Detective Jack Stratton Box Set

by Christopher Greyson

  Normally he’d never have allowed them to take him to the hospital. They should have interviewed him at the ambulance and then allowed him to go home. But this time, the EMTs checked them both out, said something about shock, and insisted they go to the emergency room. Jack had been so defeated, he just climbed into the back of the ambulance.

  He shrugged the blanket off, burning with shame. He could almost feel the broken pieces swirling around inside him, unmoored. The pain had cracked through the prison within him, hidden all these years, and the long-buried lava was spilling out, burning everything it touched.

  He jumped off the bed and was reaching for his jacket when he heard someone clear his throat and the curtain was pulled back.

  “Hey.”

  Jack froze at the sound of the deep voice. Sheriff Ethan Collins. He held his hat as he looked at Jack.

  “My condolences for your loss, Jack.”

  Collins was a good man, known for always going by the book, as well as for his fairness, and Jack knew he meant every word.

  “Sheriff Collins.” Jack straightened up. “I want to apologize, sir.”

  “We’ll cover that later.” Collins stiffened. “You need to take some time, okay?”

  Jack relaxed, and he swayed like a deflating balloon. Collins shifted uncomfortably.

  The older man cleared his throat. “I talked to the girl you were with. She seemed convinced it wasn’t an accident. The missing person report says Michelle was getting ready to transfer schools.”

  The lanky Texan waited for a moment for Jack to offer a possible conclusion to the narrative, but Jack couldn’t make his throat open.

  “It looks like she went for a ride, and something happened.”

  Jack blurted out, “I know something is wrong. I don’t have any hard proof, but I know she just didn’t go for a ride and… die.”

  “Jack, right now you need to think about you.”

  “Do you believe me? It wasn’t an accident, Sheriff.”

  “Are you looking for my answer as a sheriff, or as a man?”

  Collins looked at him, and Jack couldn’t read him. Maybe there was nothing to read. But something about a Texan accent added weight to the question.

  Does it matter what Collins says? It wasn’t an accident.

  “Would you like us to notify the foster mother, Haddie Williams?”

  Jack’s legs wobbled, and he put his hand on the bed for support. He nodded.

  “Take your time coming in.” Collins, who had remained standing the whole time, never even looking at the visitor’s chair, squared off for departure. Not quite making eye contact, he said firmly, “You need to talk. If you don’t talk to me, then talk to somebody, you hear me?”

  But Jack wanted more than anything not to talk, or remember… in fact, he really wished he didn’t have to think at all, ever again. His jaw clenched.

  “I will. Thanks.”

  Jack and Replacement got a ride back to Jack’s apartment from Cindy Grant, the police dispatcher. She’d been so upset by Jack’s call that she’d gone out to the reservoir herself. She was part of a cop family; the joke was, even her dog was a police dog. She was the one who made a cake for every birthday and reminded every cop of their spouse’s, parents’, and kids’ birthdays, anniversaries, and anything else.

  The whole ride back she kept up a soft monologue of light, banal stories, and Jack was grateful for the distraction. A few inches away, Replacement watched him, trying not to let him notice. She gripped his hand; her face was very white. He wanted to tell her he was okay, but he couldn’t. He wasn’t.

  And they didn’t make it to Jack’s apartment without Mrs. Stevens popping her head into the hallway, but she took just one look at Jack’s and Replacement’s ashen faces—and retreated without a word.

  Cindy hugged them and whispered something; Jack couldn’t hear what she was saying, but it was comforting. When she shut the door, the silence fell like a blow.

  Replacement leaned against the counter. Was it just this morning she was laughing? The girl in front of him was a shell of the girl from this morning.

  He clenched and relaxed his fingers, forcing blood into his hands, walked over to her, and gently led her to the bedroom. He tenderly lowered her onto the bed. She lay still as he removed her shoes and pulled the comforter over her.

  She moved over and softly pulled him down to sit next to her.

  He closed his eyes and sighed. “Alice,” he whispered. Her name was Alice. Jack finally remembered it. When she first came to Aunt Haddie’s, every time anyone said her name she’d start to cry. No one could figure out why—but Chandler solved the riddle.

  He found out that she was named after her mother, but after her parents were killed, she couldn’t bear to hear her mom’s name. Chandler knew what she was going through because he lost his parents too. He understood her, and she got him. Chandler gave her a nickname that made her feel like she belonged. Chandler told the young girl, “I’m going in the Army, and I need someone to fill my shoes. You’ll be my replacement. Do you know what that means? Everyone will treat you how they treat me. No one will pick on you, because you’re my replacement. All the kisses and hugs Aunt Haddie gives me, she’ll give you. And all the cool stuff my sister Michelle does with me, she’ll do with you, because you’re my replacement.” After that, she’d only respond to her new nickname.

  When Jack opened his eyes, she was still searching his face. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I couldn’t remember your real name.” And you saved my life.

  “I know.” She looked hurt.

  “It’s nothing to do with you. Something’s wrong with me. I can’t remember names.”

  She looked at him, but his eyes drifted off as he struggled to remember. He inhaled and held his breath. He exhaled little by little and then stared at the ceiling.

  “I was seven, but I still couldn’t remember it.”

  “What couldn’t you remember?”

  “It’s stupid.” He put his hands behind his head. “My name,” he whispered. “I didn’t know my own name. How’s that for a joke?”

  His eyes traced the cracks in the ceiling.

  “She just called me brat or moron, usually with swear words attached to the front and back.”

  “Your mother?”

  Jack cringed and then nodded.

  “After she left me in the bus station, I went into the youth system. It was like a whirlwind. Everyone was asking me questions. They kept asking me my name, but it was just beyond my reach. It’s such a simple question, but I couldn’t grab the answer.” He shook his head. “They brought in a woman with an armful of stuffed animals and she talked to me like I was a baby. ‘This is Freddy Bunny and his friend Suzy Squirrel.’” He mimed how she danced the stuffed animals around. “‘And they want to say hi, but they don’t know what to call you.’ She pretended to speak in a cartoon boy’s voice. ‘What should I call you, buddy?’ I wanted to die. I felt so stupid. Who doesn’t remember their own name?”

  “You were seven.”

  “What’s my excuse now? I didn’t know your name… and I still don’t know mine.”

  “I don’t understand. Your name’s not Jack?”

  Jack shook his head. “No. That’s not my birth name.” He hesitated. “I just wanted to get out of there and get away from that lady with the puppets, but she kept asking. All I could think of was my mother getting on that bus, and the last thing she said to me: ‘You don’t know jack, kid.’”

  Replacement inhaled and looked at him. A tear hung off her lashes and fell onto the bed.

  “I named myself. I just told her my name was Jack. To me it meant ‘nothing.’ You know the expression? You don’t know jack. It means you don’t know anything. That’s what I was… nothing.”

  “You’re not nothing.”

  He looked over at her. “That’s how I feel… sometimes.”

  Replacement slid up next to him. “Sometimes, we all do.”

  They held each other throu
gh the night, and in the morning, when he woke up and felt Alice’s hair tickling his arm and her warmth against him, he hugged her tighter and felt... alive.

  19

  First Dibs

  Replacement and Jack had spent the morning in silence—not the awkward silence of strangers, not the bitter, ungiving silence that follows a fight—but the kind that blossoms when two people have arrived at the other side of a terrible choice and realized that they need the other to feel whole. In the stillness, they consoled each other and filled each other’s voids with hope. Michelle’s death crushed them, then fused them together.

  As they entered Wells Meadow Nursing Home, the receptionist and an orderly recognized Alice and smiled sad, knowing smiles. The well-dressed receptionist came out from behind the desk and enfolded Replacement in a comforting embrace.

  “There, there, precious.” She explained to Jack over Replacement’s head: “Sheriff Collins came out last night. He stayed with Haddie for quite some time.”

  On the way to Haddie’s room, it was like a solemn funeral march, as staff and nurses came out into the hallway and hugged Replacement or reached out their hands. Some hugged Jack, too, or touched his shoulder.

  The door of Aunt Haddie’s room was open. She sat in the corner, in a large, comfortable chair, and didn’t notice Jack right away. He was glad, because he had to hide his first reaction of shock at how vulnerable she looked, how much she’d aged.

  Maybe it was the contrast with how he remembered her—a tornado. She usually worked two jobs, had a spotless house full of kids, fed them all, made every nickel squeak, and taught Sunday school.

  And he didn’t see her initial surprise at his haggard face and how he and Alice seemed almost to be holding each other up. He hugged the frail old woman extra close and for a long time, so she couldn’t see his eyes, but finally she broke the clinch. Their eyes met, and she smiled the smile he remembered and saw so often in dreams.

  After Replacement had gotten equal hugging time, Jack thought he should be the first to say something; he couldn’t bear seeing Haddie’s face full of concern.

  “Aunt Haddie… I’m so, so sorry. Michelle was such a good person; she didn’t deserve this… to die so young. I just… I wish I could have brought her home.”

  Haddie was an expert in grief, loss, and hard times: You hold your joy close, and your sorrows closer—they’re easier to manage that way. Now she said, in her rich voice, “Jackie, Jackie. Michelle is home. At home with Chandler. I knew it the first week. I knew God had taken her home.”

  Jack had nothing to offer Haddie but more grief, and here she was, giving him comfort.

  “She’s at peace now. She’s happy. You remember how happy she always was?”

  Jack nodded.

  “She’s happy now.” She squeezed Jack’s hand and tried to smile again, but her chin trembled.

  Jack inhaled sharply and held her hands in his. She was still the same wonderful woman. He whispered, “I’m sorry I haven’t come back.”

  “So am I, Jackie. You’re one of my babies, too. And remember, no matter where you are, I love you, and I know you love me. Do you think I forgot that? I didn’t. Neither did Michelle.” She rubbed his hands.

  The three of them hugged and talked, mending the gap of time as if they’d never been apart. If Haddie had cognitive impairment, it wasn’t apparent to Jack, and hearing Haddie recall their shared memories was truly healing for all of them. Her strength of character—though her voice was weak and tremulous—finally pulled Jack to safe ground, and he felt centered and calm in this strange new setting, warmed by Haddie’s circle of love.

  After an hour, Aunt Haddie looked at Replacement and asked if she could have a moment alone with Jack. After Replacement had left to get some sodas from the vending machine, it turned out she was what Aunt Haddie needed to talk to him about.

  “Alice took it very hard, Jackie. She loved Chandler like an older brother. I know she can be a handful.” She squeezed his hand. “Remember, some people had it even harder than you. I appreciate you watching out for her.”

  What did she go through?

  “She’s a little spitfire, but deep down she’s been wounded, too,” Aunt Haddie said.

  Jack just nodded as the little spitfire in question let herself back in the room and solemnly handed them their sodas.

  “I understand how you’re hurting,” Haddie went on, including both of them now in her hard-earned wisdom. “When I lost my Alton, all I wanted to do was keep running. I know why you stayed away, I really do. But you have to get over that now.

  “Michelle forgives you, and Chandler forgave you a long time ago. I’ll forgive you, too, but let me be clear: I expect you to visit from now on.” Her eyes were speaking their own language to him, as clear as her words.

  “I need to know something. You’ll tell me straight away, right?” She peered into his eyes.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “What do you think happened to Michelle?”

  Jack knew only one way to be with Haddie—upfront and honest—which was why he’d been avoiding her all this time.

  “I think… I think someone killed her.”

  Her lower lip trembled. “Jackie—”

  “I’ll get the people who did this.”

  She was crying now. “I want you to stay safe. God will get the people who did this. He’ll punish them. But I can’t lose you, too.”

  God will punish them. I just want first dibs.

  20

  Good and Bad

  The following day, Jack started the Impala and pulled out. The police station was fifteen minutes away, so he had some good rehearsal time.

  Sheriff Collins, I originally was not aware this had been officially—No, don’t lie. Collins is so straight-arrow, he won’t listen to any excuses for breaking protocol. Fall on your sword and tell it like it is.

  Sheriff Collins, I didn’t follow procedure… Ben Nichols? Do I tell him about that? The stupid Mohawk kid? I didn’t tag the phone…

  Every angle that he tried to think of to minimize damage ended the same way—with a very ticked-off Sheriff Collins. The ride went by way too fast, but when he got to the station, he marched straight in, not hesitating.

  Cindy came out from behind the desk, arms open wide, and Jack walked in gladly.

  “Just remember to apologize and let him do most of the talking,” she whispered in his ear.

  She gave him a reassuring pat on the back with a little push toward Sheriff Collins’s office.

  The police station was mostly two floors of open space with unassigned desks. The only people who had official offices were the sheriff and undersheriff. The layout furthered Collins’s philosophy of chain of command: he was chief; everyone else was an Indian.

  His door was open, and Collins sat behind an ultramodern desk with minimal furnishings. Two large computer monitors were reflected in his glasses. He swiveled in his chair and stood as Jack entered the room. His hand shot out. “Glad to see you again, Jack. My condolences.”

  They shook hands, and the sheriff sat, while Jack remained standing. With Jack’s Army background, it was routine for him, but some of the other officers complained about Collins’s habit of making you stand while he asked you questions.

  “You could have taken some more time, but I’m glad you’re here.” Collins didn’t smile, but he wasn’t scowling either.

  “Thank you, sir, but I need to get some things settled now. First, let me offer my apologies for not notifying you directly.”

  “And you also didn’t notify me indirectly, Jack.” Collins’s eyebrow rose and his jaw slightly clenched. “Save the apologies and just tell me what happened.”

  By the book. Wish I’d thought up something about the phone.

  “Last Thursday night, my friend’s sister came to my apartment. She informed me that my foster sister, Michelle Carter, was missing. Her foster mother had filed a missing person report in Fairfield earlier.”

  Sheriff Col
lins nodded.

  “Michelle’s brother and I grew up together, served in Iraq… It sounded out of character for her to just up and go. I thought I should look into it. We took a ride over to the university and spoke with Michelle’s roommate and the campus police.”

  Jack paused. Silence seemed to be permission to continue. “The campus police said Michelle had transferred, but we…” He cleared his throat. “I decided to look for the car Michelle had been driving, and I located it at Sullivan’s.”

  Sheriff Collins’s eyes narrowed and deep lines formed on his tanned face.

  He looks a little like Clint Eastwood when he’s angry.

  Jack checked his notes and saw Collins’s approving look, then went on and told him about speaking with Ben Nichols and with Rick Matthews, saying he had a description of the Mohawk helmet and followed him to the high school.

  Sort of true. He doesn’t need to know I went there to look specifically for the kid.

  So far, so good; no objections from Collins. “The teen, Rick Matthews, said he started the car. He also informed me he found this phone.” Jack didn’t look at Collins as he placed the evidence bag on the desk.

  “Immediately after, I headed out to Reservoir Road, followed the debris trail, and located… the victim’s body.” His eyes burned as he spoke the last few words and he paused while he waited for the sheriff’s reaction.

  “Jack…” Collins fiddled with a pen on his desk. “I want to apologize for Murphy. He’s the one who should be apologizing anyway. You shouldn’t have had to run this down.”

  Like Jack, the sheriff’s blood boiled whenever he had to deal with Murphy’s colossal ineptitude—which was daily. With noticeable effort, Collins released his tight grip on his pen, straightened his notepad, and laid the pen next to it.

  Jack nodded and thanked him.

  “You’ll need to write it all up in a report. I’d appreciate it if you got to it directly. After that, take a few more days. When is the funeral?”

  “Saturday.”