“There is no husband,” Sandra says, trying to maintain a straight face. She knows she set me up and is now trying to show she’s enlightened.

“Two women?”

“Yeah,” Sandra says with the hint of a smile.

This is actually a first for me, but I’m not going to share that with Sandra. Better that she think I’ve seen it all.

“Did you speak to the battering wife?”

“Not yet. I didn’t know what to say.”

“First complaint?”

Sandra nods.

“Any chance that the injuries were actually the result of a fall?”

“No. The vic was pretty clear with the cops on the scene that she’d been hit.”

“Any weapon?”

“The cops didn’t think so. Punches. Maybe some kicks too.”

I conclude that this case isn’t going to be prosecuted. It’ll likely take at least two more beatings before the victim is ready to go that route. And she may never get there.

“Here’s what I’d do. Bring them both in. Have a uniform with you. Meet with the vic first. Go over the options with her. If she sticks to the slip-and-fall story, tell her that it’s your experience that it’s not going to stop and it’s likely going to get worse. Then, when she won’t change her mind, tell her that if it happens again, she should call you right away. Make sure you give her your card, and tell her to keep it somewhere safe. Her wallet. Inside her phone case. Someplace she has ready access to it in case she needs it, and where her wife won’t find it. Then I’d meet with the perp. Just you and her. No cops. You emphasize to her that she should consider this a gift from God, and that she should pray that her wife doesn’t ‘fall’ again, or ‘walk into a door,’ or have someone mistakenly ‘drop’ something on her head. Because if you hear that anything like that has happened, you’re going to make sure that it’s a jail situation—even if her wife doesn’t want to press charges.”

Sandra nods as I go through this explanation. “Okay. That sounds good,” she says. “Thanks, Dana.”

“You’re welcome. One last thing.”

Sandra looks at me with wide eyes, no doubt expecting me to impart some additional pearl of hard-earned wisdom.

“After you send them home, say a prayer that they don’t end up killing each other.”

Back in my office, I shut the door and change into my spare clothing. Then I call the District Attorney.

McKenney’s assistant says that her boss is behind closed doors and left instructions not to be disturbed. I tell her that it’s important I speak with him as soon as possible because I need to alert the people in the bureau before the news hits.

“What news?” she asks.

“Just give him the message, please,” I say.