by Jay Allisan
Construction had been going on a month when Dixon showed up, a set to his mouth that had me dropping my drill.
“What? What is it?”
“Come sit for a minute, Mordecai.”
He seated himself on the concrete steps and I sank down next to him. I fidgeted nervously with Max’s ring.
“You know today was Carl’s pre-trial hearing,” Dixon said at length.
“Pushed back from July because he wasn’t fit to appear in court,” I said flatly. “Pushed back because that son of a bitch tried to kill himself, and some other son of a bitch stopped him.”
“He made it to court today, and I have some news.”
“What?”
Dixon kneaded his fingertips along his brow. “There isn’t sufficient evidence for Carl to face charges on the deaths of the girls’ parents. The judge threw them out.”
“But the rest—”
“Seven counts of first-degree murder, on top of kidnapping, forgery, assault with a deadly weapon and an attempted murder charge from his attack on you. Prosecution announced their intent to seek the death penalty.”
I put my face in my hands. “Thank God.”
“There’s more.”
“He entered a plea.”
“Yes.”
“Not guilty.”
“No.” My head snapped up. Dixon put his hand on my knee. “Not guilty by reason of insanity.”
I stared. He said, “And the judge accepted it.”
I got off the steps, walked forward, turned around, turned again, tripped over my drill where it lay in the sidewalk. I picked it up, the steel bit gleaming hotly against my palm. Then Dixon was taking it from me, his long fingers wrapping around my wrists.
There was a noise in my ears, pounding, rushing, and whatever words Dixon mouthed were lost in the swell. Fire licked up my throat and I knew I was screaming, but I couldn’t hear those words either, couldn’t stop, couldn’t stop. Then I was sitting on the steps with my head between my knees, watching raindrops make wet circles on the pavement. And as the rain fell the rushing subsided, until I remembered it was sunny.
“What did you say?” I whispered.
Dixon seated himself beside me. “I said you need to have faith, Mordecai. An insanity plea is not a walk. You know that. The burden of proof is on the defense, and no matter what happens, Carl will never be a free man again.”
I jerked to my feet. “You think I give a shit about Carl’s freedom? Max is dead! My husband is dead because that bastard—”
“Mordecai—”
“Don’t touch me!”
Dixon’s hand fell to his side, his dark eyes unreadable. I hugged my arms to my chest.
“Max is dead,” I whispered. “And Carl’s dead too. If he doesn’t get a needle in the arm I’ll put a bullet in his head myself.”
“Don’t speak like that again,” said Dixon quietly. “You understand?”
I bit my tongue and looked away.
Dixon took out his cell phone. “I’m going to call Tish, see if she can come over now. I don’t think this will keep until morning.”
I picked up a sledgehammer from my pile of tools. “Suit yourself. I’ve got work to do.”
“Mordecai.”
I hesitated, one foot on the steps. Dixon waited until I turned around.
“This is a long road,” he told me. “Waiting will be difficult. I need you to keep your head up, and when you can’t, I need you to ask for help.”
I looked at him impassively, the sledge heavy over my shoulder. “I have work to do,” I repeated.
Dixon followed me inside. “I’ll stay with you until Tish arrives.”
“Whatever.”
He stood off to the side while I swung the sledgehammer, knocking down the frames I’d just finished putting up. It didn’t matter. I could rebuild. I’d just keep fucking rebuilding.
THE NIGHTS got harder. I stretched my waking hours as long as possible, working to exhaustion and playing the organ by moonlight, but eventually my eyes fell shut and the nightmares came. Despite my bad days there had been plenty of offers for company, but every night I locked the door and camped out on the floor alone. I’d have a hell of a time convincing anyone to let me back on the job once they’d woken up to my screams.
Tish brought up a career change early on, and I’d shot it down quick. I wasn’t finished with police work. I wasn’t ready for more change. Most of all I wasn’t about to lose the only family I had left. It would be months before Carl’s trial started, and Tish made it clear I wasn’t ready to go back to work, so I stopped counting the days and just focused on the renovation.
All the difficult work was done. The cabinets had just been installed in the kitchen and counters were next. Bathrooms were operational. Drywall was waiting to be primed and painted. The problem was I’d run out of money.
I’d spent all my savings on the church and used up the funds Max had set aside for a house. Even though I was saving on labor by doing it myself, materials weren’t cheap, and I still had to furnish the place. Max’s life insurance had been deposited in my account but I wouldn’t touch a penny. I hated that it even existed, like some policy could put a value on him, on what he meant to me. It would sit there until I died too.
I had Paddy look up the number for me in the database. It was a week before I worked up the courage to call, hoping with every ring that she wouldn’t answer. She did. She always did. Thirteen years later, and her voice still put knots in my stomach.
“Yes, who’s this?”
“It’s—it’s me. Shirley.”
The pause was so long I thought she’d hung up. Then finally, “Oh.”
I could hear trickling water in the background, faint music, voices murmuring. She was probably at some fancy spa, frittering away her latest beau’s money. I swallowed. “I’m sorry to bother you. I wouldn’t have if it wasn’t important. I need money. For my house.”
“Didn’t you get a settlement from the city? What are you calling me for?”
So she knew. At least I didn’t have to explain. “I just need money. Will you help me?”
“You should have married rich, dear. Now you’ve got nothing.”
“Mom—”
“Goodbye, Shirley. Don’t call me again.”
I splintered the phone against the wall and cried.
Two weeks later, an envelope postmarked Seattle came for me at the precinct. Inside was enough money to finish the church.
IT WAS late autumn by the time I had my team over for a christening barbecue. I’d built a deck out back in the shelter of a sycamore, the tree’s changing leaves glowing in the setting sun. The scent of cooking meat swirled fragrantly in the breeze.
“I don’t like mine rare,” I said to Paddy, who’d stationed himself at the grill.
He looked down at the steaks, then up at me. “That’s not rare, and it’s also not yours.”
“I like mine cooked all the way through.”
“I know how you like your steak, Mordecai.”
“But don’t burn it.”
“Get outta here.”
I grabbed a beer from the cooler and settled in a lounge chair next to Whale. “Good weather,” he said, sipping his own beer. “It’s quieter here than I’d anticipated.”
“It’s the trees,” I said. “They create a lot of privacy.”
“I imagine the building itself inspires a certain degree of reverence in the neighborhood.”
“It’s just a facade now. But you’re probably right.”
“When can we see inside?” Josie asked eagerly.
“You’ve already seen inside.”
“I just had to go to the bathroom. I didn’t peek.” I raised an eyebrow and she grinned. “Okay, I peeked a little. But I still want a tour!”
“Later. After Paddy’s burned everyone’s dinner.”
“I’m gonna throw yours out into the street if you keep that up.”
“He’s just grouchy because he’s been lonely,”
Josie said with a wink. “It’s not the same in the office without you. But hey, those days are over, right? You’re back on Monday?”
“Right,” I said, glancing at Dixon. He’d joined Paddy at the grill and had his back to me, though he turned the moment I looked at him. I added quickly, “The office is the only place I’ll be, though. I’m not, uh, cleared…”
“One step at a time,” said Dixon. “We’ll take it slow.”
I bit my lip with sudden melancholy. Whale offered me a smile. “It will be good to have you back.”
“It’ll be good to be back.” I emptied my beer and went for another, just to get up and move. “Anyone want anything? Beer? Snacks? Should I order pizza while we’re waiting for Paddy?”
“You’re a riot, Mordecai. Shut up.”
“Seriously. I’m hungry.”
“You want your steak well done or not?”
“I want my steak before I keel over from starvation.”
Whale cleared his throat and raised his beer. “In appreciation of our host, and in celebration of her return to work. To Mordecai.”
“To Mordecai,” Josie and Dixon echoed. Paddy just shot me a look. Whale said, “To our chef for the evening and his tireless good humor. To Paddy.”
“To Paddy,” Josie and Dixon said. I laughed at the idea of Paddy’s good humor.
“And to the people we love who are no longer with us,” Whale said quietly. “To those we will never forget. To Max.”
“To Max.”
“To Max.”
“To Max.”
“To Max,” I whispered. “Thank you.”
Paddy put his hand on my shoulder. “Go sit, Mordecai. It’s time to eat.”
35
“THIS IS a joke,” I whispered. “They… they have to be…”
Dixon crouched in front of my chair, the only other person in the office. The lights were low. Snow flurried outside. Ice frosted in my lungs until I was gasping.
“Take a breath, Mordecai. Focus on your breath.”
I tried to breathe deep but couldn’t get the air in. “Did you see this?”
“I saw it.”
“But it says—”
“I know.”
My hands trembled, shaking the paper. I read it again. “I don’t understand…”
“He’s confessed,” said Dixon. “He’s detailed the events leading up to the bridge.”
“I don’t understand. He says…”
Dixon held my hand.
“He says it was all an accident?”
“He claims it wasn’t his fault,” Dixon said. “He had the remote trigger for Maria’s house in his pocket when Paddy was questioning him, and his finger slipped.”
“But he filled the house with explosives! That’s not an accident!”
“The timing was, according to Carl. Maria wasn’t supposed to be home at that hour. She could have been killed in the explosion too, which would have defeated the purpose of killing her mother in the first place.”
“But he strapped a bomb to her himself! He says… he says the bomb… oh, God… he says—”
“He says it was for Max,” said Dixon gently.
I shut my eyes against the surge of tears but they came anyway. Dixon squeezed my hand. “But he didn’t intend to kill him, Mordecai. He thought if Max saw the bomb and knew he couldn’t disarm it, Max would grant him safe passage to save Maria’s life.”
“He should have,” I whispered. “He should have just let her go.”
I read the paper again, every mention of Max like a poisonous sting. Carl was blaming Max for what happened. He was blaming me too. It was my fault he shot me. He only wanted to talk. It was all a big fucking accident.
I crumpled the paper and threw it against the wall. I raked my hands through my hair. “He just confessed to Max’s murder. How is that going to help him?”
“The defense will argue it demonstrates delusions and his inability to distinguish fantasy from reality. Carl was a police officer for three years, yet he behaved in a manner that led directly to his arrest.”
“Because he’s insane,” I spat. “That fucker.”
“The prosecution will use this too, and public sympathy is on your side. A jury will be much more likely to connect emotionally with Carl’s victims than intellectually with his state of mental health.”
“If they ever find a jury.”
Dixon stood. “The trial is still several months away. Stay—”
“Stay positive, have faith, keep my head up. Yeah, I know.”
I got up, pulling on my jacket and zipping it to my chin. I slung my bag over my shoulder. Dixon said, “It might be good for you to stay.”
I managed a half-smile. “I’m not really in an office party kind of mood.”
“My offer still stands.”
“The holidays are for family, Dixon. I’m not going to intrude.”
“You’re not intruding if you’re invited.”
“They do a turkey dinner at my dad’s place. After spending every year with me and Max, it’s his turn to have me over anyway.”
“Give me a call if you change your mind.”
I shoved my hands in my pockets. “You haven’t changed your mind, have you? About—”
“You’ll be back in the field in the new year,” he said. He smiled sadly. “Merry Christmas, Mordecai.”
“Yeah,” I muttered. “Merry Christmas.”
2013
January
LIGHT RAIN speckled the windshield and pattered gently on the roof. I looked at the seedy motel across the street and blew stray hair from my face. “This sucks.”
Paddy set his coffee in the cupholder and reclined his seat. “Nah, surveillance isn’t so bad.”
“Maybe not to you. I’ve been cooped up in the office forever, and my first day back on active duty I’m cooped up in a car. Not exactly the action I was looking for.”
“In case you forgot, being cooped up and all, this is what we call police work. We’re not gonna find this bastard just by crossing our fingers.”
I flipped through the folder in my lap. Three women had been killed since New Year’s Eve, all found nude save for the silk tie the killer used to strangle them. All were black prostitutes, and all were last seen alive with a well-dressed black man. Their bodies had been recovered from run-down motels like the one we were watching.
“Dixon only put us on surveillance because he doesn’t think I’m ready,” I said.
Paddy sent me a glare. “Dixon wouldn’t have let you out the door if he didn’t think you were ready. Everybody’s on surveillance, so do your job and surveil.”
I finished my coffee and chewed on the stir stick. Paddy cracked his window and smoked a cigarette. I read the case files again, then tossed the folder on the dash. Paddy popped his knuckles one by one.
“I thought you were coming over last night,” I said finally. “The Heat were playing and you always—”
“Couldn’t make it,” he said bluntly. He worked his jaw side to side.
“Well, how about tomorrow? They’re playing Chicago—”
“Can’t.” I blinked. He added, “Sorry.”
I shifted, turning to stare out the window. “It’s fine. Whatever.”
“Come on. Don’t be like that.”
I pressed my mouth shut. He sighed.
“Look, it’s just something I’m working through, okay? It’s not about you.”
“Then what’s it about?”
I glanced at him. If Paddy ever blushed he was doing it now. He looked away, mumbling, “I don’t do churches.”
“You don’t do churches,” I repeated. “What the hell does that even mean?”
“Means exactly what it sounds like.”
“It’s not a church anymore.”
“Close enough.”
“You never had a problem with it before.”
“Like I said, it’s something I’m working through.”
“So you’re never coming over again?�
�� My voice came out in a whisper.
“Not inside.”
“Jesus, Paddy.”
He laughed darkly. “Ain’t that the problem.”
He shook out another cigarette and rolled down his window. “Smoke outside,” I snapped. “I’m sick of breathing in that shit.”
Paddy got out of the car and slammed the door, standing with his back to me. I folded my arms across my chest and glared at the motel.
It had been dark for hours already but the sex workers weren’t out yet. I didn’t expect we’d see many. Details of the murders had been released to the media so women at risk could protect themselves. Even so, I knew someone desperate enough would be out on the corners anyway. The killer would know that too.
In this part of town they’d make their deal on the street, then move to a motel with hourly rates. The motel we were watching had only the one entrance, so we’d see anyone going in or out. Until the murderer was caught, any black men with prostitutes were getting busted and booked.
Paddy got back in the car, his expression impenetrable. Across the street someone was heading into the motel. Caucasian female, so blonde her hair was almost white. I disregarded her.
“Ten o’clock,” Paddy said.
A heavyset black woman wearing neon orange was chatting through a car window. The driver’s face was visible as he leaned toward the woman. He was black too.
“You want to take him?” I asked.
Paddy shook his head. “He’s leaving.”
The car drove off without the prostitute, who flipped him off before disappearing around the corner. More sex workers were coming out now, appearing in the darkness like colored lights. I counted three black women out of the dozen or so people working the strip.
“Christ, they’re young,” I muttered. My gaze traveled to a boy in white leather pants and a sequin tank top, half his head shaved and the other half dyed an electric blue. Vibrant tattoos covered his arms and chest. “You think if I go over there and flash a badge it’ll scare them all back inside?”