“I’m not. At all. But yes, I do have something that involves another one of your parolees. One of our doctors reported on a patient of his yesterday morning. He said that though she denied having been abused—said she fell off a ladder in a bathtub where she’d been doing some painting—her injuries weren’t at all consistent with a fall. Of any kind,” she elaborated. “He said there was obvious blunt force trauma, most likely from a male fist, on several parts of her body. When he asked her if someone had hurt her, she was obviously nervous and just kept shaking her head.”
Jayden’s gut sank. He’d done things he’d never get done paying for; had a death on his conscience that sat with him every minute of every day and would go with him when he died. But he’d never understood physically abusing a woman. Not any woman, in any capacity, for any reason. That’s where he drew his line with his parolees, too. If they slid a bit when they first got out, maybe had a drink, or missed a day of work, he’d help them out if he could, but if they ever, ever hurt someone else...he’d get a judge out of bed if he had to, to get the abuser back behind bars immediately.
“A counselor from the local women’s shelter, The Lemonade Stand, has since spoken with her, and while Sara is convinced that the woman has been abused, the victim is refusing at this point to admit as much.”
“Are there children involved?” He was running a mental check of his client list.
“Not now, no.”
Not now. An older guy, then? Out of the thirty men on his roster, that left about half. He was about to ask who they were talking about, so he could offer immediate solutions, when she spoke again.
“Here’s the thing. I prosecuted the guy four years ago. His wife was a little over three months pregnant and he beat her so badly she lost the child and nearly died herself.”
He lost any appetite he might have had. And wondered why he didn’t know about this type of offender on his roster.
“And he’s already out?”
“I lost the case because I went after him for murder, thinking I’d get him away from her permanently, not just five or ten years. That turned out to be an over-reach.”
Now he was frowning. “You said he was one of mine.”
“He went away on another charge the next year.”
Were they talking about the same guy he’d just told her about? The thought occurred and was quickly replaced. She’d have said something...
“Santa Raquel police have been alerted. They’ll be driving by the house more frequently, keeping a watch on the neighborhood... But without her help, there’s not a lot we can do. Yet. And that’s where you come in.”
He held her gaze with the strength of his intent. “Whatever you need. Who are we talking about?”
“We can’t arrest the guy. She won’t admit she’s been hit, let alone file for a restraining order, so the only other legal avenue we have for keeping a watch on the guy at this point is you. We need you on him like glue.”
“Fine. Of course.” He’d camp out in the guy’s bedroom if that’s what it took. “Who is it?” He’d go over—wherever his file told him the guy was supposed to be—immediately. Rearrange the rest of his day if he had to.
Good thing about his job was that his visits were supposed to be surprise sometimes. Or anytime.
She pushed the file toward him. “Bill Heber.”
No.
Jayden didn’t reach for the file. Didn’t need to see what was there. He’d been working with the man for three months, so much so that Bill had become someone he really knew. Someone he cared about.
The man had been in prison for breaking and entering when all he’d been after were his own things from his former home.
Bill had admitted it had been stupid to go to his ex’s home when she wasn’t there. He’d truly thought that it was best for both of them if he just cleared out his stuff without them having to see each other.
He’d paid dearly for that choice. Had lost a career as the owner of his own auto repair shop. Had lost almost three years of his life. Was forever a felon.
And doing everything by the book. Everything. All Bill Heber wanted was a life back.
Jayden knew that feeling. And knew that Bill Heber was working as hard as Jayden did to live a life worthy of society. To be given a chance.
To not be judged by his worst mistake. Or to be defined by it. Just three months postprison, working as a grunt in someone else’s shop, the last thing the man needed was to be accused of something he hadn’t done.
And Jayden was certain Bill hadn’t hurt his ex. The man told him about the past case before Jayden even had a chance to ask him about it—though it hadn’t sounded at all as the prosecutor had just told it, so much so that he hadn’t recognized Bill as the offender she’d been referring to. And all that aside, Bill adored Suzie. Had a picture of her next to the bed in his small apartment. Carried one in his wallet. Not in any hope of ever getting her back. But as a reminder of the man he’d been. One Suzie had fallen in love with and married.
Bill’s end goal was to be a man that Suzie could someday forgive. Not for breaking into her home, but for the things he’d done that had led to their divorce in the first place. His jealousy and possessiveness. His inability to believe that a woman as young as beautiful as her would love a crusty guy fourteen years older than she was. The way he’d checked up on her. Hadn’t trusted her. The things he’d accused her of. He’d told Jayden about all of them over the past three months.
Even the death of his child. He’d caused it, but not by beating up his wife. Bill told Jayden that Suzie had lost the baby because Bill’s constant doubts—even wondering if he was the father of her child—had stressed her to the point of not being able to eat or sleep and she’d miscarried.