Witness

Witness

           Running as hard as she could, Denise’s mind was coping with the fear that threatened to overtake her after what she had seen. A jolt of panic came when she knew that if her bad ankle gave out while she was running for her life, she might, no, really could be in danger. At the moment she just needed to keep going, needed to find enough breath to take her to her building. Her footsteps on the sidewalk seemed so loud, bouncing off the brick buildings as she pounded along. “Where is everybody?” she wondered, thinking she might find help, then reversing herself because she wasn’t going to stop and ask anyone anyway.

           Seeing her building ahead, she reached into her purse as she ran, hoping to get the key out and ready for the lock. This proved nearly impossible, the purse bouncing up and down, her hand inside unable to find anything. As she got to the door, she glanced behind her. Seeing no one, she searched the purse while desperately trying to catch her breath. Feeling the key ring, she pulled it out and shoved the key into the lock. Pushing the door open, she nearly leapt inside, pushing the door closed behind her, hearing the safety of the latch slipping into place.

           Gasping for breath, she climbed the stairs to her apartment, quickly opened the door and entered, closing the door and locking both locks. She walked toward the couch, then thought better of it because she could be seen through the window. Instead she fell into the upholstered chair in the corner, allowing her mind and body to slowly calm.

           Denise forced herself to review what had happened, to go over what she had witnessed. The problem was that she wasn’t certain what she had seen. She had been on the way home from her class, taking the shortcut between Elm and Larch, when she had heard sounds coming from the tiny alleyway near the deli. As she passed it, she had glanced to her left and had seen two figures locked together. For a second she thought they were lovers, but then realized they were struggling, fighting. She had stopped, and in that brief moment, one of the figures pulled away, something glinting in his hand, while the other slumped to the ground, not moving. Realizing how visible she was, she started to move away, but not before she was sure the standing man saw her and started in her direction. That was when she began to run, and she did not look back. Had she seen someone be killed? Certainly stabbed, she was sure.

           She got up from the chair and pulled her phone from her purse. Dialing 911, she related what she had seen. The dispatcher told her to stay where she was, and took her address and phone number.     

           “When can I find out what happened?” Denise asked. “I really need to know.”

           The businesslike voice at the other end said they would be in touch with her and hung up.

           Feeling shaken, Denise poured herself a tumbler of wine and sat in the chair. She was not going to be able to concentrate on any work tonight. Another glass of wine dulled her enough that she was able to relax a bit. An hour or so passed.

           When the phone rang, she jumped, then quickly answered, hoping the police would somehow relieve her mind.

           “Hello,” she said.

           “I know who you are and where you live,” said a male voice.

           “Who is this?” Denise whispered. There was no answer as he hung up. Denise dropped the phone in her lap. Who could it have been? She had no idea who the figure in the alley was and was certain he wouldn’t be able to identify her.

           When the phone rang again, she checked the ID. It was the police. A deep voice asked to speak with Denise. When she said she was Denise, he told her that there had been evidence of a fight, a little blood, but no evidence of a body or a killing. Would she be willing to come to the station? She said she would, but then told him about the phone call, that she had not recognized the voice.

           “The only people I’ve told what I saw is you, the police,” she said. The policeman on the line paused, then told her a squad car would come to pick her up, that she should not leave her apartment until they got there.

           Denise grabbed a warm coat and sat huddled in the chair until the intercom buzzed..

           “Who is it?” she asked.

           “It’s the police.” The voice sounded exactly like the one from the first phone call, the one who said he knew who she was. “Get your coat. I’ll take you to the station.”

           Denise did not trust that voice. On the other hand, could she ignore the police? Thinking quickly, she called Mike, the building super, praying that he was around. While she waited for him to answer, she also prayed that no one would just buzz the man in. Mrs. Johanssen on the fourth floor had never understood that the whole point of the intercom was to screen visitors.

           Mike answered his phone. “Hey Denise, what’s up?”

“Mike, I can’t talk. I’m in danger. Where are you?”

“In the back hall. Why? What kind of danger?” he asked with concern.

“I’ll explain later. Can you look out front and see if there’s a squad car parked out there?”

“Huh? Sure.” Mike grunted. Denise could hear him walking down the hall. “Nah, there's no cop car out front. There’s a guy at the door, though.”

“For God’s sake, don’t let him in. It’s him I’m afraid of.”

“What’s he done?”

At that moment, Denise’s intercom buzzed again. She didn’t answer it, not sure now what to do.

“I’m calling for help, Mike. Just don’t open the door.” Denise ended her call to Mike and looked at the phone in her hand. Who could she call, though? She began to panic. Taking a deep breath, she told herself to think, to be rational. Maybe the man downstairs really was a plainclothesman and had come in an unmarked car. But hadn’t the man at the station said a squad car would come? Wouldn’t that mean a uniform? She had to act. She dialed 911 again and said she wanted to report an out-of-control fire,. The dispatcher took her information and told her to leave the building, that the trucks would start out immediately.

Just then, she heard the sound of the door buzzing open downstairs. The man must have tried everyone’s intercom, guessing someone would just let him in. Damn Mrs. Johanssen. Putting her head against her door, she heard raised male voices, recognizing one as Mike’s. There was a scuffling noise, the sound of breaking glass, a grunt and then silence. But the silence lasted only for a moment; there were footsteps on the stairs. She hoped it was Mike, but didn’t dare call out to him. Then there was a knock at the door, heavy and insistent.

“Denise,” a menacing voice said, “I know you’re in there. You need to come with me. I’m the police.”

Denise remained silent. She knew she couldn’t escape through the window. Two flights up was too high to jump, and her ankle would definitely not withstand the impact. She looked around for some kind of weapon, some way to defend herself. Her apartment was full of books little figurines and knickknacks. Useless. There was the kitchen. She did have knives. Would she dare use a knife? If it were turned on her, she would fare badly.

“Denise?” he said again, knocking more forcefully. “You might as well come out, or I’ll have to break in, and that would make me very angry.”

Her heart beating wildly, Denise instantly knew what a trapped animal feels like, but she lacked either the claws or teeth to defend herself.

“In case you think your super is going to help, I took care of him,” the man continued. “Be a good girl and open the door.”

Should she engage him in conversation? Would that buy her time? She wasn’t sure if she could make a sound, her throat was so tight.

“No,” she croaked. “I won’t.”

“Now, Denise, that’s not a good idea.” She could hear him outside the door, and then the sound of something in the lock. She watched in horror as she saw the deadbolt unlock. Her head was pounding, her forehead and hands wet with sweat.

Then she heard voices, men’s voices in the lobby. Feet came stomping up the stairs.

“What the…..?” she heard the man say just before there was a thud on the floor. A moment later he said, somewhat muffled, “You can’t do this. I’m a cop, for God’s sake.”

“Shut up, Frank,” another voice commanded. “You’re finished.”

Then there was a knock at the door.

“Hey, Denise, it’s Mike. You OK? You can open the door. The guy’s cuffed.”

Slowly Denise opened her door. Mike stood there, his head bleeding onto his collar. Two policemen were pulling the man to his feet. One of them looked at her, and said, “Sorry, Miss. We’ve been suspecting him for a while. He saw your call come in, and when we saw him leave so fast, we tailed him over here. Your super managed to get to the door and let us in. You owe him big thanks.”

At that moment, Denise heard the sound of the fire trucks. She hoped she would be forgiven for calling in a false alarm.