Damita visibly recoiled at the sound of his voice. Recognizing her response to him, he softened his tone.
“Take the dress off,” he whispered.
Neal didn’t bother waiting for Damita to respond and unzipped the back. She stepped out of it, leaving the beautiful lace embroidered dress lying in the middle of the floor. She grabbed her robe from a chair and proceeded to the front door in order to let the police officers in, while Neal nervously looked around the apartment. In the corner the large Queen Anne, oxblood-colored armchair she had selected for the apartment was turned over. The chair was so heavy, she was amazed at the level of anger it must have taken for Neal to turn the chair on its side. She looked at him and he looked at her pleadingly, and with what Damita thought was remorse.
“Who is it?” Damita asked, before opening the door.
“Police, Ma’am.”
“Can I help you? It’s kind of early. I’m not dressed.”
“That’s okay. We can wait.”
By the time Damita opened the door, Neal was standing at her side, having tidied up the apartment a bit. For the first time in the year since they’d met, Neal’s hand around her waist felt foreign to her and she discreetly attempted to pull away, to which Neal held on to her even tighter.
“How can we help you, officers?” Neal asked, in his most charming voice.
There were two young officers; one black and one white. The white officer spoke. “Do you mind if we come in?”
“Of course not,” Damita said nervously as she moved aside to allow them entry.
She could feel Neal’s grip tighten around her waist.
Once inside the apartment, the white officer continued to speak. “We received a call. One of your neighbors thought she heard fighting. She also mentioned that she heard screaming as well.”
“I’m sorry for the inconvenience, officers. You see, my wife and I got married last night and we got home pretty late from the reception. We had a lot of champagne and I’m afraid that in the excitement of our wedding night, we may have gotten a little bit raucous. You know what I mean, my man?”
Neal smiled broadly and Damita couldn’t help but be disgusted by his insincerity.
Although the white police officer had been the only one who had spoken since they arrived, Neal switched his focus and directed his last comment to the black officer.
“No, I don’t know what you mean,” the officer responded stoically.
“What did you say your name was, Sir?” the black officer asked.
Neal offered a handshake, to which the officer did not respond. “I’m Neal Westman. This is my wife, Damita. And, you are?”
“I’m Officer Brunson. This is my partner, Officer Blackwell.”
Neal suddenly chuckled.
“Is there something funny, Mr. Westman?” Officer Brunson asked.
“I’m sure you must get this all the time, but it’s just ironic, that’s all. A black officer named Brunson and his white partner Blackwell.”
Neither officer seemed amused.
“I just meant—”
Damita looked distractedly toward the living room window while the officers spoke.
Before Neal could continue his thought, Officer Brunson interrupted him. “Are you okay, Mrs. Westman?”
“Uh, yes, officer, I’m fine; just fine. I’m just a little tired, that’s all.”
“What happened to your eye?”
“Huh?”
“Your eye; you seem to have broken a blood vessel. A broken blood vessel in the eye is a pretty nasty thing.”
“She gets those a lot,” Neal added.
“Yeah, I bet she does,” Officer Brunson responded, sarcastically.
“We saw a doctor about it. Some people are more prone to them. Anything can cause it; coughing or sneezing too loud, eye-rubbing, even hypertension.”
“So I’ve heard. Do you know what else can cause a broken blood vessel, Mr. Westman?”
“Please, call me Neal.”
“Mr. Westman, a broken vessel in the eye can also be caused by choking or severe eye trauma.” He paused and looked at Damita. “Mrs. Westman, are you absolutely sure you’re okay?”
Damita’s momentary hesitation was all Officer Brunson needed.
“Blackwell, we need to get to the bottom of where those screams were coming from this morning. We’ll save a good deal of time if you speak to Mr. Westman and I’ll talk to Mrs. Westman. . .separately. Mrs. Westman, is the kitchen okay?”
Damita replied, “Yes, that’ll be fine.”
It was Officer Brunson’s hope that once they were alone, Damita might do the smart thing and be honest so he could help get her out of harm’s way.
Damita offered the officer a seat at the kitchen table.