Killer On The Train

by Bruce Alan Jensen

  Molly signaled she wanted to go back to the motorhome. Pulling him, he ran with her which elevated his mood. Hank fixed a sandwich and called his daughter, leaving a voicemail. “Hi, Sandi. It's dad. I arrived in Santa Barbara and am confirming our lunch date at the Wharf, around one tomorrow. Please call if you can't make it or want a time change. I hope to see you tomorrow, bye.”

  Sandi, a sophomore at UC Santa Barbara. For many years he hadn't been an ideal father. They seldom saw each other since the divorce eight years ago. They had agreed to meet for lunch at the Wharf Bistro at the front of the wharf where it met State Street. She needed to be at work at five-thirty waiting tables at Paolo’s Italian Restaurant, so he hoped they had enough time to talk.

  While trying to focus on writing his article, Alicia’s image remained in his mind, they clicked. He’d had high hopes he’d found a woman he could relate to, one he envisioned sharing his life. Knowing there was another man on the scene depressed him.

  Depression is not an unusual occurrence for a retired cop. A San Diego psychologist, who built a sizable practice treating officers with emotional problems in Southern California, once said:

  “Officers may re-experience critical incidents through memories, flashbacks or dreams. They may burst out crying and sense doom in their future. These symptoms, left unchecked, carry through as the law enforcement officer approaches and enters retirement. Seldom do their troubles get solved by suicide, but it still occurs.”

  Hank’s depression wasn’t thoughts of suicide, nor stress, the cause of his disability; just a bullet. Alicia had given him hope.

  Hank recalled the hurt he felt when his ex-wife left him for another man. He confessed his angst to the therapist he had to see after being shot.

  Dr. Lindsey Hewitt was the psychotherapist Hank got assigned to see. She was understanding and compassionate but had an authoritative demeanor. Hank met her several times at the LA County Medical Center.

  At the first appointment, the psychotherapist attempted to discuss Hank’s divorce and what led to that action. Her patient didn't discuss his marriage’s failure. Probing into the shooting brought the detective to her couch. Dr. Hewitt questioned the killing which brought her patient to share his regrets of leaving his daughter. That avenue led to concerns of a possible diagnosis of bipolar disorder.

  The wounded detective continued to see the psychotherapist and opened his feelings in more depth.

  After the fifth meeting, Hank had progressed to discussing his emotional state of his early family life. He shared his marriage, his job, his education and his absence from the home. His guilt he defined as the cause of his wife’s affair and the lack of time he spent with his family. As Dr. Hewitt listened with patience to his self-assigned guilt about his failure as a husband and father, she pursued his feelings of his mother’s death. On his next appointment, the doctor delved into life after his divorce.

  “Have you seen other women since the divorce?” the doctor inquired.

  “A few. Nothing steady.”

  “Is that to your satisfaction?”

  “Sure,” Hank lied.

  “It’s okay to seek companionship after the end of an extended relationship. I caution jumping into the fire,” Dr. Hewitt cautioned.

  “I get it. One woman, I dated, well, it was a mutual on-off affair.”

  “Were you happy with this?”

  “Not so much. I don’t know what I want right now.” Hank diverted his eyes to the window and watched the gulls flying in circles.

  “Why don’t you write out your emotions and thoughts when these occur? Start a journal. It doesn’t have to be negative or emotional things, consider what makes you happy? What are your goals? What do you want in your future?”

  “I’m willing to try anything,” Hank said.

  At the next session, Dr. Hewitt advised, “You’re released from my care as scheduled. But contact me if you want. You are a veteran, right?”

  “Yes. Why do you ask?”

  “You could receive further treatment at the VA facilities. I understand that they have a good program for treating PTSD. I’m confident you will find this beneficial. Please look into yourself, write your feelings, desires, and goals. It may surprise you how therapeutic that will be for you.” Her expression showed support.

  “Thank you, Lindsey. I appreciate your suggestions, and I will continue with my journal. I'm glad you mentioned it. You’ve been very helpful.”

  THIRTY-NINE Saturday, December 14

  After breakfast and play with Molly, Hank called his friend, Charles, to make arrangements to see him while passing through the LA area. Charles answered on the third ring, “Henry, good to hear from you as usual. Where are you, still in Sacramento?

  “Santa Barbara and then I’m heading to San Diego in the morning. I thought we could meet when I head into LA. Are you available?”

  “No, sorry. I'm in Washington, DC, meeting with congressional aides to discuss the results of a survey of twenty-five of the cities whose mayors serve on The U.S. Conference of Mayors’ Task Force on Hunger and Homelessness. The report, released yesterday, and several of us are striving to encourage legislation to increase aid for the Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program for the homeless, and especially for homeless Veterans.”

  “Another noble cause, Charles. I am impressed with your dedication,” Hank said with admiration.

  “Thank you, and it's the least I can do. How's your daughter? Well, I hope.”

  “Yes, thanks for asking. We're getting along okay. In fact, we are meeting for lunch today.”

  “That is great. Tell me, Henry, have you solved the murder case?”

  Hank explained what had transpired at the scene and who the killer was. “This will likely make you laugh. I told you about Kurt Scott being a suspect because of the evidence found at the scene, didn't I?”

  “Yes, but without convincing proof. What about Scott?”

  “He found Hatchett dead in the cooler. He was so hateful of Hatchett that he pulled the knife out of Hatchett's gut and thrust it into his chest, then left the car.”

  “My God. That is bizarre. You need to tell me the whole story. I'm sorry, but I must leave for the meeting now. I'll call you next week, and we can catch up on our activities. Hope to see you soon.”

  “That's fine. I wish you success in this venture. Bye.” Hank smiled as he ended the call.

  Hank arrived at the wharf at twelve-twenty and entered the bistro to confirm the reservation for lunch since it was a favorite spot on Saturdays. He had several minutes to stroll along the pier before meeting Sandi. He watched people fishing, several sitting and reading while others observed the surfers. A young couple was sitting on a bench scanning the ocean, holding hands, with heads together. An occasional kiss occurred between their talking, which was out of his hearing range. He thought of his cuddling with Alicia and felt lonely.

  The salty breeze off the ocean felt cool while the sun, hanging in a robin's egg blue sky, kept him warm. As he returned to the restaurant at one o’clock, he saw Sandi approaching. Her short coiffed blonde hair shone brightly in the midday sun. He recognized those bright blue eyes and the cute button nose of her mother. His heart swelled with pride that this young beauty was his daughter. He imagined all the men on campus pursuing her. Amused, he realized it was a good idea he was not there as a protective father.

  “Hi honey,” Hank said as they shared a hug before they entered the bistro and got seated near a window overlooking the ocean.

  “Here Sandi. I hope you enjoy this.” Hank said as he handed over a wrapped gift.

  “Oh, what's this?” Sandi unwrapped the signed Julia Child Second Edition, 'Art of French Cooking.' “Daddy! This book is fantastic. Thank you.” She wrapped her arms around Hank's neck giving him a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you, this is great.”

  They spoke about the book and her culinary training until the waiter arrived.

  “The Dungeness crab cake is excellent,” Sandi said. Hank
took her advice, ordered that with a draft local IPA brew. Sandi ordered the crab salad and iced tea.

  Along with food related conversation, they enjoyed their meal. She liked college, but due to her job, she needed to stay in town until after Christmas day. “I don’t need to work, but I like the action and need the experience,” she said looking into his eyes. “I’m going home to mom and Don in South Lake Tahoe for a week before returning to school and work after the first of the year.”

  “Wonderful that you can go home for a while. I hope you have a good time. Say hello for me.”

  “Daddy, thank you for sharing your blog and adventures in Europe with me,” She smiled. “Someday I hope to experience the art, culture, and the food, as you did. You are the key reason I majored in hospitality services. I want more experience with cooking, mainly fine dining. This book will be a big help. Thanks, again.” Her smile was infectious, and Hank grinned back, pleased to have such a charming daughter.

  “I appreciate you saying that.” Hank leaned closer to her, put his hand on her arm. “I hope you know I regret not being there for you when I should have. Your mother and Don have done a great job raising you. Your attitude and what I perceive as your beautiful outlook on life makes me proud. Even though I claim no inspiration for that.”

  Sandi patted his hand. “Don’t put yourself down. During the years our family was together, your dedication to your job influenced me. Sure, I would have liked to have you around more, but when you were there, I enjoyed our time. I missed being with you for a long time, but I’m good with us now, and glad you made it through being shot and are no longer faced with danger now. I love you, Daddy,”

  Hank's heart jumped into his throat. He forced a smile. “Thanks for saying that. I love you, too.”

  “I suppose you know I love Don, too. He’s a great guy.”

  “Yes, he is. He’s a good influence. I'm so happy for you.”

  They discussed Sandi’s school, her major in hospitality services, and business management. She shared stories of some of her college activities and asked about his recent travels.

  “I have an article coming out soon in the Wine Specialty magazine about the Gamay Beaujolais Nouveau wine produced in Napa Valley. Do you know about this wine?” Hank asked.

  Sandi’s smile lit up the room. “That’s amazing. The boss trained us, and we've been serving it before Thanksgiving. We received an introduction and brief description. The customers like it. Unfortunately, no tasting for us yet but I hope soon. What else happened there?”

  “I learned about the wine and the event and took notes.” Hank paused for effect. “Then there was a murder on the train.”

  A shocked expression crossed her face. “My God! Were you involved?”

  “No. I helped secure the scene until the authorities arrived.”

  “Are you going to write about that?”

  “Not in the article. I got involved but can't discuss it now, as the case is still active. I hope you understand.”

  “Sure. But what an experience.”

  Hank nodded.

  The conversation had continued for another hour before she told Hank she needed to get ready for work. He paid the check, and they strolled to the end of the wharf together. When they hugged, Sandi said, “Daddy, please be happy. You seem on edge. Are you okay?”

  “It’s been a few years since I was so involved in an investigative job. I became energized, and now there's a letdown. But, seeing you and loving you, as even a small part of my life, brings me great joy.”

  “Me, too.” Sandi pulled him close to her, kissing his cheek. “I love you, Daddy.”

  They said their goodbyes and promised to keep in touch.

  FORTY Sunday, December 15

  Driving south on 101 from Santa Barbara provided fabulous views of the ocean; calm, and beautiful. A few people strolled along the beaches. Sea lions lounged on the rocky promontories scattered between Santa Barbara and Ventura.

  The 215 mile trip down 101 to Interstate 5 to LA and on to San Diego took almost six and a half hours because of rush hour traffic. The crowded roads and freeways are normal in Southern California. During the drive, Hank reflected on the times he was at home with Betty and Sandi after her birth. Some memories are good, some even better.

  Being able to reestablish a relationship with his daughter made him happy. Sandi was upfront and supportive of him and his work. Most of his anxieties about their relationship had subsided. He was proud of her. She had become a beautiful, loving and caring young woman. Hank knew he couldn't take credit for this, except for his part in giving her life.

  The traffic often interrupted his thoughts. Once he left the chaos of Los Angeles, the trek into San Diego was easier.

  He had made reservations for a space assigned near the water at the Mission Bay RV Resort and Spa. There were several beaches where Molly and he could play Frisbee, run and get their needed exercise. The pool and hot tub were attractive, along with a clean laundry room and other facilities. He planned to spend two days to refresh his mind on the changes that had taken place in the area since he was last here three years ago.

  By ten-thirty, Hank was ready for bed and so was Molly. He wished Alicia were next to him and, exhausted after passionate lovemaking. They would drift off to sleep.

  The next day, after Hank and Molly returned from play before dinner, Hank got a surprise call from Alicia. “Hi, Alicia. What’s up?”

  “I wanted you to know I left the Attorney General's office. The case is solved since the DNA results confirmed Klein's presence at the scene. The evidence included Hatchett's blood drops found on Klein's work shoes and slacks, plus the vest with his DNA, proving he wore the vest. It's up to the attorneys and the court to decide his fate. If Klein's attorney were worth anything, he'd tell him to take a deal. A Wine Train cook had left a knife behind. Still motive, opportunity and the means were there. Premeditation isn't a consideration in this case. considered. The prosecutor might offer a voluntary manslaughter charge.”

  “That's great news. Congratulations.”

  With pride, Alicia continued, “Thomas Gregson addressed the group. He addressed me, ‘Agent Tomlinson, you and your team have done an exemplary job investigating this murder by discovering the suspects and eliminating as many as possible. I understand that you allowed a civilian to take part.’

  “I responded with a thank you, sir. ‘Yes, I did and took full responsibility for that. His observations were beneficial in resolving this crime.’ Wanted him to know how valuable you were to the team, she added then continued.

  “Then Gregson said, ‘I know that and appreciate your ability to maintain control of this matter.’ I responded again letting him know how much I appreciate your involvement saying, ‘Yes, sir. Mr. Carson's intuitive perception aided our investigation while preserving our methods and procedures. I'm grateful for his participation.’

  “Then Madeline McDonald addressed the Deputy Attorney General and added, ‘Mr. Gregson, Mr. Carson was respectful of our authority, and Agent Tomlinson maintained the integrity of our agency. Agent Tomlinson, is Mr. Carson available?’ I advised her you would not be available. You had left for San Diego on a writing assignment. Ms. McDonald asked me to express their appreciation for your help. I said I would. They appreciated your involvement, Alicia repeated with a small laugh.”

  Hank was feeling both embarrassed with the praise and honored. “Thanks, Alicia for sharing this with me.

  “I have something else to share with you.”

  “Okay.”

  “We spoke with Mrs. Klein, and she's happy that Hatchett’s dead. She feels sad that her son was responsible, but thinks his action was justified.”

  “I can understand that, but it was wrong,” Hank responded.

  There was a suffocating silence for what seemed an eternity to Hank. Deciding to break the quiet, he asked, “What’s going on with you and Dean?”

  Holding his breath fearing the answer, Hank waited.

 
With a quiver and sadness in her voice, all he heard was, “I’m sorry Hank. Please understand. Goodbye.”

  Feeling betrayed by an uncertain love, Hank moved on to his next assignment.

  THE END

  192