“And yet here you are.”
“Yes.”
Janet surveyed Ken’s ex. “Miss Gray, I appreciate what you’ve said, but I sincerely doubt you’re telling me the truth.”
“I can live with that.”
Janet shook her head. “Either way, I’m only getting one side of things.”
Kathleen said, “Quite so.” She extended her hand. “Janet, I’ve said what I came to say, and I appreciate your seeing me. My conscience is clear, and I wish you all happiness. I did want to leave these for you.” She placed the manila folder on the table next to the front door. Then she carefully placed her sunglasses over her eyes and let herself out.
Janet didn’t want to look at the folder, didn’t want to touch it, didn’t want to open it, didn’t want it in her house. Even as she saw her hand reaching for it, she told herself not to do it, and that worked-she left it lying there a few extra minutes. Yet she knew she’d eventually reach out and take it and open it, and she knew that when she did, her life would change forever.
The folder contained numerous front and side views of Kathleen’s battered face and torso, and several similar shots of her back and buttocks. Something cold and hard began forming in Janet’s heart as she flipped through page after page of police photos chronicling years of brutal physical abuse. Medical records documented dozens of black eyes, split lips, knocked out teeth, a broken jaw, several broken noses, and numerous broken or cracked ribs. She reviewed the restraining orders, the violations of same, the police reports, and the arrest records.
In the end, Janet broke down and cried for two straight hours.
Then she made three phone calls.
Her first call was to her ex-husband, Donovan Creed. He didn’t answer, so she left a message on his voice mail. She was short and to the point. “You bastard!” she said. “I know you told that woman to give me her files. Maybe I screwed up again, and maybe you saved me from a lot more hurt in the future, and maybe someday I’ll even appreciate what you did. But right now my heart is broken and it’s all your fault and I hate your guts! Don’t call me, Donovan. Don’t even think about it. I hate you! I hate you! So don’t say a fucking word to me!”
Her second call was to her fiance, the casually sophisticated Kenneth Chapman. “Ken,” she said, “you know my ex-husband is Donovan Creed, and I’ve told you he is one of the top people with the National Security Agency. What you don’t know is that he’s a former assassin for the CIA. You can try checking it out if you don’t believe me.”
