Imperfect Daddy

by Gregg E. Brickman

  The savory smell of roasted chicken and one weak-but-dressed-up lady would welcome the birthday boy home. I only had time to brush my hair and take off the apron I'd worn all afternoon.

  25

  Sophia," Dick said, blotting his lips with his linen napkin, "the chicken was delicious."

  "Superb," Ray said. As I glanced from one man to the other, the resemblance between them struck me. Today they even wore similar light blue dress shirts, open at the neck, with loosened dark ties.

  "Gentleman, Kathleen did the work. All I did was take the ingredients out of the refrigerator and throw it together. She deserves the credit as chef par excellence."

  "My compliments to the chef then." Dick leaned over and kissed his wife. "Did I hear someone mention birthday cake?" He grinned at Mikey, who had described the cake in detail after refusing to consider eating the broccoli on his plate.

  "I'll get the cake and coffee ready. Ray, can you take Sunshine outside for a minute? It's been a while. He's likely to pop." As I reached behind me and pulled the dog's lead out from under my purse, the blue Ford and its creepy driver flashed through my mind. I hadn't told Ray about the car, and I hadn't gotten the license plate.

  Dick jumped up and took the leash out of my hand. I'll take him, if you don't mind." He nodded to Ray. "After that dinner, I need the walk." He put a hand on Mikey's shoulder. "Want to come along, my man?"

  "No, Daddy. I need to help Miss Sophia with the cake." He leaned around the corner and peered into the kitchen where the chocolate cake occupied a prominent place on the small dinette table. "She said I can scoop the ice cream and light the candles."

  "Sunshine and I will go it alone then." He bent over and clipped the leash to the dog's collar.

  I followed Mikey toward the kitchen. A few seconds later, I heard the front door of the apartment open. Then a bang. The report of a handgun. In my mind, I tried to associate the gunshot with a car backfiring, but I knew better.

  Kathleen screamed, and I ran back to the dining room. Her face contorted. She pushed back her chair and struggled to her feet, stumbling awkwardly to her husband's side.

  Ray sprang from his chair and charged out the door with his Glock in hand.

  Kathleen crumbled onto the floor next to Dick's head.

  From where I stood, I saw the hole in the middle of Dick's forehead. The bleeding meant his heart was beating. I knew he was dead just the same. I called 9-1-1.

  Mikey stayed in the kitchen, drawn by his fascination for the cake. Instinct told me to attend to the child first. I rushed into the kitchen.

  I picked up Mikey and scooped up Sunshine, who had run to me when Dick fell, and carried them both in the direction of the boy's bedroom. I had to prevent his seeing his father die.

  "Miss Sophia, what's wrong? What about Daddy's cake?"

  "Mikey, Daddy's hurt. I need you to stay in your bedroom with Sunshine until I come get you."

  "Is Daddy going to be okay?" His voice trembled.

  "I don't know. Right now, I have to help Mommy." I sat him on the bed and clicked on the television, adjusting the volume until I was sure he wouldn't hear anything from the rest of the house. "Stay here now. Take care of Sunshine."

  "Okay, Miss Sophia." His eyes were red. Tears would soon follow.

  His crying wasn't my concern at that moment. I needed to get to Kathleen.

  I closed the door behind me and hurried the few yards to the front door. Kathleen had been an emergency department nurse for too many years not to know Dick had zero chance of survival.

  Hysterical and crying, she leaned across his chest, his blood covering the front of her dress and her hands. "Dick," she wailed, "Dick, please don't die. I can't live without you."

  I put a hand on Kathleen's shoulder to give support, but she twisted away, glaring at me. I watched, my insides quivering, as her body shuddered with another round of sobs.

  Dick was no longer making any effort to breathe. His chest was still, and the flow of blood from the wound had stopped. I placed my fingers on his Adam's apple and slid them into the groove between his windpipe and neck muscle. I didn't feel his carotid pulse. His pupils were huge. "Kathleen," I said, "he's gone."

  She stared in my general direction.

  "He's gone," I repeated. "Let me help you." I was in my caretaker mode—my own comfort zone.

  She struggled to her feet and collapsed before allowing me to lift her and support her weight. I inched her over to the sofa, using my foot to push her left leg along our path. She insisted on sitting on the end closest to Dick's lifeless body.

  "Where's Mikey?" she asked, her voice cracking.

  "In his room." I patted her hand, hoping to provide a modicum of comfort. This time she didn't pull away.

  Multiple sirens, their shrill pitches clashing, sounded like a competition for dominance as they grew louder, closer.

  A moment later, Ray appeared in the doorway. "The guy got away. He was around the corner and gone before I reached my car."

  "What did the car look like?"

  Ray raised an eyebrow. "Dark compact. Ford, maybe. Why?"

  I explained about the blue Ford. "I decided I was being weird and passed it off."

  "What did the driver look like?"

  I gave him a vague description.

  "Could be Pyle, the murdering son of a bitch. Tell me about the car."

  "New, royal blue, two door."

  "The same kind as Amy Lynn Durant drives." Ray didn't say anything for a minute. "Was the driver alone?"

  "I didn't see anyone else. The glare was bad."

  "Did Mikey see the man?"

  "I don't know. Mikey was with me, but I don't think he was paying attention. He was playing with Sunshine."

  "I'll ask him later."

  I glanced in the direction Ray was looking and saw two uniformed officers approaching the door.

  "Ah, shit, it's Schneider," one officer said. He went pale and disappeared around the corner.

  The second officer stood in the doorway surveying the scene. "Detective Stone," he said at length, "please stay there with the ladies. I'll secure the scene and wait for the on-call detective to arrive."

  "That would be me," Ray said. "I called García, and he's on his way with Lewis." He stood and pointed in the general direction of the sidewalk outside. "Better get the crime scene tape around the perimeter, then toss the roll in here. I'll cordon off this part of the house."

  "Is that a good idea, sir?"

  "There's a four-year-old child in the back room alone and these ladies here. I'm going to have Sophi take Mrs. Schneider to her bedroom and get her cleaned up. After the captain comes and talks to them, Sophi will take her out the kitchen door to our place."

  "Isn't this your apartment?" The officer pointed to the monogrammed RRS on the doorknocker.

  "Not anymore. The Schneiders bought it a couple of weeks ago," Ray said.

  The obvious conclusion occurred to me. Ray was the target. Dick was in the wrong place and died because of it, widowing a sick wife and a young son. The tendrils of Ray's past had wound their way south.

  Ray snapped me back into the moment. "Sophi, take Kathleen back and help her. Then I want you to take her and Mikey to our house. I'll stay here."

  I hauled Kathleen to her feet just as Captain García stepped over the crime scene tape.

  José García, a small, wiry man with a full head of jet-black hair and a perpetual five o'clock shadow, stood in the doorway surveying the scene before him. "How long has it been since he was hit?" García asked.

  "Less than ten minutes," Ray replied, his voice betraying no trace of the emotion etched in his face. Though his eyes were red-rimmed, his jaw was firmly set. He was struggling to stay focused. "If it's okay with you, Sophia will help Kathleen get cleaned up before you talk to her."

  "Fine." García stepped around Dick's body.

  I noticed a crowd had formed in the parking lot. Several of the onlookers were neighbors. It was still early evening, and G
arcía and his men would interview all of them before the long night was over.

  After I helped Kathleen into clean clothes and packed a small bag for her and Mikey, I led her into the kitchen. She sat on one of the dinette chairs and dissolved into tears. Dick's presence was everywhere. She stopped crying in mid-sob and looked at his birthday cake.

  She picked up the candles laying next to the cake. After fumbling to open the box, she selected several blue and white candles and arranged them on the cake. She lit them, then stared into the flame. In a quiet, haunting soprano, Kathleen sang, "Happy Birthday to You." At the Dear Dick part, the melody disintegrated into quiet sobs. With a burst of strength, she swooped the cake off the table and sent it flying against the counter on the other side of the small kitchen. The smell of dark chocolate mixed with the scent of fresh blood.

  García didn't spend much time talking with Kathleen. She broke down repeatedly and seemed barely coherent, crying, muttering, and worrying aloud about herself and Mikey. García said he or Lewis would stop by my house later to interview me. He would finish with Kathleen when she was more composed.

  I had difficulty getting Kathleen into my small car. It seemed her MS symptoms had worsened in the last forty-eight hours. When I worked with her on Saturday, she was fully functional with only a slight limp. Now, I had to lift her left leg into the car, then wait for the muscle spasms to subside, allowing her knee to bend. Her arm movements lacked coordination and strength. Apparently, she had used her last morsel of strength to throw the cake.

  I settled Mikey and Sunshine in the back of the Mini and belted Kathleen into the front seat. Mikey, wide-eyed and uncomprehending, had not spoken a word. Sunshine, perhaps understanding more than I, laid his head on the child's lap while keeping a watchful eye on me.

  I continued in my caretaker role, ignoring my own urge to cry. "Kathleen, who's your doctor?"

  "Samuelson."

  "The number?"

  She recited the number as I keyed it into my cell phone. I didn't realize until the doctor answered that Kathleen gave me his home number. After hearing a brief explanation of the situation, he agreed to prescribe a sedative to help her through the night, and we set off in the direction of Kathleen's pharmacy.

  My head swam. It could have been Ray. A murderer was on the loose, and Ray was the target. Pyle was out there somewhere.

  26

  I gave Kathleen the sleeping pill and settled her and Mikey in the guestroom. I turned to go, planning to close the door and allow them to sleep.

  Mikey, who had not spoken since the incident, asked, "Miss Sophia, is my daddy coming here, too?"

  I sat on the bed. "No, Mikey."

  I glanced at Kathleen and saw her nod. The tears continued to stream from her eyes.

  While I rubbed his small head, I continued. "Mikey, Daddy won't be coming anymore. You'll have to take care of Mommy now. Can you do that?"

  Mikey's tears flowed as though they would never stop. He asked, "Is my daddy dead?"

  "Yes."

  "When's he going to come back?"

  "Never, Mikey. When you're dead, you never come back." Kathleen rolled over to face her child and took him into her weak arms. "Sweetie, it's just you and me now. Daddy didn't mean to leave us."

  "Why is he leaving us then, Mommy?"

  "He has no choice." Kathleen hugged him closer. I let myself out of the room, closing the door behind me.

  I checked on Kathleen and Mikey about an hour later. They were still clinging together, but they were sleeping. Good, I thought, they'll need every ounce of rest they can get.

  I knew Ray wouldn't be home for some time, so I, still in the caretaker role, attended to business. After calling into work and telling the charge nurse neither Kathleen nor I would be in for several days, I called Kathleen's parents.

  They had relocated to the Orlando area from Michigan a few months earlier to be closer to their daughter. Kathleen's dad, a retired physician, said he would make the necessary family calls. They agreed to leave Orlando early the next morning and would be at my house by noon.

  It was a painful call and started my own emotions flowing. With my immediate responsibilities handled, I settled on the sofa and hugged my dog to my chest, dealing with my own self-pity and grief.

  27

  For a half-hour, I paced the house, looking out of the windows, wandering onto the patio, driving the dog nuts, and trying to decide if there was anything more I needed to do. Though it seemed like hours had passed, it was just after ten.

  The phone rang. It was Ray's mother.

  "Sophia, I hoped you might be Raymond. Can I talk with him? Is he there?" Her voice sounded strained.

  "No, he's . . . actually . . ." I stuttered and stammered, then the whole story of Dick's shooting poured out of me. I was crying once more.

  "Oh my God," she said. "We've got other troubles, too. The police found Elaine's body. Sergeant McCormick has been trying to reach Ray. He says the chief wants Ray to come to Virginia."

  "He's over at the condo helping with the investigation. Should I wait for him to get home? I don't know what to do." I grabbed a breath, controlling myself. "Martha, what's going on?"

  "Lord, child, I don't know. I don't see how the shooting there is related to our problems here."

  "But Martha, maybe Ray was the target." I told her about the physical resemblance between Ray and Dick and reminded her Dick had bought Ray's condo. I stopped, took a couple of deep breaths to regain my composure, then filled her in on the royal blue Ford I saw in Parkview and again today. I reminded her Pyle and Amy Lynn Durant drove around town in the same kind of car.

  "Maybe Pyle is carrying out the threats he made," Martha began, her voice now strong and steady, "But, don't let Raymond come here. Sergeant McCormick, the criminal investigator Ervin assigned to the case, said Ervin is convinced Raymond shot Elaine and left her in the woods to die. Ervin's after blood. He refuses to take anyone's word Raymond left here alone last Friday night. If Raymond is to have any hope of clearing himself, he has to stay out of Virginia."

  "Ervin can have Ray arrested here and extradited to Virginia."

  "If Ervin had any proof, but he doesn't. He's convinced himself. Meanwhile, we can't talk sense to the man. He put Mac on the case and went off somewhere. Mac was mightily frustrated when he spoke to us. He kept interrupting himself to try and reach Ervin on his cell phone." A scratchy noise suggested Martha had covered the phone with her hand, then I heard muffled voices. Martha came back on the line. "Sorry, Branden came into the kitchen. He and his sister have been waiting for Raymond to call."

  "How are they doing?"

  "They've just heard the news. Branden is emotional. He's the more volatile of the two kids. Kerri, she's more like her dad. She's sitting and staring at her hands."

  "They know Ray didn't do it, don't they?"

  "Well, yes, I believe they do. But they weren't there, and they don't know for certain. There's a level at which they believe all the things Elaine told them over the years. Time will tell. Now, I have to help them through the crisis."

  Ray had told me how his mother would stay calm under fire, breaking down later in the privacy of her bedroom. I heard that strength in her voice. The welfare of her grandchildren came first.

  The S2000 roared into the driveway. "Ray just pulled in. I'll get him to the telephone."

  "Tell him what you know first, then have him call us. I don't want to subject the kids to another recitation of what happened," Martha said.

  "I can do that." I set my jaw and dried my tears. "I'll have him call you in a few minutes."

  "Sophi," Ray called, opening the front door and entering the house. His face looked pale, his expression anguished.

  I went to him and took his hand. "I talked to your mother. She said Mac tried to reach you on your cell." I felt him trembling.

  "I spoke with him. He told me about finding Elaine's body and said Ervin, the bastard, demanded I go to Parkview. Mac advised me to get a lawy
er and stay here."

  "Why is Ervin being like that?"

  "I'm not sure. My mother said after Elaine broke off her relationship with Ervin, his behavior bordered on stalking. Maybe he's still obsessed with her."

  "Damn, that complicates things doesn't it?"

  "Yup."

  I stood by his side while he called his mother and spoke with her on the speakerphone.

  Ray drummed his fingers on the counter next to the wall phone. "Didn't you tell Ervin I came in the house and talked to you after Elaine took off?"

  "Of course, I did. Your father told him, too. Jake discounted it. He said you probably met Elaine somewhere and didn't want us to know about it."

  Ray paused. "I suppose I can't blame him. If the tables were reversed, I'd think the same thing."

  Ray talked with each child, reassuring them, unnecessarily I thought, that he didn't do anything. He left their mother alive and well in front of their grandparents' house, then headed back to Florida.

  "Ray," I said when he disconnected, "what happens now?"

  Ray frowned. "García assigned Lewis to Dick's murder and made me a desk warrior until the mess in Virginia is resolved. I talked to a lawyer, guy named Frederick Poisson. The assistant state attorney recommended him. Poisson will block any move to force me to go to Parkview for the moment, but who knows what will happen later. Mac will lead the investigation. That way it won't look like Ervin has a vendetta to settle."

  The muscles in Ray's arms and shoulders quivered as if jolted with tiny spikes of electricity. Tension sharpened the outline of his jaw. I held out my arms, offering him a hug. He moved in close and wrapped his arms around my shoulders, smothering me against his body.

  In all probability, the door to the condo was left open during the investigation causing the temperature in the apartment to rise. Ray smelled of perspiration, Nautica, and Dial soap. But there was more too—the smell of fear and the smell of Dick's blood. I realized Sunshine had backed off when Ray came in the door. Remembering the red smudges on his tan Dockers, I understood why.