Chapter 3 - The Custody of Law
The lead officer was Sergeant Bradley—a broad-shouldered man with iron-gray hair and an expression carved out of granite. He didn't even look at Richard first. He took the three porch steps in a single stride, dropping to one knee beside me while his partner, a younger female officer with her hand resting firmly on her service belt, stepped between Richard and the door.
“Ma’am, do not try to stand,” Bradley ordered gently, his gloved fingers immediately checking my pulse at the wrist. “Paramedics are right behind me. What’s your name?”
“Elena Mercer,” I whispered. My teeth had begun to chatter uncontrollably, shock finally settling into my limbs. “This is my house. He… he used a key he didn't have permission to use. He pulled me by my hair from the kitchen. My water broke when he threw me out.”
“Officer, this is an absurd exaggeration!” Richard boomed, stepping forward. “I am Richard Hale, founder of Hale Crest Construction. This is my daughter. She is suffering from acute grief psychosis! Her husband died three weeks ago. She’s hysterical, she fell, and we were trying to guide her to an automobile to take her to Riverside Methodist!”
“Step back against the wall, sir!” the female officer barked, her voice snapping across the porch like a whip. “I will not tell you twice. Hands where I can see them!”
“Do you know who I am?” Kelsey shrieked, her voice grating and shrill. “We didn't do anything! That crazy b-tch threw herself down! She’s trying to frame us because Richard cut off her allowance!”
Sergeant Bradley didn't even blink. He looked at the floorboards where a wet patch glistened, then up at my forehead, where a small smear of blood was beginning to show near my hairline from where Richard’s knuckles had struck me. Then his eyes drifted down to Richard’s right sleeve.
“Officer Miller,” Bradley said without looking back. “Secure the male. Aggravated domestic violence, assault on an expectant mother, and residential burglary. Secure the female as an accessory.”
“What?!” Richard roared. “You cannot touch me! Call the city attorney! Call Marcus Vance right now, he is my personal counsel!”
Miller moved with practiced, merciless efficiency. In two seconds, she had Richard’s arm twisted behind his back. The sickening click of steel cuffs ratcheting shut sounded through the quiet neighborhood. Across the street, Mrs. Gable had walked out onto her lawn with a pair of gardening shears, staring open-mouthed at the spectacle.
“You’re making the biggest mistake of your career, officer!” Richard snarled, his face turning an apoplectic purple as his chest was shoved flat against the brick siding of the house he had tried to steal. “Elena! Tell them! Tell them right now!”
Two paramedics sprinted up the steps with a collapsable gurney and an orange trauma kit. “Vitals are high, BP 160 over 100,” the younger paramedic said, peeling back my sleeve for a pressure cuff while the other gently slid a thermal blanket over my soaked legs. “Contractions are ninety seconds apart. We need to roll now. Riverside labor and delivery is already prepped.”
Claire’s voice was still coming through my phone, which Bradley picked up and held carefully to his ear. “Sergeant? This is Claire Morrison, attorney for Mrs. Mercer. Are the perpetrators secured?”
“Male and female are in custody, counselor,” Bradley said into the device. “We’re securing the scene. There’s obvious physical evidence of forced ejection and assault. I’m requesting forensics for hair transfer on the male suspect’s outerwear.”
“Thank you, Sergeant,” Claire said. “I am twenty minutes from the hospital. Do not allow Richard Hale or his spouse anywhere near that delivery ward under any circumstance. I am filing an emergency ex parte restraining order with Judge Callahan within the hour.”
As the paramedics lifted me onto the gurney, the sky above seemed to swirl—dull gray clouds parted by the fierce, dazzling red glare of the ambulance beacons. Pain crested through my pelvis, so sharp and absolute that the world narrowed down to the sound of my own breath dragging through my teeth.
*Hold on, baby,* I thought, pressing both hands against the hard, low mound of my stomach. *Just hold on. Your dad built this house for us. Nobody takes it. Nobody ever takes it.*
As they wheeled me past the police cruiser, I caught sight of Kelsey. The young woman who had laughed at me on my own porch was now sobbing hysterically, mascara running black down her foundation, her delicate wrists pinned behind her back by plastic flex-cuffs as she was shoved unceremoniously into the hard plastic backseat of the second cruiser.
Richard didn't look at her. He was staring at me, his eyes bloodshot, his lips curled in a venomous, terrified snarl.
“You won't see a dime of my money, Elena!” he shouted through the open window before Miller slammed the door shut. “You hear me? You’ll rot in that house alone!”
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The ambulance doors closed with a heavy, vacuum thud, cutting off his voice entirely. The siren screamed to life, and we plunged into the traffic toward the hospital.
***
