He couldn’t think. He needed sleep, time to clear his head of alcohol, temptation and the foreboding that ate away his insides the minute he stepped inside that abandoned house. They say hindsight is twenty/twenty but the only thing he expected to see if he turned around was the equivalence of a jailhouse fish who just dropped the soap.
Instead of telling the cabbie his own address he gave him Rudy’s instead. At first he wasn’t exactly sure why—blame it on the alcohol. It was better for him to go home but during the twenty minute drive he realized he didn’t want to go that empty house. He wanted to be somewhere he felt safe. Somewhere he was loved and accepted regardless of his impending doom.
It was just passed ten when he got out of the cab. A preemptive phone call had Rudy posted at the open front door. Maria and the children were already in bed. Quiet civilities were exchanged as well as ribbing about Mike’s deteriorating appearance as Rudy clapped him on the back and welcomed him inside.
He warned Mike of the early rising hour of his children reminding him that their volume would not take his physical, mental or emotional state into consideration. After Mike waved off any need for discussion of his situation Rudy reluctantly went to bed leaving Mike alone with a pillow and blanket neatly piled on the sofa.
Mike breathed in the scent of a home cooked meal, clean sheets and furniture polish as he peeled off his jacket. He labored with the last sleeve and finally letting it drop onto the Lazy-boy Rudy called his “thrown”. He looked around at the seemingly insignificant details of the Rubio home taking comfort in every stray block, baby doll and broken crayon lying just outside one of the many hiding places.
He stopped on a large, framed picture of the Rubio family hanging on the wall over the television. Rudy looked exactly the same as he did now, as did Maria. The kids, understandably, were completely different. Each were smiling at the camera with their biggest, cheesiest grins hoping that, of the hundreds of shots taken, there would be at least a one worth framing.
Now, he stood in the exact same spot where the picture was taken. It felt different at that moment. He had always come back to their home when he needed that feeling of protection only their family’s love could provide but this time it was different. Because of his lack of judgment he felt as if he had not only put himself in jeopardy but that of this family. The family who took him in as one of their own.
He took two steps back letting the memory of that day drift away to a place protected in his mind from the other terrible memories he also kept locked inside. There was no point in torturing himself with memories of the past. He did that for too long already.
Fully dressed he lay down on the sofa placing the folded blanked across his chest as he stared up at the ceiling. Dancing lights from the wind chime hanging in the window cast sparkles across the white ceiling as his lids fluttered with the onset of sleep. Just as he was about to drift away a little girl walked into the room and crawled onto the sofa with him.
Little Grace, the one who loved him the most, crawled up under the blanket, grabbed his right hand and curled her young fingers between his own. She squirreled around for a second settling on his bicep as her pillow then immediately fell asleep.
Mike reached over with his free hand, smoothed back her dark, curly hair and kissed her on the side of the head. She let out a contented sigh and he saw a small smile on her face as she drifted into dreamland.
He closed his eyes and imaged this was the feeling a father had for his child. He was denied that feeling but at that moment this girl, this angel, was his child and everything bad that happened to him in his entire life, disappeared.
Chapter 48
The early morning sun accentuated the eastern mountains with streaks of white and yellow when the cab dropped Mike off at his house. Rising early so as not to disrupt the family he quickly cleaned himself up, made his way to the station and sat at his desk by seven a.m. Comforted as he was by Grace’s presence the night before he was still unable to sleep for more than a few broken hours continuing his weeklong streak of sleeplessness. His mind cloudy and distressed he sat hunched over at his desk, pinching the bridge of his nose as if to keep his thoughts from escaping through the orifice.
There would be no third opportunity for redemption. He shouldn’t have been given a second but his character and career bought him another chance to extricate himself from the self-created web of guilt. He had five hours to find viable evidence of Molly’s involvement or he and Suzanne would be spending another night together but under very different and less pleasurable circumstances.
He slammed his fists onto the desktop then slid his open hands across the paperwork flinging most of the contents in an angled, white cellulous cloud as if his desk as just spat them out in its own disgust and frustration. He felt like he studied a puzzle with the single, most important piece missing, a gaping hole that mocked him with each passing minute.
Bent over he brushed his sweaty palms down the front of his jeans before he stood with a low growl like a caged lion waiting for his overdue dinner. He shook his head and walked over to the farthest piece of paper lying on top of Kevin’s otherwise immaculate desk.
He stopped, looked at his watch and then at the clock on the wall. 9:23. So focused on his burden he hadn’t noticed Kevin’s conspicuous absence. It wasn’t like him to be late. Mike walked back over to his desk and picked up his cell. No messages. He scrolled through his numbers prepared to call him when his phone rang. It was Doug.
"Hey Doug. Please tell me you got something.” He didn’t want to sound desperate but he didn’t have the time or patience for airs.
“I don’t know if this is good news or bad but at least it’s consistent,” Doug said.
“Meaning?”
“This one’s dead too."
“What? Who’s dead?”
“The daughter.”
Mike paused. A kaleidoscope of images fluttered through his brain as the electrical firing went haywire as if overdosing on meth. "Wait, what did you just say?"
"The daughter, Molly Stanfield, she’s dead.” When Mike didn’t respond Doug continued. “Apparently she died in a car accident when she was seventeen. She was out with some friends on graduation night, had too much to drink and was smoking some weed and lost control of her car. It went over an embankment, burst into flames and burned to ash."
Mike couldn’t speak. He just saw his entire life go up in flames just like her car and he had no idea how to respond.
“Mike? You still there?”
"How were they able to ID her?" Mike choked. Sand covered his throat sucking up every bit of moisture.
"It was her car. Her wallet along with some other personal items were found in the brush leading down to the fire. It must have been thrown from an open window during the fall. Her friends said she left the party alone and the accident happened on what would be her way home. There was no formal investigation after that since it was pretty cut and dry and apparently no one pushed the issue."
Mike rubbed his forehead. He sat in his chair with a thud as if paraplegia took over his body. This was the worst information Doug could have told him. Anything about Molly had the potential to lead him down a yet unexplored path but finding out she was dead left him nothing. Less than nothing.
Then his head jerked up. For the second time he slammed his fist against the desktop as the implications of Doug’s information eviscerated him like a fresh kill.
"Mike, you still there?" Doug asked again.
Mike stuttered as his thoughts raced with retribution. "Y-yeah, I'm still here."
"Do you want to hear the rest?"
"There's more?"
"She's got a sealed juvenile record and a few misdemeanor charges past the age of seventeen, assault on some tattoo artist, possession of marijuana, underage drinking, driving on a suspended license, that kind of stuff. The good one, however, is that she was out on bail when she died. She was charged as an accessory."
"Accessory to what?"
&n
bsp; "What else? Murder."
"Murder? Who was murdered?"
"Some liquor store owner. Some kid by the name of Chase Eldridge IV went on a rampage. She was in the car when it happened. Allegedly she didn't have any idea what was going on. She was just waiting for Eldridge to buy booze. The next thing she knows he's running out of the store yelling at her to get moving. At least that was her story. The DA might have bought it if she hadn't been seen there three times before in that same week, without Eldridge, and if her fingerprints weren't all over the gun and the unfired bullets. I hear she was looking at fifteen especially since she had a string of priors. Nothing as serious but it's like being caught killing cats."
"What happened to Eldridge?"
"Daddy's fat wallet bought the charges down to accidental manslaughter. With the girl out of the way his lawyers were able to point the finger at her as the mastermind and poor junior was just an innocent that got manipulated into it. Plus, no priors and daddy’s personal relationship with the Mayor got him time served. He went off to Europe after that from what I can tell. Nothing else on him that I can find. As far as I can guess he's probably still there."
"Is that it?"
"A few things but that's pretty much the bulk of it. Do you want me to go through it?"
"No.” He couldn’t listen to any more. “Just send me the rest.”
"Should I ask what’s going on with you and this woman or do I even want to know?”
“You don’t want to know.”
A long silence fell between the two men before Doug answered. “Well. I guess that’s it then.”
“Yeah, I guess that’s it. Hey, thanks man. I appreciate the help.”
“Anytime,” Doug said and hung up.
He put the phone down on his desk and sat there one hand cradling his chin. It felt like he was thrown into the deep end of the pool with his arms and legs tied together. How could he have been so stupid?
Their conversation ran over in his mind and he shut his eyes in a futile attempt to block it out. She must have seen him coming a mile away. That she favored Carolyn was just a coincidence and he was the one who let it sway his judgment. She manipulated him from the beginning and because of that his career and freedom were in jeopardy.
The clock on the wall said nine thirty. Two and a half hours before his deadline. It was two hours more than he needed.
Chapter 49
He rang the doorbell three times but Suzanne did not answer. Undeterred he walked around the house checking the windows along the way. His shoes crushed against the decomposed granite walkway as he brushed against the red hibiscus, their stigma leaving puffs of dusty pollen on his faded black leather jacket as he passed.
Flipping the unlocked latch he made his way onto the concrete slab of the back patio tripping over the uncoiled garden hose. He stopped at the Arcadia door and pushed the handle but it did not budge. He cupped his hands around his eyes and leaned them against the dust covered glass but the drawn curtains obstructing his view. With no additional support keeping the door closed, he pulled out his keys and opened the small pocketknife attached to the ring.
A heavy clunk rewarded his manipulation as he unlocked the door. Mike slowly pushed it open and brushed back the curtains. The smell of burned food wafted through the living room as he took his first steps inside setting off warning bells in his ears.
He removed his semi-automatic and took two additional steps before stopping. On the other side of the sofa, in the dining room he saw an overturned chair. The tablecloth was pulled halfway off and two glasses lay on the floor with burgundy stains pooled underneath their broken, gaping mouths.
While he waited for backup he looked through the house with more scrutiny eventually returning to the only scene of concern. Bending down closer to the broken wine glasses he saw the corner of something white sticking out from under the crumpled, ivory tablecloth. Dread overtook him and he closed his eyes for a second of denial. Using a pen from the bureau behind the table he pushed back the material exposing the white index card beneath.
His stomach burned as he realized it was yet another note, with another excerpt written with perfect penmanship. He turned the card around.
“You ought to have a clear inkling,” he says to me, “of the kind of death you are going to suffer: this perverse blood must flow in all parts; you shall be bled three times a day, I want to see how long you can live in this way. It was an experiment I was longing to make, you know; I thank you for having afforded me the means.”
He contemplated taking it until he realized that would not give him any advantage. In fact only the opposite would be served if anyone found out. He had no leg to stand on at that moment and removing evidence would only make things worse. Instead he copied the words onto his notebook and returned the card to its original position. Kevin could give him another book report later.
Doug’s phone call had interrupted him when he first realized Kevin was MIA and he still hadn’t heard from him. Mike stared at the two broken glasses. Was it too much of a coincidence that the morning he was supposed to arrest Suzanne, Kevin doesn't show up and she turns up missing?
Screaming sirens interrupted his train of thought as his backup pulled up to the front of the house. He opened the front door as he held up his badge and saw two patrol and two unmarked cars parking out front. The inevitability of Smythe and Daily appearing did nothing to lessen his concern.
"Detective," Daily said as he walked into the house. "What happened here?"
"No idea. It was like this when I got here," Mike said.
"What were you doing here?"
Mike looked him in the eyes. “I came to arrest her.”
Daily looked at Smythe. “Obviously she didn’t answer the door. How’d you get in?”
Mike didn’t respond.
Daily nodded. "OK, so what do you think happened here?"
Mike shook his head. "It looks like one person pushing another over. She or he grabs at the table in an effort to stop their fall catching only the table cloth bringing it and the glasses with them. I’d say there were at least two people here but there could have been more non-drinkers here as well."
Smythe walked over to where Daily stood and pointed at the note card Mike left on the floor. He picked it up, read the contents then handed it to Daily.
"Did you see this?" Daily asked.
"Yes."
"Was it like this when you found it?"
"It was further under the tablecloth. I saw the corner and pulled it out so I could read it."
"I’m assuming it’s from some book."
"I would guess that. Kevin would know but he isn't here for the first time since he started," Mike stared at Smythe as he spoke.
Daily reached back and rubbed his neck. "Where is she Detective?"
"No idea."
"So what you're saying is that you came down here to arrest her and this is what you found? An apparent attack and a missing suspect. A suspect you were told to arrest in order to save your own ass, something you didn't want to do and now she's conveniently missing giving you an apparent stay of execution. Is that your story?"
"I don't have a story," Mike said flatly. “I came here to arrest her and this is what I found. There’s nothing more to it than that.”
Daily shook his head. He walked back around the broken glasses and stood in the open door. "You're not giving me any choices here Detective." He looked outside, his hand still fastened to the back of his neck.
"You're the one who isn't giving any choices."
Daily turned and looked at him. The morning sun poured through the door making it impossible to see his face as he spoke. "Leave Detective. Go back to the station and clean out your desk. As of this moment you’re suspended without pay until further notice."
Mike tried to formulate a response that might change Daily’s mind, at least give him more time to find her but there was nothing else to say. He looked over at Smythe whose face shown with satisfaction as he crossed his a
rms and slowly nodded his head as if listening to his own personal playlist.
It took all his self-control to walk passed him without punching the smugness off his face. But the truth was, Smythe had every right to be smug. No matter how the scene appeared it was Mike who needed to be punched. But it wasn’t smugness on his face. It was egg.
Chapter 50
Mike woke six hours later, his head throbbing as he opened his eyes, the top lids peeling back as if glued to their lower counterpart. Still wearing his jacket he lay with one leg on and one leg off the sofa. Dehydration from excessive alcohol soured his mouth as he tried to swallow making the effort impossible as its contents adhered together as if he’d accidentally brushed his teeth with Preparation H.
He sat up and pulled down his arms wincing as the pain indicated their position was all but permanent. A beer and tequila landscape overtook the shiny glass of the coffee table along with a large, white pizza box whose contents remained untouched. He shook his head in the inevitable self-loathing that always overcome him after a binder.
He trudged the short distance to the kitchen for much needed water stopping only to give a sidelong glance at the box sitting on the counter. His desk contents, evidence of his twenty year career, sat with indifference on the granite surface.
Sitting back down on the sofa he popped two Tylenol and opened a liter bottle of spring water drinking deeply as the rejuvenating liquid took immediate effect. As his mind manipulated the details that brought him to his current circumstances he reached for the remote and clicked on the television unwilling to further exacerbate his already foul mood hoping to lose himself in how to make Pasta Fagioli.
The phone rang. He looked at the caller ID but when he didn't recognize the number he let it finish ringing without answering.
When the ringing stopped and voicemail picked up it took a second for him to recognize the voice. Confused and curious, Mike picked up.
Burdened By Guilt Page 23