Women in the East End neighborhood where I live are told they can breath a sigh of relief. This Houston Chronicle story reports that a suspect is now in custody after the latest, boldest attack, on a young mother of two, early Thursday morning.
The map below shows why I’m a bit happier. All this has happened right in my own back yard. The Woodside attack is but 3-4 blocks from our home.
There was an incident a couple of weekends ago that I dismissed, but the more I think about it, the more I think there’s a chance the guy in my scenario might be this rapist, but some things just don’t add up. You be the judge:
It was in the wee hours of a Friday night/Saturday morning a couple of weeks ago. I had been fighting a head cold and had taken some medicine and gone straight to bed Friday night. I woke up around 3:00 a.m. and couldn’t sleep so headed to the computer room (the living room) to read my e-mail and do some surfing. There is a large picture window in the computer room and since I keep the blinds up about a foot to accomodate the cats’ penchant for sitting on the window sill, anyone could see into the room. But since I live on a dead end, this isn’t usually an issue.
I live in a four-plex. There is a mirror-image unit sharing a wall next to me and two more upstairs. The woman who lives next door is also somewhat of a night owl and she’s been known to tap on the door late at night if she sees that I’m up. She will sometimes bring a plate of cookies or cake that she’s made for dinner. Robert’s care taker, Pete, also stays up late and sometimes will come round at night to visit Robert.
So when I heard the knock on the door around 4:00 a.m., I figured it was either Elizabeth or Pete. Since our door has no peephole (something I need to take up with the landlady), I hollered out, behind the locked, chained metal door, “Who is it?!” When there was no answer, I just assumed I hadn’t heard the answer, and with the chain still on, opened the door. (Now I am a cautious little thing by nature, so I didn’t have my head in the crack when I opened the door, but waited until the door was open as far as the chain would allow before peeking around the corner.)
There stood a Latino male about 5′ 7″ or 5′ 8″, stocky build, he had on dirty denim jeans, a shirt, which was open all the way, exposing a beer belly and a lot of tattooes on that gut, all the way up his chest. That’s basically the first and only thing I saw when I opened the door. He mumbled something, which I didn’t understand either because (1) I don’t speak Spanish fluently; or (2) he was just incoherent.
I immediately slammed the door in his face, doused all the lights (the switches were on the panel right there, thankfully). And stood, motionless, behind the door. I never heard him shuffle off the patio. From my vantage point in the room, I could see through the window to my right toward the street that led out to the road. I never saw him in my line of vision, going down the road. The only place he could have gone was to my left, around the corner, past Elizabeth’s door, and around the side of the building to the back where the cars are parked.
I ran back to the bedroom and told Robert about it, after making sure both the front and back doors were secure. He told me I should call the police. So I did. I was amazed at how fast a squad car got there. But of course, the officer saw no one in the street on his way in. He was nice enough to walk the perimeter and be sure everything was okay. The officer tried to assure me that it was probably a mistake, that the man was either drunk or high or both (I can agree with that), and was confused and knocked on the wrong door. I suppose so. I mean, if he was intent on doing ME harm, I guess he could have, unless my actions just dumbfounded him. The only other thing that makes me think my guy is not the East End rapist is that in none of the newspaper or TV accounts has there ever been any mention of tattooes. Wouldn’t you think that if he had the kind of tattooes I saw, the media or police would mention this?
You have to think that if you are up at some ungodly hour, and you’re crazy (him), the chances that other people who are up at that hour as well (me), are barking moonbats, too!