by Dale Mayer
She put on the coffee, and, when nobody showed up to grab the first cup, she happily took it and headed to her desk. And, with that, she opened up a blank document and started to write, letting the information in her brain pour out. She recorded the ideas she had talked about with Simon, added the information about the woman Simon was dealing with, and then realized there wasn’t a whole lot else. She grabbed the list of numbers they had been trying to call and checked the list of victims’ family and friends.
Instead of the dozen there, the last time she looked, she found a few notes added, saying that Rodney had connected with four and found nothing of interest. She quickly added notes from the Wellington guy, who had called her back last night, then made calls to the others. She connected with two, and once again dealt with the teary backlash of them asking why she was bringing it all back up again.
When she got to the last one on her list, it was from an accident a year ago. When a guy answered the phone, he said he was on his way out to work.
“Look. This is really crappy timing,” he growled.
“I’m sorry. I just—I’m trying to follow up on a series of other accidents we have.”
“Which is why I was on board with changing that traffic pattern,” he snapped into the phone. “My daughter would be alive, and my wife would be almost whole again,” he snapped, “if that accident hadn’t happened.”
“I hear you, and I’m sorry that the effort didn’t go through.”
“Politicians,” he snapped yet again. “Nothing you can do with them. If you don’t grease their palms, they don’t give a crap.”
“Do you really think it was a financial decision?”
“I don’t think they could be bothered to look at it properly, and it just drove me batty.”
After getting information about where he worked, she asked him gently, “I understand that your daughter died in that accident?”
“Yes, she was two years old,” he said.
“I’m sorry, the death of a child is always terrible.”
“My wife has never been the same either,” he added, his voice hitching. “I thought, after a year, she would be much better, but I’m not sure one ever recovers from the loss of a child.”
“No. I think most do, to a certain extent, though are never the same anymore,” she murmured.
“In this case, I’m not sure recovery is even possible. Look. I’m late.”
“That’s fine. One last thing. You haven’t had any contact with anybody else involved in these accidents, have you?”
He hesitated. “I don’t know what you mean,” he asked cautiously.
“I just wondered, if, through all this, a support group was formed or anything.”
“Huh, no, but it’s not a bad idea. At least other people in that situation would understand. I know my wife belongs to a couple online groups, but I generally avoid them myself. I’m not into sharing what’s going on in my life with strangers.”
“No, I can see that.”
“It’s hard,” he said briskly. “Everybody expects you to react in a certain way, and, when you don’t, it’s like you’re being judged.”
“I’m sorry,” she said again, “that’s certainly not how I want you to feel right now.”
“Good. In that case, just leave us alone.” And, with that, he hung up.
She wrote down his name and brought up the case to get a little more familiar with it. His daughter, who they had called Jillie, short for Jillian, had perished at the scene. His wife had been badly injured but had recovered. And like he said, recovery was relative in the case of something like that. Did anybody ever really recover? As somebody who had lost someone close and blamed herself, recovery wasn’t necessarily impossible, but it was never the word that she would use. She had moved forward in life, but it’s not like she ever had a chance to close the door on the loss of her brother.
There was no closure without a body; there was no closure without a case being solved. There was no closure without answers. And this man actually had answers, but what he didn’t have was closure because his wife wasn’t able to deal with it. So, although they had buried their daughter, a horrible event in their life, he had moved on as much as he could, and she hadn’t. And that was a judgment in itself because, of course, she had moved on, but what had she moved on to? Kate frowned at that and brought up the woman’s name. There was no contact information for her.
She wondered about contacting the husband again, and, realizing that she would have to, she quickly texted him. I’ll need to speak to your wife briefly. Could I have her contact information?
His response came immediately. Hell no. She’s already racked over this. No more.
Kate frowned and rapped on the desk in front of her.
As Rodney came in, he stared at her. “What’s that look on your face for?”
“I’m trying to figure out how to speak with this man’s wife, but he won’t give me her cell phone number.”
“It’s not in the files?”
She shook her head. “No, it isn’t.”
“Did you check if it was registered?”
She nodded. “There’s no cell phone plan that I have any way of uncovering for her.”
“Hmm, any family, any friends?”
She looked again at the list and nodded. “I’ve got the mother. Let me see what she has to say.” And, with that, she picked up the phone and called the mother’s phone number. When a woman answered, Kate identified herself.
“Oh dear,” the woman said, “my … my daughter really can’t handle another investigation into this.”
“Okay, I was just hoping to get a few questions answered.”
“Please don’t call her. She’s really unstable.”
“Unstable in what way?”
“Overcome with grief.”
“Even after a year?”
“One never gets over the loss of a child, Detective.”
“I get that,” she said quietly. “I’m not trying to upset her. Could you tell me how bad things are with her?”
“Her sight is failing for one thing. It’s bad, and now all she does is cling to the memories of her daughter.”
“Hang on a minute. Did you say she’s losing her sight?” And her heart confirmed her head, and something, a knowingness, came through.
“Oh yes,” the mother replied, “absolutely.”
“Was it from the accident?” Kate asked hesitantly.
“Yes, she had a severe brain injury. Some of the blood vessels were damaged. It’s been a slow process, and, over this last year, she’s become quite … quite blind.”
“So she had her daughter with her at the time of the accident?”
“Yes, my daughter was attending the university. She was an assistant professor, trying to finish her master’s degree. My granddaughter was at a day care there. They frequently rode her bicycle back and forth, the baby in the carrier behind her. She was killed, and my daughter was injured.”
“Do you mind me asking what your daughter’s mental state is like at this point?”
“How would you feel?” she snapped. “If the darkest days of losing her daughter weren’t bad enough, now she’s lost her sight as well. And probably her husband. I’m sure their divorce is also imminent.”
“I’m very sorry to hear that. I’m sure she must be riddled with grief.”
“She’s grieving for everything, for the loss of her daughter, the loss of the life she knew, for the loss of her sight, and now for the loss of her marriage.”
“How do you feel about the divorce?”
“I don’t really want to say. I know they were having trouble beforehand, but, with the loss of our little Jillie, it’s just been too much. There was a lot of blame happening early on, but my daughter was in and out of the hospital for a long time, and she really couldn’t handle too much arguing. She got very depressed and just sank into a well of grief.”
“Outside of her eyesight, is she injured?” she asked hesitantly
.
“I don’t really know what you—”
“Does she have further permanent injuries, other than her vision?”
“No, if you mean broken legs or injured spine, no. She does have a sore shoulder all the time. She’s never been very strong to begin with, and I know that lifting heavy objects really puts a strain on her back now.”
“Right, and the driver was charged?”
“Yes, but it was a pretty minor charge, and I believe he’s already out,” she said in disgust.
“Was there a reason given for the accident?”
“I guess he needed new glasses. It was a momentary lapse of judgment, and he hadn’t seen her coming. I don’t know. I mean, obviously he was charged, and he ended up pleading guilty. I’m sure he’s devastated over everything. But, as somebody who has a permanent loss from something like that, it never seems like it’s enough.”
“No,” Kate said, “I’m sure it doesn’t. Although the driver also has to deal with the fact that he killed somebody—and a child at that.”
“Yes,” the woman agreed. “If that were me, I would be terrified of ever getting back in a vehicle again.”
At that, Kate sat back and wondered. She spoke to the older woman a little bit longer, and, when she hung up, she sat here, staring at the monitor, wondering.
Again Rodney looked over at her. “And?”
“Her daughter received some head injuries, some of which have caused her to slowly go blind over the last year. She’s not only lost her daughter but also her sight, and now it looks like her marriage is about to collapse.”
“Ouch, that’s a tough one.”
She nodded. “It is, indeed. The driver was charged and was remorseful. He needed new glasses, made a poor judgment as to distance and timing. He may have done jail time because her mother said he was out now. I’ll have to confirm that. He was charged, and he pleaded guilty, and, apparently a year later, he’s free and clear.”
“But, if it wasn’t due to negligence, then it was little more than a really crappy accident,” Rodney replied.
“I know,” she murmured. “When does one feel like justice has been served?”
“In this case, probably never because they’ve lost a daughter and a granddaughter.”
“Right. And the marriage is not likely to survive much longer either.” She got up and grabbed her jacket, then looked at him. “I’m going to run across and grab a pretzel.”
“No breakfast, huh?”
She shook her head. “No, I went for a run this morning. I didn’t have a great night and went for a run, then I just grabbed some coffee.”
“Get food,” he warned. “All that caffeine will turn your stomach into acidic mush.”
She smiled. “Not likely but I’m starving. I’ll be back in few minutes.”
And, with that, she walked out the front door of the station and down the steps. As she crossed the street to the pretzel vendor, her phone rang. She looked down to see it was Simon. Rather than answering the call, she picked up the pretzel and stepped into the park slightly and called him back. “You called?”
“Yeah, where are you?” he said.
“I just picked up a pretzel outside. Why?”
“Because I’m hearing from her again. It’s just really bad today.”
“I may be a part of that,” she said quietly.
There was a moment of silence. “What?”
“I think she’s the victim of one of these accidents from a year ago. She worked as a TA at the university, while working on her master’s. They only had one vehicle, so she would ride her bike into school every day, her daughter strapped into a carrier on the back. She went to the day care center on campus.”
“Oh no,” he said.
“Yeah,” she murmured. “The driver was in need of better glasses and apparently didn’t see her coming. The woman and child were on a bike and had the right-of-way, but he was taking a right-hand turn onto the boulevard and hit her. The two-year-old daughter was killed. But this next part is why it’s really interesting. The mother received a head injury and over this last year has gradually lost her sight.”
He gasped into the phone.
“So I’m thinking that just might be your victim.”
“Wow, so she’s going blind.”
“Going blind, lost her daughter, and her marriage is failing fast. Divorce is imminent, according to the woman’s mother, and, on top of all of that, the driver is already free and clear.”
“Which, if it were truly an accident—”
“Exactly. Just because there’s a bicycle accident doesn’t mean that it’s murder and doesn’t mean that somebody set out to kill them.”
“Right,” he murmured, “but that would explain the grief and the sadness.”
“Yes, and the why me aspect.”
“Of course because not only is it one blow but it’s now three blows.”
“Exactly. And more really, with her education and career off track as well. For some people it’s just all too much.”
“Hell,” he said forcibly, “for anybody that’s too much. Look at your mother.”
“I don’t want to,” she said flatly. “My mother is a mess.”
“I know,” he said quietly. “And you’re still dealing with it yourself.”
She snorted. “And I probably always will be.”
“So, this woman. Do you have a name for her?”
“Pamela. Pamela.”
“Pamela,” he said slowly. “You know what? That fits.”
“If you say so. I don’t know what the mind of a Pamela looks like.”
He must have smiled as it easily came through in his voice. “I don’t know that people associate sounds with names, but it might help when I try to talk to her.”
“You do that, and at least now you know where that connection is likely coming from.”
“Yes, even that body odor had a feminine smell to it, now that I think about it. As if she exercises intently, possible as a form of stress release, and that’s when I’m picking up on her. I’ll rest a lot easier, knowing she’s not imprisoned somewhere.”
“Only in her own mind,” she said quietly. “In a guilt-ridden prison of her own making and then the loss of her sight is giving her no light to crawl back out to.”
“Not a visual I’d like to remember.” After a moment, he added, “I wonder how I can help.” And, with that, he hung up.
Kate stared at her pretzel, wondering at a man like Simon, whose response to the plight of this one woman would be to wonder if she needs help. Of course she needed help, but that he had wondered—and now knowing the next step in his mind would be to try to figure out what he could do to help Pamela—just blew Kate away.
He was a good man on so many levels. Now if only he didn’t have this weird penchant for connecting with her victims.
*
Pamela. Simon rolled the name around in his mind, as if it would open up the door to all the secrets he hadn’t been able to access. The door into her mind, the door into her heart, the door into her soul. Mentally he visualized the big door and its lock, and, with the key in his hand, he popped the lock and opened the door and stepped inside.
“Pamela,” he called out quietly, as he sat in his chair, trying hard to keep his energy contained, so he could suck in the vortex of her space. He felt a certain startled reaction from her.
“Who’s there?” she whispered, fear in her voice.
“It’s fine. I’m not here to hurt you.”
“Who are you?” she cried out.
He felt her body jolt and jerk, as if she were trying to see in the shadows, and he realized she was brandishing a stick with her hand. He groaned; this was not what he wanted. “Easy,” he whispered. “Take it easy. I’m just talking to you.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m inside your mind.” He stopped, not sure he could do this. Part of him wanted to cry out to his grandmother and to tell her that this was all wrong, that he was
n’t the right person for this. But she wasn’t here to listen either.
Pamela quieted. “What do you mean, you’re in my mind?”
“You’ve been sending out messages. I’m a psychic”—he winced at the phrase—“and I’m picking up your distress.”
She gasped. “What?”
“Yes, please don’t worry. I’m not here to hurt you.”
“That’s not possible,” she cried out, “to be in my mind.”
“Maybe it is. Maybe somebody out there can help you.”
“No. There’s no help for me.”
“I know what happened.”
There was a stillness inside her.
“Your daughter. She was killed in a terrible accident.”
Immediately Pamela started to bawl.
“I hear you, Pamela. And I understand. You were riding your bike, and you feel responsible.”
“How can you know this?” she whispered in horror.
He took a slow deep breath. “It doesn’t matter. I just want you to know that somebody out here can hear you, and that, when you’re crying out, somebody is listening.”
“That doesn’t make it any better. My pain is private.”
“Sometimes your pain isn’t private. If you want it to be private, you have to change the way you’re screaming out to the universe.”
She stilled again.
And he realized just how absolutely stupid that sounded. “I get it. You weren’t thinking. You’re just reacting. And that pain that just won’t go away lives deep down inside you, in your heart. I also get that. I’m just trying to tell you that, if you want to be alone, you need to change the way you scream and cry because there is a way to reach out, without having other people hear. And, if you do want to reach out and not be so alone, just know that you aren’t alone, that someone is listening.”
“This is bizarre,” she whispered.
“I know, and I’m not really fond of it myself,” he agreed, with a note of humor. “I also can’t connect with everybody, and I can’t answer all your questions because that’s just not how it works. I don’t have the answers,” he said flatly.