Side(H)arm

by James E. Abel

  “Yeah, and you’re the damn grief counselor, right?”

  As soon as the words left Jordan’s mouth, he wanted to take them back.

  His head dropped, he took a deep breath, and he rubbed his hands through his hair.

  He looked back up and said, “I’m sorry. That was way out of line. You’re right. I’m the adult, and I need to do a better job. It’s just that, well, I’ve been consumed trying to help Molly in other ways. I guess it’s really starting to get to me.”

  “I’m listening. Tell me what it is that you’re doing.”

  “What cops do. I’m trying to find the man who murdered her mother. I want to keep her safe.”

  Karen thought for a minute and then said, “Okay. Now I understand a little bit better. But what you need to understand is that Molly’s mental health is every bit as important as her physical safety. She needs her father more than ever. She’s already lost her mother.”

  “You’re right, Dr. Conley. I will try harder. I promise.”

  Jordan caught Tommy out of the corner of his eye. He stood up, looked at him, and asked, “You ready to head out?”

  Karen looked up and said, “Please. One more minute.”

  Jordan reluctantly sat back down as Karen reached into her purse, pulled out her business card, and wrote something on the back.

  “Here, keep this handy. It’s my cell number. Take some time and think about what I’ve told you. Then call me anytime, day or night. It really is important that we work together on this.”

  Jordan glanced at the card and put it in his shirt pocket.

  “Thank you. I will.”

  Jordan left Karen sitting on the bench and joined Tommy for the walk back to their car. He noticed Tommy glancing back and said, “Yeah, I know. She’s hot. So why don’t you ask her out?”

  “Maybe I will. Oh wait, here she comes.”

  Jordan stopped and turned. Karen pulled up about twenty feet away and said, “Please, Officer Nichols. Please think about what we discussed. You and Molly are on this journey together!”

  Jordan gave her a half-hearted wave and turned away. As he did, Karen finished her thought: And neither one of you is going to make it alone.

  Tommy looked back one more time at Karen, throwing her the slightest of nods. Jordan’s instincts had been right on. The meeting wasn’t accidental. Karen had reached out to Tommy through police channels and had arranged it.

  Jordan was quiet on the drive back to the station, so Tommy tried to break the silence. “Jordan, I don’t mean to pry into your private life, but don’t you think that maybe it’s about time that you, you know?”

  “No. I don’t. What are you talking about?”

  “Look, we all know how much you’ve been hurting inside, but, at some point, life has to go on.”

  Tommy had hit a nerve.

  “So, what are you saying? That I start hanging out with you at all the local strip bars? That I pay some cheap whore to sleep with me every once in a while? That’s how you moved on, isn’t it? Are you asking me to follow your lead?”

  The car went silent again until, minutes later, Jordan said, “Look, Tommy, I’m sorry. I know you’re trying to help, but let it be, okay? We’ve both had some really shitty things happen to us. You work through it your way. I’ll work through it my way. End of discussion, okay?”

  “Yeah. End of discussion.”

  Then Jordan changed subjects.

  “So, anyway. What were we talking about before Dr. Conley showed up? I want you to help me track down some leads. I was thinking that you could focus on older cases, while I keep slugging through all the more recent files, anything on record during the past three years.”

  “Sounds ‘old school,’ but I’d be glad to. Just point me in the right direction.”

  “Thanks, I appreciate it. I set up an Excel spreadsheet listing every lead and potential perp I could find. I’ll shoot you a copy. In the meantime, I’m gonna have it out with Sanders this afternoon.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I want to see his file. I’ll ask politely one more time, but if that doesn’t work, I’ll do whatever it takes.”

  “Please, Jordan, watch yourself. I mean, what the hell am I gonna do if my partner gets fired?”

  Jordan smiled and said, “More time for those strip clubs, I guess.”

  When they reached the station, it was end of shift, so they headed to the men’s locker room. Jordan showered and changed and was about to leave when Tommy jumped up on a bench and called out to anyone within earshot.

  “I have an important announcement! I just signed up to be the comedy act at the annual fundraiser, so make sure all of you idiots show up.”

  Jordan threw a surprised look at Tommy while a handful of other cops stopped what they were doing and turned to listen.

  One of the cops yelled, “What the hell do you know about comedy?”

  “More than you, jerk wad. Anyway, they were short on acts, so I volunteered.”

  By now, about six cops had crowded in front of Tommy. One of then asked, “So what exactly is your act going to be?”

  Tommy winked at Jordan before answering, “Ventriloquist. You can be my dummy, and I’ll stick my fist up your…”

  Jordan gave Tommy a hard shove and cut him off, saying, “Hey. Enough already.”

  Everyone burst out laughing except Jordan. He stood up, pushed past a couple of the cops, and headed for the door. Tommy, watching him leave, uttered “shit” under his breath.

  But Tommy’s new audience quickly pulled him back in when one of the cops said, “You know, Tommy’s a funny guy. I’ve heard some of his jokes, and they’re really not bad. Go ahead, Tommy, show them.”

  “Not these bozos! No way.”

  Taunts and boos rung out from the peanut gallery.

  “Yeah, come on, Tommy. Make us laugh.”

  Tommy took the bait.

  “All right. Gather around and prepare to be entertained.”

  The cops moved closer as he went into his act.

  “So…When my parents grew up, it was a much simpler world. Folks respected each other. Doors stayed unlocked. Neighborhoods were safe places to live. Just think about how we’ve decayed over the past sixty years. My dad grew up watching Father Knows Best. Today, the kids can tune into a show called Father Cross Dressed.”

  The groans rang out from his audience.

  “Just wait, it gets better. Okay. So, my father also watched I Love Lucy. Today, it’s an episode of a reality show with cosmetic surgeons called I Was Lucy.”

  More groans, but a little laughter as well.

  While Tommy’s impromptu act continued, Jordan was at the front desk talking to Frank Bishop, one of the members of the investigation team for Casey’s murder.

  “Frank…the investigation. It’s been over three months now. Please. You must have something you can share with me.”

  Frank gave Jordan a sympathetic look and said, “Look, we’ve been through this before. You know I can’t tell you anything.”

  “But we’re friends. Hell, you’ve been to parties at our house. Just think about how you’d feel if the shoe was on the other foot.”

  “Please, Jordan, don’t put me in this position. You know that Sanders has threatened to go upstairs and get anyone fired who talks to you.”

  “Screw Sanders. Damn it, Frank. This is just you and me talking. I’m going crazy here. Don’t you understand?”

  Glancing around, Frank said, “Settle down and yes, I do understand. Look. What I can tell you is that we don’t have much of anything. There was only one set of foreign prints, and they don’t match up on any database. And your daughter, well…”

  “I know. She didn’t get a good look at him.”

  “I’m sorry, Jordan. I really am. But go ask Sanders for yourself. He’s really not that bad a guy.”

  “Yeah, sure. Where’s he at?”

  “I saw him go into the men’s room about five minutes ago.”


  “Thought I smelled his stench in there.”

  Jordan turned and walked toward the men’s room. When he got there, he found Sanders washing his hands as Tommy’s voice filtered through the door to the locker room, “Yeah, and that’s one show that would still have the same name…Leave It to Beaver!”

  You could still hear the laughter as Tommy burst through the door, feeling good about himself. But his mood changed as soon as he saw Jordan and Sanders.

  Sanders turned around, threw a paper towel in the trashcan, and seeing Jordan asked, “What’s up, Nichols? Something bothering you?”

  “As a matter of fact, there is.”

  Sanders ignored the comment and said, “By the way, the forensics report on the Swamp Thing came in today.”

  “And why did you see it before I did? In fact, why did you see it at all? It’s my case, not yours.”

  “Who knows, maybe because the guys in forensics just like me more. Anyway, that gooey mess turned out to be a drug dealer by the name of Luke Baxter.”

  “Any relation to Lucien Baxter, the guy we think is tied into the drug trafficking?”

  “Yeah. It was his brother.”

  Sanders looked over at Tommy and asked, “Tommy, you crossed paths with Luke back in the day, didn’t you?”

  “Sure, I knew him. He was a petty drug dealer, along with his brother. Lucien was the skinny one with the brains, and Luke was the muscle. Total scumbags. Nice to know that at least one of them got what they deserved. Wouldn’t surprise me if Lucien wasted his own brother.”

  Jordan said, “We can ask him that when we pay him a visit.”

  Sanders said, “No. Not an option. The Feds will rip us a new one if we scare off Baxter before we find out where they moved their fentanyl operations. We can’t risk blowing the bigger picture, so Baxter is off limits, understood?”

  Jordan moved close in on Sanders. Almost nose to nose.

  “Understood. But now, let’s talk about your case. My wife. How is that one coming along?”

  Tommy grabbed Jordan’s shoulder and pulled him back as Sanders heated up and said,

  “In my office, Nichols, let’s go.”

  Sanders walked past Jordan and out of the men’s room, and Jordan followed. Tommy stood there and watched, shaking his head.

  When they reached Sanders’s office, he walked behind his desk, opened a drawer, and pulled out a file. He threw it down on the desk and said, “You don’t like me. The feeling’s mutual. But we’ve been busting our asses trying to find your wife’s killer. And we ain’t got jack shit. The neighbors didn’t see anything. We haven’t been able to find a match on any database on either the ballistics or the prints we found at the scene. We’re going on the assumption that your stolen snub-nose fired the bullet, but we’re still waiting on the Feds to confirm. They’ve got a ballistics profile for the gun on an old microfiche file somewhere up in Washington D.C.”

  “Tommy’s dad was the original owner, and he was a cop. Maybe the locals from where he worked still have ballistics on his gun.”

  “I’ll look into it. But even if we do determine that the snub-nose was the gun that was used, then what?”

  “Then I’ll feel even worse. But I need to know, either way.”

  “I understand, Nichols, I do. Maybe if Molly had seen something, anything… But that’s not the case, is it?”

  The look on Jordan’s face gave it away. Sanders asked again.

  “Is it?”

  Jordan hesitated, and then said, “She did see something.”

  “And you’re telling me this now! Christ, Nichols, that’s withholding evidence.”

  “No. I assumed you had the same information. After all, I haven’t been told a thing.”

  Sanders tapped his fist on the desk, trying to control his emotions.

  Then he said, “All right, Nichols, we’ll forget this conversation ever took place. Just tell me what she saw.”

  Sanders pulled a pen out of his desk and took notes as Jordan repeated to him exactly what Molly had told him. When he was finished, Jordan said, “And you leave Molly out of this. She’s done talking to you. You understand?”

  Sanders didn’t say a word. He just stared at Jordan.

  Jordan’s voice rose as he repeated himself, “I said: Do you understand?”

  Sanders put his new notes in the file folder, looked at Jordan, and said, “Yeah, sure. We’re done here.”

  “No, we’re not.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I came in here to get information, not to give it. You’re telling me you haven’t got anything to go on, now prove it. Let me see the damn file.”

  Sanders got up from his desk and walked to the door.

  “Tell you what, Nichols.” Sanders pointed at the file. “There it is. Sitting on the desk. If you really want to cross the line, you go right ahead. But don’t look to me for help if it goes bad.”

  He walked out and slammed the door, leaving Jordan behind.

  Jordan didn’t hesitate. He grabbed the file and flipped it open. He started turning pages, using his finger to help move his eyes down the pages and pages of notes until he reached the crime scene photographs. When he saw a picture of Molly holding Casey’s head in her lap, he turned away and closed his eyes. The next picture showed Molly crying, as a female detective tried to pull her away from Casey. He dropped the picture and buried his head in his hands. Several minutes passed before he stood up and started to put the file back in order. As he threw the last picture in, he spotted something. It was a picture of a pool of blood, about six inches in diameter, on the front porch of his house. He gathered himself, pulled out his iPhone, and snapped a picture. Then he closed the file, walked out of the office, and closed the door behind him.

  Chapter 24

  Jordan walked into the kitchen at Jenna’s house, grabbed a bottle of beer, and sat down at the table. Jenna walked in, sat down directly across from him, and said, “Hi, stranger, nice of you to stop by.”

  “Yeah, yeah. I know. So, where’s Molly hiding?”

  “She’s not hiding. She’s napping. She hasn’t been sleeping that well. You know…nightmares and all.”

  “Hoped she was past that.”

  “Yeah, me, too. Oh, and before I forget, she keeps asking about getting some of Casey’s old oil paints and brushes from the house.”

  “Okay. Stop by with her and get whatever she needs.”

  “Why don’t you do that with her, tomorrow night, after you pick her up? It would mean a lot to her.”

  “Actually, that’s what I came over to talk to you about. I was sort of hoping that Molly could stay here for a while.”

  “You mean full time, seven days a week?”

  “Yeah. You’d have to get her back and forth to school, but it’s not that far, and it’s not like you have a job.”

  “Jordan, that’s not the point, and you know it. She needs you, and she needs to know that you care about her.”

  “I know. I know. I get it!”

  Jordan slammed his beer on the table, stood up, and started pacing. Then he sat back down, looked Jenna in the eye, and pleaded his case.

  “It’s just that I’m getting really close now, close to finding the bastard who did this. I can feel it! But it’s taking every last minute of my time.”

  “Jordan! Isn’t there an entire police force being paid to do that?”

  “Whatever. Look, it will only be for a week, two max. I promise. I need to run up to Atlanta to follow up on a really good lead this week, and I sure don’t want to leave Molly at home alone. Please, sis?”

  Jenna stood up and said, “Ughhh. You are gonna drive me crazy! Give me a minute to think this through.”

  It was her turn to pace back and forth as Jordan stood up, tossed out his empty bottle, and grabbed another one from the fridge. He walked to the screen door and stared outside, toward the dunes. A minute later, Jenna walked over, tugged on his shoulder, and gently asked, “Jordan, what’s going on with yo
u?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I get it that you want to find the scumbag who killed Casey, but it’s consuming you. If you think you’re doing this for Molly, you’re wrong. What you’re doing is at her expense.”

  For once, Jordan didn’t get mad. Tears filled his eyes as he slowly nodded his head and said, “You’re right, about everything. But do you know why I’m like this?”

  “No, just tell me.”

  “The only reason that Molly doesn’t have a mother is because I left a gun sitting out while I was out drinking at a God-damned sports bar.”

  Jordan pulled away from Jenna and walked to the garbage can to toss out his second beer bottle, wiping away some tears on the way.

  Jenna followed, talking to his back, “Jordon, nobody blames you. You have to know that by now. Aren’t you still seeing that grief counselor?”

  Jordan collected himself and said, “That guy was worthless. I told him what he wanted to hear just to get rid of him.”

  “Call Dr. Conley. She’s helped Molly. I’m sure she can help you, too.”

  “Yeah. Maybe I will. But in the meantime, can you please keep Molly here with you for the next couple of weeks? I want to get this thing over and done with.”

  “Only on one condition. You have to promise to call Dr. Conley, and then go see her. That’s the deal. Take it or leave it!”

  Jordan, with one hand already on the screen door, turned to Jenna and said, “Okay. I promise. I’ll call her. Oh, and when Molly wakes up, tell her I stopped by.”

  He pushed open the screen door and disappeared as Jenna said under her breath, “Sure, I’ll tell her.”

  Four hours later, Jordan was passed out on his couch with an empty bottle of bourbon nearby. The only source of light was the ever-changing pixels flying off the television screen as a late-night pitchman droned on about instant abs. Jordan opened his eyes, stumbled to his feet, and headed toward the kitchen. On his way, he noticed a family picture on the wall. It triggered something inside. For the first time since Casey’s death, he focused on his surroundings. His eyes darted around the room. He saw Casey’s guitar still laying on the floor, right where the intruder had left it after he knocked it off its stand. He walked over and gently set it back up. Then he noticed the Christmas decorations on the end tables and spiraling up the banister. He pulled an empty box from the closet, took the decorations down, and put them into the box. Then he focused on the wall where Casey had died—the faded bloodstains and the white joint compound above it from Tommy’s half-finished wall repair. He disappeared for a few minutes, returning with sandpaper, an open can of paint, and a paintbrush.