Take Another Look by Rosalind Noonan Page B

assault. We saw evidence of it with Jane Doe and Lana Tremaine.”
    I could kill you right now. It would be so easy. She shivered, trying to shake the harsh memory.
    â€œDid he ever hit you with the baseball bat?” the detective asked.
    â€œNo. Never. He didn’t hit me. That was one of the things that kept me in the relationship. I kept telling myself that he really loved me in his own way, and that he would never hurt me.”
    â€œI understand.” The detective seemed weary.
    Jane, too, was exhausted. She hoped they could finish soon.
    â€œBut you said earlier that he held you against your will?”
    â€œYes. He used those handcuffs. He wasn’t shy about chaining me down. I don’t know if they still have school personnel records, but I maxed out my sick days that year, mostly for times when Frank had me locked to the bed. And he forced himself on me.” A tear slipped out, unbidden and unexpected. “He forced me to have sex. That’s sexual assault under the law, isn’t it?”
    â€œYes.” Alvarez pushed a box of tissues over to her. “Yes, it is.” There were a few more questions and then, at last, the deposition was over.
    She was grateful to be finished. Energy had drained from her along with the harsh memories. Still, when she arose she felt so suddenly light that she had to steady herself with one hand on the table. Funny thing about painful memories—you felt so damned good once you let them go.
    â€œThere’s one more thing.” Alvarez’s voice stopped her. “Off the record.” He wrote something down on a notepad and tore off the page. “Some information for you on Frank Dixon’s family history. I know he told you his parents were dead, but his father and uncle are serving life terms in Ohio for three counts of homicide. This is the link to a documentary that details their crimes. And we’re looking into his grandfather, who also had a record of violent behavior back in the forties.”
    â€œSo his family really was crazy.”
    He nodded. “Criminally insane, maybe. Or maybe just criminals.”
    â€œWhy are you interested in this?”
    â€œThe prosecutor is planning to bring in an expert witness on genetics. If we can show that Dixon is a violent sociopath like his father and the other men in his family, we’ve got a better shot at keeping him locked up for life.”
    Jane pulled her thin, polka-dot sweater closed at her throat. Funny to be shivering when it was actually warm and stuffy in here. She tucked the paper into her purse and left the room, wondering if she would ever lose the chill between her shoulder blades, the feeling of being watched, the icy frost of his eyes.

PART 2
    It’s the ripple, not the sea That is happening.
    Â 
    â€”Stephen Sondheim

Chapter 9
    T he call came at 4:22 a.m. Saturday morning, awakening Jane with a jolt of alarm. She sat up in bed and snatched her cell phone from the nightstand.
    â€œThis is Officer Pickett of the Mirror Lake Police Department.”
    â€œWhat? What’s going on?” Heart-pounding panic gave way to disorientation as the voice explained that everyone was okay.
    â€œYour daughter Harper is being cited for breaking curfew.”
    â€œBreaking curfew?” Somewhere in the back of her mind was the dusty, archaic rule that made outlaws of young people who went outside after hours. Jane realized that Luke’s hand was still securely on her hip, and somehow that made her feel a little risqué as she spoke to the cop.
    The officer explained that five girls, wanting some “fresh air,” had taken it upon themselves to venture down to Palisades Elementary. Apparently, Harper had been the ringleader. “We have them down at the precinct now, on Tulip Avenue.”
    â€œIn jail?” She scraped her hair back with one hand. “You’ve incarcerated teenage girls for a curfew