First Offense (39 page)

Racing to the bathroom next to the, master bedroom, she found Glen’s hairbrush and shoved it into her back pocket. She started to look for a comb to be certain, but she was afraid to take the time. Walking back down the hail, she passed an open door to a room she had never been inside before. Every time she had visited Glen’s house, the door to this room had been closed.

Stepping inside, she saw that it was a study. Numerous certificates and framed photos hung on the walls, a desk was situated in one comer, and a mounted gun rack covered the back wall. Ann’s eyes were drawn to the photos. In one. Glen was a young boy. He was holding an enormous rifle in his hands. The next photo showed Glen again as a boy, possibly ten or twelve. He was standing next to a calf at a 4-H event, and there were tears in his eyes. Had they been about to auction off his treasured pet for slaughter? She saw photos of Glen with his mother, a stem expression on her face. Glen had been a sensitive child, she thought, with an overbearing mother. Was that what had made him rape?

Another was a group picture of the Boulder High School graduating class, and she spotted Glen’s face. He’d even lied about this, she thought, snatching die photo off the wall to take with her. Estelle Summer couldn’t have been his high school English teacher. Even though Glen had attended college at Berkeley, he’d obviously attended high school in Colorado. Lies, Ann thought. Everything about him amounted to lies.

The house was so quiet, deathly quiet.

Ann searched his desk, her hands flying through the papers. Mostly bills. She opened the desk drawer and started rummaging inside. Something fell out of an envelope with a metallic jangle, landing in the bottom of the drawer. A silver charm bracelet. Ann seized it and saw a charm that was engraved “To Grandma from Billy.” The date was 1965. She shoved the bracelet in her front pocket. It had to be from one of the victims in the rapes. Knowing she had to get to the garage and then get out of the house, Ann rushed to the gun rack.

Shotguns, high-powered assault rifles with scopes, handguns. Glen had never once mentioned that he was a gun collector. Of course, he knew Ann hated firearms. The one with the scope, she thought, her breath catching in her throat. Should she take it? Had he used it to shoot her?

No, she’d stayed too long already. Besides, she quickly decided, if Glen had used a rifle with a scope, she would be dead. Any minute, either Glen would come back or the police would come screaming up and arrest her. She had to get out of the house. Dropping the photograph of Glen’s high school class, she hurried to the garage.

There it was, under a canvas tarp: Glen’s black 1979 Rolls-Royce. He had to be driving the Harley Davidson motorcycle now as it wasn’t in the garage. Yanking the canvas tarp off, Ann spotted the damage on the right front, and proceeded to photograph it. Then she used all four shots in order to get as complete a record of the car as she could in the few remaining seconds she felt she had left.

She shoved the photos into her back pocket and was about to leave when the garage door opened. Ann’s heart began racing as she saw the motorcycle turn into the driveway. Quickly she dropped the camera behind a bunch of ski equipment and then dropped her parka on top of it. Patting down her hair, she tried to quiet her breathing. What was she going to say? How could she explain this? God, he could kill her right here.

“Ann,” Glen said, stopping the bike and removing bis helmet, a dark look in his eyes. “What are you doing in my garage? I’ve been waiting at the Sail Loft.”

“Oh…Glen, I’m so glad you’re here,” Ann said. “I ran out of gas just a few blocks away. When I couldn’t find a pay phone, I decided to walk to your house and see if you’d come back.” She was talking so fast her words were running together. She forced herself to slow down. She had to get out of here, get away from him. “When I got here, I saw your back window broken out. I thought you might be hurt and crawled inside to check. Then I just came out here to see if your car was here.”

He was still on the motorcycle, his hands clasping and unclasping the handlebars. “That’s bullshit,” he said, fury in his eyes.

Ann stepped backward, her eyes darting around the garage. Glen’s motorcycle was in front of her, so she couldn’t escape through the open door. If she ran back inside the house, though, he could catch her, kill her. No one even knew she was here.

The fingers. How could she have forgotten the severed fingers? Was Glen responsible for that as well? He had framed Delvecchio. Had he framed Sawyer too? Butchered some innocent woman and then planted the fingers in the Henderson house? She had been sleeping with a monster.

He was walking toward her. Ann forced herself not to recoil. The closer he got, the better chance she would have to defend herself, take him down. Let him come, she told herself, her muscles stiffening in preparation. He might lift weights, but he didn’t know much about self-defense.

“What are you trying to do to me?” he spat, his breath hot on her face. “You’re like all the others.”

“No, Glen,” Ann pleaded, giving him what he wanted now. “Don’t hurt me. Please, don’t hurt me.” As soon as she expressed the fear, his head went back and a milky look appeared in his eyes.

He was momentarily off guard, drunk on her fear. Now was the time. Placing her hands on his shoulders, Ann pulled him closer, as if she were about to embrace him. Suddenly she brought her knee up hard into his groin.

“Fuck,” he screamed in pain, his face twisted. His head fell to her chest as his pelvis jerked backward.

As Ann jumped to one side. Glen slid to the garage floor, his knees to his chest. In one swipe she collected her parka and camera. She took off running toward the alley, hearing him scramble to his feet. The hairbrush was dislodged from her pocket and hit the concrete in the driveway. She heard Glen stopping for it, only a few feet behind her. Let it go, she told herself. But she couldn’t. She had to have proof. She’d risked her life to get it. She wasn’t leaving without it.

Just as Glen’s fingers closed on the brush, Ann stomped on his hand with her full body weight. Bending over, she snatched the brush. If only she’d brought her gun, she thought, she would kill him right that second. Their eyes met, and Ann saw that the tables had turned. He was the terrified one now, the defenseless one. She refused to remove her foot from his hand. “Don’t come near me,” she spat, saliva flying from her mouth. “If you get within three feet of me, I’ll blow your fucking head off.”

With his free hand he lunged for her ankle, but Ann was too fast. She tore off down the driveway, into the alley. Leaping in her car, she cranked the engine and burned off, passing a patrol car on the main street en route to Glen’s house.

Chapter
21

“I
have to see Melanie this instant.” Ann was at the crime lab, beating her fists on the counter as she shouted at Alex. “I told you it was an emergency.”

“Ann,” Melanie said from the doorway, a puzzled expression on her face. “Come in. What’s going on? You look awful.”

Ann glanced at Alex and then looked away, taking a deep breath and trying to calm herself. “Not as bad as I feel, Mel,” she said, smoothing her hair down as she entered the lab. Once Melanie had taken a seat on a stool, Ann handed her the hairbrush. “I need you to make a comparison of the hair in this right now. See if it matches the pubic hairs from the Delvecchio case.”

“What’s going on?” the forensic expert said, deeply concerned. With her foot she nudged a stool next to her, indicating that Ann should sit down. “I’m not doing anything until I know what this is about.”

Ann proceeded to relate all the connections she’d made. She’d rather deal with a woman right now than have to tell her story to a man. Once she had told her everything she had learned, she chastised herself. “I was sleeping with him,” she said, wringing her hands. “How could I be such a fool? Why couldn’t I see it, sense it?”

Melanie slid off her stool and embraced her. “Honey, men are assholes. I mean, any man, and this was far from any man.”

“But why?” Ann said, her shoulders shaking. “Why would he shoot me, attack me? I just don’t understand, Melanie. If I only understood—”

“He’s a rapist, Ann,” Melanie said, her own voice strained and cracking, her eyes blazing with intensity. “He thrives on—the sick bastard—seeing women suffer. It sexually excites him. I bet he wouldn’t have been able to have sex with you any other way.”

Ann still could not grasp it. “But Melanie, I was seeing him before this all started happening. He was having sex with me then. I wasn’t afraid then, and he had no trouble, believe me.” She suddenly remembered Glen’s fetish for having sex in public places, risking exposure. What had seemed exciting then now seemed revealing. Once she had divulged this information to Melanie, the woman pulled away and perched back on her stool, lighting a cigarette.

“You were already a victim,” Melanie said, her mouth compressed in growing outrage, the cigarette burning in the ashtray and smoke swirling up to her face. “I hate to say this, Ann,” she said, waving the smoke away, “and please don’t take it the wrong way, but the word
victim
was engraved on your forehead. Hank…”

Ann felt her stomach lurch. Did Melanie know Hank had beaten her? Did everyone know? “You mean that’s why Glen began dating me to begin with?”

“Probably,” she said, taking a quick puff and then setting the cigarette back in the ashtray. “You’d already been primed, you know, by what happened with Hank.” Then she thought of something else. “Tell me, how do they assign cases at your agency?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, didn’t everything come to a head when Hopkins learned you’d be handling the Delvecchio case?”

Ann searched her memory. The night she was shot, she’d told Glen she would be handling the presentence report on Delvecchio, but at the time she had already been assigned the violation of probation report anyway. “They always give me the multiple-count cases. Glen knows that. I’m the only one who can figure out the bingo sheet. But I don’t see your point, Melanie. You think he shot me because he thought I might discover the truth?”

“That’s a possibility, but I don’t think so,” Melanie said thoughtfully. “I think it was just the opposite, Ann. He was excited by the fact that you’d be dealing with Delvecchio. That made him even more sexually aroused. Rape is about control, but it’s also about risk. This was the ultimate game he was playing. A man like Glen is different from an ordinary rapist.”

“In what way?” Ann said, as always wary of psychological interpretations. Some of the things David’s therapist had said were way off.

Melanie looked over Ann’s head as she talked, piecing her thoughts together as she went along. “He’s smart, see,” she said, taking another drag on her cigarette and then stubbing it out. “But he probably doesn’t feel smart. Maybe his mother’s being so high-placed in the legal world makes him feel unimportant. For all we know, she could belittle him, tell him he’ll never rise to her level of accomplishment. By outsmarting the judicial system, the system he associates with his mother, he’s outsmarting his mother too. Can’t you see? Symbolically, you became his mother and therefore the target of his rage.”

Ann looked up. “You mean because I had a child or something?”

“Exactly,” Melanie said. “You’re idealistic when it comes to your work, Ann. You’re determined and strong, a trained police officer. Someone shoots you and you hardly miss a stride. This reminds him of his mother.”

“Go on,” Ann said.

“But on the other hand, he sees you as the perfect mother to David, kind and understanding. His own mother is probably demanding and critical of everything he tries to do to please her.” Melanie paused and leaned forward, taking Ann’s hands, “See, Ann, you’re both everything he hates and everything he desires. What he really wants is to take David’s place, get rid of David. Then he can be the one basking in your love.”

Ann felt a jolt of fear and leaped off the stool. “David. He wants to hurt David?”

Picking up the hairbrush, Melanie pointed at the phone. “Go on. Call him and make certain he’s all right.”

“Will you start on the hairs?”

“Sure,” Melanie said, turning to her microscope.

Once Ann had talked to Oscar Chapa and confirmed that David was asleep and safe, she leaned over Melanie’s shoulder. “How does it look?”

“Ann, you brought me head hairs. I didn’t want to say anything when you first came in, but the samples we collected were pubic hairs. There’s a difference.”

Ann gripped the back of her chair, about to scream. “You’ve got to match it, Melanie.”

“Calm down,” Melanie said, a hand in the air as her eye remained pressed to the microscope. “Some of the cellular/translucent configurations are similar. To make a valid comparison, though, I need actual pubic hair.”

“God,” Ann said. “Pubic hairs.” She’d gone over there and broken into Glen’s home for nothing. The only way she could get what Melanie needed would be to sleep with Glen again, and that was clearly out of the question.

“Shit,” Melanie said, looking up. “I should have noted this when the evidence first came in on the rapes. Because Glen said it wasn’t necessary, I more or less skipped over this sample. The pubic hairs found on the victims are from a Caucasian. Isn’t Delvecchio black?”

“Yes,” Ann said.

“Well, he’s not the rapist.”

“We already know that,” Ann shot back, becoming more frustrated by the second. “We have to prove it’s Glen’s pubic hair.”

“I can’t help you, Ann,” Melanie answered, equally discouraged. “I’m sorry, but as I said, head hairs and pubic hairs are different. With enough time, I could study the cell structure, even do a DNA test, but right now—”

The charm bracelet. Ann stuffed her hand in her pocket and pulled it out. “I found this in his house. Quick, Mel, get the reports and see if it was taken from one of the victims.”

While Melanie went to the other room to get the file, Ann studied each charm. There were lockets with pictures of children, engraved hearts, tiny icons of various objects: a piano, miniature praying hands, a cross, a unicorn. She was holding a lifetime of treasured memories.