In Her Defense
by Margaret Watson           

            “Damn it, Ferguson, I don’t have time for this!”

            A.J. Ferguson watched Pierce McDougal storm into her office, stopping in front of her desk.  His blue eyes flashed with anger and his body language screamed furious cop.

            “You’re the victim’s advocate for the Riverton Police Department,” he said, his voice rising.  “You’re supposed to be helping the victims of crimes deal with the system.  You’re not supposed to be helping them avoid the system!  I need to talk to Mindy Talbott.  Right now.”

            A.J. sat up straight in her chair and narrowed her eyes at him.  “That’s too bad, Detective McDougal.  Mindy already told you she doesn’t know where her husband went.  I will not take you to see her right now.  She doesn’t need to be bullied.”

            “I am not going to bully her.”  McDougal spoke slowly, his voice rising with each word.  “I am trying to protect her.  Is that such a difficult concept for you to grasp?”

            “You won’t be protecting her if you go to the safe house and confront her.  Mindy needs peace and quiet.”

            McDougal leaned closer until he loomed over her, his broad shoulders blocking out the overhead fluorescent light.  His dark shadow covered her desk and spilled onto the floor.

            A.J. held his gaze as she rocketed out of her chair.  At almost six feet, she could look most of the police officers in the department in the eye.

            McDougal straightened without taking his eyes off her.  He was a full head taller.

            Ignoring the ripple down her spine, A.J. leaned toward McDougal until her face was inches away from his.  Two could play this intimidation game.  “You don’t scare me, Detective.  And you’re not going to frighten Mindy.  She’s had enough of that from her husband.”

            “For God’s sake, Ferguson.”  He stepped away from her desk and ran his hand through his hair.  The dark waves stood up straight on his head.  “I’m trying to help her.  She’s not going to be safe until we put Doak Talbott behind bars.  And we can’t do that unless she tells us where he is.”

            “You asked her last night.”

            “Last night she’d been beaten and she’d watched her son get slapped around.  I’m hoping she’ll have some ideas today.”

            “I don’t think she knows, Mac.”

            “And even if she did, she wouldn’t testify against him if we did arrest him.”

            A.J. didn’t answer.  He was right.  Mindy wouldn’t press charges against her husband, no matter how badly he beat her.  She was too afraid of what would happen when he got out of jail.

            And he would get out of jail.  Men like Doak Talbott didn’t languish in jail in Riverton, Illinois.  Their smooth-talking, expensive downtown attorneys in designer suits made sure of that.  The familiar anger burned her chest, hardening her resolve.  She would keep Mindy and her son Jamie safe.

            “Where’s the kid?” McDougal asked, his voice weary.

            “With DCFS.  They took him to a foster home until Mindy’s sister can get here.”

            The detective closed his eyes, and A.J. saw him reaching for his composure.  When he opened them again, the anger had leached away.  He focused on her, his searing blue gaze making her shiver.

            “We’re not on opposite sides here, Ferguson.  We want the same thing – that scumbag Talbott locked up.  If I promise to be a good boy, will you let me talk to Mindy?”

            He flashed a strained version of his famous smile at her, and her stomach fluttered.  The dimple in his right cheek deepened and he leaned closer again.  “I know how to play nice.  Women like me, Ferguson.”

            That was the understatement of the century, if even a fraction of the rumors she’d heard were true.  Grabbing for her own composure, scowling with irritation for letting him affect her, she said, “I’ll ask her if she’s willing to talk to you.  That’s my best offer.”

            “Be sure and tell her what a kind, considerate, soft-spoken guy I am.”

            She snorted.  “Even I don’t have the nerve to tell a whopper that big, McDougal.”

            His smile faded and the blue of his eyes burned through her again.  “I don’t care what you tell her.  I want Talbott, and she’s the only lead I have.”

            “I’ll talk to her.”

            “Right now.”

            “When I get a chance,” she retorted.  “She’s not the only victim who needs my help.”

            “What else have you got?  No, wait, I remember.  You have to give support and counseling to that moron who went into the Indian Park neighborhood to buy crack and got knocked around and robbed at gunpoint.”

            A.J. flushed.  “Just because he showed a lack of good judgement doesn’t mean he deserved to be attacked.  At least he’s trying to straighten himself out.  He made an appointment with me and I’m not going to cancel it.  He’s on his way here right now.”

            “You’re going to put Doak Talbott on the back burner while you counsel some idiot crack addict?”  His voice rose with incredulity.

            “I’m Riverton’s only victim’s advocate, Detective.”  Her voice dripped ice.  “I don’t pick and choose which victims are worthy of my help.  My office door is open to anyone who needs me.”

            “That’s your problem, Ferguson.  You bleeding hearts are all the same.  You’ll open your vein for any schmuck who walks in the door, and the blood loss has affected your brain.  You need to get your priorities straight.”

            The cowering child she’d been flashed in her memory.  “My priorities are just fine, thank you very much.”  She raised her eyebrows.  It was time to go on the attack.  “Is Mindy your only lead?  You’ve been looking at Doak Talbott for a while, haven’t you?  For that waitress from the country club who disappeared?  Surely a decorated detective like you would have developed other sources to question about your fugitive.”

            His face tightened and cold anger filled his eyes.  “You know damn well that the country club set in Riverton takes care of their own.  You think one of his friends is going to give him up?”

            She looked away.  He was right, and she knew it.  Doak Talbott’s friends would deny any knowledge of his whereabouts, even if Doak were standing right next to them.

            “All right.  I’ll go see Mindy tonight,” she said.  “If she’s willing to talk to you, we’ll go to the shelter in the morning.  But I’m not going to press her.”

            “Fine.  Get in touch with me as soon as she agrees to see me.”

            “Don’t worry, McDougal.  I know how to do my job.  I suggest you go out and do yours.  Figure out where Doak Talbott would go.”

            “That’s why I need to talk to your client, Ferguson.  If you want him caught, you know where to find me.”

            The floor shook beneath her feet with the force of the slamming door.

            “Someone is going to wring Ferguson’s neck one of these days,” Mac McDougal snarled to his partner as he threw himself into his desk chair.  “And right now, I’d have to call it justifiable homicide.”

            Jake Donovan looked over at him and raised his eyebrows.  “Another run-in with our victim’s advocate?”

            “That woman takes the meaning of stubborn to a whole new level.”

            “So which order of yours did she refuse to follow?”

            Mac scowled at him and crossed his arms over his chest.  “Very funny, Donovan.  You’re a real comedian.”

            “You could try making nice with A.J.  She’s a smart, savvy woman.  No one in the department wants to nail the bad guys more than she does.  Use some of that famous McDougal charm on her.”

            “That woman is uncharmable.”

            Jake raised his eyebrows.  “There’s an actual living, breathing woman who can resist Mac McDougal?”  He rested his hip on the desk and grinned at Mac.  “Did you flash that dimple at her?  Or flutter your baby blues in her direction?”

            “Knock it off, Donovan.  You might have time for chitchat, but I’ve got scumbags to catch.”

            He reached for the pile of files on his desk and began flipping through one randomly.  A.J. Ferguson’s refusal to let him talk to Mindy Talbott really pissed him off.  Doak Talbott was at the top of his list right now.  He wanted the man so badly he could taste it.  He wanted to toss the rich SOB into a cell and slam the door himself.  Not only did Talbott beat his wife and kid, but he was the prime suspect in the disappearance of Helena Tripp, a young waitress from the country club.  But being questioned by the cops didn’t rattle him.  Why should it?  The wealthy real estate developer had always used his money and his influence to shield himself from accountability.             

            “He laughed at us,” Mac said in a low voice, staring at the file in front of him but seeing Doak Talbott’s sneering face.  “The last time we went to his house, the bastard laughed at us.”

            “We’ll find him.”  Jake dropped into the chair on the other side of the desk.  “We’ve got flags on all his accounts and we’ve already sent out descriptions of his car.  He won’t get far.”

            “You know how it works, Jake.”  Mac raised his eyes and stared at his partner, fury raging in his gut.  “He’ll get another car.  He’ll have accounts we don’t even know about.  He’ll have friends who will help him, no questions asked.  Until we have someone who knows where his bolt hole is, we’re spinning our wheels.”

            “The man’s not a rocket scientist, Mac.”  Jake’s voice was mild.  “He’s just a rich guy with a lot of resources.  We have a lot of resources, too.”

            “They always slither out of charges against them.  You know it as well as I do.  Guys like Talbott are made of Teflon.  Nothing sticks to them.”

            “Is this pity party almost over?” Jake asked lazily.  “Because it’s bringing a little tear to my eye and I don’t want to embarrass myself in front of the rest of the guys.”

            “Up yours, Donovan.”  Mac spoke without heat.  He glanced at the door to A.J.’s office and let his anger dissipate.  “Ferguson brings out the worst in me.”

            “You’re just touchy because she won’t melt into a puddle at your feet.”

            “Ferguson doesn’t melt,” Mac said.  “She stares at you as if you’re a bug on a dissection tray.  And she’s looking forward to sticking in the pins.”

             “Do I detect a hint of sour grapes here?  Is it possible you’ve tried to work your wiles on the lovely A.J. Ferguson and been shut down?”

            Mac snorted.  “Even if I wanted to, that glare of hers would freeze a polar bear.”

            “I’d think the great Mac McDougal would take that as a challenge.   You have a reputation to uphold.”

            “With a body like that, who wouldn’t be tempted?” Mac said.  Not to mention her generous mouth and dark, seductive eyes.  “But I’ve learned at least a couple of things in my thirty-three years.  And one of them is ‘don’t mess with women you work with’.”

            “You’re a wise man, son.  Nothing will bring you trouble faster.”  Jake leaned back and glanced at the clock.  “Weren’t you heading over to the country club?”

            “Tomorrow morning.  I’m going to catch them at lunch.”

            “You need some help?”

            “Nah.  They’re not going to give anything away.  But I have to try.”

            “I guess they’re not susceptible to your charm, either.”

            “Go to hell, Donovan,” he said, but he grinned as he got to his feet.  “Better me than you.  They don’t need your ugly puss scaring away the members.”

            A.J. rubbed her forehead as the door closed quietly behind the client who’d kept her from talking to Mindy Talbott.  As much as she hated to admit it, Mac McDougal was right.  The client was an idiot.  He’d driven his expensive car into the worst neighborhood in Riverton, then flashed a wad of cash while he bought his drugs.  No wonder he’d ended up on the business end of a gun.

            But he’d chosen to come talk to her.  The man realized he had a problem, and she respected him for that.

            She’d referred him to a substance abuse rehabilitation program, as well as a private therapist who had expertise in dealing with substance abuse.  After scribbling a note to herself to call her colleague and fill her in, she pushed away from her desk and reached for her handbag.  It was after five PM, but she had to visit Mindy Talbott.  She’d promised McDougal she’d talk to the woman.

            And she always kept her promises.

            Heat shimmered off the asphalt as she drove through Riverton’s downtown area.  The small boutiques and funky shops that catered to the college students gave way to a residential neighborhood, and the tree-lined streets shaded her car, protecting it from the glare of the sun.  The air smelled fresher in this part of town, cleaner, as if the residents had erected a barrier against the run down apartments and shabby houses only a few blocks away.

            Neat middle class homes lined the streets, all of them well tended and cared for.  The safe house was a few blocks over, tucked into the middle of a block and looking exactly like all the other homes.

            A stoplight brought her to a halt, and as she waited for the light to change, awareness shivered down the back of her neck.  Someone was watching her.

            She glanced in the rear view mirror.  The vehicle behind her was a minivan, and as she watched, the young woman driving the van spun around in her seat.  Her body language said she wasn’t happy with the passengers.

            In the lane next to the van, a teenager bobbed his head and danced his shoulders, moving to the beat of music.

            Neither of them so much as glanced at her.

            When the light changed, she shot into the intersection and turned the corner.  Three other cars followed her.  She didn’t recognize any of them.

            By the time she’d turned several more corners, only one of the cars was left behind her.  It was a battered, mud-colored sedan.  The antenna bent outward at a ninety-degree angle and the front bumper was attached with duct tape.  She kept her eye on it, not relaxing until she turned another corner and the car continued down the street.  She drove around the block a couple of times, but there was no sign of the car.

            She was just jumpy from her run-in with McDougal, she told herself.  She prided herself on her ability to take control of any situation, but she never quite managed to control Mac.

            Mac McDougal was testosterone on the hoof, a walking advertisement for cool satin sheets and hot sex.  No wonder women drooled when he walked by.

            But she was immune to his charm.  Everything inside her bristled at his macho, tough guy attitude. 

            By the time she’d parked and walked to the safe house, her heart rate was back to normal.  She rang the bell and waited while the video camera above the door recorded her face and relayed it to a monitor inside the house.

            Finally the door opened and a woman with faded blond hair and gentle eyes gave her a tired smile.  “Hi, A.J.  What’s up?”

            “Hello, Jenny.  I need to talk to Mindy Talbott.”

            The woman glanced up the stairs.  “She hasn’t come out of her room all day.  Do you want me to get her?”

            “No, I’ll go up.  We’ll be more private in her room.”

            “Go ahead.  She’s in room 3.”

            “Thanks.”

            The floors at Harbor House were scuffed and the walls held the handprints of too many children.  Jenny tried to make the shelter cheerful, with bright pictures on the wall and vases of flowers in every room, but A.J. shivered as the front door closed behind her.

            The air was permeated with the smells of disinfectant and despair.  Misery clung to the very walls of the house.  A.J. battled her urge to escape the pain as she turned away from the door and headed up the stairs.

            Childrens’ voices floated up to her from the family room in the back of the house.  They almost brought an air of normality to the atmosphere.

            Almost.

            No wonder Mindy didn’t want to come downstairs.  The children would be a painful reminder of her own son, taken away from her and now in foster care.

            She knocked softly, not wanting to startle Mindy.  There was absolute silence on the other side of the door.  Finally, when she knocked again, a small voice said, “Who is it?”

            “It’s A.J. Ferguson, Mrs. Talbott.  The victim’s advocate from the police station.  We met last night.”

            The silence stretched too long before Mindy said, “What do you want?”

            “I need to talk to you.  Do you want to talk in your room or come downstairs?”

            After a long pause, the door creaked open.  Mindy Talbott’s blond hair was tangled around her face and flattened on one side of her head, as if she’d slept on it and not bothered to comb her hair.  One side of her face was swollen and mottled with bruises, and the white of her eye was shockingly red with blood.  A line of stitches stretched from her lip down her chin.

            Shame, fear and grief filled the woman’s eyes.

            “Is it Jamie?” she whispered.  “Is he all right?”

            “Jamie’s fine,” A.J. answered, making a mental note to check on the boy.  “Your sister Cissy is on her way here to take care of him.”

            A.J. waited by the door as Mindy stared at her.  One of the children on the first floor shouted up the stairs and she flinched back, shrinking into herself.

            “Is it all right if I come in?” A.J. asked quietly.

            Mindy nodded her head jerkily and stood away from the door.  A.J. slipped inside and closed the door behind her, muffling the noise from below.

            “What do you want?” Mindy asked.

            “Why don’t you sit down?” A.J. answered.  She waited until the woman lowered herself carefully into the easy chair, then perched on the bed.

            “How are you feeling?” she began.

            Mindy stared at her, a spark of hostility in her eyes.  “I feel like I’m in prison.  Like I’m being punished.”

            Thank God Mindy could at least feel angry.  “Harbor House is a safe place to be,” A.J. answered.  “Doak can’t hurt you here.  He doesn’t even know where you are.”

            “You took my baby away.”

            “We had to,” A.J. said gently.  “Doak had been abusing Jamie.  And…”

            “And I let him.  That’s what they told me last night.”  Mindy’s forehead wrinkled as she stared at A.J., puzzled.   “But what could I do?  Doak is stronger than I am.  I couldn’t stop him.”

            Hot anger rose like toxic lava inside A.J., overwhelming, consuming anger.  Excuses.  They all made excuses.  She wanted to scream at Mindy that mothers were supposed to protect their children.  Even if their abusers turned on them.

            Instead she gripped her hands together in her lap so hard that her fingernails cut into her palms.  She couldn’t judge the woman in front of her.  She knew the psychology of domestic abuse, knew how it destroyed the soul and crushed the spirit.  She knew only too well what Mindy faced.  Struggling to keep her voice calm, she said, “The police want to come and talk to you about Doak.  Would that be all right?”

            The woman’s spark of anger disappeared, replaced by deep fear.  “No,” she whispered.  “I can’t.  He told me he would kill me if I ever went to the police.  I believe him.  He’ll kill both me and Jamie.”

            “We’ll protect you, Mindy.  We won’t let him hurt you.  But we need to find him.  And we need your help to do it.”

            “Who would I have to talk to?”

            A.J. drew an unsteady breath at this first sign of surrender and forced herself to go slowly.  “One of the detectives who came to your house last night.  Detectives McDougal and Donovan.”

            “The tall one?”

            “That’s McDougal.”  No matter what their circumstances, women remembered Mac.

            Mindy twisted her hands in her lap, pleating the material of her slacks between shaking fingers.  “Are you sure Doak doesn’t know where I am?”

            “Positive,” she answered.  “The location of this house is a well-kept secret.  There’s no way he could find out.”

            “Doak has ways of finding out anything he wants to find out,” the woman answered bitterly.

            “Not this.”

            A.J. held Mindy’s gaze until the woman looked away.  “All right.  I’ll talk to that detective.”

            “I’ll bring him by in the morning.  Is that all right?”  A.J. was careful to give Mindy a choice.  Victims of domestic abuse often had no choices in their lives.

            “I suppose.”

            “Is there anything I can do for you?” A.J. asked softly.

            “Give Jamie back to me.”

            “I can’t do that right now.  Soon, I hope.”  After Mindy had taken a parenting class and entered therapy.  And Doak Talbott was no longer a danger to either of them.

            “Then there’s nothing you can do for me.”

            A.J. stood up and moved to the chair, crouching down in front of the woman.  “I gave you my card with my phone numbers.  Do you still have it?”

            Mindy nodded.

            “Call me anytime, even if you just want to talk.  All right?”  She waited for Mindy to nod.  “I’ll see you tomorrow.”  A.J. glanced at her watch.  “Jenny will be serving dinner in a few minutes.  You must be hungry.”

            Mindy shook her head.  “I don’t want anything.”

            A.J. stood at the door, wishing she had a magic wand.  She’d wave it over Mindy Talbott and make her whole again.  She’d give her strength and self-esteem and a healed soul.

            She closed the door softly behind her.  There was no such thing as a magic wand.

            She ought to know.  She’d spent her childhood searching for one.  And the only thing she’d found was pain, humiliation and guilt.

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