilford looked uncomfortable. He rolled his broad shoulders and scratched at his thick neck." The description you've given us is the only thing we've got to go on, and that's not much.
We'll run it through the computer and try to work backwards to a name.
The machine'll spit out the name of anyone who's been in trouble with us before and who fits at least seven of the ten major points of standard physical comparison. Then we'll pull mug shots of whatever other photos we have in the files. Maybe the computer'll give us several names, and we'll have photos of more than one old woman. Then we'll bring all the pictures over here for you to study. As soon as you tell us we've found her. well, then we can go have a talk with her and find out what this is all about. You see, it really isn't hopeless, Mrs. Scavello."
"What if she hasn't been in trouble with you before and you don't have a file on her?"
Moving to the front door, Wilford said, "We have data-sharing arrangements with every police agency in Orange, San Diego, Riverside, and Los Angeles Counties. We can reach their computers through our own.
Instant access. Datalink, they call it. If she's in any of their files, we'll find her just as quickly as if she were in our own."
"Yeah, sure, but what if she's never been in trouble anywhere?"
Christine asked anxiously.
Opening the front door, Wilford said, "Oh, don't worry, we'll probably turn up something. We almost always do."
"That's not good enough," she said, and she would have said it even if she had believed him, which she didn't. They wouldn't turn up anything.
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Scavello, but it's the best we can do."
"Shit."
He scowled." I understand your frustration, and I want to assure you we won't file this away and forget about it. But we can't work miracles."
"Shit."
His scowl deepened. His bushy eyebrows drew together in a single thick bar." Lady, it's none of my business, but I don't think you should use words like that in front of your little boy."
She stared at him, astonished. Astonishment turned to anger.
"Yeah? And what're you-a born-again Christian?"
"In fact, I am, yes. And I believe it's extremely important for us to set good examples for our young ones, so they'll grow up in God's image.
We've got to-" "I don't believe this," Christine said." You're telling me that I'm setting a bad example because I used a four-letter word, a harmless word-"
"Words aren't harmless. The devil beguiles and persuades with words.
Words are the-"
"What about the example you're setting for my son? Huh? By your every act, you're teaching him that the police really can't protect anyone, that they really can't help anyone, that they can't do much more than come around afterwards and pick up the pieces."
"I wish you didn't see it that way," Wilford said.
"How the hell else am I supposed to see it?"
He sighed." We'll call you with the case number." Then he turned away from the door, away from her and Joey, and moved stiffly down the walkway.
After a moment, she hurried in his wake, caught up with him, put a hand on his shoulder." Please."
He stopped, turned to her. His face was hard, his eyes cold.
She said, "I'm sorry. I really am. I'm just distraught. I don't know what to think. All of a sudden I don't know where to turn."
"I understand," he said, as he had said a couple of times before, but there was no understanding in his granite face.
Glancing back to make sure Joey was still in the doorway, still too far away to hear, she said, "I'm sorry I flew off the handle at you. And I guess you're right about watching my language around Joey. Most of the time I do watch it, believe me, but today I'm not thinking straight.
That crazy woman told me that my little boy had to die. That's what she said. He k got to die, she said. And now the dog's dead, poor old fur-face. God, I liked that mutt a lot. He's dead and gone, and Joey saw a face at the window in the middle of the night, and all of a sudden the world's turned upside-down, and I'm scared, really scared, because I think somehow that crazy woman followed us, and I think she's going to do it, or at least try to do it, try to kill my little boy. I don't know why. There can't be a reason. Not a reason that makes any sense.
But that doesn't make any difference, does it? Not these days. These days, the newspapers are full of stories about punks and child molesters and lunatics of all kinds who don't need a reason to do what they do."
Wilford said, "Mrs. Scavello, please, you've got to keep control of yourself. You're being melodramatic. I won't say hysterical, but definitely melodramatic. It's not as bad as you're making out. We'll get to work on this, just like I told you. Meanwhile, you put your trust in God, and you'll be all right, you and your boy."
She couldn't reach this man. Not ever. Not in a million years.
She couldn't make him feel her terror, couldn't make him understand what it would mean to her if she lost Joey. It was hopeless, after all.
She could barely remain on her feet. All the strength went out of her.
He said, "I sure am glad, though, to hear you say you'll watch your language around the boy. The last couple generations in this country, we've been raising anti-social, know — it-all snots who have no respect for anything. If we're ever going to have us a good, peaceful, God-loving and God-fearing society, then we got to raise 'em up by the right example."
She said nothing. She felt as if she were standing here with someone from another country-maybe even from another planet-who not only didn't speak her language but who had no capacity to learn. There was no way he could ever grasp her problems, appreciate her concerns. In every way that counted, they were thousands of miles apart, and there was no road between them.
Wilford's flinty eyes sparked with the passion of a true believer as he said: "And I also recommend you don't go around without a bra in front of the boy, the way you are now. A woman built like you, even wearing a loose blouse like that, certain ways you turn or stretch. it's bound to be.