by Grant Pies
Sam shrugged.
“Robert,” Carter said. “She never calls him ‘Dad.’ She calls Claire ‘Mom,’ but not Robert.” Sam just shook his head and chewed more food. “You don’t find that odd?”
“Not after what Mike told us about the guy. He seems like a prick that treated Rose like shit. Calling him ‘Robert’ was probably her way of getting back at him. Disowning him in a way. There are worse things a daughter can call her father. Trust me.”
Nodding, Carter said, “Yeah, that’s what I was thinking – at first.” He held up a single finger. “But this other letter.” He shuffled through the six or seven pages of letters. “Here.”
…Babe, you’re sweet. You’re the only person who would take care of me if I had the baby, OUR baby. We’d be on our own. Mom wouldn’t help me. Robert wouldn’t let her. Forget it! Everyone would know about us, too. Our secret would be out. You’ve always said that was the most important thing … our secret. If you lost your job, how would we pay for the baby?
“She’s listing reasons not to keep it – her parents will find out, she’s too young, money.”
“All very good reasons not to have the kid,” Sam interrupted.
“Yeah, but then she says she doesn’t know if it would be healthy.” Carter pointed at the page and slid it across the table.
… I can’t know what will happen to her (I know you think it’s a boy, but I think I know better). What if they take her away from us, put her in an orphanage? Plus, you know my situation. I’ll never know what I could pass on to the baby…
“You’re literally reading too much into this,” Sam said, finishing his meal and picking up his coffee. “No one knows what they might pass onto their kids.”
“Yeah, but situation?”
“That could be a million things,” Sam said. “She just didn’t want the kid and was listing off reasons. That’s it! You need to learn when to stop. To be happy with the success you’ve got.”
“It’s not done.”
“It’s never done. But you pick your time to exit, and I’d rather go out on a high, like after we found a suspect.”
“You know that woman I told you about? Her ex killed her two days after I was off the job.” Carter held up two fingers, “Two days after her money ran out.”
“C’mon, you can’t do that. What were you going to do, watch her forever?”
“Not forever. Just two more days. Sometimes that’s all it takes. Just a little longer, or a little extra effort can make all the difference.” Carter locked eyes with Sam. “After I read about that woman’s murder, I was ready to find the guy.”
“The psycho?”
“Yeah, I figured I knew enough about him that I could track him down. I wanted to kill him. I hated that he was going to get away with what he did. I hated that I wasn’t there to stop it. It felt like he knew right when I was off the case, like he was waiting for that moment. I was ready to kill him … but I didn’t.” Carter shook his head and took a sip of coffee.
“It’s not who you are. Just like last night with Orcheck. You couldn’t shoot him. It isn’t in you to be that person. You may be an ass, but deep down you’re a good person. You’ll do the right thing.”
“How do you know what the right thing is when faced with a person like that? Maybe killing him was the right thing? It sure felt that way.”
Sam took a long drag on his cigarette. He peered down at his empty coffee mug. “It’s weird to take a life.” Carter looked up from the letters. “It doesn’t feel good, I can tell you that, and it usually leaves you with more problems than you had before.” He jammed his cigarette butt into the amber ashtray sitting in front of him, and ran his hand through his thin hair.
“My partner and I were staking out a stash house. For days, all we saw was a steady stream of addicts coming and going. But one day we saw this woman go in … with two kids. One was less than a year old. She goes in with them, and almost a full day goes by. No sign of her or the kids.” Sam looked away from Carter. “So eventually, I can’t wait around. I can’t let these kids stay in this house, with God knows what going on.
“I pick the lock and go in. We find one guy on the couch, needle in his arm, face blue, couch soaked with his piss.” Sam curled his nose, like he could still smell the stench of the dead man on the couch. “Vomit caked all over his chest. I leaned over to check the guy’s pulse, but I knew he was dead. Just then, the girl with the kids comes running out of another room, high as fuck, pupils filling her entire eyeball, big butcher’s knife in her hand, raised over her head.” Sam pulled his hand back, mimicking her movement.
“So, I’m leaning forward reaching out to check this dead guy’s fucking non-existent pulse. In that split second, I could either take my hand, my right hand, off his neck, draw my weapon,” Sam moved his hand to his right hip where his holster would have been, “twist and shoot.” He twisted his body in the booth and aimed around his left side. “I could aim better with my right hand. Maybe could have clipped her, shot her leg or something. But I didn’t do that.”
“Why?”
“Because my feet were off balance. In that goddamn single second, the only thing going through my head was if I take my hand off this guy’s neck and lean away from the bitch with the butcher knife, I’ll just fall into the dead guy’s lap, sit in his piss and vomit.”
Sam gritted his teeth.
“So instead, I reach across my body with my left.” Sam mimicked drawing his gun with his left hand. “That way I can shoot with my left and use my right hand on the fucking junkie to keep me from falling on the couch. I shoot once. Square in the fucking chest. She falls back, coughs a couple times, and that was it. Dead.” Sam looked behind him, like she was still there clutching the butcher’s knife. He turned back to look at Carter.
“And the kids?” Carter asked.
“In the other room. Hadn’t eaten in a couple days, hadn’t been cleaned either. Covered in filth. We figured the woman was taking any public assistance she got for the kids and spending it on crack. Two kids gets you a decent amount each month … but she didn’t stop at two.”
“She was…?”
“Pregnant,” Sam finished Carter’s sentence. “Found out when they did the autopsy. Fucking killed a baby, just so I wouldn’t have to get my goddamn pants dry cleaned.”
“Shit,” Carter said. “I’m sorry. You didn’t know. She was going to stab you.”
“That’s what my deputy said. He told me she was a horrible person, junkie, shit mother. But he was just trying to make me feel better. The worse she was, the better I’d feel, was his thinking.”
“Maybe he wasn’t just trying to make you feel better. She was a bad person. Using her kids so she could score a little extra, stay high a little longer. Then having a third, like they’re franchises only there to serve her. It’s just modern-day farm hands, cheap labor, more kids to send down the coal mine. Who’s to say she wouldn’t have had a fourth? Or a fifth? Maybe you saved more kids from being brought into the world only to live a few years then die face down in a crib because their mom is passed out in the other room.”
“I’ve never killed anyone else,” Sam said. “Never killed someone who was pure evil, if such a thing even exists, and never killed anyone who was completely innocent. So, I’ve got nothing to compare it to. No way to tell if killing a truly bad person would feel just fine. My guess is, killing is killing. And none of it feels good.” Sam flipped a fresh cigarette in his mouth and grabbed the check. “I’ll go take care of this. You leave the tip.”
Better Off Dead
Back at the office, before hanging up his coat, Carter reached in the pocket for his cell phone. Deep at the bottom of the pocket, he felt something small, something square. He pulled his hand out, gripping the object. It was the memory card from the camera in Orcheck’s house.
“Shit,” he said, holding the memory card out. “I forgot I had this! We need to get it back to Detective Shaker.”
“That’s from D
ennis’ camera?” Sam tossed his lighter and pack of cigarettes on his desk, then dropped down into his chair. Carter nodded. “Ah shit.”
“Call him. Tell him I completely forgot it was in my pocket.”
Shaking his head, Sam said, “Nah, he won’t take it. Once it leaves their custody, it’s worthless.”
“C’mon, at least call him.”
“It won’t do any good. Trust me. Look, don’t beat yourself up. There’s enough in that house to lock Orcheck up. Sure, the pics might’ve helped, but they won’t make or break the case.”
Carter shoved the memory card back in his coat pocket, then hung his coat on the hook by the door. He pounded his fist into the top of his desk and let out a long sigh.
He pinned the letters between Rose and Orcheck up on the wall next to the photo of Rose Bishop. The files of missing kids were still scattered around the office. He gathered the papers on his desk, stacking them into piles and then dropping them into a large cardboard box.
Sam shuffled through the stack of client intake forms. “How about this one: Brian Langmore, wants us to check on his wife, possibly cheating.” He held the form at different distances away from his face in order to read the handwriting. “Also, might have a gambling problem.” He looked up at Carter. No response. He just kept dropping police files into the cardboard box.
“Okay…” Sam said, turning and picking up a different file. “Wanda Byerly. In an online relationship with a man for one year. Thinks he might be a catfish.”
Carter offered no response. He simply shook his head and turned to look at the bare wall with Rose’s picture.
“Geez, I’d hate to see you when you don’t solve a case,” Sam said.
“We didn’t solve a case, Sam.” Carter turned to look at him.
“Will, c’mon, you’re new to all this. This is about as much success as we get to see on the police force. You should be happy we got some answers at least.”
“Maybe your bar for success is a bit low over at the Chicago PD,” Carter said softly and dropped another stack of papers into the box.
“Is it the memory card? Don’t beat yourself up over that.”
“It’s not the goddamn memory card!”
“Well then is it cuz you were wrong?” Sam asked, taking a harsher tone. “You thought we’d find her alive? Prove everyone you were right? Prove the cops were wrong? C’mon, after two months, the odds of finding someone alive are almost zero. Even your beloved Leland couldn’t find Beth alive. Hell, the odds plummet after one goddamn week. Rose will have been gone for ten weeks next Monday. Ten weeks! There’s no way we were ever going to find her alive. Ever! I tried to get that through your head the day we took this case.”
“We didn’t find her, period!” Carter snapped back. “Leland at least found Beth’s body. Caught the fucking guy.”
“But we will – they will. They’ll question Orcheck and—"
“And what!” Carter interrupted. “And he’ll tell them exactly where she is?”
“There aren’t many people that can keep a secret like that. Give him a couple days in lock up. He’ll say what he did to her.”
“What do we tell her parents?”
“We tell them that because of us the police have a major suspect in custody and the case is officially reopened. That’s what we tell them. For fuck’s sake, Carter! It’s like nothing good can happen to you without something bad coming along with it. You’re always waiting for the other shoe to drop.”
Carter dropped a stack of files onto the desk with a thud. “Maybe that other shoe is Rose being alive. You ever think of that? Hmm? You and your cop buddies rattle off statistics and percentages to justify moving on from her case, just assume she’s dead. Just like they did with Beth.”
“Don’t start with that again. You’re gonna believe that old conspiracy theorist with a brain tumor over the police department?”
“Yes!” Carter yelled. “Yes, I believe Leland. I believe Beth was alive for a long time after the cops stopped looking for her.” Sam lowered his head and sighed. “And I believe your old co-workers lied to save face. Now, maybe Rose is locked up somewhere, starving to death. Maybe that other shoe drops six months down the road when someone stumbles on her body, chained up in some abandoned basement. Then what do we tell the parents? Whoops?”
“That isn’t our jo—"
“If you say it’s not our job, I swear to God.”
“Well, correct me if I’m wrong, but we haven’t even been paid for what we’ve done yet, and you’re talking about doing more than we were hired for.” Sam let out a deep sigh. “Like I said, you’re new to this, so let me explain to you how this works.”
Sam stepped closer to Carter’s desk. Carter rolled his eyes and crossed his arms.
“You prove what you can. If there are gaps in the story, you fill ‘em using your common sense, your instinct, your intuition. Most times those gaps are the gross details of a case, the stuff left to the imagination, like what Orcheck did to Rose before killing her, how she died. The depressing shit that no one, not even the guy who did it, wants to talk about. That’s the stuff that stays buried. And you’re just going to have to learn how to live with that.”
“Thanks for the life lesson. I’m just being realistic.”
“No,” Sam said, shaking his head. “I was being realistic a week ago when we took this case and I told you Rose was dead. That’s being realistic. What you’re doing is something else.” He wagged his index finger in the air. “You’re just pouting over life. People don’t come back alive when they’ve been missing over sixty days. Thinking anything else is the opposite of being realistic. For now, you need to focus on what we did solve, the closure we can give to Rose’s parents. Anything else is counterproductive. Take these moments when they come.”
“I’m sure I’d be a lot happier too if I just ignored the realities of life,” Carter muttered.
“What’s that mean?”
“It means if something seems too difficult, like actually finding Rose, you just tell yourself it’s impossible, act like no one could do it. If the great Sam Murphy and the CPD can’t do it, then no one can, right? You lie to yourself so you don’t feel bad failing all the time. And if that doesn’t work you take a drink from your flask, maybe wash down another pill. It’s all just so you can ignore life, ignore your responsibilities!”
“I’m not ignoring life,” Sam said.
“You’ve lost your job because you ignored your responsibilities.”
“And I got another one!”
“Thanks to me!”
“Oh, you just love being my savior, don’t you? Can I go a week without you implying I would be at a halfway house or a homeless shelter if it weren’t for you?”
“You pushed your wife away.” Carter crossed his arms.
Sam clenched his jaw and narrowed his gaze. “That was doomed from the start.”
“Oh, another impossible problem that no one could have fixed!” Carter spread his arms out and looked up at the ceiling, letting out a sarcastic chuckle. “Another non-failure because it was doomed from the start.”
“Fuck off!” Sam shouted and shoved the stack of client intake forms to the ground. Hundreds of papers fluttered in the air.
“Worst of all, you act like your daughter doesn’t even exist!”
“Not one more word about her!” Sam balled his hands into fists.
“You must be ignoring your life, because if you weren’t you wouldn’t be able to get out of your goddamn bed!” Carter shouted and immediately regretted it.
Reaching his fist back, Sam swung across the desk at Carter, connecting with his jaw. “Fuck you!” Then, grabbing his coat, he yanked the door open and slammed it closed behind him.
His jaw ached immediately on impact. “Shit,” Carter mumbled to himself.
What You Don’t Know…
Carter walked from the L train station to the Bishops’ home, massaging his jaw. He ran his tongue over his bottom lip and fel
t where it was split. A slight metallic taste crept from his lip and filled his mouth. He wiped any blood away then pounded on the fragile front door of the Bishops’ home. The wood around the doorknob was smeared with dirt and fingerprints from years of use and little cleaning. Carter waited only a few seconds before he pounded again, hammering his fist against the door.
“Mrs. Bishop!” he shouted through the door. “It’s Will Carter!”
He peered through a window next to the front door. A crack ran through the center of it. Inside, the TV played. Just before he knocked one more time, the deadbolt slid inside the door and Claire opened it. She wore a bathrobe, and, as far as Carter could tell, nothing else underneath. She pinched a half-burnt Newport between her lips.
“Mr. Carter,” she said in a raspy voice.
Pushing past Claire and walking into the living room, Carter asked, “Do you want to find your daughter?” He scanned the room. From the front door he could see all the way through the house to the back door. It wasn’t a large home. The living room to his right. The kitchen and small dining room towards the back of the home. He spotted a cigarette burning in an ashtray on the round dining table. “Is Robert home?”
“Robert’s at work. Of course, I want to find Rose! What kind of question is that?” Claire took a drag on her cigarette.
“A pretty fucking good question seeing as how you’ve been withholding information from us. And let me stop you before you start. Don’t play dumb. We spoke to Mike.”
“What’d he say?” Claire asked, puffing smoke into the air.
“What do you think he said?”
“The pregnancy.” Claire looked down.
“Yeah, the pregnancy! Jesus Christ, Claire, do you know how important that information can be in a missing persons case?”
“But Mike’s a good boy. I don’t see why—"