the kayak shack. He had identified the make and model of the vehicle Cat drove, and when it was not in evidence, he parked and went to the door. It was a nice, new, modern neighborhood south of the bay, and many of the houses there had a nice view of the ocean.
Scott’s car was parked in the drive, and Logan knocked on the door. There was no response so he knocked again. Scott could be sleeping. After all, it had been less than a week since his head injury.
Finally the door opened and Logan said, “Hey, Scott.”
“What do you want?”
“I wanted to talk to you for just a minute.” He touched his forehead, indicating Scott’s stitches. “How’s that doing? Healing?”
“I’m fine,” he said. “What can I do for you?”
“Well, if it’s not an inconvenient time, you could invite me in. So we can talk.”
“About what?”
“Your many injuries, for starters.”
“I don’t have anything to discuss with you,” he said. “Did Justine send you?”
Logan shook his head. Of course he remembered that Justine identified him as former law enforcement. “No, I’m here on my own. Justine doesn’t even know I’m here.” At least, not at the moment, though she did know he planned to talk to Scott. “Listen, I’ve seen things like this before, and you’re not the only person shit like this happens to.”
“You don’t know anything about it.”
“But I do. And you spent the night in the hospital, the same night someone took a sharp implement to your couch. Knife? Scissors? Something else? Because women who beat up their partners tend to do things like damage the man’s property or hit them in their sleep or, God forbid, take that knife to them when they’re defenseless. I’ve only met your girls once, but they seem like nice girls—this is not the way you want to be remembered by them.”
Scott took a step toward him. “What do the girls know about this?”
“I don’t know,” Logan said. “I honestly don’t know. But my advice to them would be to stay away from you as long as you’re mixed up with this woman. She has a history, you know. It’s a matter of public record.”
“She was the victim of abuse,” Scott said.
“Actually, she and her last husband were accusing each other of battery. My guess is, this isn’t a sudden affliction. This has been going on a while. Most victims are reluctant to break away, at least at first, but I want to tell you a few things. Thanksgiving is getting close. Then Christmas comes barreling at you. These situations heat up during the holidays. I’d suggest you break it off with her because she’s poison—she’s going to push you down the stairs again.”
“She didn’t,” he said, but he said it more calmly, a little emotionally.
“Whatever, Scott. I brought you a couple of things.” He reached into his jacket pocket. “Here’s a list of a few counselors not near you. They happen to be men. They have experience in this sort of thing. And here’s a list of locations, dates and times of support groups for men. This happens more often than you think. You’re not alone. Google it, if you haven’t already.” Logan tried looking past Scott. “She’s not here?”
“Not right now, no.”
“Buddy, she’s got red flags all over the place. Do yourself a favor...”
“This really isn’t your business. You can let it go now. And if you talk to Justine, just tell her no one is hitting me. No one is battering me.”
“Take this information, Scott,” he said, holding out the paper and the business card. “At least take it and think about it.”
“I don’t want it.”
Scott backed into his house and closed the door.
Logan stood for a moment as if anticipating the door might open and the conversation could continue. He was the wrong person to confront Scott, he could see that. But there was no right person. Justine couldn’t do it—Scott would have too much pride at stake to come clean with her.