Chapter 6 - Blue Flashes in the Rain
The blue and red lights danced across the leaded glass windows of my living room, casting violent, rhythmic shadows over Anthony’s oil paintings and the upright Baldwin piano in the corner.
Two patrol officers from the 20th District stood in the foyer. The older one, a gray-haired sergeant named Kowalski who had walked this neighborhood beat back when Anthony was still coaching junior varsity track at Lane Tech, held a small leather notepad in his calloused hand.
“Evenin’, Mrs. Ross,” Kowalski said, his voice dropping into that respectful, subdued register reserved for retired teachers and church elders. “We got the call from Counselor Vance’s office. You alright, ma'am?”
“I’m intact, Sergeant Kowalski,” I said, sitting on the bottom step of the staircase, holding a mug of chamomile tea between both hands to steady the chill that had settled deep into my bones. “Thank you for coming so quickly.”
Behind Kowalski, his younger partner stood near the front door, his hand resting casually near his duty belt.
Between them sat Linda.
She was wrapped in an oversized trench coat she had thrown on over her ruined clothes. Her makeup was smeared across her cheeks, her hair was a rat’s nest, and she was sitting on the wooden hallway bench with her knees pulled together, weeping with an intensity that would have won an Academy Award if anyone in the room hadn't already known the truth.
“He attacked me, Officer!” Linda wailed, pointing a trembling finger at Edward, who stood against the archway to the dining room with an ice pack pressed against his swollen, crooked nose. “Look at his hands! He broke my perfume bottle, he pushed me into the doorframe, and then his mother and that... that vicious woman jumped me from behind! I was just trying to pack my children’s clothes! I feared for my life!”
Sergeant Kowalski didn't write anything in his notebook. He looked at Linda, then looked at Edward’s bloody shirt, then looked down at Gabriella, who was leaning against the dining room credenza, holding an iPad in her manicured hands.
“Sergeant,” Gabriella said calmly, tapping the glass screen with her stylus. “Before Mrs. Ross continues to commit felony filing of a false police report pursuant to Illinois Compiled Statutes 720 ILCS 5/26-1, you might want to view this sixty-second clip.”
Linda’s theatrical sobbing hitched in her throat. “What clip? What are you talking about?”
“Anthony was a very thorough man, Sergeant Kowalski,” Gabriella explained, stepping forward and angling the iPad toward the two officers. “Following a neighborhood burglary three years ago, he installed high-definition, motion-activated interior cameras in the central hallways and entry points of this home. All footage is backed up to a secure cloud server maintained by our legal firm.”
Gabriella pressed play.
The small speaker on the iPad filled the quiet foyer with crisp, unmistakable audio.
*“Let go of me, you pathetic coward!”* Linda’s voice shrieked from the tablet, loud and clear. *“There’s gold in that box! I know there is! Anthony’s grandfather’s watch is in there! If you won't get the deed, I’m taking what pays for my flight!”*
On the high-resolution color screen, the footage showed Linda driving her head backward into Edward’s face, the audible *crack* of his nasal bone echoing through the foyer, followed by Linda lunging toward me with the brass letter opener raised above her shoulder.
Sergeant Kowalski’s expression turned to stone. He closed his notepad with a snap.
He turned to his partner. “Cuff her.”
“What?!” Linda screamed, leaping up from the bench, her voice shattering into a hysterical screech that caused Dylan, who was sitting on the top landing of the stairs with Sarah, to pull his sister deeper into the shadows. “No! You can’t arrest me! I’m the victim here! Edward, tell them! Tell them you attacked me! Edward!”
Edward didn't move. He kept the ice pack against his nose. His eyes were red, swollen, and filled with an exhaustion that ran deeper than flesh and bone, but his gaze remained steady.
“You hit me, Linda,” Edward said, his voice flat, devoid of anger, stripped down to bare, unforgiving truth. “You’ve hit me for five years. You threatened to ruin my name, you threatened to take my children, and you threatened to steal my mother’s home. I’m done lying for you. I’m done hiding your bruises.”
The younger officer caught Linda’s wrists, twisting them smoothly behind her back, the metallic *click-clack* of the steel handcuffs sounding like a gunshot in the historic foyer.
“Linda Ross, you are under arrest for domestic battery, aggravated assault, and attempted residential burglary,” Kowalski recited from memory, his voice devoid of emotion as he took her arm. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law...”
“Edward!” she screamed as they marched her toward the front door, her heels digging uselessly into the hall rug. “I’ll ruin you! I’ll tell the judge everything! You’ll never see Sarah again! You’ll rot in the street, you spineless bastard!”
The heavy front door opened. The wet Chicago wind rushed in, smelling of rain and asphalt, carrying her hysterical shrieks out into the night until the rear door of the patrol cruiser slammed shut, cutting off the noise like an axe falling on wood.
The flashing blue lights lingered against the wallpaper for another two minutes before the cruiser pulled away from the curb, leaving the street in quiet, dripping darkness.
Sergeant Kowalski stayed behind for a moment, handing Marcus his business card. “We’ll need the full digital file down at the precinct, Counselor. Domestic violence unit will want this before the bond hearing at 9:00 a.m. at 26th and California.”
“Marcus will deliver the flash drive within thirty minutes, Sergeant,” Gabriella said. “We’re also filing an emergency petition for an order of protection on behalf of Evelyn, Edward, and the two minor children.”
“Good,” Kowalski nodded. He tipped his cap toward me. “Get some sleep, Mrs. Ross. Anthony would be proud of how you handled this house tonight.”
When the door finally closed and the heavy brass deadbolt turned into its socket, the silence that settled over the house was so thick you could hear the refrigerator humming in the kitchen forty feet away.
Edward stood alone in the center of the foyer.
The ice pack had melted, cold water dripping down his fingers onto the floor. His blue shirt was stained with his own blood. He looked down at the empty space where his wife had stood for twelve years—the woman who had consumed his career, his pride, his savings, and his soul.
Then, slowly, his knees buckled.
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A six-foot-two, thirty-eight-year-old man collapsed onto the parquet floor, buried his face in his hands, and began to weep with the ragged, gut-wrenching sobs of someone who has finally survived a shipwreck, only to realize he has washed ashore with nothing left in his hands.
***
