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“No. Seeing a woman beat to shit kills the appetite. The whiskey’ll do.”
Owen got them both a short glass and left the bottle on the table. “So?”
“She gave a statement to the cops. Hal ran it all through for me so I didn’t have to ask her to go over it again. He pushed his way into the house, knocked down the oldest boy—the eight-year-old—when the kid opened it. Marlo came running, and he punched her in the face. She went down but yelled for the boys to run. And he kept right on pounding.”
“Kids right there makes it even worse. Is Zane hurt?”
“He’s got some bruises.” Digging for his calm, Trey took a slug of whiskey. “Eight years old, and he has to grab his little brother and run while his father’s calling his mother a whore and beating on her.”
“Motherfucker. How bad is she hurt?”
“Three cracked ribs, dislocated shoulder, concussion. She’s got two black eyes. They were worried about a detached retina in the left, but that’s okay. Busted her nose, fractured her cheekbone. Gut punched her plenty, but they’ve ruled out internal injuries.”
Steadier, he took another, slower sip.
“He tore at her clothes, grabbed her tits, her crotch. If the kids hadn’t gotten out and got Bob Bailey, he’d sure as hell have raped her. And I think he might’ve killed her, Owen. I swear to God.
“I knew it was bad. That’s why I convinced her to get the TRO, but I didn’t see this in him. I didn’t see it.”
“What the hell were you supposed to do about it that you didn’t?”
“I don’t know. But I didn’t see it.”
“Neither did any-damn-body. I’ll go see her tomorrow, if you think that’s okay. If she’s up to it.”
“Yeah.” Trey downed some whiskey. “I think she could use all the support she can get.”
“Wes did good work when he was sober.” Owen spoke carefully. “I can’t say he was ever the cheerful sort, but he did good work, kept his head down, collected his pay. The last few years, he didn’t stay sober. Did half-assed work, picked fights, came in when he damn well pleased.”
Shaking his head, Owen studied the whiskey in his glass. “He got belligerent when I tried to talk to him. I had to let him go.”
Catching the tone, Trey met Owen’s eyes. “This isn’t on you. None of it.”
“No, not on me, not on you either. It’s on him. But firing him pushed the cycle, I’d say. How long you figure they’ll give him?”
Trey closed his eyes. He’d had a beer with Wes Mooney at the Village Pub over the years, enjoyed a potluck cookout in their backyard, watched the oldest play a Little League game or two.
And now?
“Felony assault, and domestic adds to it. Add the breaking in. They’ll go for at least sexual assault if not the attempted rape. The extent of her injuries adds to it. In front of the kids adds to it, and the door bashed the kid in the face when he shoved it open. Bloodied his nose. We had a restraining order on him because he came by drunk to pick up the kids and threatened her when she wouldn’t let him have them. Took a couple swings at Bob, so that’s another charge.”
“Drunk and stupid, seeing as Bob’s twice his size.”
“Which he found out. Property damage. Resisting arrest. He’s looking at ten to twenty.”
“He earned it.”
“Yeah, he did. Her family wants her to go back to New Hampshire with them when she’s able. I think she will.” After downing the rest of the whiskey, Trey poured them both another.
“She wants full custody of the kids, so I’ll work on that. She’ll get it.”
“Fucking A.”
“Not always a slam dunk.”
“Should be.”
“Should ain’t is. But he bloodied the kid’s nose, put Marlo in the hospital. I’m going to make damn sure she gets full custody and clearance to move out of state. What were you working on?”
