Critical Pursuit

by Janice Cantore

  “Haven’t seen you up here in a blue suit in a while,” Pettis, one of the jailers, said when Jack dropped off his prisoner.

  “Yeah, it’s been a while.” Jack took his cuffs from the man.

  “Sorry to hear about your wife. That has to be rough.”

  “Yeah, it is.” Jack slipped his cuffs into the cuff case on his belt and waited for the depression curtain to descend at the mention of Vicki. His chest tightened with a familiar tightness, but it wasn’t suffocating.

  “You done with homicide?” Pettis asked.

  Jack shrugged, surprised by the question and by the fact that he wasn’t upset at the idea of being done. Am I? he thought as he struggled for an answer. “I needed a break” were the words that finally came to him as he stepped into the elevator.

  “Good luck, whatever you decide.” Pettis gave a mock salute as the door closed.

  His partner sat in the break room, sipping coffee.

  Jack slipped coins into a machine and bought a cup as well. “I’m finished. You ready to go back to work?”

  “Sure.” She stood, drained her coffee, and tossed the cup.

  Jack took his coffee with him. It was Brinna’s turn to drive, so he could take his in the car.

  As she pulled out of the lot, Jack fidgeted, deciding to be talkative. “I’ve got a question for you.” He didn’t turn her way but kept his gaze out the passenger window.

  “I guess I owe you one,” she said. “You answered mine.”

  “Thanks.” Jack took a deep breath and dived in. “Have you ever lost someone close to you?”

  “You mean to death?”

  “Yeah.”

  “No, I haven’t,” she said, and Jack thought maybe she had more to say.

  “You haven’t, but . . . ?” He turned to watch her and saw her frown in the light of the car computer.

  “But what?”

  “It just sounded like you wanted to say more.”

  “I, uh . . . well, I found out today my dad has liver cancer. He’s dying.”

  “Wow, sorry to hear that.”

  Jack saw her shrug in the semidarkness, but she didn’t turn his way.

  “The thing is,” she said, “we’re not close. He really hasn’t been a father to me. He’s been a mean drunk ever since I can remember.”

  “He’s still your father.”

  “That’s what my mom said.” She gave what sounded to Jack like a mirthless chuckle. “For as long as my father’s been drunk, my mother’s been praying for him. She swears God can change a person, turn their life around, make them stronger. I think having a crutch like God only makes a person weaker.”

  “I used to be that way.” Jack sucked down some coffee, anger pricking him like a hype’s needle. “Your mom believes God will change your father’s heart, get him off the bottle, make him a better man, and their life will become all hearts and flowers.” He swallowed back the bitter taste in his mouth.

  “Yep.” Brinna nodded. “My mom’s a true believer. Prayer changes everything.”

  Everything but death, Jack thought, fist clenched around the end of his baton. “I was raised in the church. Vicki and I were both good, faithful. I don’t understand why she had to die.” He crumpled his empty coffee cup in his hand and stared out the window.

  “I asked Ben, your old partner, about that once. I mean, about why good people get murdered or why I was rescued when so many innocent kids are not so lucky.”

  “What’d he say?”

  “Something about God being in control, that believers must trust he’s got their best in mind even when something bad happens. I didn’t get it all.”

  “I’ve heard that enough to make me puke. Vicki believed that as well. How could it be best in anyone’s mind that she be killed by a drunk driver?” Jack said bitterly.

  “I’m with you. But my mom believes that Christians go to heaven when they die. What do you think about life after death?”

  Jack stared at his partner while he processed her question. In all his grieving over Vicki’s death, he’d worked to believe she was in a better place, but if there was no God and no heaven, where was she?

  “I don’t know,” he said lamely, his good mood evaporating like smoke in a strong wind. He brooded, keeping quiet until the shift mercifully came to an end.

  * * *

  Jack threw his kit on the kitchen floor and turned on the faucet. He held his breath and stuck his head under the tap, letting the cool water run over his face and trickle down his back.

  After a few minutes he brought his head out from under the water and shook like a dog, sending water all over the kitchen and not caring.

  God just keeps coming back into this, he thought. Caruso and her mom, my own mom and her constant preaching, Ben, and now heaven. God, heaven—you can’t have one without the other.

  He leaned against the sink and stared at the ceiling. “God, if you’re up there, why did you take her away?” He’d asked the question a million times before and knew there would be no answer.

  He’d asked his mother the same question, and when she couldn’t answer it, he told her not to bother praying for him. But he knew she was on her knees every day praying he’d come to his senses.

  Jack grabbed a towel from a pile of clean laundry in the dining room and rubbed his head dry. Memories of all the messages he’d heard through his life about the mystery of God’s will and the privilege of spending eternity in his presence popped into his consciousness.

  “We see through a glass, darkly.” The verse surprised him. He hadn’t picked up a Bible in a year, yet he knew the phrase came from the New Testament. He knew it went on to say that one day everything would be clear. One day believers would know without a shadow of a doubt, and one day they would be in the presence of God.

  Where does my denial of God put Vicki?

  Jack’s head hurt and he grabbed a bottle of aspirin. Shaking out three tablets, he swallowed them without water.

  Too many questions, not enough answers. All I can do is take one step at a time.

  When the phone rang, he ignored it, heading for the shower. The answering machine picked up as he stepped into the shower. He heard his mother’s voice imploring him to answer the phone.

  “I’m not ready, Mom; I’m not,” he said to the pounding water. “Maybe I’m getting there, but I’m just not ready today.”

  He closed the shower door to shut out the sound and ducked under a strong stream of cold water.

  37

  THURSDAY NIGHT was the end of the workweek for Jack and Brinna. Their days off were Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. As she got ready to leave, Hero watching her every move, Brinna wondered what kind of partner the last day of the workweek would bring—the quiet, dead-eyed Jack or the Jack who acted like a concerned partner and competent cop.

  “That’s what I like about this job, Hero—every day an adventure. I certainly hope that when next week is over, I can go back to working with you. You’re easy. All you require are treats and potty breaks.”

  She hugged the dog good-bye and left for work. During the short drive, she thought about her afternoon conversation with Chuck.

  “Sorry, none of the guys from your Wall of Slime are a match,” he’d informed her. “They all come out clean as far as Heather is concerned, and I can’t connect any of them to the other cases I mentioned.”

  “Thanks for trying. I was afraid you wouldn’t have any luck.”

  “Maybe we’re after an old cellmate. Whoever killed Heather must have known Pearce somewhat in order to follow his MO so closely.”

  Brinna sighed. “But he’s been dead for ten years. Why would a copycat surface after so long? And as I recall, Pearce never did much jail time. If he had a cellmate he shared his technique with, why all of a sudden decide to pick on me?”

  “Maybe the publicity you’re getting because of the shooting gave the creep a bright idea. Based on the cases we’ve tied together, this guy’s a traveler, maybe a transient. It’s possible
he ended up in Long Beach just in time for your headlines.”

  “Lucky me. They all end up in Long Beach sooner or later, where the sewer meets the sea.”

  “Look at the bright side—” Chuck began.

  Brinna cut him off. “There’s a bright side to this?”

  “Yep. He’s a traveler, but right now he’s here in our backyard. We have a chance to stomp him like the roach he is.”

  “I hope you’re right, and I certainly hope we stomp him before anyone else gets hurt.”

  “We will. I’ll fill you in when we come across any names.”

  “Thanks.”

  Was Chuck right? she wondered. Did they have the best chance to catch this creep now? Whatever the odds, Brinna planned on doing her best to catch him, with Jack as a partner or not.

  * * *

  The night started slowly. Time felt as though it limped along. Brinna drove first, and she cruised neighborhoods near where her Wall of Slime inductees lived. Warm summer nights always brought kids out to play and escape the heat of un-air-conditioned houses and apartments. The possibility existed that she’d find a creep out observing some youngsters, thereby creating an excuse to stop and talk to him.

  “Is there anything or anyone in particular you’re after right now?” Jack asked.

  “No, just looking.” She cast a glance her partner’s way. He seemed to be a normal man tonight, so she decided to take advantage. “I spoke to Chuck today. He thinks we might be on the hunt for an old cellmate of Nigel’s.”

  “None of the guys on your—what do you call it?”

  “Wall of Slime.”

  “That’s it. None of them panned out?”

  “No. Can’t tie any of them to—”

  The radio beeped its emergency tune. “4-Frank-8, copy a call on your MDT, ASAP.”

  Brinna waited for Jack to read her the call. “Well?” she asked after he stayed silent for a long moment.

  “Klein wants us to meet him out east.” Jack read off an address on Conquista Avenue.

  “What is it?”

  “All it says is assist him with an unknown trouble call.”

  Brinna held Jack’s gaze for a moment. His bewildered expression mirrored what she felt.

  She made her way to the address. When she turned onto the street, nothing she saw put her at ease. Neighbors milled on the sidewalk, some talking to officers. Four East Division black-and-whites plus one sergeant’s unit lined the street in front of the dispatch address.

  “What in the world is the mystery?” Brinna asked, mostly to herself.

  Jack answered. “Let’s go find out.”

  They got out of the unit and walked to the front door. Klein opened the door before Brinna could knock. Sobbing resonated from somewhere inside the house, and Brinna’s stomach tightened.

  “Thanks for getting here so fast,” Klein said. He motioned them inside. It was a typical East Long Beach tract home. A short entryway led to a small living room. There a woman sat on a couch crying; a man held her shoulders and spoke in low tones.

  “Let’s go to the back bedroom.” Klein led them past the couple and into what was obviously a child’s room. Brinna felt her stomach drop as if she’d just stepped off a ledge and was free-falling into a bottomless abyss.

  The small bed, decorated in Little Mermaid bedding, was empty but mussed as if it had been slept in. There on the pillow, which should have held a young girl’s head, was a cardboard sign with a note written in red block letters:

  OFFICER CARUSO:

  ANOTHER CHILD, ANOTHER CHANCE.

  CATCH ME IF YOU CAN.

  38

  “I WAS IN the communications center when the call came in,” Klein explained. “I’ve tried to keep it quiet because I didn’t want the press everywhere. But this will get out, Caruso.”

  “I don’t care about the press and me. I care about finding the little girl. What’s her name?”

  “Jessica Blake. She’s seven.” Klein blew out a breath. “Parents put her to bed at eight thirty. Dad thought he heard something around eleven but didn’t come check until eleven thirty. He found the note.”

  “Entry?” Jack asked.

  Klein walked into the kitchen. “Lock picked. Lab tech is en route for prints.” He pointed at the kitchen door. “He came in through here, walked down the hall, grabbed the little girl, and left the same way. This was bold. It was dark but still warm; people were out and about.”

  Brinna returned to the bedroom. Jack and Klein followed.

  “Anyone see anything—cars, anything?” she asked while her eyes scanned the little girl’s room, decorated in pink flowers with dolls and mermaids neatly placed on shelves on the walls.

  “Not so far. I’ve got officers talking to neighbors. How about bringing Hero in?”

  “What about Lieutenant Scranton? He said—”

  Klein waved her silent. “I’ll deal with Scranton. Just get the dog.”

  “Give me fifteen minutes.” She turned and jogged out of the house, Jack on her heels.

  “What can Hero do here?” he asked as they got into the car.

  “He’s an air-scent dog. He might be able to pick up a trail to at least where the car was parked, if they left in a car. If they didn’t, we might even get luckier.” She punched it away from the curb.

  “Won’t it all have dissipated by the time we get back?”

  “Not necessarily. Humans shed scent at an amazing rate.” She slowed for a red light, and when she determined the intersection was clear, accelerated through. It was going on twelve thirty in the morning; traffic was light. “Dogs have such sensitive noses. They can pick up scent effectively, even after time has passed.”

  “But if he took her away in a car?”

  Brinna shook her head. “He’ll key on where the car was, but it’s likely we’ll lose the scent then.” She made the turn into her driveway. “I’ve got to run in and get his gear. You can wait here or come in.”

  Jack followed her into the house. Hero met them joyfully at the door.

  “Hey, bud, we got some work for you.” She calmed the dog down before striding into her office to grab a harness for him.

  Jack followed her through the house. “Wow,” he said when he saw her office. “The famous Wall of Slime. You really do take this seriously.”

  Brinna followed his gaze. “Yes, I do. Kids deserve protection. They deserve someone to fight for them.”

  “Your mission?” Jack faced Brinna with a questioning expression.

  “You could say that. Like I told you before, each of those kids is just as important to their parents as your wife was to you.”

  “I heard you the first time.”

  “Okay. Enough said, then. Let’s find Jessica. We’re stuck being partners at a time when I really need a good one. I asked you once, are you going to be someone I can count on, or are you going to be a zombie wishing for something you can’t have?”

  Jack stared at her for a minute, then cleared his throat. “You can count on me.”

  “Fine, then let’s get to Jessica’s house.” She turned and headed out to the driveway, Jack on her heels.

  Brinna loaded Hero into the back of the black-and-white, not seeing any reason for her and Jack to take two cars.

  She ground her teeth with determination, vowing to find Jessica before it was too late. Struggling to tune in to her instincts, she reviewed all she knew about Nigel Pearce, hoping it would put her in sync with his copycat. He never killed his quarry. He always left his victim somewhere remote after he was finished with her.

  Someplace remote. But where?

  * * *

  Jack hung on while Brinna drove like a woman possessed. She paused only briefly at each intersection before zipping through. He felt as if he’d emerged from a long sleep refreshed and alive with the desire to be a cop again.

  Brinna Caruso made him think, made him realize that he was not the only person in the world to grieve over something lost. God or no God, she was right. I ca
n’t waste my life wishing for something I can’t have.

  Vicki once said she loved me because I made a difference. I helped people. In Caruso’s world I can keep helping people, starting with this little girl. He sucked in a breath and his throat tightened.

  I can’t have you here again, Vic; I can’t. He swallowed a sob, aching with the struggle to accept the finality of her death but knowing deep down he had to face the truth and move on.

  He took several deep breaths and focused on the job at hand. The pain still pinched his heart, but like the night before, he felt as though he were moving forward, not stuck and sinking in a deep, dark pit.

  This is where the rubber meets the road. I’m in uniform with a job to do. People depend on me to make a difference. I have to be all here, give the job 100 percent. I’m angry now, angry at the man who took my wife and the creep who took those kids away from their parents, but I have to put that aside. My partner doesn’t have any problem putting one foot in front of the other. Jack tightened his grip on his seat belt. I’ll follow her lead and trust my instincts.

  Brinna was out of the car as soon as they stopped. She hooked Hero up and started for the door with Jack following. A plain car was present and Jack bet it belonged to Chuck Weldon. The house and front yard were now marked off by yellow crime scene tape.

  A local news crew badgered a uniformed officer on the tape’s perimeter. Jack recognized Tracy Michaels, a local reporter who often covered the city crime beat. He hoped to make it past without her noticing him, but the sharp-eyed reporter spotted him as he crossed the street.

  “Jack! Jack O’Reilly.”

  Jack groaned. He’d spoken to Tracy at many homicide scenes, but he wasn’t up to any kind of grilling right now. I have no idea what Klein wants to release.

  “Jack, please come give me a comment.”

  To shut her up, Jack stepped her way. “Tracy, I don’t have anything to tell you.”

  “Come on, Jack. I recognized Chuck Weldon. The FBI is involved. What’s going on? And Caruso is here. Was a child abducted?”

  “I’m not in charge. You have to wait until the incident commander gives out a press release.”