Set in Stone

by David James Warren

  “It’s okay. We’ll get him next time.” I say that without a burr in my throat.

  Instead, the burr is in my chest as Val’s grip slips away, and his eyes close. “Val—c’mon buddy…”

  And beside me, Eve is weeping.

  14

  There’s so much. So much, I don’t know where to start.

  First—Val is still alive and in surgery by the time Eve and I arrive in his Charger to the Jackson Memorial Hospital. The bullet tore through his lung, and it collapsed.

  Eve is a mess. I want to comfort her, but I’m still trying to wrap my brain around what happened.

  I gave my statement to the cops who arrived, and that helped.

  I botched my second attempt to apprehend Leo Fitzgerald. My gut is roiling, and I need to hit something.

  But worse is that I can’t get it out of my head. No, not Leo.

  Val’s words. “Does Eve ever talk about it?”

  I sounded like a jerk. Or a fool. “Talk about what?”

  “The baby.”

  Yeah, he said baby.

  I’m pacing, but now, I stop and press a hand against the cold tile of the waiting room. Eve is facing the window, her reflection in the night drawn. She’s wrapped her arms around herself.

  I’m a jerk, but I just can’t…

  She was going to have a baby with Val Castillo. And sure, she’d walked out of my life, but—

  The doors open and a surgeon walks out into the waiting area. He’s wearing scrubs and pulls his cap from his head. “Who’s here for Officer Castillo?”

  We’re not the only ones—a few of the guys from the station are sitting around, but it’s Eve who walks up first. She wipes tears from her cheeks. “I am.”

  I stand away, fold my arms, trying not to be freaked out about the depth of emotion she has for this guy.

  “He’s out of surgery. We had to resect a portion of his lung, but we were able to stop the bleeding, and barring any complications, he should recover. We have him in intensive care, so contact is limited.”

  “Can I see him?” Eve asks.

  “When he wakes up, you can visit for a few minutes,” he says.

  She thanks him and he leaves, and a couple of the other officers give her hugs as they leave.

  Like she might be his grieving widow.

  I know I’m a jerk, but I can’t watch so I head to the end of the hall where I find a vending machine. I use my credit card and choose a bag of chips. The wire rings circle, but of course the stupid bag catches on the end.

  I give the machine a slam.

  It shudders but the bag doesn’t move.

  A word leaves my lips, but I manage to cut it off before it fully enters public airspace. Still.

  I hit the machine again, but the chip bag is glued to the machine.

  “Here,” Eve says from behind me and presses a bill into the machine. It gobbles it, and she presses the button for the chips.

  The ring frees my chips, and hers too and they fall to the bottom.

  She looks at me, no smile, as she reaches in to retrieve them. Hands me my bag.

  Admittedly she looks tired, her hair wild from running her hands through it, probably. Her makeup is smudged, and blood still saturates her shirt.

  I probably don’t look much better, although thankfully, I’m no longer bare chested. One of the docs gave me a scrub shirt after I washed up.

  I open my chips. Lean against the wall.

  She leans against the other one. Looks at me. “I’m sorry Fitzgerald got away.”

  I lift a shoulder.

  “Rem, you were beating up the vending machine.”

  I meet her eyes. Swallow, then look away. I don’t even know where to start.

  She’s silent, just the crunching between us.

  Finally, “It’s not just Fitzgerald, is it?”

  “Did you almost marry this guy, Eve?”

  She draws in a breath.

  “He told me about the baby.”

  One eyebrow dips down. “Rem. What are you saying? You’ve known about the baby for years—”

  “Did you…did you want—”

  “The baby? I don’t know, Rem.” She throws the unopened bag into the trash (and I have a crazy urge to go after it) and crosses her arms. “I didn’t really have much choice after the miscarriage.”

  Miscarriage.

  I draw in a breath. “How far along were you?”

  She looks away. “Four months.”

  I remember her at four months, with Ashley. Remember that the baby started to kick around them.

  “I guess I didn’t realize you were that far.”

  “That’s why they had to do the emergency surgery. Because the placenta tore away…” She shook her head. “Yes, Rem. I would have had the baby. Had it not died, I would have had it.”

  “And married Val?”

  She lifts a shoulder, looks away. Lifts her hand to her cheek.

  I go back to my chips. “How’d it happen?”

  She’s quiet, frowning. I look up. “The miscarriage.”

  Her mouth tightens.

  “I know you told me, but—”

  “Really. How many times do I have to—okay, fine.” Eve pauses. “It’s your fault, you know. You…you made me feel like we were a team—”

  “We were a team.”

  “So were Val and I.”

  I’ve lost my appetite again, the chips churning in my gut. “Then why didn’t you stay with him—”

  “Because he blamed himself, too.”

  I look at her.

  Her jaw tightens. “He didn’t know I was pregnant, Rem. If he had, I’m sure, well, he would have stopped me. But I wanted to go with him to confront Hector, and…” She looks away. “It got violent before either of us could stop it. He just…took off. And, pushing me out of the way was, I don’t know, reflex maybe. But…yes. That’s what killed the baby.”

  “You fell.”

  “A flight of stairs, but I landed wrong and—”

  “The baby was killed.”

  “I almost didn’t make it.” She draws a breath, her hands on her arms. “I guess I didn’t tell you that part. I’m sorry.”

  I’m silent, seeing it all, the truth pruning my anger. “I’m sorry to bring that up again.”

  “I…” She looks at me. “I’m sorry for leaving Minneapolis. For not saying yes, the first time.” She draws in a breath. “I didn’t love Val, Rem. He reminded me of you, maybe, but…” She gives me a short, sad smile. “Because of the miscarriage, they said I might never be able to have a child again.”

  Oh wow.

  “And I knew, if I ever wanted a child, I wanted it with you.”

  “That’s why you came back to me.”

  “Like I said, I didn’t love Val. And you coming to Miami…well, I guess I’d been waiting for you for five years to come and get me.”

  Women. “I don’t understand you Eve.”

  She draws in a breath, and clearly that was the wrong thing to say. So, I try again with, “I’m sorry it took me so long.”

  I get the smallest nod, as if she might forgive me for not reading her mind. I want to reach out to her, but it feels awkward and maybe a little too late.

  One of the officers comes walking down the hallway. “He’s awake.”

  She looks up at me. “I should go in.”

  I let out a trembling breath, not sure where we stand, the strangest sense that I’ve lost her, somehow. I have to do something. Get out of here. “I think I should go talk to Helen Fitzgerald. See if I can get another lead on Leo before he completely vanishes.”

  “Yeah. That’s a good idea. But first, you should get a shower. And change. And maybe get some shut-eye.”

  “You should stay here,” I say, not sure why.

  She nods.

  “But,” I say. “I’m coming back for you, Eve. Just in case you’re wondering.”

  And I’m not sure why that was the right answer, but she presses her hands to her fac
e, and I pull her into my arms, holding her. I bend my head, put my voice to her ear and say the words she needs. “I love you. And I’m sorry for the babies you’ve lost.”

  We rock for a moment, and then she finally looks up at me. “Go get him, Batman. I’m not going anywhere.”

  What is it about a woman—the right woman—that can turn a spark into a blow torch inside a guy? And she called me Batman, an old nickname from our police days. I don’t know why, but hearing it again lights a bonfire in me.

  I’m roaring to go as I hit the street in the early morning light. I get an Uber back to the station, grab the Corvette, check into a downtown hotel and shower.

  My brain is churning, though. And not just about Fitzgerald.

  If I could go back in time, I’d stop Eve from going to Miami, just like she said. And it only takes a moment for me to figure out how.

  I’d make sure Booker didn’t die, because with him at the helm, Danny doesn’t become chief.

  And Eve doesn’t leave me.

  Coulda. Woulda. Shoulda.

  By the time I’m out of the shower, staring at the dark press of the wee hours, I realize I’m hours away from landing on the doorstep of some nursing home to demand answers.

  I fall face down on the bed for about four hours.

  Sleep isn’t my friend—you can imagine what I dream about—and I’m up with the first light. Coffee, a muffin in a baggie, and I’m in my convertible, heading to Cyprus Gardens Senior Care Center.

  I don’t expect a country club, but neither do I expect the nursing home to resemble a strip mall. The long building is painted a deep coral, with a mansard roof and tiny hurricane windows. I park in a lot in desperate need of resurfacing and get out.

  Next door is a Dollar Tree, across the street a car wash adds mist to the already humid air. The lot is about half full.

  I scoop up the flowers I’ve picked up on the way at a grocery store, still in their cellophane.

  I enter the lobby. It’s a friendly place with white tile inlaid with a design of Cyprus trees. A wall of windows behind the office reveals an inner courtyard with a pool.

  But the place smells of a nursing home, as if time has slowed, the breath of eternity hovering nearby. And, it’s lethally quiet.

  A receptionist at the front desk notices me. I approach with that charm Eve mentioned. Her nametag says Brittany. “Hello, Brittany. I’m here to see Helen Fitzgerald. I’m an old friend visiting from Minneapolis, so I forgot to make an appointment. I’m hoping I can drop in?”

  I flash my best Minnesota nice smile.

  Brittany is young, blonde and cheerful and it occurs to me that she’s exactly the kind of person that Leo Fitzgerald would hunt down. I want to tell her to be careful, but I don’t want to scare her.

  I need to talk to Helen.

  Brittany smiles. “Sure. Just let me buzz you in. Helen is in room 110.”

  I suppose there’s not a lot of people trying to break into nursing homes, but the fact that I didn’t have to show my I.D. or sign in has me wondering if they’ll have any records as to how often Leo visits.

  A few doors are open, and I see the beds are two to a room, some of the people in beds, others sitting in chairs or wheelchairs.

  I find Helen’s room at the end of the first hall, right before a door that opens to a large meeting room.

  Her door is half-open, and I knock before I enter. “Helen Fitzgerald?”

  She’s sitting by the window in a rocking chair, looking out at the pool grounds. The sun is bright against the waters, and the pool is equipped with a number of lifts and a shallow entry.

  Helen looks at me and smiles as I walk in.

  Her hair is cut into a sleek bob, and she is wearing a white shirt with a chunky necklace, and a skirt, her feet in slippers. “Johnny. What are you doing here?”

  I raise an eyebrow. “I’m not Johnny, ma’am.”

  “Are those for me, Johnny?” She reaches for the flowers.

  “Yes,” I say, and she gathers them in with such joy I feel a prick of remembered guilt.

  Lurking in my brain is a memory of my own mother, back in my original timeline after her first stroke. She lay in her bed, barely responsive, her face twisted, stripped of emotion. I was a terrible son back then.

  I silently vow to find them, and make sure I don’t repeat my mistakes.

  “Can I sit?” I ask, gesturing to another chair.

  “Of course, Johnny.” She reaches out and pats the chair. “Lenny just left, but he’ll be back.” Her smile is accompanied by a nod.

  I’m not sure if it’s dementia or Alzheimer's, but I don’t want to jar her. Still, “Ma’am, I’d like to talk to you about your son, Leo.”

  She is smelling the flowers. “Lenny brings me flowers, sometimes.”

  “Is that what you call him? Lenny?”

  Her gaze flickers up, and she studies me. “He’s a good boy.”

  “I’m sure he is.”

  Her smile fades. “It’s not his fault, you know.”

  “What’s not his fault?”

  “He just gets upset. It’s from the war.” She’s earnest now. “He didn’t come back the same.”

  The war. From his military jacket, Leo served in Desert Storm.

  She smells the flowers again. “I remember things, you know. Like that time you two took my car.” She winks. “You two boys. Always getting into trouble.” Her word catches her. “But he’s a good boy, my Lenny.”

  “Helen, did Johnny—did I—go to school with Lenny?”

  She laughs. “You wanted to be just like him. I know you did. That’s why you joined the army, right?”

  I nod.

  Her fingers pluck one of the petals of the daisy. “So terrible. Just, terrible.” She picks another petal, and this time lets it fall. “So many lives. So many boys, killed.” Her voice trembles. “No!”

  I catch the flowers as she throws them at me. Oh—

  “Stop!” She’s yelling now, starting to rise from her chair. “Stop, Johnny! Don’t hurt him. Don’t—” She looks at me now, her eyes wild. “You are a bad boy. You—you made Lenny cry.”

  I catch her wrist as she lunges at me. “Helen! It’s okay, it’s okay.”

  Then she starts to cry, big weeping breaths. “You did this! You—you made Lenny cry! He trusted you, and you made him cry!”

  I catch her just as she crumbles to the floor, weeping, thrashing. “Helen, calm down. Just—”

  “What’s going on in here?” The door bangs open and I’m not sure if I’m relieved or panicked when an orderly the size of a nose guard enters the room. His badge reads Rico and he crouches before Helen. “Mrs. Fitzgerald, calm down, it’s okay.”

  She’s resisting us and he gets up and presses a button by the door. By the time more nurses arrive, Helen is curled into a ball, weeping.

  I back up, holding up my hands watching as one of the nurses gives her a sedative. Then I shrink into a corner as they get her into bed. One of the nurses takes her pulse, is speaking to her in low tones.

  Rico turns to me. “You gotta leave, man.”

  No, not yet. I stare at Helen. “Alzheimer's?”

  Rico nods.

  “I can’t leave. I need her help.” It’s then I pull my badge.

  By the tightening of Rico’s mouth, I know someone is in trouble.

  “Listen, I just need help tracking down her son, Leo. He’s a suspect in a number of murders and—”

  “Lenny?” Rico is frowning. “Naw—I don’t believe it.” He gestures with his head toward the door, and he’s got a good eighty pounds on me, so I obey.

  Besides, I fear Helen’s reaction to my words.

  I get outside the room. “Do you know him?”

  Rico looks down the hall one way, then the next, and finally back to me. “Of course. He’s here nearly every week visiting.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, man. He’s a good son.”

  Just like Helen said.

  “
She called me Johnny. Do you know who that might be?”

  Rico shakes his head. “Naw. But you’re not the first. I think it must be someone her son knew. Nor are you the first person she’s freaked out on. The thing is, Alzheimer's patients have this amazing ability to remember the distant past as if it were yesterday. Twenty, thirty, even forty years. They’ll describe it as if it just happened. Maybe this Johnny was a childhood friend of her son’s.”

  Johnny.

  “Listen. I don’t know about any Johnny, but I need to find Leo—Lenny. Do you have an address for him?”

  Rico shakes his head. “I don’t think so. You can ask, but I think Lenny lives on a boat.”

  “A boat? Like a houseboat?”’

  “No, it’s a big trawler. Real pretty, forty-five footer. He docks it at Dolphin Marina, just up the road, toward Fort Lauderdale.”

  Yes! I manage not to slam my fist into the air, but by the time I get outside, I have Eve on the phone. “I found him.”

  She sounds tired. “Val is okay. He’s awake and talking.”

  I unlock my door. And, I know how much this means to her, so, “That’s good, honey. Real good.” I open the door. “But you need some rest. I booked us a room at the Marriott just down the street from the hospital. You can walk there.”

  She makes a sort of humming sound of agreement.

  “Really, babe. You’re exhausted.”

  “Okay. But where are you going?”

  “Leo Fitzgerald lives on a boat.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yeah. The Dolphin Marina in Fort Lauderdale.” I put the key in, and turn down the radio as REO Speedwagon tells me to take it on the run.

  “Rem. Be careful,” she says.

  “I’m just going to see if he’s there. Stake it out. If he is, I’ll call for backup.”

  “Promise.”

  “Yes. Absolutely.” Especially since now Val is permanently in my head, haunting me.

  “Okay. I’ll go to the hotel.”

  “Babe. We got him. We got him.”

  “I knew you would, Rem. I love you.”

  “You too.” I hang up and key up the GPS. Then, I crank the volume, letting the wind share the song as I head out to I-95. Appropriately, Journey’s “Faithfully” serenades me as I pull out.

  We’re going to be okay, Eve and me. I get it—the thing with Val. The first time around, I wasn’t, in the least, the guy who deserved her. In fact, in those days, it might have been better for her to move on, to find someone who could commit to her, earlier.