Author's note: This story documents a week of life-changing events for a woman who is the victim of a crime, and a man who helps her deal with the after effects. For a while it seems that every crime leads to another one, and they come to depend heavily on a police detective, and a private investigator who has a way with computers. Along the way you will come across robberies, a police shootout, an old murder or two, some sex, and a budding romance.
All of the characters who appear in the story are more than eighteen years old. None are modeled after anyone living or dead. The crimes that are chronicled in this story are not based on any particular events, but are typical of felonies that occur all over the world, hundreds of times every day.
The story is rather long, nearly 50,000 words, to be devoured in one reading. The principal characters' experiences are influenced by events that took place twenty years earlier, and this may be confusing if you are reading while tired. Taking it in two sittings, rather than one marathon session, may enhance your reading pleasure.
Hans
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FRIDAY AFTERNOON
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I sat and watched Celia walk away from me for the last time. She held her back very straight and walked as if she were studying every step before putting her foot down. She was very beautiful, very clever, and very sure she could find someone whose personality would be a better match for hers than mine was. This was the finale of four years of marriage and a year of separation. Seeing her walk away made me feel sad, yet surprisingly relieved that the tension between us had played out and I wouldn't have to listen to her complaints any more. She was probably right, we simply weren't meant to be together. But if so, why did it take us five years to find that out?
I looked down at the table and saw that my cup of coffee was untouched, so I drained it and threw a few bills on the table as I got up. We had just left the lawyer's office, where we affixed our signatures to the final documents to bring closure to the relationship that at first had its ups and downs, and later its downs and further downs, and finally its way, way, deep downs. Celia had walked out of the cafe onto State Street, so I turned the other way, toward the Elm Street exit. I had no idea where I was going, only that I needed to walk in the crisp autumn air to clear my head and get my thoughts and feelings organized a little. An hour later I was still walking aimlessly, up and down unfamiliar streets. The houses looked well lived in, with mature shrubbery and trees in their front yards, and I realized that the placid scene had calmed me down. But by then I had no idea where I was or what direction I had to go to get back to my car.
I remembered that my new smartphone has a GPS function, so I punched in the Vector command and the name of the restaurant we'd had coffee in, and stood in the shade of an acacia tree while I waited for the little electronic marvel to sort out my problem. Sure enough, fifteen minutes of following the phone's directions took me right to the parking lot where my SUV stood waiting. But who was that sitting in the front passenger seat?
I approached the driver side cautiously and opened the door, not knowing what to expect. A young woman sitting there turned her head and looked me over. "Is this your car?" she asked.
"Yes. I didn't expect to find anyone sitting in it. Is there something I can do to help you?"
"Maybe. I need a ride home, and I don't have any money with me for a cab or even a bus. It's in Tempe, about a twenty minute drive. Would you please take me there?"
"Well, to use your word, maybe. I don't know you or anything about you, and before I go driving around town with a perfect stranger I'd like to know what this is all about."
"Fair enough. This all happened an hour ago, and I'm still upset over it, but I've been sitting here planning how I'd say it. Otherwise I'd just start crying again and I'd never get the words out. Please be patient.
"My name is Melanie Sanger. My friends call me Mel. I graduated in May with an MBA degree, and I'm employed as an assistant project manager with an engineering firm here in Phoenix. Unfortunately, my purse was stolen while I was standing waiting for a light to change, and I'm left without my driver's license or credit cards or money, and I don't have any family around here right now. The only thing I have is my employee ID badge, because that was hanging around my neck."
"How did you come to be sitting in my car?"
"Honestly, I didn't know what to do. I saw a lot of cars parked here and looked them all over. Most were locked. Some had so much clutter in them that I formed a negative opinion of what their owners must be like. Yours was nice and neat, with the sort of things I'd expect to find in a car, like your road atlas, sunglasses, and a water bottle. I opened the door and it didn't smell like tobacco smoke or stale beer, so I decided to take a chance that you'd be my hero. Was I right?"
"Again, maybe. What sort of neighborhood do you live in?"
"Oh, a very nice one. Well kept single family homes, virtually no crime, not a risky place to live or drive or walk."
"Well, as it happens, I have nothing pressing to do right now, so I guess I can take you home. My name is Peter Donnelson, and my friends call me Pete. When we get to your house, how will you get in?"
"I know where there's a key hidden."
"Have you reported the theft of your purse to the police?"
"No. I don't have my phone. It was in my purse."
"Then before we go anywhere else, let's go to the police station and you can file a report."
An hour later we pulled up in front of Melanie's house at 1226 East Aurora Avenue. She had described the house to me, with its first floor sided in dark green shingles and the upper story and gables white, contrasting with dark green shutters. I was sure that she knew the house, although that didn't prove that she actually lived there. I got out of the car with her and waited by the front steps while she did something around the side of the house, and came to the front with a key. I unlocked and opened the door for her, and went inside with her to look around to make sure nobody had used her keys to ransack the place. Then I called the detective who had taken the report so she could tell him that she was home safe and sound.
She was looking as if everything was smooth sailing from here on. I hated to burst her bubble. "Look, Melanie, I don't want to alarm you, but somebody knows where you live from your license, and has your keys to get into your house. You'd be wise to get a locksmith here to change all the locks, but I don't know if you could get one to come out and do it on a Friday evening. Your safest move might be to pack up some stuff for overnight and go to a hotel."
"But I haven't any money or my checkbook or a credit card. All that stuff was in my purse."
