Collins gave a brief nod. “We’ll talk again after that.”
“Sheriff?” Jack hated to wait, especially for a reprimand. “I’m sorry, but can you let me know…?”
“Let you know?” Collins had started to rise but sat back down. His face was the color of old bricks. “The same way you should have let me know but didn’t?” Sheriff Collins sighed. “As of now, you’re going to help the traffic detail for the next month.”
Not too bad. Night shift.
“On days when there’s no traffic detail, Cindy needs assistance getting caught up on reports.”
Jack would have rather cleaned the bathrooms. He hated paperwork.
“We’ll need to review your training schedule at a later date to see if that busy roster impacted your judgment.”
This was both good and bad. Collins had said “review,” so he hadn’t canceled anything, but Jack was on notice. If he took another wrong step, Collins would take away the special training, and if that happened, Collins might as well just say, “You’re fired,” because it would have had the same effect for Jack.
“Let me make this crystal-clear, Jack, this is Joe Davenport’s case now. Additionally, Michelle is your foster sister; that’s a conflict of interest. I’ve talked to Joe about reviewing the case, and I’ll personally examine it. Now, you have my utmost sympathies, but if you even think of going around me and looking into this, I’ll have your hide. That is all.” Collins turned back to his computer.
As Jack turned away, he let the mask fall from his face. He shut the door very carefully because he wanted to slam it—badly.
Get the report done and then get out. Now it was Jack’s blood boiling. He stormed by Cindy, who held out a stack of papers to him. He grabbed them like a relay runner, never breaking stride, headed to a desk in the back, and made very sure to do everything deliberately and quietly—pulling out the chair, booting up the computer, arranging the reports—he had to watch every step now.
Murphy’s a moron. If he had done the bare minimum, they…
Jack flopped into the chair and let his head fall into his hands. After a minute, he sat up and looked at the stack of papers. He couldn’t help but smile a little. Cindy had filled out the sections she could. He flipped open a few of the pages.
I could be out of here in a couple of hours.
Jack had a little secret he carried around with him all the time now—actually, a pretty big secret—and he pulled it out whenever he needed a reminder: He actually wanted to live.
Everything else was the price you pay to stay alive.
21
So Much for Green
Jack rolled over and looked at the clock. One thirty. He was glad, but also ticked off. On the one hand, he couldn’t sleep, but on the other hand, he had to avoid getting up till the bar around the corner closed. On the one hand, he wanted a drink, but on the other hand, he really wanted nine or ten.
Drown it. Head off the rails one night and into oblivion.
He got up and headed into the kitchen for some water, and the angel on his other shoulder started up.
Don’t drink. The service is tomorrow. Anyway, it’s too late. The bar’ll be closed by the time you get there.
He’d known even before he enlisted in the Army that he could be a blackout drinker. His drinking had never bothered him when he was younger, but there’s a completely different spin on things when you wake up clueless, surrounded by high-caliber weapons.
That burn he couldn’t extinguish, that lava flow of pain, seemed to be always on tap now. He tried to bury it, but it seared its way back into the open. He didn’t forget his new secret—he was still glad to be alive—it just didn’t hurt as much when you used some painkillers.
He turned off the water and heard the computer chair squeak.
“Nice butt,” Replacement said.
Jack grabbed for the dishtowel and dashed back into the bedroom. Replacement burst out laughing.
“You should warn me,” he called out as he pulled on a pair of sweatpants.
“Warn you?” She giggled. “How? Danger, Jack! You’re entering the kitchen, cover your butt?”
“I didn’t know you were up.”
“Do you normally go around naked?” She wiggled her eyebrows.
“You know…” he stammered. “I just forgot you were here.”
He was beet-red, and Replacement couldn’t decide whether he was embarrassed or truly upset. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t—it’s my fault. This will take some getting used to.” Replacement turned back to the computer. “What’re you working on?”
“Michelle had a fitness app on her phone. It’s called Get in Shape Girl.” Her eyes stayed on the screen. She was wearing her old Fairfield High jersey and sat with her legs tucked underneath her.
“And?” Jack stood behind her.
“Part of the app monitors all your exercise. There’s a walking program that shows everywhere she’d been.”
“Great job.” Jack grabbed the back of her chair and leaned over her shoulder so he could see the screen. “Does it give dates and times? Everywhere she’s been?”
“It has everything. I just got into her phone—”
“Her phone? But I gave it to Collins.”
“Umm…” Replacement hunched up her shoulders and looked at Jack with emerald eyes that hinted at a secret.
“No… You couldn’t have taken it. Did you switch it? How—?” Jack squeezed the glass.
Replacement looked nervously at his tightening fingers. “I made a backup, that’s all.”
“You backed up her phone before I gave it to Collins?” His grip relaxed a bit.
“It’s a smartphone; it was easy. I did it after we came home from the hospital. I didn’t think it was wrong.”
“Don’t think. Ask. It’s my job.” Jack winced after he shouted the last two words. She looked hurt, and he felt sorry.
Don’t feel bad, you idiot. If Collins knew we went into the phone, he’d have your head on his wall.
“How did you get in? Aren’t they password protected?”
Replacement shrugged. “Michelle always used the same password.”
Impressed in spite of himself, Jack looked back at the screen. It looked like a spreadsheet of times and dates, and his thoughts shifted to the hunt for answers. “Can you start backward? What were her last whereabouts?”
Replacement turned and began to type. “The phone was at Reservoir Road in the same place for twelve hours. December twenty-first.”
“So Michelle got there on the twenty-first? What time?”
“Twelve thirty a.m.”
She wouldn’t just go for a drive out there after midnight.
“What happened to the phone after twelve hours?”
“The phone must have died…”
Jack put a hand on her shoulder to keep her on track. “Where was she before? How long—?”
“Hold on, I don’t know the program that well.” Replacement’s fingers flew over the keyboard. “She was someplace for… almost four hours.”
“Where?” The data on the screen didn’t make sense to him.
“I have to map the coordinates.” She pressed more keys, and a mapping program appeared. “Here. General Alexander Davidson Circle. It’s the neuropsychology center, where she works.” She zoomed in. “Why was she there from eight thirty until after midnight?”
Jack looked at the clock and raised an eyebrow. “Wanna go check it out? I can’t sleep anyway.” She was already getting her coat.
They tiptoed out of the apartment like little kids, careful not to wake Mrs. Stevens. The ride to the neuropsychology center would take about twenty minutes because of the winding roads. It was below freezing, so Replacement ditched the seat belt, along with any notion of personal space, and shivered next to him as the car tried to warm up during the drive.
Replacement smiled. “Thanks for everything.” She curled up closer to him.
Thanks for everything? Her si
ster’s dead. I gave her a couch instead of a closet. ‘Everything’ isn’t much.
They pulled into a small, empty parking lot near the nature center at the top of the hill and crunched their way over frost to the front door. Apart from a faint hallway light and the exit lights, the building looked thoroughly closed.
The hours posted on a sign were weekdays, nine to seven. Why was she out here so late? Jack walked to the left to go around the building but stopped. The ground sloped off and revealed another level below, with the same large windows as the rest of the building. Another look to the right showed there was no easy way to walk around that way.
“Wish I could get a look around back.” He turned to Replacement. Did her special research skills extend to getting into closed buildings?
Her arms were wrapped tightly around her chest, and her teeth chattered as she nodded. He saw that her jacket was more suited to fall than winter.
“Come on.” Jack hurried her back to the Impala and turned the heat on. They held their hands in front of the vents.
“How accurate is that phone?” Jack asked.
“You mean for distance?” Replacement slid up against him.
“Can it tell where she was in the building?” Jack whipped his coat off, and before she could protest, wrapped it over her legs.
She looked at Jack as if he’d just done something monumental. “The app gives a rough distance, like she was around here.” She made large circles with her hands.
“Did you find anything else on the phone yet?”
“I went through her emails and texts. A bunch of school stuff. She didn’t have many friends. She focused on school. I’ll go back and check. There are pictures, but I haven’t…” Her shoulders squeezed together and she started to tremble.
Jack put his arm around her shoulders. She turned her face into his chest and cried softly.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t come back.”
“You should be.” The words were gentler than Jack expected. “But you’re here now. And we’re going to find who did this.”
The certainty in her words calmed Jack, and he put the car in gear. “We will.”
As they drove away, the security camera on the outside of the building followed their car with its glowing red eye.
22
Homecoming
Jack shifted in his seat in the front row next to Replacement, who was next to Aunt Haddie. The lighting was subdued and the scent of flowers hung in the air. Rows of chairs in neat lines sat on thick carpet.
People filled the place. He couldn’t believe how many were there. How many really knew her? He’d been to too many funerals of young people, where every kid that knew them turns out—their first taste of death. Someone who shouldn’t have died; it makes them think, It could have been me. But how many people here were really her friend?
Michelle had always been quiet, and careful when she chose her friends. She wasn’t arrogant at all, she just had high standards. Friends had to be loyal, honest, and truthful. Aunt Haddie used to say that if you made it out of this life with one good friend, you were blessed. Michelle was blessed.
Jack shifted. He forced a smile for Replacement, but she never looked up. He closed his eyes and let his head fall forward.
The minister had already begun the service. He was a large man with a deep voice. They sang “Amazing Grace,” Michelle’s favorite, with many voices cracking and some—Haddie and Replacement—unable to sing at all through their crying.
After “When the Roll Is Called Up Yonder,” a girl of around sixteen went up to the podium. Her curly dark-brown hair came down to her shoulders. She was dressed in a simple gray dress, and her eyes flitted around the room. She unfolded a page from a notebook.
“My name is Selena. Michelle was my mentor and my friend,” she began. “I met her through the sisters’… program where she… volunteered. She always tell… told me, that I…” It was obviously hard for her to read. She looked up, paused, and refolded the paper.
“I’m going to start again.” She tried to stand tall. “Michelle believed in me. She taught me to believe in myself. I loved her very much. I was shy, like her, but she showed me an example of what I could be. My life is much better because of her.”
The girl took her seat. After her, four more girls from all different backgrounds came up in turn, and each spoke about Michelle—about a Michelle that Jack didn’t know. The girl who loved to learn and taught herself about computers. Not so much shy, as Selena had said, but quiet about her accomplishments and sure about her purpose. A young woman filled with hope, who passed that hope along to others, who helped her neighbors and underprivileged kids.
A tall man, over six feet, with broad shoulders and finely groomed silver hair, came forward to speak, leaning slightly on a cane.
“Michelle was one of my brightest students,” he began. He had a slight European accent, maybe German, and spoke carefully. “As evidenced by the words of the people here who knew her best, Michelle was an example for us all. She worked to create change. She was always willing to help her fellow students and workers. Her enthusiasm and spirit will be missed, but it won’t be forgotten. Her legacy will live on in her work and achievements.”
It was Aunt Haddie’s turn to speak next. The funeral director and Replacement helped her up to the podium. She could barely see over it. She looked so old. She gripped the podium for support, and gazed down for a long time.
“Michelle…” Her voice broke. Replacement squeezed Jack’s hand.
“Michelle was one of my dear, dear babies. She was on loan from the Lord. Such a precious girl. God abundantly blessed me by bringing her into my life. Michelle is home with Jesus now.”
Aunt Haddie paused and wiped her eyes. “Michelle always looked at the positives. She was like a little ray of sunshine all bottled up. We didn’t have much, but Michelle was always looking at what we did have.”
Jack could only see the people in the front row, but there were quite a few shoulders shaking from sobs and a lot of tissues being used.
“They asked me to talk about some of my favorite memories of Michelle, but how can I pick? I prayed about it. I tried to think, and then I remembered Michelle’s bike.”
That bike. He and Chandler found it at the dump. A boy’s bike with a flat tire.
“Michelle’s birthday was coming up, eight years old, and that year we had very little. I knew Michelle wanted a bike, like the big boys had. That’s all she talked about.”
Aunt Haddie was crying again but kept her voice strong for her story. “On the morning of her birthday, after breakfast, Chandler and Jackie told Michelle to come outside with them. Their hands, their overalls, everything was covered in pink paint, and they were smiling from ear to ear. That must be where that expression came from.”
A few sniffly laughs broke out and Haddie took a deep breath.
“Well, we hiked down those old stairs, and there was Michelle’s present…”
She ran out of air and had to take a big, ragged gasp.
“Jackie and Chandler had found an old boy’s bike and fixed it all up. They painted it bright pink and put purple streamers on it. You’d think they both would pop the buttons off their shirts, they were so proud.”
Jack looked down at his hands, almost expecting to see pink paint. He and Chandler stayed up all night, fixing the flat tire, straightening the rims, painting it, figuring out where to get the tassels—a lucky stroke, and by far the most expensive part of the transformation, when Chandler found a little girl who sold them her flashy handle grips for five bucks. Michelle teased them for two days because of the pink paint on their hands.
“Oh, you can imagine how Michelle cried and danced and cried some more. The boys taught her how to ride, and she took to it like a fish to water. She rode that bike everywhere. I can still see her smiling face riding out in the driveway. Her little wave…”
Aunt Haddie stopped, and Replacement’s hand went a little limp. Aunt Haddie look
ed around. “I don’t know what happened to the bike… she lost it… Michelle…” She stopped again.
The thought that he might not have been here to help Haddie, to keep the tenuous circle of life connected between survivors brought shame back to Jack, but he forced himself to power through it. He exchanged a glance with Replacement and without a word went up to the podium and helped Aunt Haddie back to her seat.
The stress of the situation had clearly gotten to her. She turned to look at Jack, and he held her gaze. He could see the effects of age and unbearable grief and toil, and perhaps confusion. She looked at him, but she didn’t seem to really see him.
There was a small disruption to Jack’s right as a man tried to move around people to get to the podium.
“Hello.” He coughed, then looked down and brushed back his dark hair with one hand. “My name is Robert, and I knew Michelle—and Chandler—since we were kids.” The young man was in his twenties, wearing a nice suit. “It was hard hearing about Michelle’s bike.” He cleared his throat. “I know what happened to it.” He looked straight at Aunt Haddie. “I stole it.”
The quiet room grew completely still. Jack could hear his heart beat.
“I was a kid, and the bike was outside the library, and I took it. I brought it home and painted it blue.” He paused to blow his nose. “I painted it and pulled off the tassels, but Michelle knew it was hers. She saw me riding it and she followed me home and came right to my front door.”
He looked around the room, defiantly anxious to tell this story. Jack had thought at first that the guy looked a little disheveled and sketchy, but it was just rumpled hair and red eyes from crying.
“She asked me why I stole it. I said, ‘What does that matter?’ But she really wanted to know why. She said, ‘You shouldn’t just let evil things go.’”
He shook his head. “That freaked me out. I was like, ‘I’m not evil,’ but she said, ‘Well, you’re a thief.’”
Tears rolled down his cheeks. “She asked me why again. I told her mine broke. The frame cracked. I couldn’t fix it, and it was just me and my mom. I begged her not to tell my mom or Chandler. I knew she was Chandler’s sister, and he’d stomp me. I told her she could have it back.
Detective Jack Stratton Box Set Page 14