by Jayne Blue
“Isn’t vigilante cop an oxymoron?”
I think steam actually came out of Stan’s ears. “Gates!”
I put up my hands in surrender. “Yeah. Yeah. I get it. I’m sorry. Not for what I said or did to Pierce. But that it landed back here. That was careless. It won’t happen again.”
Stan leaned back hard in his chair. “Well, that’s a start. But I wasn’t kidding. You have to write a letter of apology to Pierce. And you have to agree to some anger management classes. That’s the deal.”
“What?” I slammed my hands against the desk. A part of me seemed to hover over myself. That calmer, wiser part. The part I’d probably inherited from my saint of a mother. I wasn’t helping my case one bit by rattling the wood under Stan’s desk. But then the other part of me took over. The part that came from my loudmouth, abusive, alcoholic father. “Over my dead fucking body do I apologize to that fuck. I mean it, Stan. I’ll take early retirement before I do that. And I’ll make sure the media knows exactly why. You think I can’t make four times what I’m making now doing consulting. I get approached all the time.”
He cupped his hand over his brow. “Mitch, please. First of all, neither of us are doing this job for the money, right? And you really think Joel and the rest of your crew is ready to take over for you? I know you’ve got my balls over a barrel as far as your department goes. But only so far. This is my help-me-help-you speech, okay? Let me save you from yourself.”
“I am not apologizing. Especially not in writing. And I don’t think we should talk about this a second more unless I’ve got a union rep with me.”
“You’re killing me. Mostly slowly. Sometimes rapidly. But you are killing me. This is you and me, Gates. You and me. Do I have to remind you how much I’ve stuck my neck out for you over the years? Jesus. If it weren’t for me, God knows where you’d be. Probably at the bottom of the river or wrapped around a telephone pole like your old man. You know damn well I pulled you off the streets because you couldn’t rein it in when it counted. I gave you computer crimes.”
“Yeah. And I built it into what it is. Don’t pretend you haven’t benefited from that.”
“I know. Shit. I know.” Stan leaned forward. “But you’re getting out of hand again. You know that. I know you know that. Take the classes. Six weeks. It’ll be good for you. I’ll see what I can do about the written apology. Okay?”
“I’m not the one who needs a shrink.”
“Go anyway. I’m not an idiot, Gates. I know what’s coming up. I know why your fuse is shorter than normal. Hell, everyone’s been walking on eggshells around you because of it. Brian’s anniversary is just a few weeks away. You’re not the only one it’s going to hit hard. But I know it’s different for you because he was your best friend. I respect that. And that’s what I told the judge’s people. Asshat though he is, he respects that too.”
When I tried to swallow, it felt like I had a ball of sandpaper stuck in my throat. “This isn’t about Brian. And the fact that you even uttered his name in the presence of that idiot disrespects him. And me, Stan. You’re not forgetting Pierce’s other great sin. I know I never will. If it wasn’t for that shitty jury instruction he gave at that thug’s trial, Brian’s killer would have gone away for aggravated murder. Mandatory life. Instead, he’s up for parole in eight.”
“He’ll never get out.”
“Maybe not. But that means Brian’s family has to go through this every fucking time he goes before a parole board and relive it. That’s on Sheldon Pierce too. I don’t plan on letting him forget that.”
Stan let out a hard breath. “Fine. Then be pissed at me. I did what I had to and it saved your ass for now as long as you follow through. In case I wasn’t clear, this wasn’t a request. You’re doing six weeks at the Wellness Center. There’s a guy down there that can help you. I’ll make a verbal apology happen instead of a letter. By all means, run it by your union. You and I both know they’re going to tell you you’re getting off easy. I’m done talking about it. Go home. Or go get some work done. But do us both a favor and keep yourself in check over the next few days.”
I barely remember leaving his office. My eyes stung with rage as I made my way down the stairs. I didn’t want to have to engage in small talk if the elevator wasn’t empty. I needed the solitude of my lab and the whirring blue light of the forensics computers. Though I couldn’t do anything about Pierce for the moment, I could do something about Lonnie Detweiler.
I stopped at my desk and sat down hard, combing my fingers through my hair. Shit. I needed a drink. Not the way my father did. Stan was right about that. A fine line separated us sometimes. A line he crossed after my mom died of emphysema and went on a bender. Luckily, it was just him and the telephone pole in the end. No innocent bystanders. Unless you counted the rest of his family.
So I didn’t drink. Didn’t keep a flask under my desk like others I knew. Instead, I took it out on a stack of papers, sending them sailing to the floor except for one.
Stella’s letter.
It stuck to the underside of my wrist. I crumpled it then straightened it out. It killed her to come here as much as it did me to see her. And I know it hadn’t been easy. Hell, I’d probably made it even more difficult. I shouldn’t have touched her. But I wanted to do so much more and that was the crux of it. Heat seared through me at just the memory of her soft skin as I brushed my lips against her cheek. I’d inhaled her scent. Clean. Soft. Stella. Even her name on my lips felt like a betrayal.
I tapped my fingers on the desk as I stared at her address on the letter: 5232 Drummond Road. I knew it. The old north end. It had once been the richest part of town in our grandparents’ days. Then it wasn’t. But now, the hipsters had taken it over and made it livable again. Had she bought the place?
“I’m set up with Lonnie’s hard drive.” Joel’s voice stabbed through me as he poked his head around my cubicle wall. “I’m not expecting anything good for at least twenty-four hours. Gonna be a long week though getting through that one.”
I nodded. “Good. Do you know if they’ve processed him yet?”
“You gonna have a chat with him now or after we see what’s on that hard drive?”
“Maybe both. I don’t know.”
“Suit yourself. But can you let me know when you go talk to him? I’d kind of like to watch. I need to get better at that stuff. I still suck at interviews.”
“You’re right. You do.”
Joel smiled and flipped me his middle finger. “You heading home? It’s after four.”
“Shit. It is? Yeah. I guess so. I should have left an hour ago.”
“Wanna grab a beer or something? Lila’s got the kids tonight. A bunch of us are heading over to Mickey’s.”
I let my fingers trail over my desk. “I’m good. Tired as hell. Next time. I’m just going to go for a quick run to clear my head, then I’m going straight home.”
“Sounds good. See you tomorrow.”
I changed into shorts and a t-shirt in the locker room and hung my suit on the coat rack in my cubicle. It was a cool, crisp July night with a stiff breeze coming off the water. My quick run turned into two hours around the river. It did shit to clear my head. I meant to think about Lonnie and how I’d approach him in the interview tomorrow. But Stella was the only thing on my mind. She came to me tough and vulnerable. Different, but exactly the same. I ran through a thousand scenarios about what I should have said to her instead of what I did. All of it useless now. So I wound up back in my office eating stale salad from the vending machine. But I got caught up on a pile of paperwork. Before I knew it, the janitor tapped on my cubicle wall.
“Detective? It’s almost midnight. You want me to come back later?”
“What? Oh, geez. No. I just lost track of time. I’m heading home. Have a good night, Paul.”
“You too, Detective.”
Still in my running gear, I grabbed my gym bag and headed out to the parking garage. I drove out of the parking lot with Stella�
�s letter on the seat next to me. I crumpled it and held it against my chest. Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I tapped the screen when I hit the first stoplight. Six messages. One from a buddy of mine with the State Police. I’d called him about Stella’s case even though she’d asked me not to in the end. The message was a typical blow-off. I tossed the phone on the seat next to the letter. Tapping my fingers against the steering wheel, I waited for the light to change. I took my foot off the brake as soon as it turned green. Then I stopped. The pickup behind me lay on the horn but fuck him. I slammed the steering wheel to the left and headed for the bridge that would take me to the Old North End and Drummond Road.
Chapter Four
Stella
“You sure you got those sprinkler heads hooked up right? Grass is supposed to be green, honey.”
I laughed and waved at Old Phil as he took a heaving side-step off his front porch. He held an unlit pipe between his lips and grumbled with each step, favoring his bad right hip as he made his way over to me. Phil Pulaski was a relic. In his mid-eighties, he was a holdover from when the Old North End thrived the first time around. He knew everyone and everything. Everyone called him either Old Phil or The Mayor. He owned the house next door and had been a wealth of information about the history of the Victorian-era Tudor home I’d just moved into. I’d rent for the first year, but was saving up for the down payment to buy it outright at the end of the term. If I still could, that is. I swallowed past a lump in my throat that came up every time I thought about my current job prospects.
“Good evening, Phil.” I waved as I turned the nozzle off on the sprayer after I finished watering the last hanging pot of pink geraniums on the porch. “Sorry if I woke you. I was just about to go to bed and realized I forgot to give these ladies a drink. They’ll be brown and wilted by morning if I don’t.”
“Smell those peonies!” Old Phil sucked in a breath and rubbed his protruding belly. He stood in front of four great big bushes of pink-and-white flowers. His pride and joy, except for the ants that covered them. Phil said it helped them bloom. He had a habit of walking around shirtless with denim shorts and suspenders that gave him a permanent tanline of vertical stripes across his front and a criss-cross in the back.
“You want me to come over there and water them for you?” I asked. Old Phil’s arthritis and bad hip made it hard for him to do some of the most mundane aspects of his yard upkeep.
“Nah,” he said. “Philly’s coming over in the morning.” Philly was also known locally as Young Phil, his sixtyish-year-old son who lived across the street. Their bickering was another part of the neighborhood charm. They argued about everything from the proper way to pound a nail to their time in the service. Navy men, both of them. Old Phil served in WWII, Young Phil in Vietnam.
“Okay, well, you just let me know. I’d be glad to do it.”
“Though I wouldn’t mind you taking that hose to that black cat I’ve seen scampering around here at night. Damn nuisance. It ate my gardenias.”
“Do cats eat flowers?”
“No. The little shit did it just for spite.”
I smiled wide and set the hose down on the ground. “I’ll keep an eye out.”
“I’m gonna get my pellet gun one of these nights.” He’d do it too. My luck he’d shoot the thing and it would crawl under my porch to die and smell for a week.
“How’s the job search going, honey?” he asked. My heart clenched. I hadn’t told anyone about the Collingwood job and what went wrong. The principal still wouldn’t answer my calls and I’d gotten nowhere with the State Police. I should have pressed Mitch about it. But I just hadn’t realized how much seeing him again would affect me. It affected him too and that was almost worse. I’d figure this out. I had to. It was all a horrible, ridiculous mistake.
“It’s going.” I gave Old Phil a non-answer.
“Pretty girl like you, and smart as you are. You could be a model. Or go to New York City.”
Phil made me smile. He reminded me a little of my grandfather. They’d known each other way back. My parents too. But then again, Old Phil knew everyone. Still, I liked feeling connected to that part of my past. My grandparents were long gone and my folks moved to Fort Myers, Florida years ago. They’d been bugging me to come down for a visit. If things didn’t improve in Northpointe, I might not have a choice. Still, crashing on my parents’ couch at thirty-two years old held no appeal for me. I loved them. They loved me. But they’d had me later in life and I was an only child. We were happiest leading separate lives.
Old Phil and I shot the breeze for a little while longer. I’d learned to always have an exit strategy with him or he’d talk my ear off. Actually, that was good advice from Young Phil the very first day I moved in three months ago. Three months. In all that time I’d managed to avoid everyone connected to Brian. Then yesterday, it all bombarded me at once.
“Goodnight, Phil,” I finally said, waving to him from my front door. He always waited to make sure I got inside if it was dark out. A regular gentleman. Even though I’d only walked two feet across my own porch, I flicked the lights on and off to let him know everything was okay. He answered with a lilting whistle that made me smile.
After checking all the locks on the doors, I finally headed upstairs to my bedroom. My steps creaked on the solid oak floorboards. I’d made those my first project. Previous owners had criminally carpeted every square inch. I’d restored them and polished them to a shine. I almost didn’t want to move furniture in to cover them even that much.
Exhausted, I crawled into bed and pulled the white eyelet covers up to my chin. But sleep wouldn’t come. When I closed my eyes, I saw Brian’s face smiling back at me. When we were happiest. Before the Police Academy. I’d met him my sophomore year in college at Central Michigan. He’d been a senior and already friends with Mitch. Actually, I’d met Mitch first. He was in my music appreciation class. It was part of the general education curriculum that he’d put off until the last minute. I developed a giant crush on him when he asked me to tutor him. But he had a girlfriend already and introduced me to Brian. Where Mitch was loud, sometimes brutish, telling off-color jokes, Brian was quiet, more circumspect. And he’d fallen in love with me so hard and fast it almost made me dizzy. I used to wonder what would have happened if Mitch hadn’t been with someone. Or if Brian hadn’t loved me so hard. Or if we hadn’t argued that last night before he left for his shift. And none of it made any difference anymore for any of us. So I did what I always did and pushed those thoughts away.
I’d almost fallen asleep when something made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Headlights flashed across my window and an engine idled. I don’t know why it gave me pause, but I threw off the covers and padded over to the window.
A red Ford Edge rounded the corner. I couldn’t see the driver but he slowed in front of my house then came to a stop. My heart skipped a beat as I clutched the window frame. I hugged myself. A cool breeze blew in sending gooseflesh across my bare arms. I wore nothing but a tank top and underwear.
Old Phil’s porch lights came on. The car sped up and drove away. I waited, not knowing what made me do it. One minute. Two. Five. Then the Edge circled back around and pulled into my driveway.
My breath hitched and I fumbled for my robe. I still couldn’t see who was behind the wheel. At least, not his face. But as I stabbed my arms through the sleeves of my terrycloth robe, I saw his hands gripping the wheel. Why should I recognize them after all this time? I didn’t really. He was too far away. Still, I knew who it was. And I did remember what his hands looked like. Strong hands. Hitchhiker’s thumbs curved backward as he rubbed his palms against the steering wheel. I pressed a palm against the glass, took a breath, and waited.
What would I do if he came to the door? Did I want him too? I did. God, I did. And yet, it scared me just as much. As he sat in the driveway I imagined the same thoughts running through his own head. He wondered if he’d made a mistake coming here just as I did the other
day in his office.
Then the choice was out of my hands. Mitch never put the car in park. Just as I drew the courage to go downstairs and open the front door, he backed out and drove away. My breath fogged the glass. I exhaled, pushed myself away from the window, and crawled back into bed.
“You had a visitor last night,” Old Phil said as he walked up to my car the next morning. He had a rolled-up newspaper under one arm and a cup of coffee in his free hand. He leaned down and peered inside the window.
“I did?” I played dumb.
“Yep. Circled the block and pulled into your driveway. I got the make and model and a partial plate. You want it?”
“What? Oh. I’m sure it was nothing. Probably somebody got lost and just needed to turn around.” I don’t know why I lied. But maybe it was true. Maybe it had just been wishful thinking on my part.
“I don’t think so. I saw the guy. He was staring pretty hard at your house. I think he knew exactly where he wanted to be. You got a boyfriend you haven’t told me about, honey?”
Normally I appreciated Old Phil’s grandfatherly concern. This morning though, I just wanted to make a clean getaway.
“Nope,” I answered and crossed my heart with my index finger. “Promise, you’ll be the first to know if I do.”
“Leave her alone, Pops,” Young Phil bellowed from across the street. I caught him waving in my rearview mirror and waved back. “You’re worse than an old lady. Let Stella be on her way. She doesn’t need you snooping around in her business.”
“It’s all right,” I yelled out the window.
“No, it’s not. You’re just being polite.”
“I really do have to get going,” I told the Phils.