studying her closely.
Loesser sent Sid Harper back to his cubicle andthen said, “Hey, got something to show you, Ms. Swanson.” Loesser reached forward and lifted a picture frame off his desk and handed it to her. “The snapshot on the left there. Whatta you think?”
A picture of a grinning, freckled teenage boy was on the right. On the left side was a shot of a young woman in a graduation gown and mortarboard.
“ ’S’my daughter. Elaine.”
“She’s pretty. You going to ask me if she’s got a future in modeling?”
“No, ma’am, I wasn’t. See, my girl’s twenty-five, almost the same age as you. You know something—she’s got her whole life ahead of her. Tons and tons of good things waiting. Husband, kids, traveling, jobs.”
Kari looked up from the picture into the detective’s placid face. He continued, “You got the same things to look forward to, Miss Swanson. I know this’s been hell for you and it may be hell for a while to come. But if you go taking matters into your own hands, which I have a feeling you’ve been thinking about, well, that’s gonna be the end of your life right there.”
She shrugged off the advice and asked, “What’s the law on self-defense here?”
“Why’re you asking me a question like that?” Loesser asked in a whisper.
“What’s the answer?”
The detective hesitated then said, “The commonwealth’s real strict about it. Outside of your own house, even on your front porch, it’s practically impossible to shoot somebody who’s unarmed and getaway with a self-defense claim. And, I’ll tell you, we look right away to see if the body was dragged in after and maybe a knife got put into the corpse’s hand.” The detective paused then added, “And, I’m gonna have to be frank, Ms. Swanson, a jury’s going to look at you and say, ‘Well, of course men’re going to be following her around. Moth to the flame. She ought’ve had a thicker skin.’ ”
“I better go,” Kari said.
Loesser studied her for a moment then said in a heartfelt tone, “Don’t go throwing your life away over some piece of trash like this crazy man.”
She snapped, “I don’t have a life. That’s the problem. I thought I could get one back by moving to Crowell. That didn’t work.”
“We all go through rough spots from time to time. God helps us through ’em.”
“I don’t believe in God,” Kari said, pulling on her raincoat. “He wouldn’t do this to anybody.”
“God didn’t send David Dale after you,” Loesser said.
“I don’t mean that,” she replied angrily. She lifted a trembling, splayed hand toward her face. “I mean, if He existed, He wouldn’t be cruel enough to make me beautiful.”
At eight P.M. a car door slammed outside of Kari Swanson’s house.
It was Dale’s pickup. She recognized the sound.
With shaking hands Kari set down her wine and shut off the TV, which she always watched with the sound muted so she’d have some warning if Dale decidedto approach the house. She ran to the hallway table and pulled out her gun.
Outside of your own house, even on your front porch, it’s practically impossible to shoot somebody who’s unarmed and get away with a self-defense claim. . . .
Gripping the pistol, Kari peeked through the front-door curtain. David Dale walked slowly toward her yard, clutching a huge bouquet of flowers. He knew enough not to set foot on her property and so, still standing in the street, he bowed from the waist, the way people do when meeting royalty, and set the bouquet on the grass of the parking strip, resting an envelope next to it. He arranged the flowers carefully, as if they were sitting on a grave, then stood up and admired them. He returned to the truck and drove into the windy night.
Barefoot, Kari walked out into the cold drizzle, seized the flowers and tossed them into the trash. Returning to the front porch, she paused under the lantern and tore open the envelope, hoping that maybe Detective
Loesser sent Sid Harper back to his cubicle andthen said, “Hey, got something to show you, Ms. Swanson.” Loesser reached forward and lifted a picture frame off his desk and handed it to her. “The snapshot on the left there. Whatta you think?”
A picture of a grinning, freckled teenage boy was on the right. On the left side was a shot of a young woman in a graduation gown and mortarboard.
“ ’S’my daughter. Elaine.”
“She’s pretty. You going to ask me if she’s got a future in modeling?”
“No, ma’am, I wasn’t. See, my girl’s twenty-five, almost the same age as you. You know something—she’s got her whole life ahead of her. Tons and tons of good things waiting. Husband, kids, traveling, jobs.”
Kari looked up from the picture into the detective’s placid face. He continued, “You got the same things to look forward to, Miss Swanson. I know this’s been hell for you and it may be hell for a while to come. But if you go taking matters into your own hands, which I have a feeling you’ve been thinking about, well, that’s gonna be the end of your life right there.”
She shrugged off the advice and asked, “What’s the law on self-defense here?”
“Why’re you asking me a question like that?” Loesser asked in a whisper.
“What’s the answer?”
The detective hesitated then said, “The commonwealth’s real strict about it. Outside of your own house, even on your front porch, it’s practically impossible to shoot somebody who’s unarmed and getaway with a self-defense claim. And, I’ll tell you, we look right away to see if the body was dragged in after and maybe a knife got put into the corpse’s hand.” The detective paused then added, “And, I’m gonna have to be frank, Ms. Swanson, a jury’s going to look at you and say, ‘Well, of course men’re going to be following her around. Moth to the flame. She ought’ve had a thicker skin.’ ”
“I better go,” Kari said.
Loesser studied her for a moment then said in a heartfelt tone, “Don’t go throwing your life away over some piece of trash like this crazy man.”
She snapped, “I don’t have a life. That’s the problem. I thought I could get one back by moving to Crowell. That didn’t work.”
“We all go through rough spots from time to time. God helps us through ’em.”
“I don’t believe in God,” Kari said, pulling on her raincoat. “He wouldn’t do this to anybody.”
“God didn’t send David Dale after you,” Loesser said.
“I don’t mean that,” she replied angrily. She lifted a trembling, splayed hand toward her face. “I mean, if He existed, He wouldn’t be cruel enough to make me beautiful.”
At eight P.M. a car door slammed outside of Kari Swanson’s house.
It was Dale’s pickup. She recognized the sound.
With shaking hands Kari set down her wine and shut off the TV, which she always watched with the sound muted so she’d have some warning if Dale decidedto approach the house. She ran to the hallway table and pulled out her gun.
Outside of your own house, even on your front porch, it’s practically impossible to shoot somebody who’s unarmed and get away with a self-defense claim. . . .
Gripping the pistol, Kari peeked through the front-door curtain. David Dale walked slowly toward her yard, clutching a huge bouquet of flowers. He knew enough not to set foot on her property and so, still standing in the street, he bowed from the waist, the way people do when meeting royalty, and set the bouquet on the grass of the parking strip, resting an envelope next to it. He arranged the flowers carefully, as if they were sitting on a grave, then stood up and admired them. He returned to the truck and drove into the windy night.
Barefoot, Kari walked out into the cold drizzle, seized the flowers and tossed them into the trash. Returning to the front porch, she paused under the lantern and tore open the envelope, hoping that maybe Detective
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