Intruder in my Home

Police slow to respond to home intruder - but I was, too

(Published June 8, 2003, The News Tribune, Tacoma, Washington)

It happened around 10:30 one recent Friday evening. My husband was in bed with a cold, my daughter Carmela was in her room, and my mom had retired for the night.

I was ensconced in my favorite sofa watching a family of cops on TV battle a psycho serial killer. The show was mediocre at best, but figuring out the motive for the killings was keeping me engaged.

My life revolves around a dull work-run errands-work routine. To compensate, I read spy and suspense thrillers voraciously and I'm a big fan of action and disaster films, police, forensics and lawyer shows.

My fascination with crime and courtroom scenes intensified after my son Dexter was murdered three years ago and my family spent three weeks in court making sure his killer was punished.

You'd think after all those books and movies and real-life tragedy that I would have been more prepared for the scene that unfolded fairly quickly in my living room that Friday evening.

Carmela had just come down the stairs when I heard someone fumbling at the front door. I was mildly curious, wondering who among my extended family was coming to visit so late in the evening. Just as I realized I didn't hear a key turn, the door was pushed open and a man I didn't know from anywhere walked into our home.

He was a scruffy white male with the belligerent and dazed stance of someone drunk, high on drugs or both. My daughter gasped, her eyes round with alarm, while I - who could easily earn a Ph.D. in armchair criminal detection and apprehension - sat in my comfortable sofa observing the intruder with the clinical detachment of my favorite "CSI" character (shock-induced paralysis, actually).

The intruder swayed and clutched the doorknob as he staggered back. His momentum swung the door closed, taking him with it. When the latch clicked, it dawned on me that my daughter and I were alone again and momentarily safe. "Lock the door," I told her urgently, "and call 911."

Carmela secured the locks and got on the phone to 911. "He's still at the door," she said. "He hasn't left."

I peered through the blinds and noted that the man was indeed sitting with his back against the door. At least he's outside, I thought. We're safe. Then he banged on the door with his fist and muttered unintelligible threats.

The sudden fear this engendered and the rush of tears on my daughter's cheeks finally unglued me from my seat. Adrenaline to the rescue. I took the phone from Carmela and tried to calm her fears.

"It's going to be all right," I said. "I want you to go back to your room now and lock the door."

I carried a chair from the dining room and propped it against the door the way I've seen it done on TV. Then I took a sharp knife from the kitchen and stood vigil by the door.

I stayed on the phone with the 911 operator until the police arrived, at least 15 minutes later. By the time they got there, the intruder had banged on my door a few more times, testing my resolve to do the unthinkable with the knife in my hand. It sounds melodramatic now, but it was all I could think of at that time. No one was going to harm my family again if I could help it.

Thankfully, the man tired of the siege and left. The police searched briefly, but he was gone. When I asked why it took them so long to reach my house, they said they had come all the way from the other side of town. There were no other units closer to my house, and only a few of them were out that night. Budget cuts.

They theorized the man was drunk and probably mistook our house for his. They took down my name and left. Mission accomplished. End of story.

But not for me. There are lingering questions and lessons learned.

Why did he pick our house that night? And will he be back? Would the police have come sooner if the man had been inside my house instead of at the door? If he had a weapon, would help have come on time to save us? And given the situation, would I really have wielded the knife to kill another human being?

The lessons are easier. I will be more vigilant about keeping doors and windows locked. I will stop deluding myself that I am a super secret agent disguised as a middle-age bookworm. I will acquire a gun.

And next time this happens, I might just call my family first. I think their response time will be much shorter than the police.

(Belma Villa of Tacoma writes monthly as a guest columnist for the Perspectives page.)