Critical Pursuit

by Janice Cantore

  Staring out at the landmarks they passed under a slowly brightening sky, Brinna wished it were Milo next to her and not Jack.

  “I guess that’s a good idea. You really think one of them is Heather’s killer?”

  Brinna closed her eyes and leaned her head against the window. “I don’t know. Who else would want to get to me like this? But I went over each of them with a fine-tooth comb after Heather disappeared. They all had solid alibis.”

  Brinna couldn’t remember a time she’d felt so helpless. Some psycho nutbag was out there hunting kids to make a point with her. Milo would know how she was supposed to feel, how she was supposed to handle this. A madman just killed a little girl because of her. And he was hunting more. The thought felt like a punch to the gut.

  Jack turned left from PCH onto Second Street as they entered Long Beach and started for the station.

  “Hey, are you up for some more coffee?” Brinna asked.

  “Yep, I’m hungry too. Hof’s?” He yawned and Brinna wondered if she looked as bad as he did. His eyes were bloodshot, and bags weighed them down. Thick stubble darkened his chin.

  At least I don’t have to worry about stubble, she thought as she dragged a hand across her chin. In spite of the desire to talk to Milo and not Jack, Brinna considered O’Reilly and admitted that he had behaved like a partner at Crystal Cove. There was light in his eyes while they talked to Chuck, nothing creepy.

  “Yeah, Hof’s is good.”

  Jack parked at Hof’s Hut, a chain restaurant with locations all over the city. It was a favorite with cops because it served good food and stayed open twenty-four hours.

  “Wow,” Jack said as they walked to the entrance, “I can see it’s going to take time to get used to these hours again.” He twisted and stretched.

  Brinna gave an agreeing grunt. The vest and gun belt felt like cement at this time of the morning. A fleeting picture of Mr. and Mrs. Bailey and a thought about the news that would greet them sometime today tempered Brinna’s feeling of discomfort. Swallowing a lump, she heard Milo’s words: “The only salve for the family of the victim is justice. Catch the bad guy.”

  The early shift waitress, Molly, had her hands behind her back, tying her apron, as Brinna and Jack walked in. She pointed to the dining room with her chin. “Anywhere you like.” The restaurant was empty but for a couple of old guys at the counter.

  Brinna yawned again as she slid into the booth and squirmed in the seat to get comfortable, wishing she could shed her belt. Morning breakfast smells stirred her stomach and Brinna realized she was very hungry. The microwave dinner she’d eaten before shift seemed days ago.

  “Good morning, Brin. I see you have a new partner.” Molly brought coffee and menus.

  “Yeah. Molly, Jack; Jack, Molly.” Brinna grabbed her coffee as soon as the cup was full, needing a flavorful caffeine jolt after the bitter dishwater taste of the FBI coffee.

  “I’ll give you guys a few minutes.” The waitress flashed Jack a toothy smile and returned to the kitchen.

  “You already know what you want?” Jack asked as he opened his menu.

  “Yep. I like the plain buttermilk pancakes here. I always get them.” She gulped her coffee and then refilled her cup from the carafe Molly had left.

  “Pancakes sound good.” He closed the menu and yawned, then poured himself some coffee. “You know, the first thing you learn when you make it to homicide is not to let any cases get under your skin. Don’t take this thing personally.”

  “Of course it’s personal. He left the note for me.” Brinna shot him an irritated glance.

  He peered down his nose at her, his eyes still normal, not creepy. “It’s not personal. This nut doesn’t need you or what you do to be a killer. He’s chosen to thumb his nose your direction. It could have been anyone in a blue suit.”

  “I’m lucky, then?” Brinna responded bitterly.

  Jack hiked his shoulders and studied his coffee, saying nothing for a minute. “Maybe you were a target because of your high profile. But I’d bet this guy wants to bait a cop—any cop. He kills kids; he’s evil. You can’t blame yourself for the evil in the world.” Jack sat back in the booth, scrunched up a napkin in his hand. His eyes took on a faraway stare.

  “Milo says that. He also says good cops are the antidote for evil. Especially when someone is murdered. We’re the last voice a dead victim has.”

  “Milo?” Jack focused on Brinna, seemingly coming back to the here and now.

  “Yeah, he’s the cop who rescued me twenty years ago. He’s retired now, but when he was on the job, he taught me a lot.”

  “Even good cops lose one now and then. We fight a war that can’t be won. The best we can hope for is a draw.”

  “And Maggie calls me a glass-is-half-empty person. I won’t settle for a draw. I want to win every time.”

  Jack shot her a glance that Brinna felt meant he thought she deluded herself.

  Silence reigned at the table until Molly returned to take their orders. When the waitress left them again, Jack broke the silence. “Mind if I ask you a question?”

  “Nope, shoot.”

  “Brinna is an interesting name. Is there some special meaning to it?”

  The question couldn’t have surprised Brinna more if it had been an invitation to a date. She stuttered, laughed, and turned away with nervousness. “No, other than it’s a testament to how screwed up my family is. My dad is a full-blooded Italian who believes boy children are a sign of his virility. He was determined his firstborn would be a boy. He picked out the name Brian, painted my room blue, and refused to believe a girl was possible.”

  “And then he had a girl.”

  Brinna nodded. “My parents never even considered girl names. It took them three days to name me. All they did was switch the N and the A and add an extra N to name me Brinna. Two years later he got his boy and named my brother Brian.” She stopped, suddenly uncomfortable talking about herself.

  Jack smiled. “It’s a conversation piece.”

  Brinna shrugged. “I’ve always called it my insurance.”

  “Insurance?”

  “Yep. I’m absolutely positive I wasn’t adopted because my parents never would have picked a girl.” She gulped her coffee, feeling like an idiot for revealing so much to a stranger. A stranger she wasn’t even sure she liked.

  Molly’s return with their breakfast eased her angst. As soon as her plate was in front of her, Brinna slathered on butter, poured some syrup, and dug in.

  She was halfway through her stack when she decided to turn the tables and poke. “Since we’re being inquisitive, why’d you ask to leave homicide?”

  Jack stared at her a moment, and at first she didn’t think he’d answer. Finally he cleared his throat. “Uh, let’s see,” he began, looking at Brinna like a person in pain but dealing with it. “After my wife, uh . . . passed, I developed queasiness when it came to the bodies. Lieutenant Hoffman let me work a desk job for a bit, but it wasn’t permanent.”

  He blew out a breath and continued. “I didn’t want to go back to work as a homicide investigator. I didn’t want to be preached to by Ben Carney. I needed a change. Patrol seemed like the place.”

  “Ben is a preacher. He says you also used to be a Christian.”

  Jack grunted and rubbed the back of his neck. “Used to be. I can’t believe in a God who’d take my wife away like he did. She didn’t deserve that.” His eyes misted.

  Brinna turned away. “We agree on something. I can’t believe in a God who lets innocent kids like Heather suffer.” For a moment, she thought maybe this was her chance to ask him about her fear that he had a death wish. But it wasn’t a topic she wanted to get into right then. Instead, she asked, “Did Heather’s body bother you?”

  Jack stared at Brinna before he answered. “No.” He shook his head slowly as if the answer surprised him. “No, not that way, it didn’t.”

  “Maybe you were right, then; maybe patrol is better for you. Your wife got hit
by a drunk driver, didn’t she?”

  “Yes, she did.” Jack’s fork stopped halfway to his mouth; then he put it on his plate. “His sentencing is less than two weeks away.”

  Brinna didn’t miss the anger flashing across his eyes and the tightness of his jawline. “I read about it. First-time offender. He’ll probably get five years. Bet that ticks you off.”

  Jack grunted and nodded, slopping more coffee into his cup. “You got that right. The puke deserves the death penalty.”

  “At least you have closure. You know he’ll be punished and pay for the crime he committed. Even if the punishment doesn’t fit the crime.”

  “That’s supposed to be consolation?” Though his eyes burned with anger, Brinna liked it much better than when they were creepy.

  “Sure. They never caught the guy who kidnapped me. They think Pearce was good for it, but I couldn’t ID him. Other kids are found dead, no one is ever caught, parents never get closure, and perpetrators aren’t punished. If I did believe in God, that would be one conversation I’d have with him.”

  “God.” Jack spit the word out and reclined against the booth. “Like I said, this is a perfect example of why there is no God. The wicked get away with stuff and the innocent, like Vicki and Heather, pay the ultimate price.”

  “So why give up the fight?”

  “What?” Jack stared at Brinna, his eyes now bright with surprise.

  “You left homicide. Everyone says you’re burnt out. Why quit?” Brinna toyed with her coffee cup. “A kid like Heather, she’s just as important to her parents as Vicki was to you. In homicide you could help find them justice, yet you want to quit. I don’t get it.”

  “I’m not a quitter,” Jack said through gritted teeth. “It’s just sometimes, when there is nothing to go home to, I think, what is the point? We are fighting a losing battle—admit it.”

  “There you lose me. Maybe we don’t catch them all and maybe I can’t save them all, but I owe every one of them the effort. I may not be a Christian, but I agree with your preaching partner, Ben. We have to fight the good fight. If Milo had given up on me, I’d be dead in the desert. Guys like him, you, me—we owe it to the innocent to keep fighting.”

  Jack said nothing, just stared. After a minute he looked away. “Sounds like you’re trying to pass an oral board. You really believe all that?”

  Brinna pushed her finished plate away and took a final swig of coffee. “I don’t care if you think it’s corny. It’s why I’m a cop. And it’s why I’ll catch the guy who killed Heather or die trying.”

  Molly’s return interrupted Jack’s response. They paid their bill and left.

  They made the drive to the station in silence. Brinna decided she could probably stand a couple of weeks with Jack if he left the creepy eyes at home.

  30

  NIGEL WANDERED the beach, his camera always at the ready. He wondered if the dog cop had gotten his message. He’d seen nothing in the paper. But she was still being hounded about shooting someone, and that was a good thing. The last article said that the dead kid’s lawyer not only wanted the dog cop fired, but serving time.

  The thought of the dog cop in prison made Nigel smile.

  He wanted to be sure she got the first message before he sent the next. The next message—the next Special Girl—needed to be stupendous. Something that would make everyone stand up and take notice.

  He smiled, finding amusement in the thought that he’d never really wanted attention until he learned of the dog cop. He was smart, very able to vanish when circumstances required he disappear, and he’d been proficient at hiding for years. But the knowledge that he shared a special anniversary with someone changed everything.

  He took a picture of some children building sand castles near the surf and quickly put the camera away to avoid the inquiring gaze of a vigilant mom. Nigel sauntered to the pier. There he was able to snap a lot of photos, making it appear like he was only interested in the sand and surf.

  He’d be patient. He had time. Hope you don’t think I’ve given up, Dog Cop. I never give up.

  31

  BRINNA STOPPED by the house to pick up Hero, then headed for the beach, striving to keep sorrow from engulfing her. I need some normalcy, she thought. The only normal family she knew were the DiSantos. Tony would be either at the kayak rental kiosk or nearby. Brinna needed the loquacious Italian and his family to help mitigate the misery she felt.

  The weather had cooled somewhat, but it was still going to be a hot day. With everything that weighed on her mind, it would be difficult to sleep under the best of circumstances.

  She parked near the kayak outfitter and fed the meter. Hero bounded out of the truck, full of K-9 energy. Brinna threw a ball for him several times as she walked across the sand. As she’d hoped, Tony was there with a big bonus—both of his granddaughters. Tony leaned against the rental kiosk counter. In front of him, running in and out of the small waves, huge smiles on their faces, were Carla and Bella.

  “Hey, Tony, my good friend,” Brinna called out. “You loafing?”

  Tony turned and grinned. He brushed sand off his hands and waved. “Brinna, my good friend. I’m babysitting.”

  Hero bounded up to him, tail wagging. The man reciprocated by tumbling with the dog onto the sand in playful roughhouse, much to the delight of the two little girls, who squealed as they watched their grandpa and the dog.

  After satisfying Hero with some scratching, Tony pulled a couple of beach chairs from the kiosk, and they sat while Hero trotted to the surf to play with the twins. He sat patiently while they tried to bury him with sand, getting up every once in a while to shake and spread sand everywhere, bringing screams of laughter from the girls.

  Brinna watched the two girls and Hero play. “How do you tell them apart?”

  Tony laughed. “They are bookends. My joy.”

  “Have you been training them how to respond to strangers?”

  “You bet. We go over and over it. Never, ever speak to strangers, I tell them.” He shook his finger. “And if a stranger touches either one of you, scream, I say. That Carla, she’s got quite a yell.”

  “Good.” Brinna leaned back on her elbows and relaxed, happy that in this small circle, all was right in the world.

  32

  “YOU WANT TO QUIT.”

  “We owe it to the innocent to keep fighting.”

  “At least you have closure.”

  “A kid like Heather, she’s just as important to her parents as Vicki was to you.”

  Words and images from the night before replayed in Jack’s mind as if they were a collage on a DVD in a continuous loop. He lay on the couch, a fan blowing in his face, and stared at the ceiling, jarred to the core not only by Brinna’s words but also by his own.

  “You can’t blame yourself for the evil in the world.”

  How those words had come out without his even thinking about them was a mystery. The Bible preached good versus evil. He didn’t believe that stuff anymore, did he? He’d tried to ease Brinna’s angst. She clearly blamed herself for the little girl’s death. Why did he care?

  The thing was, she’d sounded so much like he used to sound before Vicki died that it scared him.

  Jack stood and walked to the bedroom. Opening the door, he stared into the room that was just as Vicki had left it one year ago. The bed was made; the book she’d bought on natural childbirth sat on her nightstand, along with a jar of cream she’d been using on her belly.

  “Everything stopped when you left me,” he whispered. “How can I ever be the same man I was?”

  He knew better than Brinna did what the Baileys would feel when they heard the news about their daughter.

  “She accused me of being a quitter. I’m not. It just hurts so much. . . .” He leaned against the doorjamb and tears dripped down his face. “Maybe the secret is going back to the job and working it like Caruso, fighting a losing fight but being in denial about it.”

  He knew that if Vicki were alive, th
ey’d be on their knees in prayer about now. Jack hit his forehead with his palms, refusing to go there, refusing to admit there was a God to pray to. Instead he steered his thoughts to how good it had felt to be a cop for a short while. He’d functioned with his peers at the crime scene. Maybe it would be possible to bury himself in his work.

  Yawning, he walked to the living room and lay down on the couch again.

  The little girl. He’d studied the sad, decomposed body like he was a cop and not a broken shell of a man grieving his wife and daughter. There, in the harsh lights of a forensic team, he hadn’t just sleepwalked through pain; he’d been involved.

  The girl’s murder stirred more than a little curiosity in Jack. The urge to hunt the killer bubbled up in the recesses of his mind and he wondered if he should encourage it. All he’d initially wanted out of this patrol gig was survival for two weeks. He’d hung on to his empty life for a year. What did another week and a half matter?

  His eyelids were heavy. As he faded to sleep, he decided working patrol would be a good thing if it left him this exhausted every day.

  For the first time in a year, Jack slipped into a deep, dreamless sleep.

  * * *

  Brinna shared snacks with Tony and the girls and napped for a bit on the beach before admitting she needed to go home and sleep in her own bed for a couple of hours before work. Fatigue would help her sleep despite the heat. She loaded Hero up, bade the DiSantos good-bye, and directed her truck home.

  Her mood was mellow and relaxed until she reached her driveway and saw a familiar sedan at the curb. After pulling into the drive, the uneasiness she felt was confirmed. Her mother sat on the porch.

  Sighing, Brinna patted Hero’s head and parked. She’d been ignoring her mom’s e-mail messages.

  “Guess I can’t avoid her forever,” she told Hero. “I bet she wants to talk about the shooting mess.” I’m just not sure I can deal with my mother with Heather on my mind. When it rains, it sure does pour.