by Rachel Lee
Seamus set his tea down on the low glass table and pulled out his notebook, pretending to peruse it. “Unfortunately,” he said slowly, “we've received some… information. It has been suggested to us that the neighborhood watch might have done more than watch.”
The Glowinskys exchanged quick looks.
Herman spoke, his voice cracking. “I don't know what you mean.”
“No?”
Gil leaned forward. “Really, we can understand why you might have felt as if you were under siege. People ought to feel safe in their own homes, and ought to feel safe on their own streets. And we know how intimidating these scum can be. Heck, you couldn't ever be sure one of them wouldn't pull a gun just because he didn't like the way you looked.”
“That's right,” Herman said flatly. He put his tea glass down sharply, for emphasis. “Do you know what it's like to know your wife is being terrorized by some young punk? And that man who was shot—well, I don't care what the papers say, he was probably one of them. He'd been around here a lot.”
“Herman …” His wife reached out a hand and gripped his forearm. She looked apologetically at the detectives. “He has high blood pressure. Besides, we all feel awful about that young man. Maybe he wasn't the hoodlum who was hanging out on the corner all the time with his friends. But he did look like the one who was. Maybe one of the other drug dealers made a mistake?”
“Or maybe,” said Seamus, “somebody in the neighborhood watch made a mistake?” He noted how Herman's face paled. “Someone like Barney Wieberneit?”
Herman's face was now chalky, and his breath sounded labored. “I don't know what you mean.”
Seamus nodded and closed his notebook. “We're going to find the person who did this, Mr. Glowinsky. Rest assured. And I do understand why the neighborhood would want to protect him.”
But Herman didn't say another word.
Outside, they found that Barney Wieberneit was still in his yard, watering the flowers with a watering can. They walked over to him, and he set the pot down.
“What can I do for you?” he asked.
Seamus answered. “We need you to come down to the station with us, Mr. Wieberneit.”
He nodded, his jaw setting. “Can I tell my wife I'm leaving?”
“Sure. You won't be gone long. Only an hour, if that. We just need to ask you some questions.”
Wieberneit looked at him. “You're not fooling me. I knew you'd find out it was me sooner or later. It was nice of my neighbors not to say anything, but I knew you'd figure it out. I didn't mean to kill him, you know. I only wanted to scare him.”
It was well after midnight when Seamus got home. The long day and lack of sleep were definitely catching up with him, and he found himself thinking that if Mary hadn't died, she probably would have divorced him by now. No woman in her right mind would want to live with a man whose hours were as long and as unpredictable as his sometimes were.
Between one breath and the next, the thought caught him like a punch to the solar plexus, washing away his fatigue in a sudden flood of … what? Guilt? Pain? He couldn't even tell. All he knew was that something inside him felt as if it were on the edge of a major explosion.
He stood there shaking like a dog caught in a thunderstorm, and he didn't even know why. He couldn't move, he couldn't stand the feeling, and he didn't know what the hell to do about it.
Then he heard himself draw a gasping, ragged breath, as the will to live reasserted itself over shock, and his brain started working again.
Mary would have left anyway.
The thing he had refused to admit for seven years was staring him in the face like a grinning death's-head.
Mary would have left anyway.
And that was why he felt so damn guilty. It was why he'd kept Carey at a distance that had eventually killed their relationship. No, it wasn't Carey's mouth, or the tough time she'd been having at the end there, or anything else she had done. It had been him. Just him.
Mary would have left anyway.
The signs had been there for months, starting just before Seana's birth. Mary had begun talking about how he could be anything in the world he wanted to be, that he didn't have to be a cop forever. She had started complaining about his hours. In a thousand little ways, she had let him know that she didn't like his job and that she wasn't happy with the way they were living.
She hadn't come right out and said it. She hadn't threatened to leave. She had just hinted in a woman's gentle way, like water dripping on stone, planting ideas as she tried to bring him around to her way of thinking. And he, not really catching on to the deep discontent she was trying to express, had laughed the hints off and said he was born to die a cop.
Her response had been that a dead cop made a lousy father.
And he hadn't caught it. He'd thought she was just complaining the way wives will. The way his mother had about his dad's long absences. But his mother had never left his dad, and so he hadn't taken it seriously.
Big mistake. An even bigger mistake, maybe, than not being home the night Seana was taken ill. He'd been blind to his wife's discontent.
But only on a conscious level, it seemed, for as the sewer of his unconscious opened up to show him exactly what he'd been steadfastly ignoring, he discovered that he felt guilty for Mary's death because he had ignored her. Because his selfishness might have directly contributed to her despair. Because he feared she had hanged herself not only because of grief over their child, but because of the way he had abandoned her emotionally.
Jesus. Oh, Jesus.
Grief gripped him, squeezing his chest so hard that he could barely breathe. But even as he gave in to the full realization of his part in the tragedy, some soothing wind in his mind whispered the truth: Mary would have left anyway.
And somewhere in the dark night of his soul, he understood something else. He had lost his daughter, but only because Seana hadn't been in her car seat, and because a drunk driver had hit the car. It hadn't been his fault at all.
He had lost his wife, but he hadn't handed her the rope she had used, or even suggested her suicide. She had made that decision herself. Instead of turning to him with her grief, she had turned away. He, too, had been swamped in the anguish of loss and guilt, but he hadn't killed himself. And while he may not have offered enough support to Mary after Seana's death, she had offered him none at all.
His wife had made her own fatal decisions, from the choice not to put Seana in her car seat, to the choice to end her life. And it was time to stop taking full responsibility for things over which he had had no control.
What he needed to do, what he had to do, was cure the fault that was under his control—the distance he put between himself and the people he loved.
Sometime later, after he got a handle on his emotions and showered away the day's sweat, he pulled out the photo albums. Sitting in the lamplight in his living room, he looked at them for the first time since Seana's death and let himself relive it all, good and bad.
He would miss Seana forever, he realized. But Mary—
Mary had nearly killed something in him by her actions, and he found now, as he looked at photographs of her, that he had long since let her go.
It was over.
At quarter to nine in the morning, freshly showered and shaved, Seamus called Carey. “Did you get the governor?” he asked.
“You're kidding, right? The best thing I got was a promise that somebody would call me back first thing Monday morning.”
“You're doing okay. They wouldn't promise to call me back at all.”
“What about Jamie? Have you got anything?”
“His picture's on the street. He'll have to hide under a rock to avoid notice.”
“Thank God. Four days, Seamus.”
He didn't respond to that. What could he possibly say? “I'm going to visit my dad this morning. Want to get together afterward?”
He heard the hesitation and couldn't blame her. He'd hurt her enough before. Why would she w
ant a second round?
“All right,” she said. “Let's go to the beach, okay? If I don't spend a little time getting some rays and unwinding, I'm going to have a nervous breakdown by Monday morning.”
“You and me both. Listen, sweetie. Everyone's really serious about finding Jamie. Everyone knows what's at stake. It's all we can do right now.”
“Yeah. Okay. When do you want to meet?”
“Say I pick you up at noon? Want me to bring a picnic?”
“I'll take care of the picnic, Seamus. You go see your dad.”
Danny Rourke was sitting on the patio out behind the treatment center. A molded plastic chair seemed almost to swallow him. He'd shrunk, Seamus thought. He'd shrunk even more since being admitted.
But for the first time in years, Danny's eyes weren't bloodshot, and his hands weren't trembling. He was wearing pajamas and a robe, despite the warmth of the morning, and had found himself a patch of sun to sit in.
Danny probably spent a lot of time out here, Seamus thought. His dad had lived most of his life outdoors, and hated being cooped up.
“Seamus.”
“Dad.” He pulled up another molded plastic chair and sat facing his father. “You look good.” Better than he had in a while. In fact, for the first time in a long time, he looked into Danny's eyes and saw a spark of the man his father had once been. “They treating you well?”
“Well enough.” Danny smiled. “I don't remember much about the first few days.”
“Probably just as well. How are you feeling?”
Danny nodded. “Better, son. Better. The IRS thing …”
Shit, thought Seamus, he had completely forgotten about it. “Carey was talking to them about negotiating a settlement. She'll come up with something more reasonable.”
“Nothing would be reasonable,” Danny said drily. “I ain't got a thing left.”
“You've got me, Dad.”
The older man looked straight at his son and asked, utterly without self-pity, “Do I?”
Seamus felt his throat clog. He had to look away and breathe deeply to steady himself. Finally, he was able to look at the old man again. “Yeah, Dad,” he said. “You do.”
Danny nodded and turned his attention to something off in the distance. After a bit, he said, “I wouldn't blame you if you forgot you ever knew me.”
“I'm not gonna do that. Not ever. I've been … kind of crazy the last few years. Ever since … ever since Seana and Mary died.”
“We've both been kind of crazy since then. I sit up a lot of nights wondering why I didn't ever tell that woman to put the child in the car seat. I finally got to drinking so I wouldn't think about it anymore.”
“You didn't think about it then, Dad. Hell, she was Seana's mother. If she didn't think about it, why should you?”
“They didn't have those car seats when you were little,” his dad said as if he hadn't heard. “I guess I just never thought a thing about it. Your mom used to carry you on her lap all the time in the car.”
“Yeah.”
“And the baby was so sick …” Danny swallowed hard, and when he looked at his son again, his eyes were wet. “I never told you how damn sorry I am that I was driving … that I didn't do enough …”
Seamus reached out suddenly and gripped his father's frail hand. “Dad, I've been blaming you, and I've been blaming myself. But I wasn't there, and anybody could have been driving that car. You didn't cause that accident. A drunk driver did. Hell, you weren't even speeding.”
“But if I hadn'ta had that beer—”
“That beer wasn't enough to make a difference. I know that. I just needed somebody to blame …” His throat closed again, and he had to wait a moment before he could clear it and continue. “The simple fact is that there are some things that just happen. Some things you just have no control over, and nothing you do will make any difference …” His voice broke and he looked away.
He felt Danny's hand turn over beneath his, and then for the first time in years felt the comforting strength of his father's grip. He squeezed back, and tried to swallow the tears that blurred his vision.
Neither of them spoke for a long time. The sun rose higher, and a large egret strolled slowly across the lawn, ignoring them as it searched for lizards and bugs. A seagull landed on a nearby table, but realizing after a moment that the humans had no food, took flight again.
Seamus spoke finally. “I'm selling the house.”
“Good. Good. Sometimes you need to make a clean break in order to get on with life. It's time you got on, son.”
Seamus nodded. “I've been marking time for too long.”
“That you have.”
“So, when you get out of here, you'll come stay with me, right?” He thought he felt his father's hand tremble.
“Sure,” Danny said. “For a while. Until I find me a job and a place of my own.”
“You don't have to do that, Dad.”
“Yes. I do. We both need to build a life for ourselves, son, and we'll never do that if we're hanging on to each other and reminding each other of the past. You need to find a good woman and start a new family for yourself. And so do I.” A dry laugh escaped him. “The good woman part, not the family part. At my age, I want grandchildren, not babies of my own.”
“You never know.” He turned to look at his dad, and saw an almost-forgotten twinkle in the old man's eyes. To his own surprise, he laughed. God, it felt good to be free to laugh. “Yeah, right,” he said, rising. “I'll stop by again in the next day or two, okay? But there's a case going on right now that I need to keep an eye on. And don't you be bothering those young nurses.”
Seamus walked away, followed by his father's chuckle.
And then he heard Danny say quietly, “I love you, son.”
He made it to his car before the tears reached his cheeks.
CHAPTER 20
2 Days
Carey jolted awake, her heart pounding in terror, and stared into the inky black of night. She had been talking to John Otis, had watched him turn with a sad smile and begin the long walk down a narrow corridor from which he would never return. She screamed that he was innocent, she tried to run after him, but no one had listened, and no matter how hard she ran, she hadn't been able to catch him.
Now she was sitting in her bed, drenched with sweat, her heart pounding wildly.
“Carey?” Seamus's sleepy voice came out of the darkness beside her. “What's wrong?”
“Nightmare.”
“You okay?”
“Yeah.” Part of her wanted to turn toward him and feel the comfort of his arms around her, but she knew she wasn't going to be able to go back to sleep. Less than forty-eight hours remained. She patted his arm reassuringly. “I'm just going to get something to drink.”
“Okay.” His breathing slowed and deepened. He was already back asleep.
She envied him. Easing out from beneath the covers, she rose from the bed and felt around for her bathrobe. It was four in the morning, and her body felt chilled, even though she kept the house at eighty degrees. She found the robe and slipped it on, wrapping it tightly around herself.
The lights were still on downstairs. She felt almost guilty as she remembered the laughing chase through the house that had ended with them both sprawled on her bed. How could she have had fun when a man was about to die?
The question struck her foggy brain as puerile. Of course she had fun. And she would go on living and having fun no matter what happened. She couldn't seriously think that she was going to spend every minute of her life in mourning over something she couldn't stop.
It was like seeing somebody in front of a train, she thought as she pulled out the milk and poured herself a glass. All you could do was try to save them. And if you failed, you couldn't spend the rest of your life trying to atone through self-flagellation. That's what Seamus had been trying to do for the last seven years, and she couldn't see that it had done a damn bit of good.
But all this reasoning di
d little to ease the panic that kept her heart fluttering. She was afraid to look at the clock, for fear that she would count the minutes that were slipping away.
She stood at the patio doors and looked out into the moonlit night. With the kitchen light off, she could see her garden, frosted in silver, looking deep and mysterious in the quiet of the predawn hours.
She wondered if the governor's office would call this morning, or if she would have to make some kind of threat to get his attention. She wondered if Jamie was out there somewhere, prowling, looking for another victim to make his point. She wondered if John Otis was sleeping tonight, or if he was sitting awake, afraid to relinquish even a few of the last precious minutes of his life to sleep.
The flutters of panic intensified, making her heart pound until she wondered if it would hammer its way out of her chest.
All weekend long, all the law enforcement agencies in Pinellas County had been looking for Jamie Otis. They'd had only minor success. A convenience store operator in Gulfport thought he'd seen him a couple of times. A pizza shop thought they'd sold him pizza once, and maybe a sandwich another time. A grocery clerk in South Pasadena, which bordered Gulfport on the west, thought he'd bought a few groceries there. None of the apartment houses in the area recognized him as a tenant, but that didn't mean much. He could be crashing with a friend. Or, at this time of year, before the snowbirds returned, there were an awful lot of vacant houses where he could be hiding.
Given that the only photo they had of him was five years old, he might look so different now that he could walk the streets right under the noses of the police and never be recognized.
Shit Her heart gave a big lurch, and she turned from the window, wondering how hours could seem at once so long and so short She couldn't wait to get to the station this morning and start working on the governor again. It was their best hope at this point, and a very poor one at that She knew the political climate in this state too well to believe that the governor was going to order a stay based on what they had. But she had to try. Trying was all she could do.