Cooked Goose

you?”
    “Yes... well... sorta.”
    “What did he look like?”
    “He wore a beard, a big white one, like Santa. But it was fake. It slid around when he was... you know... when he was raping me.”
    Savannah glanced over at Dirk, who was suddenly all ears. “When the beard slipped,” she said, “did you happen to see his face?”
    “Not really. Not enough to tell anything.”
    “Do you know if he was Caucasian, or black, or Hispanic, or—?”
    “The other policeman asked me that, too.”
    “I’m sorry, but I have to ask again. Just in case you might remember something else.”
    “It was dark. But I think he was white.”
    “What else was he wearing, besides the beard?”
    “A black shirt, like a sweatshirt... and I think... jeans.”
    Savannah thought for a moment. “Did the shirt have any words or pictures on it?”
    “No.”
    Of course not, Savannah thought. That would have been too easy. Oh, well, it was worth a try. Your average criminal wasn’t known for his high intelligence quotient and more than one had been nabbed because he had committed his particular crime dressed in a T-shirt that said something like, “Dudley Trucking—Bowling Champion 1979.”
    “Could you see the color of his hair?” she asked.
    “No. He was wearing a red and white hat, like Santa Claus.”
    “How big a guy was he?”
    “Bigger than me and a lot stronger.” She began to cry again. “He... he really hurt me.”
    “I know, honey.” Savannah felt tears well up in her own eyes. She glanced over at the young nurse, who was biting her lower lip. “But you’ve got great doctors and nurses here,” she told her. “They’re taking good care of you.”
    “But what if he comes back?” Charlene asked. She was trembling so hard that Savannah could feel the bed shaking as she leaned against it. “What if he comes here to the hospital and tries to kill me again?”
    “He can’t,” Savannah told her. “No way. Right outside your door is the biggest Irish cop you’ve ever seen, and he’s packin’ a gun the size of a Sherman tank. Ain’t nobody comin’ through him, I guarantee it. You’re safe now, Charlene. Really.” She continued to sob. “But I don’t feel safe.”
    Savannah didn’t have the heart to tell Charlene Yardley that one of the worst things her attacker had done to her was to rob her of the simple, human joy of ever feeling safe again.
    “I know you don’t,” Savannah said, “but we’re going to catch that bastard for you and put him away so that he can’t ever hurt you or anyone else again. I promise.”
    Charlene turned her face away, but she gripped Savannah’s hand even harder. “He... he...” She struggled with the words. “He did awful things to me,” she finally said, as though she were confessing some deeply personal, mortal sin. Savannah returned the squeeze. “I know. I’m so sorry.” She began to cry even harder. The sound was like that of a wounded animal, and everyone in the room shuddered. “He made me do things to him, too,” she told them. “He said he’d kill me if I didn’t.”
    “That’s okay, Charlene,” Savannah said. “You only did what you had to, what anyone would have done under those circumstances.”
    “If my mama had seen me there in that orange grove, she...” Charlene released Savannah’s fingers and covered her face with her hand, as though trying to blot out memories that could never be erased. “Oh, God,” she said, “I’m glad my mother is dead and won’t ever know what he did to me, and what he made me do to him.”
    “Your mama would have wanted you to do whatever was necessary to stay alive. And that’s what you did,” Savannah told her firmly, then she softened her tone. “You were a brave girl, Charlene. A strong, brave girl. And now everything’s okay, sweetheart. You’re safe and everything’s going to be all right.”
    Pulling the sheet higher around Charlene’s shoulders, Savannah said, “You try to go back to sleep, honey. Just close your eyes and try not to worry about anything. Atta girl.” i
    After several minutes, Charlene had stopped crying, and her breathing was slow and rhythmic. Finally, Savannah stepped away from the bed and walked over to Dirk. “Come on,” she whispered to him. “Let’s go get that damned sonofabitch and nail his dick to the nearest wall.”

    Half-awake and half-asleep, Charlene heard what the woman with the soft, sweet, Southern accent whispered. And, after hearing her,