by Luke Murphy
She hovered over the gravesite, tears slipping off her cheeks. The intensity of the moment moved him. He gripped the wheel tight, blood rushing from his hands, his knuckles whitening. He felt a stir in his pants.
She will be mine.
Chapter 2
She saw them staring at her, but she didn’t care. She walked into the department and headed for the lockers. Her captain sprinted across his office, blocking her off at the end of the hallway.
“Christ, Charlene, what are you doing here?”
Charlene looked at her watch. “My shift starts in half an hour.”
“Charlene, they just put your father in the ground yesterday. Take some time off.”
“I don’t need time off, Captain. I need my job.”
She didn’t want to tell him that if she wasn’t here, she’d be at the bar. And that would only add to the problem.
The captain sighed. “Charlene, that wasn’t an option, it was an order. Take a few days off. Spend some time with your family. All cops are provided compassionate leave for just these situations.”
Charlene bit down on her lip.
The captain didn’t wait for an answer. He turned and walked back into his office.
She looked around the precinct, where everyone was still looking at her.
“What are you looking at?” she asked no one in particular.
When no one answered, Charlene turned and left the department, unsure of her next move.
~ * ~
She knew she had to change and vowed to make an effort to be a better daughter, the kind of daughter she should have been when her father was still alive. The last few years of her life had been lonely, cut off from her family, but now, with the death of her father, Charlene realized how much her mother needed her. And Charlene did not want to let her down, again.
“I’m so happy you’re here, Charlene.”
Charlene stood in her father’s home office, scanning the photographs on the wall as her mother sat on the couch, hovering over more than a dozen unlabeled boxes. Jane was in the kitchen, sorting through the many casserole dishes leftover from the funeral.
“There is so much stuff I don’t know what to do with it all.” Her mother tried to smile but it was forced.
Charlene hadn’t been to the house in over a year, but her father’s office hadn’t changed. Awards, accommodations, and pictures with important LA officials lined the walls. There were no pictures of Charlene, her sister, or their mother. There was not one personal item anywhere in the office.
Charlene moved towards her mother and sat down beside her. She looked into her eyes, saying nothing. Then, she wrapped her arms around her and squeezed gently. She could feel her eyes moisten when she said, “I’m sorry, Mom.”
Her mom squeezed back. “I know, honey. It’s okay.”
Charlene sniffed, the warmth of the hug surrounding her. She hadn’t cried like this in so long that it felt good, as if a giant weight had been lifted from her chest. “Not just about Dad, but about me. I’ve been selfish and it’s not fair to you. I promise to change.”
Her mother wouldn’t let her go. “I don’t want you to change, Charlene. I want you to be you. I love you no matter what. You have to come to terms with things on your own. Don’t change for me, change for you, when you’re ready.”
Charlene pulled away and wiped her nose with her sleeve. She sniffed again and then dabbed her eyes.
Her mother looked around the room and said, “It just doesn’t feel right, being in your father’s office without him.”
“What can I do?” Charlene asked.
“You can take the desk. You would know more about that stuff anyway.”
Charlene got up and walked behind the desk. There were few items on the top, no photographs, and the drawers were all locked.
Charlene shook her head. “How did you do it, Mom?”
Her mother looked up. “What’s that, dear?”
“How did you live with a man that wanted nothing to do with us?”
“Charlene Marie Taylor, you watch your mouth!” Her mother looked at Charlene, sadness in her eyes. “Your dad was a wonderful husband, and a loving, devoted father.”
Charlene sat down in her father’s desk chair. “Why do you always defend him?”
Brenda Taylor dropped her head. “Charlene, your father tried his best. Sometimes he might have been rigid, like all police dads, but that was the only way he knew. He wasn’t a young man when you were born, and he wasn’t ready to be a father again.”
“So I’m supposed to forgive him for that?”
“Forgive him for what? What exactly did he do?”
“Nothing! That’s the point. He never did anything with us. I didn’t have a normal childhood. We didn’t have a family. He was so busy being the perfect cop that we had to suffer.”
“Are you drinking again?” her mother asked, lines of concern drawn in her face.
Charlene let out her breath. “Don’t change the subject, Mom.”
“I’m not changing the subject.”
“You think that’s the reason I drink?”
“Isn’t it? I don’t know, Charlene. Tell me. Why do you act like you do?”
“I know what you’re going to say, Mom. You’re going to tell me that I love being a cop, but fitting in with the perfect-detective father, walking in his shadow, knowing that I’m a screw-up sends me to the bottle? Or that trying to live up to a demanding father with impossibly high expectations, to be the son he never had, was too much. Go ahead, tell me. I’ve heard it all before.”
She could see her mother’s eyes moisten.
“Do you want to know what I think? I think that father and daughter are two people more alike than they realized, and loved each other deeply, but hit a wall trying to communicate.”
“I know he disapproved of my lifestyle.” Charlene looked down at the freshly varnished desk.
Her mother shook her head. “Charlene, your father grew up in a different generation. Women acted differently than they do now. He just didn’t understand that. It doesn’t mean he loved you any less.”
Brenda reached into a box and pulled out a rolled up poster. She slid off the elastic and flattened it out.
“Fernando Valenzuela,” she said. “That’s an old one.”
Charlene looked up and hurried around the desk. She sat next to her mother and looked at the poster.
“He still has this?”
Brenda nodded, putting her arm around Charlene’s shoulders.
Charlene looked at the signature on the poster. “It was the only time we had actually done a father-daughter activity. He took me to my first game. I was only six. He bought us matching Dodger hats, and I thought it was just about the coolest thing ever. That was the only time I ever felt close to him. It was Fernando Valenzuela night and we stayed after the game to get his autograph. I bet we waited for three hours.”
Holding the poster, feeling the warmth from her mother’s embrace, brought back memories that Charlene had missed. She picked up a scuffed baseball and felt tears threaten.
“What about the police work? He used to spend hours with you at the station. He trained you to be as good as him. Remember when he taught you to pick the bathroom lock? You were only nine years old. I was so mad. No one could get a moment’s peace after that. You learned to pick every lock in the house.”
Charlene tried to hide her smirk. “He only did that because Jane was in there all the time and no one else could use it. Sure, I was his little boy, the one who was supposed to be just like him. But that’s it! We had nothing else.”
“That’s more than Jane and I got.”
Charlene froze, almost tasting the bitterness from her mother. The ball fell from her hand into the box. It started to click. Maybe having a child late in life was a second opportunity for her father. He had at least tried with Charlene, but what had her sister and mother gotten? He had tried with his police work, but when it came to other parts of being a husband and fa
ther, Martin Taylor had failed miserably.
Charlene looked at her mother, who would not return her gaze. A lump of guilt caught in Charlene’s throat and she swallowed it.
She placed her hands on her mother’s, now trembling. “I’m sorry, Mom. I never saw it. I was always too self-absorbed, pitied my own life, that I never paid attention to who else got hurt.”
“I miss him, Charlene.” Her mother rested her head on Charlene’s shoulder as Charlene gently stroked her hair.
“I know. Me too, Mom.”
Chapter 3
She’d only been gone a few days, but when Charlene stepped back into the West LA Community Police Station on Butler Avenue, the smells of her youth assailed her. The antiseptic cleaner, covering some sort of bodily fluid discharge, and the dingy lighting hadn’t changed much in twenty years. It might have turned some people off, but Charlene, as when she had first stepped into the precinct at age seven, knew what she wanted.
She changed into her uniform blues, popped a couple of Advil from the emergency stash in her locker, and met her partner at the coffee machine. Jason was polishing off his second donut, wiping off chocolate sprinkles from the side of his mouth.
Jason nodded. “You look like hell.”
“Gee, thanks. It’s great to be back and see you too,” Charlene replied, pouring herself a cup of strong department-issue coffee.
“You forgot the Visine this morning.”
“I’m all out. These lights are killing me.” She squinted and blinked, her retinas assaulted. Turning, she leaned against the counter, blowing into her cup and looking out into the chaos that was the morning routine in a police station.
“I thought you were taking a few days off?” Jason asked.
“I didn’t come in yesterday.”
Jason chuckled. “Yeah, big break. They stuck me with Darren.”
Charlene rolled her eyes. “Yikes!”
“Yikes alright, eight straight hours of talking about you. He’s like a star-struck teenager. Would you throw him a bone already?”
Charlene winked. “Yeah, maybe.”
Another cop entered the lunch room. “Schmidt, Taylor, are you guys on?”
Jason nodded.
“You’ve got a four-fifteen to follow up on.”
Jason looked at his watch. “Christ. Do people not sleep-in anymore?”
They quickly signed out a car and left.
~ * ~
A four-fifteen was LAPD code for a domestic disturbance.
“Neighbors called it in.” Jason sat in the passenger seat with a folder open on his lap.
“What do we know about the residence?”
As they wove their way to the call just outside Beverly Hills, Charlene chewed the inside of her cheek, as she always did when she was either nervous or deep in thought.
“Residents are Monica Schwartz and Charles Lefebvre. Schwartz works as a secretary at a law firm and is on her second marriage. She got the house and custody of a six-year-old girl. Father lives out of state. Schwartz married Lefebvre last year. He’s a financial advisor at a bank. No priors. Probably having an argument over who gets the Audi today.”
They pulled up to the curb of a well maintained, custom-built bungalow with a manicured front lawn. Parked in the driveway were a Volvo XC90 SUV Crossover and a Porsche Boxter S convertible.
“Not bad vehicles,” Jason commented, stepping from the cruiser.
A woman in a house coat and hairnet stood at the edge of the grass and waved to them.
“You the neighbor?” Charlene asked.
“Adelaide Nolan.” The woman extended her hand but neither officer shook it. They proceeded to the front door with Nolan following. “I heard the yelling this morning. They’re normally a quiet couple, great neighbors, and they have the sweetest little girl.”
When they reached the bottom step, Charlene turned. “Thank you, Ms. Nolan. You’re no longer needed.”
“But…”
“Ma’am.” Jason gave the neighbor a nod. She took the hint and backed away.
Charlene could hear an argument inside the house. A man’s openly hostile voice boomed through the thin door. She knocked firmly. The talking stopped, but no one opened the door. She knocked again, this time louder. “LAPD.”
Finally the door was swung open by an attractive woman in an expensive black Prada suit, pale blue blouse, and high heels. A man stood in the background in a charcoal grey suit with a red tie.
“Is there a problem, Officers?” the woman asked.
“May we come in, Ma’am?”
The woman opened the door wider and stepped back.
“The neighbors called about a disturbance,” Charlene said.
The man sighed. “Great, Monica. See what you’ve done?”
The woman stood tight-lipped as the man swiveled on his heels and tried to leave the room.
“Hold on, Sir. We’d like to speak with you both.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Charlene saw movement past the open hallway. She turned to her partner and whispered, “I’ll talk to the daughter.”
Jason nodded.
Charlene found the girl in her princess-themed bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor.
Charlene knocked gently on the doorframe. “Can I come in?”
The girl didn’t look up, so Charlene stepped inside. “What’s your name?”
“Lauren,” the girl whispered, barely audible. She still didn’t look at up.
“I’m Officer Taylor.” Charlene slowly approached the bed. “Can I sit down with you, Lauren?”
Lauren, without looking up, slid over to make room.
Charlene sat down gingerly. “This is a pretty room. Do you like princesses?”
The girl finally looked at Charlene, a slight smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Cinderella is my favorite.”
Charlene looked at the little girl. The neighbor was right, she was a doll. But there was sadness in her eyes that Charlene didn’t recognize.
“Why is Cinderella your favorite?”
“Because she’s beautiful, and she was better than her evil stepmother.”
“Well, I like Cinderella too. But my favorite is Belle, from Beauty and the Beast.”
“Why do you like her?” Lauren asked, now completely interested in Charlene.
“Because she’s also beautiful, but because she’s compassionate and helps those in need. That’s what police officers like to do.”
The girl finally smiled, revealing a cute set of teeth with the two front ones missing. “Yeah, she’s pretty cool too, I guess.”
Charlene nodded. “What grade are you in, Lauren?”
“I’m in the first grade. Mrs. Hopkins is my teacher.”
Charlene pointed to a colored drawing taped to the mirror. “Looks like you’re pretty talented.”
Again Lauren smiled, revealing those missing teeth, and Charlene felt it in the pit of her stomach.
“What were your parents arguing about, Lauren?”
Lauren shrugged. “I don’t know. They yell at each other a lot.”
“What do you do when they argue?”
“I come in here and look at my books.”
Charlene turned to find a row of fairy tale books neatly placed on a short white bookshelf.
“Okay, Lauren. Maybe when I come back I can bring you a new book for your collection. Would you like that?”
The girl nodded shyly and smiled.
“Great,” Charlene said, getting up from the bed. “Give me a high five.” Charlene held up her hand, palm out.
When Lauren raised her hand high in the air to give the high five, and her shirt lifted from her waist, Charlene saw shades of bruising on the girl’s abdomen.
Charlene dropped her hand. “Lauren, how did you get that bruise?”
Lauren jumped to her feet, pulled the shirt down past her waist, and walked to the corner of the room, standing with her back to Charlene.
Charlene walked quiet
ly to her. “Lauren, I need you to lift your shirt.”
Lauren shook her head, but didn’t speak.
“Please, Lauren. I can help you.”
There was a long, intense moment of silence. Charlene could hear Jason talking in the other room with the parents. She turned to head that way when Lauren spoke.
“You mean help me like Belle does?”
Charlene turned back and approached Lauren. She placed her hands gently on the girl’s slender shoulders and slowly turned her around. She could still see the sadness in Lauren’s eyes, but this time it was mixed with fear.
“Yes, Lauren. I’ll help you like Belle.”
When Lauren lifted her shirt, Charlene gasped. Tiny bruises and welts were scattered over the child’s abdomen.
All of the marks were in well-concealed areas, hidden to the public eye. Whoever had done this had been cautious, with the ability to cover the evidence.
“How did you get these, Lauren?”
The little girl stayed quiet.
Nausea burned Charlene’s throat. She made a fist as she felt her blood rise.
“Jason,” Charlene called out. “I need you in here.”
Charlene kept Lauren’s shirt raised, and when Jason rounded the corner, he stopped abruptly, closing his eyes and turning his head.
“Oh, Jesus.”
“What’s the problem, Offi—” When Lauren’s mother entered the room, she covered her mouth with her hand. “Lauren,” she said, quickly closing her eyes and turning away. “I can explain this.” She was about to go on when Lefebvre stepped into the room.
He didn’t hesitate. “Lauren is a very clumsy girl, Officer.”
Charlene looked back down at Lauren, whose head was now lowered. Charlene saw a large teardrop hit the floor at Lauren’s feet.
Charlene looked at Jason, who shook his head, but the anger had already pushed its way back into her throat.
The stepfather continued, “We try to tell her to be more careful but…”
Charlene exploded off her feet. She rammed the stepfather against the wall, pinning him hard, her forearm jammed forcefully against his throat. She could see his face turning blue as he struggled for air.
“No, please,” the mother wailed.