"There's a problem!” Zoe said, adamant. “I witnessed it.”
"Stay here. I'll be right back.”
I dug into my pocket and handed her a card before I left.
I walked down the driveway and traipsed across the lawn to the mansion next door. I walked past the convertible Maserati and rang the video doorbell at the courtyard gate.
A few moments later, a woman's voice crackled through the speaker. "Can I help you?”
I flashed my badge to the lens and made introductions. “I just have a few questions for you, ma’am.”
3
Mrs. Pearson was a striking blonde in her mid-20s. Her wavy hair tickled her shoulders. The slinky designer dress accentuated her svelte figure.
My eyes narrowed, surveying her face, looking for any signs of abuse. Mrs. Pearson was easy to look at. Sculpted cheekbones, a thin nose, full lips, and glowing skin. She didn't need Botox or lip fillers.
I didn't see any abrasions or bruising. She didn't have a black eye or a split lip. If her husband had hit her, it wasn't hard enough to leave a mark. Or so it seemed.
She picked up on my confused expression. "Is there something wrong?"
"Are you okay?”
She looked at me like I was crazy. "I'm fine. Why?"
"You feel safe in the home?”
With a knitted brow, she said, "Yes. Of course. Why wouldn't I?”
"We had a report of potential abuse," I said.
"Abuse?”
"I’m sorry to bother you. I just wanted to make sure you were okay and hadn’t been assaulted.”
"Assaulted?” she asked, then chuckled.
I looked past her into the foyer. Sounds from the television drifted from the living room. "Is your husband here now?”
"Yes, he is. Would you like to speak to him?”
"Sure, if it's no problem.”
She turned and called for him. "Richard. Could you come here for a moment?”
Footsteps clacked against the hardwoods, and Richard stepped into the foyer a moment later. He was a dapper man in his mid-50s with silver hair, narrow brown eyes, and a square jaw. Oval-shaped glasses framed his face. With a designer suit and a white gold Rolex Daytona, this was a man who appreciated the finer things in life.
"Richard, this is Deputy…”
"Wild," I said, extending my hand.
Richard smiled, and we shook.
"What seems to be the problem?" he asked.
"We got a report of domestic abuse?”
His brow wrinkled, as perplexed as his wife. "Who reported that?"
