Critical Pursuit

by Janice Cantore

  “Yeah, he coughed a lot when I was here. Man, he still smoked.” Brinna struggled to keep her voice steady.

  “Milo smoked since he was twelve. Even a death sentence couldn’t break that addiction. His note just said he didn’t want to be a burden or be so doped up he was a spit-drooling moron. Lung cancer is a nasty way to die.”

  Brinna remembered Milo’s comment about Baxter and how he didn’t want his pal to spend his last days doped up. Was Milo afraid the same fate awaited him?

  “He was a fighter. Why didn’t he fight this?” Brinna’s fingernails dug into her palm. “And why didn’t he tell me?”

  John had no answers. He shoved some more tobacco into his cheek. They sat in silence for a few moments.

  “I left a message the other day,” Brinna said after a while. “Was he already dead?”

  John shrugged. “Probably. We won’t know the exact time of death until after the autopsy, and maybe not even then.”

  “If only—” her voice broke—“I could have helped.” She sucked back a sob and wiped away a tear.

  “Don’t blame yourself. Milo was a very independent guy. He just made his mind up and did the deed.”

  “I didn’t even get to say good-bye.”

  “We all feel that way. Milo was my first training officer. He’s the last guy I would have ever thought would go out this way.” John’s voice was thick with emotion.

  “Thanks for telling me,” Brinna said, after she was certain her voice wouldn’t break again. “And thanks for meeting me here. It’ll be a while before I really believe he’s gone.”

  “No problem.” John stood and patted her shoulder. “His son is flying in from Washington to make funeral arrangements. I’ll let you know when I hear.”

  “I’m going to sit here for a few minutes, if you don’t mind.”

  “Take your time,” John said. She watched him walk across the lawn to his car.

  She’d sat quietly for a long while, tears streaming down her face. . . .

  Now, waiting in the international terminal for her brother’s plane to land, the pain bubbled back up. Two painful facts pierced her heart: Milo was gone, and he’d left by taking his own life.

  * * *

  Brinna watched travelers arrive, greet loved ones, and for the most part leave the terminal smiling. Occasionally someone would catch her eye, a person who trudged along, half-dead with exhaustion, probably from a bumpy eighteen-hour flight. They’d be disheveled with dark bags under their eyes, and even if their luggage had wheels, it was as if they were barely making it underneath their load.

  Heart heavy and physically exhausted from the excruciating reality of Milo’s death, she felt like one of those travelers, struggling with a horrible case of jet lag, wrung out and empty.

  She wondered if this was how Jack had felt when he lost his wife. It was emptiness so dark and total that at the moment Brinna could understand someone losing their grip and giving up. Something caught in her throat as she remembered one of Milo’s lectures about never giving up during a fight: “The will to survive saves many a cop from death at the hands of a bad guy” was something he drummed into rookies. “Never give up.”

  But where was Milo’s will to survive?

  Closing her eyes, Brinna smacked a fist into her palm. I can’t think about this anymore. I will do my job. I’ll do it even better. I won’t dissolve and fall apart; I won’t, she vowed.

  The protection she’d put around her heart kept her standing. Not wanting to let Milo’s suicide wipe out years of instruction and advice, Brinna clung to what he’d drilled into her—that when things were the toughest, when stakes were the highest, a Kevlar heart was essential. Personal feelings had to be bulletproof, impervious to emotions that could cloud sound cop judgment.

  The ring of her cell phone came as a welcome distraction. She pulled it off her belt, noting the homicide extension. “Caruso.”

  “Brinna.” Ben Carney’s voice hailed her. “Deputies found Jessica . . . alive. You were right. He left her in the same place you were left. They were just a couple hours early the first time. A recheck of the area hit pay dirt. According to the little girl, the man drove her around for a long time. She said it felt like they went in circles.”

  Brinna sighed and closed her eyes as one huge load rolled off her shoulders. “That’s great news—great. Is she okay?”

  “As well as can be expected. He’d tied her up, left her alone out there. But she wasn’t molested. She says he seemed to be in a terrible hurry. I bet he’s feeling the heat.”

  “No sign of the van?”

  “No. This guy seems to be able to ghost pretty good. Deputies were all over the place, but there’s a lot of ground to cover. Jessica confirmed that they had been in a ‘van-like camper,’ she called it. She’s a remarkable little girl.”

  “Was she able to give a description?”

  “Good enough for a seven-year-old. As soon as she’s able, we’ll set her up with a sketch artist. You want to be there when that happens?”

  “Sure, let me know when. Right now I’m at the airport, waiting for my brother’s plane.”

  “He’s flying in from South America?”

  “Yeah. How’d you know he was in South America?”

  “My church prays for missionaries; your brother is on our list. Is he on furlough?”

  Brinna rolled her eyes. “That’s right; your type sticks together. I guess furlough. My dad is sick, so Brian is coming home.”

  “Sick? Is it serious?”

  Brinna clicked her tongue. “Yeah, but it’s of his own making. My dad’s lived in a liquor bottle most of my life. It finally caught up with him.”

  “Sorry to hear that, for him and for you.”

  “For me?”

  “Sure, you sound bitter. It must be rough.”

  “I’m not bitter. I’m just telling you the truth. Why? I don’t know. It’s none of your business.”

  Ben laughed. “Brinna the direct. Well, I’ll be praying for you and your family. By the way, Jack filed a great follow-up this morning; it reminded me of the old Jack. What did you do to him?”

  “The usual. I slapped him around a bit.” Jack is the least of my worries right now.

  “Good for you. Take care.”

  “Thanks for the news.” Brinna flipped her phone closed and went back to watching the arrival screen, which now indicated Brian’s plane had landed.

  With Jessica safe, Brinna had only a couple tons of worry to deal with instead of several.

  Her thoughts drifted to Brian. He’d been out of the country for two years. A missionary. Brinna blew out a breath and shook her head. He always took after Mom. But what choice did he have? Dad never had time for either of them.

  The thought that she’d always considered Milo her real dad popped into her mind and she smashed it down, not wanting to go there anymore.

  She stood and paced, shoving the pain down deep. Apprehension about seeing her father in the hospital grabbed her gut like a thick elastic band pulling taut. Afraid she’d start hyperventilating in front of all the airport strangers, Brinna concentrated on breathing and watching people file out.

  When she saw Brian, an unexpected thrill coursed through her. Though they had their sibling quarrels growing up and had little in common, Brinna loved her little brother with a protective big-sister love. But seeing him now, he wasn’t really little anymore.

  Brian stood a little over six feet tall, and he’d filled out in all the right ways. He was no longer the scrawny, pesky kid she remembered. Broad-shouldered, tan, dark hair on the long side hitting his collar, Brian broke into a grin when he saw her.

  “Hey, Sis, it’s super to see you.” He dropped his backpack and grabbed her in a hug she gladly returned.

  “My little brother!” She gripped his shoulders, standing on her tiptoes to do so. “You look great. I guess South America agrees with you.”

  “I’ve been blessed, really blessed. How’ve you been?”

&nb
sp; “Hanging in there. You have luggage?”

  “Nope, just the backpack. I’ve learned to travel light.”

  “Great. Let’s get going.”

  Later, while they were stuck in traffic on the 405 freeway, Brian talked about his work in South America. Brinna listened, happy to have the noise, grateful for the distraction. And very happy Brian would be with her when she walked into the hospital.

  “Do you need to go home first? Or do you want to go straight to the hospital?” she asked when he came up for air.

  “Let’s go see Dad. I bet Mom is there already.”

  “Okay.” Brinna spoke calmly, but the closer she got to Long Beach Memorial, the tighter her throat got. A thought popped into her mind as she drove: she’d rather face ten hardened criminals than one sick father.

  “What’s been going on with you? You’re awfully quiet,” Brian said.

  Brinna shrugged. “You know Dad and I have had our differences.”

  “Yeah, I know. But he’s dying now. Can’t you forgive him?”

  “Mom said the same thing. Forgive him for what? For being an absent, mostly-drunk dad?” She shot an annoyed glance at Brian and saw him roll his eyes. “I’ve moved on and made a great life for myself. Don’t you try to say he drinks because he thinks I blame him for something.”

  “I’m not saying that. He’s just always felt responsible. You know that.”

  “I can’t do anything about how he feels. I never held him responsible for what happened to me, not once.”

  “You and he are so much alike.”

  Brinna glared at her brother. “Did you get brain damage in South America? I’m not at all like him.”

  Brian laughed. “He handles problems by drinking; you by hiding in the work you do. And you both need God in your lives, more than I can say.”

  Snorting, Brinna made the turn into the hospital driveway. “You and Mom won’t give up, will you?”

  “Nope. Mom’s been talking to your friend Milo.”

  “What?” Brinna jammed the truck into a parking spot, slammed it into park, and turned to stare at Brian. “What do you mean?”

  “Just that he called her a while ago and she shared her faith with him. After all these years he listened. Didn’t he tell you?”

  Brinna felt the breath go out of her in a whoosh. She sat back in her seat and looked away from Brian. “No, no, he didn’t tell me he’d talked to her recently. He talked in general about what she’s said for years.” She swallowed, conscious of Brian’s worried gaze. “Milo’s dead. He killed himself a few days ago.” The force of the words coming out of her mouth slapped her heart. She couldn’t look at Brian and closed her eyes.

  “Brin, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” Brian grabbed her hand. “I know how much he meant to you.”

  She let her brother hold her hand for a moment but kept her face turned away. “He had cancer. Didn’t want to be a burden. When did he talk to Mom?”

  “I’m not sure of the exact date. But she said he asked about God and let her pray for him. She said he sounded at peace when they ended the conversation.”

  Brinna didn’t know what to say. Milo had mentioned her mother, but the thought of Milo falling for the drivel Mom always spouted was beyond comprehension.

  “You okay?” Brian shook her shoulder.

  “Yeah, it just hurts that Milo’s gone, you know?” It took every ounce of strength she had to keep her composure.

  “I understand. Are you up to seeing Dad?”

  “Yeah, let’s go. Let’s get this over with.”

  42

  NIGEL POUTED for a while after the Special Girl’s quick rescue. He’d made it too easy. But there had been pressure. He’d barely escaped because of all the cop cars in the desert. And while they’d found her, the dog cop wasn’t mentioned anywhere in the article.

  After he’d left the girl, he made his way back to the coast, very conscious of the need to lie low for a while. All the cops’ sniffing around for him was disconcerting but not too worrisome. He’d always been able to slip away before and he’d do it again. He pulled the van into a beachside campground with a wireless signal. Sitting on his bed with his laptop, he scrolled through hundreds of pictures and mulled over his next move.

  The game had gotten so much more exciting with the addition of the dog cop. She was someone he could work to impress, to directly affect by his escapades. His audience from afar. For the first time in his life, Nigel relished an audience. But he’d have to think up something more difficult the next time.

  After a while, the pictures began to bore him. Nothing exciting in images—he needed to see them in action. He powered the laptop down and got up to take a walk. There was still some light left in the day, so he walked down the concrete path that ran along the beach. Many children frolicked in the surf even this late in the day, silhouetted by a sinking sun. Nigel’s blood warmed to the hunt. The perfect Special Girl and the perfect anniversary gift for the dog cop. Nigel felt more alive than he had in years.

  43

  JACK’S FIRST DAY off from patrol dawned bright, as though someone had finally opened the blinds on his life. His mind was active, alive, as he showered, shaved, and dressed for the day, contemplating the hours ahead of him. For the first time in a long while, the calendar on the refrigerator escaped his notice. He rushed out the door with coffee in a travel mug and headed for San Bernardino.

  He’d called in a marker he had with a San Bernardino County homicide investigator. Jack had helped Gabe Lopez with a gang homicide a few years ago. The victim had been gunned down on a San Bernardino street corner. The shooter fled. Jack found the gang member in Long Beach and facilitated his capture.

  The drive to the San Bernardino County offices took Jack an hour. Once inside, he showed his ID and was directed to the homicide office.

  “Gabe, thanks a lot for meeting with me.” Jack shook the investigator’s hand.

  “No problem, O’Reilly. It’s been a little slow around here. And I admit to being intrigued that you’re interested in this old file. Is this about the federal investigation?”

  “What federal investigation?” Jack frowned.

  Lopez chuckled. “What, is Long Beach in a bubble, cut off from the rest of the state? Don’t you read the newspapers?”

  Jack hitched his shoulders up and pleaded ignorance. “I haven’t been keeping up on current events. What’s going on?”

  “We—the county and the PD—were sued last year by a guy who spent ten years in jail for a crime he didn’t commit. He was recently cleared by new DNA testing.”

  Jack nodded. “We had a couple of those ourselves. What does that have to do with Nigel Pearce?”

  “I’m getting to that. It seems evidence was tampered with, maybe manipulated in the guy’s rape case. This brought the FBI out of the woodwork. There is a possibility that a crooked cop, in league with a lab tech, tainted evidence in a few hundred cases during a two-year period between ten and twelve years ago.” Lopez sighed and Jack recognized the expression that fell over his face. Lopez’s department was under an uncomfortable microscope, and it was a strain. “Every case from back then is being reviewed, the Pearce case included.”

  “But Pearce was killed in a shoot-out. How could evidence have been tampered with?”

  “I’m afraid to speculate. I happened to be one of the uniforms on scene back then. It was my first SWAT call-out, as well as the first time I saw and smelled human bodies fried to a crisp. Things like that tend to stick with you.” He held out a thick manila file. “Read what’s here. Will you tell me what you’ve got going on after you read this?”

  Jack took the folder. “You bet.”

  Lopez showed Jack to a conference room and pulled out a chair. “After you review it all, come back to my office, and we’ll talk.”

  Jack nodded, sat, and opened the file. It took about twenty minutes to read all about the capture, arrest, escape, and death of Nigel Pearce.

  Initially arrested in a suburb
of San Bernardino County, Pearce escaped custody during transport to court on the first day of his trial. A huge manhunt ensued. Pearce remained at large for two weeks before someone called in a sighting. The caller said he believed Pearce was hiding in the mountain town of Running Springs.

  The tipster identified himself as a desk clerk at the Rimwood Hotel, a hotel converted to serve as a halfway house for recovering drug addicts. He reported a suspicion that Pearce was hiding in a resident’s room. Turned out that the resident whose room was in question, Kevin Banks, was also Pearce’s cousin. Banks was on probation for narcotics charges, and Nigel apparently hid in his closet. They aroused the clerk’s suspicion when he saw Banks sneaking extra food into the room.

  Shots were fired from the hotel when the first police officers arrived on scene to check out the tip. The clerk and two residents escaped after the volley of gunfire. Communication subsequently established with Nigel confirmed that he held his cousin and three other residents hostage. There was a SWAT call-out and Pearce refused to surrender. In fact, he hung up the phone and would not communicate further with negotiators. After a twenty-four-hour standoff, SWAT fired tear gas into the house and the place exploded in a firestorm.

  The entire hotel burned to the ground and nearly took the town of Running Springs with it. The siege occurred during a hot and dry Southern California summer. Embers from the fire caused spot fires to erupt everywhere, and one of the fires burned down a house and two businesses close by. From what Jack read, the fire had caused complete chaos that day and several days thereafter.

  After things cooled off, an arson investigation indicated Pearce had purposely opened several gas valves in the hotel, which facilitated the fire.

  Five bodies were recovered, all burned beyond recognition. Four were identified as residents of the hotel, including Nigel’s cousin. One was ultimately identified as Nigel Pearce. Jack noted that all autopsy reports had been removed from the file.