Six foot three, keen-eyed, square-jawed and broad-shouldered, Pete was the epitome of a “working man’s cop”. While a few of the flashier Inspectors fancied themselves as media savvy and wore Versace and Ferragamo, Pete’s suits were straight off the rack from Men’s Warehouse, and his footwear came from Florsheim. He never understood why anyone would spend five hundred bucks on a pair of shoes to walk through an alley littered with needles, blood and piss… or worse.
Like Kelly, Pete grew up in his own family business, hearing fascinating and often morbid tales at the feet of his father and grandfather, both proud members of the force. Some of Pete’s favorite memories were when his Dad and Grandpa had a warm buzz on and reminisced about the past. Their stories ranged from dealing with stoned, unbathed free-love Hippies in the Haight/Ashbury district, to trying to solve the riddle of the Zodiac killer, to shocking inside tales about Patty Hearst and the Symbionese Liberation Army.
Pete listened for hours on end; mesmerized by the firsthand accounts of how the SFPD dealt with the underbelly of the place they called The City. There was never a doubt he’d follow in the large footsteps of his family.
Growing up the son of a cop wasn’t easy. His friends thought it was cool that if Pete ever got nailed for something like speeding, or maybe driving after having a few beers, his old man could just flash his badge and a get-outta-jail-free card would magically appear. When Pete went out with his buddies, they always tapped him to be the designated driver. He never argued and never touched a drop of alcohol, because the institutional penalty for stepping out of line would’ve been trivial compared to the punishment he’d face at home.
He loved his Dad, and in the Ericson household, love took the form of reverence and obedience. Being an only child, Pete didn’t have the good fortune of an older sibling to test the boundaries of what he could and couldn’t get away with. It was trial and error, and all it took was a few sharp smacks (that he never saw coming) and a few stern lectures (that he always saw coming) to guide him down the right path. Mrs Ericson never had to utter the words “wait till your father gets home”.
As Pete grew older and stronger, the tacit threat of physical punishment faded away. Rather, it was the unspoken threat of letting his father down. The last thing he ever wanted to see was the look of disappointment in his father’s face. And while Sergeant Ericson was never effusive with compliments or public shows of emotion, Pete knew he was loved. He only saw his father cry twice: once when the San Francisco Giants won the World Series in 2010 (after a fifty-six-year drought); and once when Pete graduated from the Academy. Seeing the pride welling up in his father’s eyes at that moment was all the motivation Pete needed to work his ass off to be the best officer the SFPD had ever put on the street.
He knew he’d have success on the force. What he didn’t know was if he’d have success in life, which to him meant finding a special woman with whom he could start a family. He already had one strike against him in the game of love. When Pete was twenty-two, he married Diane, a woman he’d met at City College. Their marriage was destined to derail before their vows were cold. When they impulsively tied the knot after two months of dating, they didn’t realize how little they had in common.
Diane wanted the finer things in life. Pete wanted to be a cop. Those two streets rarely, if ever, merge. It wasn’t long before Diane took to finding pleasure in the bottom of a bottle, and when that no longer did the trick, she stepped up to cocaine. At first she tried to hide it, but eventually got to the point where she didn’t care if her policeman husband knew about her illicit habit.
It was no big mystery that Diane’s wedding ring suddenly “went missing” a few days before Pete found her crashed out on the sofa, the remainder of an ounce of coke sitting on the Ikea coffee table. Pete knew their relationship was on rocky ground, but hadn’t realized it was straddling a fault line.
After a quick, and yet surprisingly ugly divorce, Pete wondered how in the hell he’d gotten himself involved with her in the first place. The answer was glaring in its simplicity: Pete’s father got married when he was twenty-two, so Pete’s internal clock started ticking loudly when he turned twenty-one. It was completely irrational, but sometimes logic has no place at the table.
Just like his Dad, Pete got married at age twenty-two. The difference was, his father had found the right woman. Pete vowed that next time he’d wait until he was certain he had the right partner before stepping back into the batter’s box.
When he met Kelly, his first reaction was she was out of his league. Like, way out of his league. Even though he was an Inspector, she was a doctor. Different colored collars altogether. Kelly came from the privileged class, complete with private schools, nannies and foreign vacations. Surely she was destined to marry a banker, a lawyer, or another doctor. Pete couldn’t fathom her spending the rest of her life with a cop.
But life rarely takes a predictable path. Contrary to the song, life is not a highway. It’s more of a winding country road, punctuated by the unexpected at almost every turn. Class distinctions, education, occupations… they mean nothing if there’s an undeniable attraction, and the attraction between Pete and Kelly was palpable. He was quickly convinced she was the one; smart, independent, strong-willed and pure of heart. Also, he was pretty sure he wouldn’t walk in one day to find her in a drug coma.
Kelly finished telling Pete why she was inclined to turn down the job at St Francis, but she wanted to get his input before making a final decision.
“I thought you’d already decided to take the job.”
“I said I was leaning toward it, but a ten-year-old came into the clinic today with a gunshot wound. Ten years old! It brought back into focus how much our community needs the clinic, and how important it is that I’m a part of that.”
“Think of the number of people you could help if you were at a large hospital,” he said.
“Think of the bureaucracy.”
“Think of the money.” Pete smiled.
“I didn’t get into medicine for the money, just like you didn’t become a cop to get rich.”
“That’s why it would be nice to have a rich girlfriend. I even started a list of the places you could take me,” he said with a straight face.
Kelly laughed. “Really?”
“I thought we could start small, like a week in Hawaii or something.”
“A week in Hawaii. Any place in particular?”
“I heard that the Four Seasons in Maui was nice. I’m sure you’d like it there, and I’d go along if you twisted my arm.”
“Good news, Inspector. Your arm’s going to be just fine.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Pete finished what was left of his scotch and signaled for another round. “What’s your father say about this?”
“He agrees with you, but he’s being a martyr. If I left the clinic, I don’t know where he’d find the money to bring in another doctor, which means he’d put in even longer hours. At his age he should be taking a step back, not assuming more responsibility. As it stands, he’s got no life whatsoever outside the clinic.”
“Your father seems happy with a good book and a comfortable chair. He’s not exactly the adventurous type.”
“I worry about him. Ever since Mom died, he’s filled the void with work. I’m afraid that one of these days he’s going to realize life has passed him by and he’ll be too old to do anything about it.”
Pete placed his hand on Kelly’s. “What about your life? You spend six days a week at the clinic, most of Sunday with Jessica, and barely have enough time to unwind at night before you start back up.”
Kelly had heard it all before. She couldn’t argue, because it was a fair assessment. And Pete never made it about him.
“I’m trying to find time for me… for us… but the clinic’s going through a rough patch and my Dad needs me there.”
“Sounds to me like there’s more than one martyr in the Harper family,” he said with a smile.
Kelly
often wondered if the reason she was working at the clinic was because she felt she owed it to her father as a result of what happened to Jessica. Or was it because she was still trying to earn his favor? She’d never shared these feelings with anyone. They were too personal. Too painful. But maybe she should. Maybe it would be healthy to give some air to her thoughts. If nothing else, it might help her decide what to do about the job at St Francis.
“You could be right. Although, I never saw myself as Joan of Arc.”
“You’ve got much better hair,” he quipped. “All I’m saying is, you need to focus on yourself once in a while. Your father’s gonna be just fine.”
Kelly smiled. Maybe Pete was right. She’d spend some time focusing on herself.
Her father would be fine.
At that very moment, David was perfectly fine, happily walking down the street through the cool, moist San Francisco night. This weather always reminded him of his youth, going to Giants games at Candlestick Park with his best friend Jim and watching as the dense layer of coastal fog swirled in, sometimes making it impossible to see Mays in center or even McCovey at first. The stands were never more than half full and the temperatures plummeted in the later innings, but David and Jim always stuck it out to the end, cheering on the men in orange and black.
As he passed by Monaghan’s Irish Bar, he stopped for a moment and looked in. The warm glow of the tavern was a siren song, beckoning him to enter and join the happy revelers inside. David momentarily considered ducking in for a Black and Tan, but then thought better of it. He still had a small glow from the scotch, which helped ward off the chill. That was his quota for the night.
He pulled up his collar and stepped off the curb. As he was halfway across the intersection, a dark grey SUV suddenly raced out of the murky shadows. It drunkenly weaved down the street and was headed directly toward him.
For the briefest moment David was frozen, transfixed by the rapidly advancing SUV. He watched as it grew larger, wondering if this was fate or something else.
Something more sinister.
David snapped back to reality and lunged to get out of the path of the hurtling vehicle, but his loafers weren’t designed for traction and he lost his footing on the slick pavement, tumbling to his knees.
A massive rush of adrenaline surged through David’s body, jolting him like a plunge in a frozen lake. He scrambled to his feet, and as he rose up, his eyes locked in on the man behind the wheel. David couldn’t make out his features, but something about the driver seemed familiar. Before his brain could process that thought, David was hammered by four thousand pounds of steel and aluminum alloy.
His body tumbled through the air like a ragdoll flung by a petulant child, crashing back to Earth some twenty feet from the intersection in a crumpled pile of crushed bone and torn flesh.
The SUV never slowed down. Never the slightest hint of brake lights. The tires screeched and skidded as the car accelerated around the corner and vanished into the night.
5
As the waiter delivered their final round of drinks, Kelly still equivocated about whether to take the job at St Francis. She hated leaving things unresolved, so she wanted to make a decision, feel good about it and then move forward.
Pete read the situation and offered up some advice. “Kel, we’re three drinks in. You should call it a night and weigh your options in the morning with a clear head.”
She nodded and raised her glass. “An insightful suggestion from the intuitive Inspector.” They clinked glasses.
Pete said, “Glad I could help.”
Kelly smiled. “Talking about it with you is really helpful. Once I figure this thing out, let’s head to the lake for a long weekend.”
The thought of having Kelly to himself for three or four days was a rare opportunity. “Sounds great. I’ll check on cabin rentals.”
“Pump the brakes. I said once I figure this out.”
“Which you’ll need to do soon or your head’s gonna explode. Plus, if I don’t make reservations, you’ll find some lame excuse to push this off, like that trip to San Diego last spring.”
“I wouldn’t classify having an emergency appendectomy as a lame excuse.”
“Appendectomies are for wimps. You could’ve toughed it out if you really wanted to.”
Kelly’s laugh was music to Pete’s ears. “So I’ve gone from martyr to wimp?”
Their banter was interrupted by the vibration of Kelly’s cell phone. She glanced at the number and shrugged.
Pete said, “You gonna get that?”
Kelly shook her head. “I don’t recognize the number.”
“I do,” Pete said somberly. “It’s the 4th Precinct.”
Suddenly concerned, Kelly answered the phone.
She had no idea that from that moment on, her life would never be the same.
6
The street outside Monaghan’s was a flurry of police activity. Yellow police tape cordoned off wet asphalt awash with red lights from the police cruisers. Puddled blood looked shiny and black as fresh tar. The crowd of curious, morbid onlookers had quadrupled in size, and cell phones were held aloft, recording everything. David’s pulverized body remained in situ until the crime scene investigators could photograph and document every detail. A thin plastic tarp had been draped over his corpse to provide a modicum of privacy, even though he was long past caring about such things.
Pete and Kelly had to park a block away and muscle their way through the outer rim of the rubbernecking crowd. One of the jostled onlookers took umbrage and squared off with Pete. “Hey, fuck off, man!”
Pete spontaneously transformed from caring boyfriend to hard-ass cop, whipping out his badge and getting in the man’s face. “How’d you like your ass in jail for interfering with a crime scene?”
Just then, a slender, 5ft 8in middle-aged Asian man appeared, a gold shield hung around his neck on a lanyard. “Is this little prick causing problems, Inspector?” Without waiting for more prompting, the little prick disappeared into the crowd.
Pete turned to the Asian man, who happened to be his partner, Inspector Ronald Yee. Yee had just completed his twentieth year of service with the SFPD and was famous for his colorful language, his impeccable wardrobe, and one of the best clearance records on the force. When Pete was promoted to Inspector, he was extremely fortunate to have drawn Yee as his partner. “What do we know?” asked Pete.
“Just the baseline facts. I assume you’re aware that the victim’s been IDed as David Harper. He was hit by a dark grey SUV going west. Eyewitnesses stated that the vehicle was weaving down the street before it struck him.”
“Is the Hit and Run Detail here?”
“Yeah, they’re handling the scene. I just happened to be in the area when I heard the commotion,” Ronald said. “Does Kelly know?”
“Kelly?” Pete looked around, and she was gone. “Oh, shit!”
Kelly had made her way through the throngs and ducked under the yellow tape. A uniformed cop tried to restrain her, and Kelly tried to push him away. “Leave me alone!”
Pete called out to Kelly as he bulled his way forward. “Kelly!”
In that moment of distraction, she broke away from the officer and ran toward the center of attraction… a body shrouded under a wet plastic tarp.
The cop intercepted Pete. “You know her, Inspector?”
“That’s my girlfriend. The vic is her father.”
“Damn. You don’t want her to see that.”
But it was too late. Kelly was already kneeling beside the shapeless form.
She looked under the tarp and the color drained from her face. Suddenly, her world stood still. Sounds faded away and seconds seemed like hours. Kelly heard a woeful keening fill the night.
She didn’t realize the sounds of anguish were coming from her.
7
Colma, California, was founded in 1924 as a necropolis. Ten miles south of San Francisco, the city was comprised primarily of cemeteries (seventeen, to be ex
act) and boasted over one and a half million bodies interred, which outnumbered the living population by a thousand to one. Little wonder it was known as “The Town Where San Francisco’s Dead Live”. Colma was the final resting place of luminaries from all walks of life, which now included Dr David Harper.
Kelly wanted a modest, unpretentious funeral, but her father had touched too many lives and was revered by so many families that a small gathering was out of the question. Only two days had passed since David’s death, and Kelly was overwhelmed by how quickly the arrangements had been made. The turnout was massive and the diverse makeup of the crowd was a reflection of David’s widespread esteem. City Hall dignitaries, distinguished doctors, SFPD brass, and, of course, hundreds of locals from the Mission who owed their health and the health of their families to Dr Harper.
Kelly stood on wobbly legs, flanked by Pete and Alexandra, and watched through teary eyes as her father was heralded by the Mayor of San Francisco for his tireless service to the people of the city; as the head of the St Francis Memorial Hospital Board declared that their new surgical wing would be dedicated to Dr Harper; as the Captain of the SFPD expressed the deepest condolences on behalf of the entire department; and finally, as a soprano from the San Francisco Opera sang Amazing Grace.
By the time her song ended, the entire assemblage had joined Kelly in weeping for the newly departed.
Late that afternoon, an exhausted and emotionally drained Kelly arrived at the Peninsula Oaks Healthcare facility. Even on the best of days, a visit here was undeniably depressing. Peninsula Oaks was a private facility that specialized in traumatic brain injury and was home to Kelly’s sister Jessica.
Kelly entered her room to find Jessica propped up in bed, her eyes closed and her breathing shallow. While Jessica resembled her father and Kelly her mother, there was no question that these two were sisters, this despite the toll that Jessica’s condition had taken on her. In her mid thirties, Jessica appeared to be in her late fifties.
Gideon Page 5