and I could come to the police station. There had been a new development. I was totally unprepared for this call and found myself shaking as I called the vet clinic and asked to speak to Dan. He cancelled a routine surgery, and we headed over to the police station just after lunch. We could think of nothing to say to each other on the drive over.
Detective Nordahl was a gentle and compassionate police officer. It always surprised me when he took off his coat to reveal his shoulder holster and the handle of the gun inside it. At the station the holster was always empty but it still seemed out of place for him. I couldn’t imagine him reaching for a gun, let alone aiming at or shooting someone. On the few occasions he came to the house, he left his coat on. If he reached for anything though, even a pencil on the coffee table, I would see that dark brown holster on his white-striped shirt, and I would also see that it wasn’t empty.
Detective Nordahl greeted us warmly but professionally when we got to the station and ushered us into a small conference room. After asking us if we wanted coffee, he dispensed with any more small talk, as was his custom, and got right down to business.
“Did you two happen to watch the news or read a newspaper this morning?” he asked.
Dan and I exchanged glances.
“No,” we both said.
“There was an attack the night before last not unlike yours, Mrs. Holland,” he said. “Same general location, same time of day, same M.O.”
Neither Dan nor I said a word. Dan reached for my hand and squeezed it.
The detective continued.
“The victim, a thirty-nine-year-old woman named Carol Wells, was on her way home from the same mall as you, was travelling alone, and was found around midnight two blocks away from where you were found, with roughly the same injuries.”
“Is she okay?” I managed to say.
“Before I tell you anything else, I want you to know we got him,” Mark said. “I know we got him.”
“What are you saying?” Dan said.
“The man that killed this woman is the same man that attacked your wife, Mr. Holland. I am sure of it. And we got him.”
Killed this woman .
I felt the room getting very warm. I asked for a glass of water. It was there in an instant.
“So, she died?” I finally asked.
Detective Nordahl nodded.
“Her husband has admitted to killing her,” he continued. “And he has admitted to assaulting a woman matching your description near the same mall on the night of September ninth. He never knew your name.”
“Why?” Dan was asking, but I was having a hard time concentrating on the conversation in the room. “Why did he do it?”
Detective Nordahl told us that Philip Wells had massive gambling debts and wanted to cash in on his wife’s million-dollar life-insurance policy. The first attack on me was meant to pave the way for the second attack and make it seem like a serial killer was on the loose. He made mistakes when he committed the second assault, however. He didn’t wipe the passenger door handle clean, and the blows to the head were made after his wife was already dead. He was very nervous when questioned about his own whereabouts at the time of his wife’s attack. The detective said he and the other officers became suspicious during questioning and asked him about his whereabouts on the night of September ninth. Wells broke down within minutes, the detective said, confessing to attacking me. He apparently also told them he was sorry for what he did to me and was relieved he had not killed me like he thought he had. So much for an apology.
“He is in custody, Mrs. Holland. We have his confession,” Detective Nordahl assured me. “Wells is not going anywhere.”
I just nodded my head. I liked it better when the attacker had no name.
Dan asked if he could take me home. The detective said if I wanted to see Wells in a lineup, it could be arranged in minutes, though he admitted he didn’t need me to identify Wells to put him away.
Detective Nordahl was a gentle and compassionate police officer. It always surprised me when he took off his coat to reveal his shoulder holster and the handle of the gun inside it. At the station the holster was always empty but it still seemed out of place for him. I couldn’t imagine him reaching for a gun, let alone aiming at or shooting someone. On the few occasions he came to the house, he left his coat on. If he reached for anything though, even a pencil on the coffee table, I would see that dark brown holster on his white-striped shirt, and I would also see that it wasn’t empty.
Detective Nordahl greeted us warmly but professionally when we got to the station and ushered us into a small conference room. After asking us if we wanted coffee, he dispensed with any more small talk, as was his custom, and got right down to business.
“Did you two happen to watch the news or read a newspaper this morning?” he asked.
Dan and I exchanged glances.
“No,” we both said.
“There was an attack the night before last not unlike yours, Mrs. Holland,” he said. “Same general location, same time of day, same M.O.”
Neither Dan nor I said a word. Dan reached for my hand and squeezed it.
The detective continued.
“The victim, a thirty-nine-year-old woman named Carol Wells, was on her way home from the same mall as you, was travelling alone, and was found around midnight two blocks away from where you were found, with roughly the same injuries.”
“Is she okay?” I managed to say.
“Before I tell you anything else, I want you to know we got him,” Mark said. “I know we got him.”
“What are you saying?” Dan said.
“The man that killed this woman is the same man that attacked your wife, Mr. Holland. I am sure of it. And we got him.”
Killed this woman .
I felt the room getting very warm. I asked for a glass of water. It was there in an instant.
“So, she died?” I finally asked.
Detective Nordahl nodded.
“Her husband has admitted to killing her,” he continued. “And he has admitted to assaulting a woman matching your description near the same mall on the night of September ninth. He never knew your name.”
“Why?” Dan was asking, but I was having a hard time concentrating on the conversation in the room. “Why did he do it?”
Detective Nordahl told us that Philip Wells had massive gambling debts and wanted to cash in on his wife’s million-dollar life-insurance policy. The first attack on me was meant to pave the way for the second attack and make it seem like a serial killer was on the loose. He made mistakes when he committed the second assault, however. He didn’t wipe the passenger door handle clean, and the blows to the head were made after his wife was already dead. He was very nervous when questioned about his own whereabouts at the time of his wife’s attack. The detective said he and the other officers became suspicious during questioning and asked him about his whereabouts on the night of September ninth. Wells broke down within minutes, the detective said, confessing to attacking me. He apparently also told them he was sorry for what he did to me and was relieved he had not killed me like he thought he had. So much for an apology.
“He is in custody, Mrs. Holland. We have his confession,” Detective Nordahl assured me. “Wells is not going anywhere.”
I just nodded my head. I liked it better when the attacker had no name.
Dan asked if he could take me home. The detective said if I wanted to see Wells in a lineup, it could be arranged in minutes, though he admitted he didn’t need me to identify Wells to put him away.
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