Chapter 3
My eyes narrowed, surveying her face, looking for any signs of abuse. Mrs. Pearson was easy to look at. Sculpted cheekbones, a thin nose, full lips, and glowing skin. She didn't need Botox or lip fillers.
I didn't see any abrasions or bruising. She didn't have a black eye or a split lip. If her husband had hit her, it wasn't hard enough to leave a mark. Or so it seemed.
She picked up on my confused expression. "Is there something wrong?"
"Are you okay?”
She looked at me like I was crazy. "I'm fine. Why?"
"You feel safe in the home?”
With a knitted brow, she said, "Yes. Of course. Why wouldn't I?”
"We had a report of potential abuse," I said.
"Abuse?”
"I’m sorry to bother you. I just wanted to make sure you were okay and hadn’t been assaulted.”
"Assaulted?” she asked, then chuckled.
I looked past her into the foyer. Sounds from the television drifted from the living room. "Is your husband here now?”
"Yes, he is. Would you like to speak to him?”
"Sure, if it's no problem.”
She turned and called for him. "Richard. Could you come here for a moment?”
Footsteps clacked against the hardwoods, and Richard stepped into the foyer a moment later.
He was a dapper man in his mid-50s with silver hair, narrow brown eyes, and a square jaw.
Oval-shaped glasses framed his face. With a designer suit and a white gold Rolex Daytona, this was a man who appreciated the finer things in life.
"Richard, this is Deputy…”
"Wild," I said, extending my hand.
Richard smiled, and we shook.
"What seems to be the problem?" he asked.
"We got a report of domestic abuse?”
His brow wrinkled, as perplexed as his wife. "Who reported that?"
"I'm not at liberty to say.”
I surveyed his hands carefully, looking for scuff marks on his knuckles.
"I can assure you there is no domestic abuse in his household,” Richard declared. “It seems someone has played a prank on you.”
"Always a possibility," I said.
He put his arm around his wife. "I adore my wife, Deputy. I would never do anything to hurt her. The notion is preposterous.”
"Of course. I'm sorry to disturb you. I just have to follow up on these reports, you understand.”
Richard’s mouth tightened with annoyance. "I understand, and we appreciate the job you boys do. I just think whoever's making false accusations like this should be held accountable.”
"Is there anyone else in the house with you?”
"Yes, my son, but he’s sleeping now," Mrs. Pearson said.
"How old is your son?"
"17 months."
"Congratulations.”
Richard beamed with pride.
"Does anyone else live here in the house with you?"
"My son, Sean, from a previous marriage," Richard said. "But he's not here now.”
"How old is he?"
"18. But sometimes he acts 17 months."
I chuckled.
Richard continued. "I can assure you, Julie and I are a happily married couple.”
Arm in arm, they looked the picture of happiness.
"I'm a very lucky man," Richard said.
"Indeed.”
I looked at Julie. “By law, I’m obligated to inform you of your rights. You may ask the state attorney to file a criminal complaint against the abuser. You may petition the court for a restraining order.”
She looked at me like it was absurd.
I dug into my pocket and handed her a victim’s rights card. “There are helpful numbers in case you need shelter, counseling, or legal assistance.”
“I need none of those things,” she assured.
Richard grew red in the face.
“I also must inform you the report will be forwarded to a certified domestic violence center.”
“That’s ridiculous!” Richard barked. “We’ve done nothing wrong, now we’re going to be in the system?”
“I’m sorry. It’s mandatory. You’ll likely receive a follow-up call from the center within the next few days.”
“I don’t need a follow-up call,” Julie said.
Richard exhaled with exasperation. “This is insane. I’ve never been in any trouble with the law.”
“You’re not in trouble. This is just standard procedure.”
“I don’t care. It’s outrageous that someone can fabricate an allegation, then kick off a series of mandatory investigations.”
“I understand your concern.”
“Now this is part of my permanent record? I’ve done nothing.”
“These laws are in place to protect victims who are afraid to come forward.”
“I’m not afraid of anyone,” Julie said. “Least of all my husband.”
"I'm sorry to have disturbed you. I won't take up anymore of your time. Enjoy the rest of your evening."
Richard scoffed before closing the door.
I left and walked back to the patio of the house next door.
Zoe greeted me with eager eyes. "So? What did they say?”
"Tell me again exactly what you saw."
Zoe took a deep breath. "I saw a man… A rather handsome man in his mid-50s with silver hair hit a young blonde woman.”
"When you say hit, do you mean an open-handed slap, or a punch?”
Zoe hesitated for a moment. "I can't really be sure. Does it matter? It happened so quickly, and I was watching from the display screen.”
"So you were watching the display screen on the drone’s remote?”
"It's a 6K camera. Super high definition.”
"How big is the display screen on your remote?”
“I synced it with Bluetooth to my phone.”
"So you were using your phone as the display?”
“Yes.”
“You think you could be mistaken about what happened?”
The muscles in her jaw flexed, and she glared at me. "I did not mistake anything. I know what I saw!"
Zoe got more than a little defensive.
I raised my hands in surrender. "I believe you think you saw Mr. Pearson hit his wife. But I've spoken to both of them. I see nothing to indicate any domestic abuse. Mrs. Pearson assures me that she is fine and not in any danger.”
"She's afraid to speak out. Can't you see that?”
"Could be.”
"She's afraid he's going to beat her harder if she says anything. You've got to do something!”
"I’m required to fill out a domestic violence report. But there's nothing else I can do at this point. I need probable cause to make an arrest, and right now, I don't have it.”
"This is bullshit! Do you know how many women suffer abuse like that on a daily basis and keep their mouths shut? Then, one day, things go too far, and they end up dead.”
Anger reddened her face, and her eyes misted. This was personal to her.
“I understand what you’re saying. If there was something more I could do, I would.”
“Mark my words, you’re going to come back to that house, maybe next week, maybe next year, and Mrs. Pearson is going to be dead.”
“I hope you’re wrong about that.”
“I’m not wrong. I know what I saw.”