by L. T. Ryan
I stood again and turned toward the office. At least they hadn’t disturbed my desk. Yet. It was covered in its signature clutter. All except for around the monitor, where two pictures stood. Ella Kate and Robbie. And staring at those two tiny faces, my mind locked in on one single thought.
There was hope for me yet.
Chapter Six
Huff pushed open the door into his office wearing the look of a doctor about to tell a family their father didn’t survive the heart attack. His eyes were cast downward and his gaze shifted from his desk to my feet. Slowly it inched upward. Our stares met, and he looked away.
“Just give it to me, Huff.”
He was shaking his head as he sat down behind his desk.
“I fought for you, Tanner. I really did.”
Now, if Huff had told me that a day ago, I’d have called bullshit on him. But after seeing the way he took command during our meeting, and the way he put Chief Warren in his place, I believed him.
“Appreciate that, Huff.” I turned my head and glanced into the detectives’ room. Still empty. “So, what’s the damage? Two weeks? A month?”
He placed both fists, balled up so tight his fingertips were white, on his desk calendar. He stared at a spot in between them.
“Huff?”
“It’s indefinite, Tanner.” He let out a grating sigh.
“You’re kidding me, right?”
He leaned back in his chair. It rocked back and then bounced forward. Huff steepled his hands together over his protruding stomach. The space between the buttons above and below his belly button opened. Stray hairs poked out.
“Warren’s serious about this shit,” Huff said. “And there’s nothing else I can do. If you want to fight this, turn to your FOP rep and see what they recommend.”
“Christ, all the trouble I caused them. The union probably wants me off the force as bad as Warren.”
“You don’t know that. Besides, doesn’t matter what they think of you. Their only interest is doing what’s right by cops. They’ll take up for you.”
I leaned back, letting my head rest against the cool glass separating Huff’s office from the detectives’ room. The feeling spread to my forehead and down to the base of my neck.
“Any questions?” Huff asked.
“Not really,” I said. “I know the rules.”
“I know you do. Don’t break them. I’m serious, Tanner. You step out of line while on suspension, it’ll give Warren all the ammo he needs. Only thing that saved your ass with the kids was the fact that you saved them. That’s why he’s digging for something else. No one would take kindly to you being busted down ‘cause of that situation. We all know you did what you had to do.”
I stood and pulled open the door to the room. Huff rose behind me. His chair collided with the wall. He bumped his leg into the corner of his desk and cursed.
“Sure you wanna escort me to my desk?” I said. “Might end up on workman’s comp.”
“Shut up, wise ass. Gotta make sure you don’t take any files home.”
“Think I’m gonna work for free?”
“If your head’s in a case, I know you will.”
I smirked. “You know me better than I thought.”
He shrugged. “Take everything you think you might want.”
I picked up the pictures of my kids. Held them to my chest. I felt like if I brought them home, I was admitting defeat. Perhaps, in more ways than one. I reached to set them back down.
“Tanner.” Huff put his hand on my shoulder. “This might be your only chance. Warren gets his way, I guarantee you, he’s not letting you back in here to get your stuff.”
I knew his words were laden with truth. I reached across the desktop, grabbed my pen, a blank notebook, and the pictures of my kids. The department could keep everything else.
As I walked away, Huff said, “That all?”
I said nothing.
He raced across the floor toward me. The double tap of his hard soles echoed throughout the room.
“I think I know the way out,” I said.
“I gotta walk with you,” he said. “That’s the rules, Tanner. That’s all.”
Sighing, I pulled the door open and stepped into the hallway. Sam was leaning against the opposite wall, chin on his chest, toothpick protruding from his closed mouth. He looked up at me. I gave him a quick shake of my head. He nodded in response. Nothing more had to be said.
“Huff, order Sam to show me out.”
“What?” Huff said.
“You heard me.”
“Fine,” Huff said. “But you two do anything stupid, Sam will be in as much trouble as you.”
We left Huff behind and took the quickest route out of the building. My car remained where I had parked it, perhaps for the last time in the detective lot. Bits of gravel were kicked up and skated across the asphalt as we walked over to the Boss.
I grabbed the hot handle and opened the door, leaving it open to let the air get out. It had warmed up since I went inside the station, and the sun shone directly onto the windshield.
“You getting paid?” Sam asked.
I shrugged. “Didn’t ask.”
“What?”
“You know I don’t do this for the money. Got enough in that fund from the settlement after Dad’s death.”
“Yeah, I know. I also know you don’t like touching that money.”
“Just want to have it around for the kids. They’re the ones really missing out. Think about it, they get to go their whole lives without seeing his rough side.”
“Wish I hadn’t.” Sam smiled. “You gonna be all right?”
“Suppose so.”
“What’ll you do?”
“Hang out with the kid, I guess. Maybe take a trip or two. Pray like hell Warren’s people don’t uncover anything I’ve forgotten about.”
“You think the stuff you remember is any better?”
Shrugging, I said, “At least I can come up with a counter argument relatively quickly. Anything I don’t recall, who knows. I’m too direct to be considered the world’s best bullshitter.”
“Got that right.”
“Title would go to you, anyway.”
Sam laughed. So did I.
“I got a friend in Warren’s office,” Sam said, his face serious. “I’ll ask her to keep her ears open. Maybe she can get involved and help make a few things disappear.”
“Why would she do that?”
“Maybe she owes me.”
“Maybe, huh?”
He shrugged. Sam kept a few things close to the vest, and I didn’t pry when he did. He’d let me know if I needed to.
“I don’t know about that, partner,” I said. “I’m a sinking ship. Best not to add any more passengers.”
I slipped behind the wheel of the Boss and closed the door. Sam knocked on the window. I rolled it down.
“Want me to come over tonight?” he asked.
“Better call first. Make sure I’m in the mood.”
He nodded with a wink and then headed back inside. I twisted the key in the ignition. The Boss’s 429 roared to life. I idled for a few seconds, then pulled out of the parking lot.
Perhaps for the last time.
Chapter Seven
I drove until the gas needle hovered above E. Along the way, I passed the entrance to my ex Lana’s neighborhood. It wasn’t what you would call on the way to Momma’s house. I must’ve driven there subconsciously. Didn’t realize it until I saw the street sign. I braked hard and whipped the wheel, cutting across the divide and in front of a couple of shocked oncoming drivers who blared their horns at me.
I wasn’t sure what had become of Lana after she’d been arrested for her involvement in those kids’ abduction. Did the judge offer her bail? Had she been able to post it? No clue. Don’t care, don’t wanna know.
Her car sat in the driveway, about halfway between the street and garage. A thin layer of dirt and a little mold covered the white exterior. Guess that was t
he case with most white cars that sat for too long in one place. The front blinds were drawn and the curtains parted. I took that to mean she had posted bond and was home, maybe on a house arrest-type deal. Not like she had anywhere else to go. No school would ever hire her again, assuming she managed to escape significant jail time.
To think, I thought I might marry the woman someday.
As Momma would say, I can read a criminal like an open book, but women were a mystery to me. Never could pick the right one. I thought I had a winner in Marissa. That didn’t turn out so well, either.
I turned in the cul-de-sac and covered the side of my face as I powered past the house on the way out. Not sure what the point was. The Boss was a pretty recognizable car. At the end of the street, I stopped and reached for Robbie’s postcard. My fingers traced the letters written by Robbie’s hand, pausing on the postmark.
Denver.
Could it be that easy?
Doubtful. Marissa, for all her faults, was a good cop’s wife. She was smart, with a memory like a sponge. She saw the world through similar colored lenses as me. She listened well. Perhaps too well. I divulged thoughts and facts to her that I know she kept locked in a vault in her mind. She’d know better than to let Robbie mail off that postcard from a city they were living in. The way I saw it, that left three options.
They were leaving Denver when he mailed it. Or they had made a trip there, perhaps from someplace nearby. Or he had done it when she wasn’t looking.
Either way Denver would hold a clue. And now that I had some time off, I’d head out there and see what turned up.
As I got back on track to Momma’s house, I thought of the other person I knew in Denver. Bridget Dinapoli. We had struck something up between us while working on the Beans and Debbie case together. I know they say cops and FBI don’t mix, but there was something about the woman I couldn’t shake. While the case ultimately got me suspended, Bridget received a promotion to the Denver field office. I’d mulled over calling her the moment I spotted the postmark on Robbie’s note. The only reason I hadn’t was I feared she would help. I didn’t want her putting her career at risk for me.
But if I was going to be out there, well, it couldn’t hurt to reach out to her.
An old faded red Ford Galaxy occupied most of Momma’s driveway. I drove past, and pulled next to the curb, got out and walked up behind the car. It had local tags. The black interior was in perfect shape. I doubted the car had anywhere close to a hundred thousand miles on it. The steering wheel was wrapped in camouflage. Black Rosary beads hung from the rearview mirror.
I continued to the side entrance, leading to the kitchen. The door was locked. I rapped on it. The floor shook and the louvered glass rattled as my mother walked over and unlocked the door.
“How’d it go?” Her eyebrows were arched high into her forehead and her mouth hung open in anticipation.
“Not so well,” I said.
She exhaled with a sigh. Her breath smelled like bacon and coffee.
“Come on in,” she said, pulling the door open.
“Who’s here?”
“Father Reyes stopped by. We’ve been praying for you.”
I stopped and looked at her. “This a new thing for you?”
“What?”
“Church?”
“You’d know I was going regularly again if you stopped by more often.”
“I’m here almost every day.”
“Yeah, to drop Ella off. When’s the last time you came in and had a cup of coffee with me?”
“Not now, Momma. Not with the day I’m having.” I looked over and saw the priest standing near the fridge.
He nodded and smiled.
“Father,” I said.
“Mitch,” he said. “Hope you’re well. Haven’t seen you at Mass in a while.”
“Yeah, well, no offense, but I’m a bit pissed at God at the moment. Having your kid stolen in the middle of the night can do that to you.”
His smile dimmed, but didn’t fade. If he were in my interrogation room I’d classify him as arrogant. “I might be able to help you with these feelings, Mitch. You should come by my office one of these days.”
“I’ll take that into consideration, Father.” I turned to my mother. “Can we talk for a minute?”
“Sure,” she said.
“Alone,” I said.
“What? Oh, yeah.” She walked over to the priest. “Father Reyes, would you mind waiting in the living room?”
He waved at me, then disappeared. The floor vibrated with every step he took.
“What is it?” Momma said.
“I’m thinking about getting away for a couple days.”
She narrowed her eyes, waiting for the follow up.
“And I was hoping you could watch Ella for me.”
“Sure, but where are you going?”
I shrugged, said nothing.
“I’m not going to do it if you won’t tell me.”
“Haven’t decided yet.”
She grabbed my forearm and bit down with her fake nails. “Do you know something about where Robbie is?”
I tipped my head, lowered my voice even more. “I might have a lead.”
She inhaled sharply and sat down in one of her retro looking red vinyl-covered kitchen chairs. The seat groaned as she shifted to get comfortable.
“Take as long as you need, Mitch,” she said. “I’m serious. Ella will be fine here. And if I need a break, the girl next door is an excellent sitter.”
“She’s at school now?”
Momma nodded.
“Give her a kiss for me and tell her I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“You’re not gonna say goodbye?”
“It’s best I get going now.”
I left Momma’s, drove home, and parked the Boss in the garage. As I ate a quick lunch I noticed how hollow the house felt. Where four people had once been a happy, young family, nothing remained but tortured fragments of our souls. I shook the feelings aside over a beer and then changed into jeans, a grey pullover, and threw on some hiking boots. I packed a bag with a couple changes of clothing.
Fifteen minutes later, the cab pulled up to take me to the airport.
Less than an hour later, I stood in front of the ticket counter. I wasn’t going to Denver. Not yet, at least. Why? Because I couldn’t get it out of my head that Marissa was screwing with me, hoping I’d waste my time looking for her in the mile-high city.
So I purchased a ticket and boarded a plane bound for Savannah, Georgia, where my old friend Cassie lived. If anyone could help me find my son, it was her.
Chapter Eight
A half-dozen pissed off toddlers surrounded me on the flight. Their parents seemed oblivious to the racket they were making. I suppose at some point you just have to say screw it. Nothing can be done anyway. But damn, pass the headphones.
The incessant crying and screaming had the effect of making the flight seem much longer than the hour and a half we were actually in the air, robbing me of my planned thinking time. I was out of my seat almost a second after the wheels touched down. The flight crew cast scowling glances in my direction, mostly because other passengers were following my lead. I was lucky they didn’t have me detained for inciting a mob.
I made my way through the hot and humid jetway and exited into the waiting area for gate 15, the last in the airport’s single terminal. Aside from a young couple seated in the corner, the gate was empty. A wide walkway stretched past the other fourteen gates. Half were packed, sending their overflow into the available seats of the other gates.
On the first level I rented a mid-sized sedan from a guy who looked like a squirrel wearing glasses. When I told him I wasn’t sure where I was staying, he scribbled a name on his pad, tore off a sheet of paper and handed it to me. Said it was his grandmother, and he knew for a fact her downstairs apartment was available for at least a month. Then he called her to let her know I’d be inquiring about it. After listening to the rest of his
corporate spiel, I headed out into the heat and found my ride. The engine choked to life the way an abused rental car does. The AC spit out air reeking of a hundred different passengers this year alone. But it was cold. And after a crowded flight, that was good enough for me. The steady stream of air dried my forehead, leaving it chilled.
I had my cell’s contact list open. My thumb hovered over Cassie’s number. We’d been in contact recently while I was working the Beans and Debbie Walker kidnapping case. Bridget Dinapoli and I had flown down to Savannah during the investigation and met with Cassie. And now that I was returning so soon, how would she react? Cassie was a hard woman to read. I’d sat across the table from some damn hardened criminals who were easier to pick apart than her.
Eventually I swiped the list away and called the number on the torn piece of notebook paper. An old woman answered, excited, and told me she’d been waiting by the phone for my call. After a bit of back and forth, I agreed to rent her downstairs apartment for a week.
It took close to twenty minutes to reach the house situated on E. Jones Street, about a block from Lafayette Square and the cathedral. The heat smacked me in the face as I stepped out of the car. The air smelled of coffee. I turned into the breeze and spotted four people sitting around a bistro table with mugs in front of them. Locals, I presumed. Who else would sit outside drinking coffee in ninety-degree weather?
Piano music drifted out of the open windows of the house. I climbed the old concrete stairs and rapped my knuckles hard against the door. The melody stopped. The old lady’s footsteps banged closer. The door whipped open and she looked up at me, smiling. Her face was pale and wrinkled. Her hair silver and curled. She exuded a high level of energy and confidence. The smell coming from inside the house was a mixture of potpourri and burgers.
“Mr. Tanner, I presume.” Her smile broadened, looking a lot less like a squirrel than her grandson, and extended her hand toward me. “Call me Betty.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I entered through the vacant spot where she had stood. “I’ve got your check right here.”