by Ang Pompano
“He called for help. You were yelling to me about the alligators and I wasn’t thinking straight. Maybe I could have done something else.”
“You are blaming me?”
“No. That came out wrong,” I said. I was confused.
The officer grabbed my arm and started to march me along.
“Hey, watch the arm. It’s bleeding.” He didn’t care about my protest.
I thought he was going to make me get into an ambulance but instead he opened the door to a white SUV with a map of Georgia on the door.
“Hey, what are you doing?” I knew better, but I protested anyway and tried to break loose of his grip.
“Get in the vehicle until I find out what’s going on with the rescue.”
Rescue? Was he kidding me? If they were lucky, they would be doing a recovery and even that wasn’t going to be possible without finding that alligator and opening its stomach.
“What about my injuries?”
“You’ll live. The EMT stopped the bleeding and he cleaned it. I have a few questions. You can get further treatment after that.”
You get a whole new perspective when you see a situation from the other side of the badge.
“I didn’t do anything. You have this all wrong.”
Man, if only I had a buck for every time someone I arrested said that to me. I got in the car without giving him any more trouble.
Then he turned to Max.
“Okay, you too. In here.” He touched Max on the elbow to bring her to the door.
“Why?” Maxine pulled away.
“For your own safety. In!” By this time, the deputy was in no mood to put up with any more backtalk.
“What do you mean for my safety?” Max asked.
“There is an angry alligator around here in case you didn’t notice, ma’am, and a man was attacked. Right now, I have to deal with a rescue. I’ll question you later.”
It must have been the first time that Max was referred to as ma’am. She seemed stunned when she looked into the vehicle. I gave her a huge grin and patted the back seat of the SUV. She didn’t see the humor in the situation.
“Not with him. Put me in another car. You never put two prisoners in a car.”
“You are not prisoners. This is for your safety. I don’t have time to argue. Get in.”
The officer guided Max into the car with his hand on her head.
“You never know who you’ll meet in the back seat of a cop car,” I said.
Max pawed at the door even though there were no door handles or window controls in the back seat of the SUV. Maybe she had never been in a police car before. She slouched against the door fuming in silence. All of a sudden, she slammed her fist against the window.
“Damn!”
“What?”
“Just being around you is bad luck. You’re a jinx.”
“If you feel better blaming me, go ahead.” I didn’t see why I should be blamed, but I would take the high road.
“So, what are we supposed to do now?”
“Wait.”
“For how long?”
“As long as it takes. Why were you out here anyway?” I asked her.
It turned out that Max had more faith in me than she had admitted to.
“Even as bad as you are, I decided that you wouldn’t have left Big Al to go fishing without a good reason. I dropped Greenleaf off at the hospital and made an excuse to leave so she wouldn’t insist on coming along.”
“She probably would have wrestled the alligators.”
Max scoffed at my joke. “I knew the boat ramp was the only public access to the river around here, so I came out to see what you were up to.”
“And what would you have done if I was only fishing?”
“I’d throw you in with the alligators. Oh wait, you were in there with the alligators, and I saved you. And then you tried to blame me for distracting you.”
“I told you that I misspoke. I suppose you’re waiting for me to say thanks.”
“It would be nice,” Max said.
“I’m not good with words. And I’m not nice.”
“Tell me about it.”
“I’m better with actions.”
I pulled her toward me and kissed her. And then I kissed her again.
“What are you doing?” Max asked.
“I’ll bet you always fantasized about having sex in the back seat of a police car.”
“I have not.” She thought a minute. “Have you?”
“Only since I’ve met you. Forgive me?”
“Apology accepted,” she said.
*****
There was banging on the window. It was the deputy. Max and I laughed like high school students.
“What’s going on in there?” He opened the door as the radio began to crackle.
“Carry on,” the dispatcher said.
Max’s face turned bright red. I was embarrassed only because I should have known the radio was on.
“Get out. I have a few more questions,” the deputy said.
“You knew the radio was on,” Max told him.
“I guess I forgot.” The deputy’s face was dark and he was clearly nervous.
“Did you find him?” I asked.
The deputy took a deep breath. “An arm.”
“And?”
The deputy just shook his head. He didn’t have to say any more. There was probably nothing left to find.
A park ranger headed our way. I prepared myself to defend Max’s actions in taking the boat.
“I was upriver and saw the man taunting the alligators. Before I knew it, he was over the side,” the ranger said.
“See. I told you he jumped.”
The deputy was practically in my face. “Do you think he might have slipped?”
“No, he jumped,” I said.
“Did I hear you say he was pushed?” The deputy was an inch from my face now.
“Who could have pushed him? There were only two of us on the boat and I certainly...”
“That’s what I thought you said,” the deputy said.
“No, he jumped in,” my voice was emphatic.
“You were both in the water when I got here. Are you saying he jumped in to save you and lost his life in the process?”
I realized what he was saying. The explanation of how the Ava Island police major died would be so much cleaner if Johnson jumped off the boat to save me. No embarrassing questions. No long drawn out investigation.
The officer turned to the other ranger.
“From your vantage point, could the major have jumped off the boat to save this man?”
The ranger didn’t hesitate. “It looked that way to me.”
“And you, ma’am. Is there any chance that the major could have jumped in to save this man? From your vantage point, I mean.”
Max looked from the officer, to the ranger, to me. She gave a heavy sigh.
“I suppose. I was on the shore.”
I guess she finally got the idea.
My impulse was to let the world know what a scumbag Johnson had been. But I knew that for all practical purposes, it was probably better that he died a hero. The cops were happy with the explanation and they wouldn’t hassle us with more questions.
54
WHEN THE COPS WERE FINISHED, the ranger gave me a pair of uniform kakis to wear, and then Max and I shot to the hospital. I needed to get some stitches and, more important, I wanted to see what was going on with Big Al. I was hoping that he was having one of his “good” days so I could tell him that I finally understood what he had been trying to tell me about Johnson. I wanted to let him know that I couldn’t have solved the case without him.
We walked up to the receptionist desk at the hospital.
“I’d like to see
Al DeSantis,” I said.
Max butted in. “Actually, he has to get some stitches first.”
The woman didn’t even take her eyes off of the computer. “You’ll have to go around to the emergency room. Which one of you needs stitches?”
“He does,” Max said.
“I’m fine.”
“Do you, or not?” the receptionist said.
“I do, but I want to see Al DeSantis first.”
“Your name?”
“Al DeSantis.”
I think she was about to call the psych ward.
“Do you have identification?”
Now what was this all about? They didn’t even ask for identification from me when I brought him in. I showed her my license.
“Okay, Mr. DeSantis, Jr. Now I understand. I had to make sure before I told you. Your father rallied this morning. He got up and dressed. He insisted on leaving.”
“You let him walk out? He has dementia.”
“Calm down. We couldn’t hold him, but our Social Worker, Ms. Jenkins, talked him into returning to The Palms. She and another lady accompanied him there.”
I wanted to leave and come back later.
“I’m not going to be happy if we don’t get there in time.”
“You’re not going to be happy if that leg gets infected, either,” Max said.
She gave a good argument that I could lose my leg. It took an hour for them to see me and get me stitched up.
*****
When Max and I arrived at The Palms, we found Big Al lying in bed, his head cocked to the side and mouth hanging open. Greenleaf and Estelle sat by the side of the bed like mourners at a wake.
Greenleaf got up and hugged me. But she couldn’t resist putting in a jab.
“Catch any fish?”
At one time, her remark would have pissed me off, but I think I was beginning to realize that Greenleaf has this overwhelming desire for everyone to live in a perfect world of harmony. But the only way she knows how to achieve this is to cause conflict.
“A huge one,” I said. “What happened here?” I sounded like the deputy who questioned us about Johnson’s death.
Greenleaf touched the bed. “He’s sleeping, but he should be all right.”
“Oh,” I said.
“You thought I was dead, didn’t you, asshat?” Big Al opened one eye.
Max ran over and gave him a kiss on the cheek.
“I never thought that,” I said.
Maybe I did, but I should have known even the devil wasn’t ready to deal with my old man yet.
“The Chief quit,” he said.
“Maryann quit?”
“Took her pension. Stress disability.” Al said.
“She decided as soon as she heard he was coming back,” Estelle said.
I stood next to Estelle. “I’m going to have to talk to you. It’s important.”
“I know, Jill is dead. The police filled me in. I’ve come to terms.”
I put my arm around her shoulder briefly. “When you were married to Granville, did you know he had his daughter kidnapped to hide her from his first wife?”
“I didn’t marry him until a year later, but I knew his wife had been trying to get Christmas away from him. He said he had been fighting it. But he never shared with me that the kidnapping was a hoax.”
“Bastard,” Big Al said.
Estelle took one of his hands and Greenleaf went around to the other side of the bed to take the other.
“Take it easy,” Greenleaf said. Then she turned to me.
“Your father didn’t know Johnson was in on it. At the time, he thought his friend was helping him. Then a few years ago, Daryl and Avalou told him Gerber had been paid by Granville to bring the girl to their farm.”
“Didn’t they think that was odd at the time?”
Estelle answered. “Granville had a foundation to relocate refugee children from Cuba. The Givens women thought Gerber and his wife were taking care of a foster child until she could be placed.”
“Him and Johnson set me up.” Big Al tried to get out of the bed.
Estelle touched his shoulder to make him stay down. “When your father realized what happened all those years ago, he hired Andy Keller to help him prove it. Big Al knew he was having... you know... problems. And he needed some help with the investigation.”
“Maybe things would have been different if he had his son to help him out,” Greenleaf said.
The woman was the queen of backhanded compliments but I only smiled.
“Have you met my friend here?” Al said to Estelle. “He’s a detective, too.” A smile slid across his face.
So, he still considered me his friend. I’d take that. While I wouldn’t get any answers that day as to why he took off when I was eight, I felt confident that I would someday when he was in the mood to talk to his “friend” about the past which he still had a pretty good grip on.
Max stood beside me and put her arm around my waist. Most of the cases I had inherited were wrapped up. We knew the truth about Estelle’s daughter Jill, and about the Granville kidnapping, too. There was nothing to keep me from moving on. Still, somehow, I didn’t feel it was quite time to leave yet. When it’s time for leaving, I will know. For now, I’d found a niche at Blue Palmetto. Plus, I wanted to see what was to become of me and Max. Maybe I also wanted to find out what would happen with the old man as he slid deeper and deeper into his alternate reality.
I’d learned the hard way that plans are just bridges. I’m not afraid of bridges. It will take time, but I’m building one over the hostile waters of my past.
About the Author
ANG POMPANO HAS BEEN WRITING MYSTERY for more than twenty years. His stories have been published in several anthologies, including the 2019 Malice Domestic Anthology Mystery Most Edible. In addition to his fiction writing, he has written many academic pieces, including one on teaching detective fiction. He is a member of Mystery Writers of America, and a past recipient of the Helen McCloy/Mystery Writers of America Scholarship for a novel in progress. A brother member of Sisters in Crime, he is a long-time board member of the New England chapter. He has been on the New England Crime Bake Planning Committee for fourteen years. He lives in Connecticut with his wife, Annette, an artist, and his two rescue dogs, Quincy and Dexter.