Cold Tears

by AR Simmons

  Whatever happens, knowing is better than not knowing, he said to himself as she intercepted him. Neither of them noticed the car that passed nor the woman who glanced casually in their direction before continuing up the block and turning right on Hepplewhite.

  “You find out anything, Mr. Carter?”

  “It’s too early to expect much, Molly.”

  She went in with him, and they sat at the kitchen table where, for want of a better term, she debriefed him. He told her about his visit to her former workplaces.

  “Tell me about this Mark Holmes at the fish house. Did you and he ever have trouble?”

  “Mark’s lonely,” she said. “I couldn’t do nothing about that.”

  “But he wanted you to, I take it?”

  “He used to like me. Now he don’t. That’s just the way it is sometimes. I don’t think it was anybody’s fault, but I think it’s happened to him before. That’s why he’s kind of bitter. It don’t help being like that. It just drives people away from you.”

  Richard was pleased with himself that he’d nailed Holmes’ character at first glance.

  “Rona says she’s got a job for you if you want to come back.”

  “Maybe I can get myself together and do that. I always liked Rona. She’s easy to work for.”

  “How about Miss Grimes?”

  “She was alright, but not sweet like Rona. She was kind of demanding, but fair. That’s all you can really expect. After all, it’s their money you’re working for, ain’t it?”

  She’d said it before. Evidently it was part of her world view.

  “And Lindsay?”

  “Lindsay did a good job, but she saw everything as a competition. I don’t understand that. She wasn’t a happy person. It seems to me that there are a lot of people who come out on the short end of things.”

  Richard doubted that many of them came out on a shorter end of things than Molly had. Yet, despite her obvious sadness, it wasn’t difficult to be around Molly. She didn’t turn her rage on everyone, only on the system that had failed her, Adams in particular.

  “So you didn’t have any problems at the fish house or the grill?”

  “Small stuff. Most people got their problems.”

  “How about the Honeycomb? I hear McComb’s girlfriend can be a real … pain.”

  “I didn’t have much to do with her.” she shrugged. “She’s got a short fuse. You learn to stay away from people like that if you can. I think she’s a part owner. Did you meet her?”

  “No.”

  “She didn’t come in much. I think she was pretty busy with her career.”

  Richard was only half listening. Something had been bothering him about the man Jessie at the fish house had spoken of coming to see Molly.

  “I got the impression that you didn’t date or anything after the divorce until the night you went to Kirk Tinsley’s place. Is that right?”

  “That’s right.”

  “No relationships at all?”

  “No dates or nothing,” she said. “I never went anywhere with anyone, and nobody came to the house. Why?”

  He tried to find a diplomatic way to ask about the inconsistency he thought he saw.

  “Molly, tell me straight. Was the night Mancie disappeared the first time you had anything to do with Kirk Tinsley?”

  She blinked as if surprised.

  “Why?”

  If she had been lying to him all along, he would quit.

  “Just tell me,” he said

  “It’s the first time I ever went anywhere with him.”

  “But you talked to him before that? I mean regularly? It was more than just casual, wasn’t it?”

  “It was more like he talked to me,” she said. “He’s kind of awkward so it took him a while, but I finally realized that he was doing more than just normal guy stuff.”

  “He was hitting on you?”

  “I wouldn’t call it that. You have to know Kirk—not that I know him all that well. I don’t know if anyone does. He’s shy. I think he was interested in more than just … you know, casual stuff. I didn’t know how serious he was until he showed up one day at The Fishing Hole. That’s the first time he asked me for a date. He just shows up, asks for me without even taking a seat. The whole thing was kind of weird. I think he had been working up his nerve. What he said even sounded like he had been practicing. I turned him down.”

  “What made you change your mind later?”

  “You mean why did I go to his apartment when I knew what that was going to lead to?”

  Her eyes held his defiantly. “I was lonely, Mr. Carter. No one had treated me like I was … anything in a long time. I hurt his feelings pretty bad, but he came back and … I felt like … valued. I can’t explain it any better than that.”

  •••

  He filled Jill in on his day while they shopped at a discount store. At the checkout, she had him return a couple of items to the shelf that would have put them over her calculated allocation. On the way home, he told her his impression of the people he had met during the day. She listened without enthusiasm, but he failed to notice.

  “All I’ve done so far is prove that she didn’t deserve something like this,” he said as they put away the groceries.

  “No one deserves something like that,” she said tersely as she turned to the task of preparing dinner.

  “What I meant is that talking to the people who worked with her and her bosses has given me a better picture of what she was like before all this happened. Before the baby disappeared, she was doing a hell of a job of coping.”

  “Because she worked two jobs instead of going on assistance?”

  Richard now realized that she was upset, but he had no idea why.

  “That and the fact that she seemed to have done it without feeling sorry for herself. From everything I’ve heard, she was conscientious and cheerful. Most everyone liked her. Two of her former bosses said they’d hire her back in a heartbeat.”“

  “The ‘halo effect,’” said Jill as she closed the refrigerator door. “Or maybe the ‘generosity error.’ People exaggerate good points when asked to evaluate someone they know.”

  “Like at funerals?”

  “In this case, perhaps because of the tragedy.”

  “Maybe, but I’m beginning to think she’s pretty remarkable. You have to admit she’s come a long way since we first met her.”

  “When are you going back to work?”

  The abrupt change of subject startled him. “You’re mad at me?”

  “I’m not angry. I just want you to stop playing detective.”

  “I’m not playing, Jill,” he said sharply. “I’m trying to help Molly find her baby.”

  “In all likelihood the child is dead. You know that. Before you got involved, that poor woman was probably beginning to accept it too.”

  His own fear that Mancie was dead threatened to become a conviction. Richard pushed it aside. For some reason, he needed the child to still be alive.

  “So I’ve given her hope. The kid could be alive, and we might get her back. If not, well Molly still needs to know. I’m going to help her find out what happened.”

  “Richard, if the police—”

  “The police! You mean Adams.”

  She started to say something, stopped, shook her head in exasperation and went past him through the living room. He followed, catching up to her in the bedroom.

  “Whatever you were going to say you might as well just say it, Jill. Let’s go ahead and clear the air here.”

  “Okay. I do not like what is happening.”

  “Why? If nothing else, at least Molly’s in better shape than she was.”

  “I’m not so sure about that.”

  “Of course she is. Look at the way she was when we first met her, and the way she is now.”

  “I am looking at the way you both are—at this … thing the two of you have going.”

  “You’re jealous? Jill, there’s no ‘thing’ going
on between us. We don’t have a relationship. Good grief! She calls me ‘Mr. Carter.’”

  “I’m not talking about a romantic relationship, Richard, although any fool can see how much she admires you. What I mean is that the two of you have this mutually reinforced delusion.”

  “Oh. I get it. We’re a couple of crazies because Molly wants to pretend that Mancie is still alive, and I want to pretend that I’m a real detective. Well, that’s ridiculous.”

  “Richard, I wish that poor woman hadn’t lost her child too, but right now I really don’t care about her. I don’t. I care about what she’s doing to you.”

  “If she’s doing anything, she’s making me feel useful. I know I can’t ever get into law enforcement, and I can’t get a P. I. license either. But this is about Molly, not me. That’s all it’s about.”

  “This is all about Molly?”

  “That’s all it’s about,” he repeated. “I want to help her. I have to.”

  “What happens when you fail?”

  “I don’t know, but I think she might be able to handle that too. She’s got strength.”

  “What about the methamphetamine?”

  “The meth is what I’m talking about. Do you have any idea how many people ever get off of that stuff? Almost none.”

  “Fine. How hard will it be for her to resist going back on it if all that you’re doing turns up nothing?”

  “I’ve got to try.”

  “I know, but try to prepare yourself. I won’t be able to stand it if you go back to being what I found when I returned from the funeral. I need you, but I don’t need that.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I’m not sure, Richard. I’m not sure.”

  •••

  September 16, 10:23 AM

  “Hey! Hey! Stop!” yelled Clinton Gage as he ran toward the dozer.

  Unaware that his new boss was stumbling across the landfill toward him, Jared raised the blade and backed up for another push. As he locked the right track to swing the rusty yellow monster around, he noticed Gage.

  “Now what?” he muttered as he looked at the recently leveled pile he had readied to be covered with a layer of dirt.

  He dropped the blade and reduced the power to idle. His boss motioned to cut the engine. As he did so, he braced for a chewing out although he had no idea what the man could be upset about.

  “What the hell are you trying to do? Get my license pulled?”

  “What did I do?” asked Jared, totally at a loss.

  “What did you do? You’re pushing the damned stuff into the river! I said to extend the fill toward the north.”

  “Isn’t this north? I looked at the sun, and this is at a right angle to it.”

  “And it’s fall, you idiot. The sun comes up to the southeast this time of year. You were supposed to push it that way, damn it. Hell! You can see the river, can’t you?”

  “Sorry,” mumbled Jared. “I don’t think anything went into the creek though.”

  “That ‘creek’ is the upper end of the Pomme de Terre River. Get the hell out of the cab and come on. Let’s go take a look at what you did,” said Gage, walking to the edge of the fetid heap and peering down the slope toward the concrete retaining wall he’d had constructed to contain runoff.

  “I knew it! You sent stuff over the wall!”

  Jared stared down the slope in bewilderment. “It’s only one bag.”

  “Well, that’s one too many. Get down there and throw it back inside the wall.”

  By the time he got to the bag, he was ready to quit. He had almost fallen headfirst as he made his way down, sliding to a stop only when his left foot hit the base of the retaining wall in knee-deep, foul-smelling cold water. He scrambled over the wall and looked down at his new work boots, now covered with an oily substance that rendered them useless for anything except working at the damned landfill.

  He snatched at the bag angrily, expecting to be able to fling it over the wall in one continuous motion, but succeeded only in tearing it open and releasing the stench of rotting meat. Assuming someone had cleaned out a freezer and dumped the contents into the bag, he held his breath and bent to slide his hands under what remained of the bag. What he saw made him recoil in horror and stumble backward.

  •••

  1:15 PM

  “So I decided that I should maybe get a job again,” said Molly. “I mean, sitting around and drawing a check when I’m perfectly capable of supporting myself ain’t right.”

  Richard thought that she looked good, comparatively speaking. She had gained enough weight to look less like a scarecrow. Her color was better, and her complexion was beginning to clear. (Jill would have recognized it as just a decent application of makeup.) She wore what he thought of as a conservative dress, and her hair was styled, not professionally, but adequately.

  “Where are you applying?”

  “I called Rona. I figure a restaurant would be better for me than a bar, at least for now. You know how alcoholics are supposed to keep themselves away from situations.”

  “You’re not an alcoholic, are you?”

  “I think maybe I am, Mr. Carter. I ain’t going to drink though. Mancie will …”Tears came to her eyes as she choked to a halt. “I know it ain’t certain, but if I do get her back—well, she ain’t going to come home to no drunk.”

  A car turned onto the block, slowed, and stopped in front of Molly’s. Adams got out. He started up the walk, saw them sitting on the porch, and detoured across the lawn.

  “What do you want?” asked Molly as he reached them.

  “Something’s come up, Miss Randolph.”

  Molly clutched Richard’s arm, her fingers digging fiercely.

  “Mancie?”

  “Maybe,” said Adams. “We’re not sure, but we may have found her.”

  “Where? How?”

  “We found a small body. It … I’m sorry, but there’s a good chance it was hers.”

  Molly shook her head violently. “No!” she gasped, her words coming in staccato bursts punctuated with sobs as if she were trying to recover from a punch to the gut. “It’s not her—can’t be—you’re wrong—you’re WRONG!”

  Adams waited for her to spend herself. When she paused, he said, “You need to come with me. We need a DNA sample.”

  “I’ll bring her down,” said Richard.

  “No you won’t, Carter,” said Adams sharply. “You’ve done all you’re going to on this.”

  Molly clung tightly to Richard. He put a comforting arm around her.

  “Come on, Adams. What will it hurt to let me ride down there with her?”

  “I don’t have to answer to you, but you better damned well believe you have to answer to me. Now you stay out of this, or I will arrest you for interfering in an investigation!”

  Adams meant what he said, and he was angry enough to follow through on the threat. Worse, he was right. When a child is murdered, the parents are the first to be interrogated. Molly was in for an extremely cruel, but necessary ordeal. However, being accused of killing her daughter would be no worse than finally knowing Mancie was really dead.

  “Miss Randolph,” said Adams. “We also have some clothing and a blanket you might be able to identify.”

  “There wasn’t no blanket missing,” mumbled Molly.

  She looked pleadingly at Richard. Her chin began to tremble, and then she cried out.

  “Oh God! It has to be! It has to be!” she doubled over, almost fell to her knees, sobbing hysterically.

  Adams pulled her gently upright. “Let’s go, Molly,” he said. “Come on now. Let’s go down to the car.”

  Before Adams put a hand on her head to keep her from bumping it as he placed her in the back, Molly looked back at the porch. Richard stood there a long time, staring up the street numbly long after Adams’s car had disappeared.

  “What have I done?” he asked himself in shock.

  •••

  5:24 PM

  When Jill came
home, she found him in the kitchen at the stove. “What are you doing,” she asked.

  “Trying to be a normal person,” he said without turning around. “I’ll need the car tomorrow. I’m going to tell Eric I’m ready to come back to work.”

  She placed her books on the table, puzzling at his emotionless tone. “You’re cooking soup?”

  “Stew or something. I cleaned out the refrigerator.”

  “What’s wrong, Richard?”

  “They found Mancie,” he said. “I don’t know the details, but Adams took Molly in to identify personal effects.”

  “Oh no. How’s she taking it?”

  “A hell of a lot worse than she would have if I hadn’t encouraged her to believe that her baby might still be alive. Why didn’t I listen to you?”

  “Richard, this isn’t your fault. The only thing you’re guilty of is caring about her.”

  “No. I used her to pretend I was something that I’m not. I actually enjoyed all that crap! Real cops have to make people miserable by prying into their personal lives. I did it for recreation, for fun, like it was some sort of real-life video game.”

  “That’s not what you did, dear. You only—”

  “Don’t do that, Jill,” he said, turning to face her. “I know what I did. Please let me try to come to terms with it. From now on, I’m going to do what I’m supposed to do. I’m leaving all the make-believe cops and robbers stuff alone, and I’m going to get a real job and do real work—hopefully the kind that actually helps people instead of hurting them.”

  “Richard, I know what you are, and—”

  He cut her off again. “No you don’t. Or perhaps you do, and just don’t want to admit it. I’ll tell you exactly what I’ve done to Molly. It was like she had terminal cancer or something, and I came along and convinced her that the doctors didn’t know what they were talking about, and that she was going to be just fine.”