Linda Barrett - Count on a Cop

by Summer at the Lake

  Dr. Kaplan, practicing psychologist with advanced degrees, simply said, “I don’t know.”

  Kristin’s stomach cramped. She and Ash were living on her savings now and if she didn’t return to work in August, she’d lose her job entirely. Unemployment was simply not an option…yet neither was disappointing Ashley. Kristin was caught squarely between the two priorities, with no idea how she was going to resolve the dilemma.

  RICK PACED his front porch on the evening of his neighbors’ trip to the city. He glanced at his wristwatch every ten seconds in the light of the overhead fixture. It was nine o’clock, fully dark outside, and now he was concerned the way a good neighbor would be. By his calculations, they should have been home a long time ago. Three hours in, three hours back, an hour with the therapist, an hour for lunch. He’d found himself checking the time since about five o’clock and had even seasoned a beautiful sirloin for the grill. The meat was still marinating in his fridge. He’d staved off his own hunger pains with a can of soup.

  It wasn’t that he and Kristin had made arrangements to meet back here for dinner. They hadn’t. The ladies didn’t report to him, nor were they in his caseload. Damn. Was that how he saw them? He took a moment and put his mind at ease. No, they were strictly neighbors. Ashley’s situation belonged elsewhere.

  He looked at his watch again. Maybe they’d gone shopping. Maybe Kristin had diverted Ashley’s attention to new clothes. Bathing suits and summer stuff. Or, even better, Kristin might have talked Ash into visiting friends. Yeah. That would be great if it were true. He could live with that as a reason for delay, but not for staying out overnight. Kristin had definitely mentioned returning to Morningstar Lake this evening. She would have let him know if she’d changed her mind. Wouldn’t she?

  He touched his cell phone, ready to call her, when Quincy rose from the ground, barked softly and walked to the edge of the steps, staring intently toward the road. Rick saw nothing but the night, heard nothing but insects humming, but felt himself relax. The dog was never wrong. And…there! Another bull’s-eye. The headlights of a slow-moving vehicle twinkled among the trees as it wended its way closer. Rick tracked it and nodded in approval. Slow and steady in the darkness on unfamiliar country roads.

  He met them in their driveway, Quincy at his side. When he opened Kristin’s door, he saw Ash sound asleep in the passenger seat.

  “Welcome home,” he whispered, reaching for Kristin’s hand and helping her out of the car. “I was getting a bit concerned.”

  Tired blue eyes began to focus. “You were?”

  “Yes.” He pointed at his watch. “Look at the time.”

  Standing now, she leaned against the vehicle and yawned. “I didn’t know I had a curfew, Pops.”

  He’d blown it. Now he’d back off.

  But then she smiled and said, “We had a great afternoon and a lousy evening on the road.”

  He didn’t like the sound of the last part, and although that sweet smile of hers raised his temperature, it didn’t deflect his focus.

  “Explain lousy evening. What happened? Where were you? Who else was there? Can you describe—”

  “Huh? Slow down. What are you talking…? Ohh, now I get it,” she said. “You’re back in cop mode. Well, let’s see…what happened was car trouble. We were at McDonald’s. Lots of diners. Two golden arches…” She dimpled up at him. “But we’re fine, Rick. Thanks for caring.”

  More heat. The scorching kind. That mouth…he wanted to kiss her. He stroked her cheek instead. “I’m glad you’re both safe at home.”

  She didn’t move. Her glance lingered on him, her expression thoughtful, questioning…eager? Warning bells rang in his head. He was glad they were safe, but that was all he’d meant.

  He moved away. “So, tell me about the car,” he said, getting back to the real business.

  “It wouldn’t start. I called the AAA for help.”

  “Battery?”

  She shook her head. “The doohickies were dirty.” She made a small circling motion with her fingers. “The terminals. The guy used a steel brush. I could have done it myself—if I’d known what was wrong. I waited almost an hour and they fixed it in five minutes.”

  “Take a class,” he suggested. “Most adult education programs offer classes in auto mechanics every fall and spring.”

  She glanced at her daughter. “I’ll think about it—later.” She pointed at the house. “I’ll be right back. Would you stay with her?”

  Rick nodded, and Kristin disappeared with her purse and a shopping bag. He gazed inside the car and studied the sleeping girl. Kris had described her as an outgoing kid, a good student with lots of friends. He’d seen some of that himself, so Kristin’s assessment had been pretty objective—for a mom. But their lives had been turned upside down by a stinking perp.

  He felt his anger start to brew again. Kristin’s gentle child lived in fear and worked hard to cover it up in order to keep going each day. Kristin’s tiny family had been damaged, first by the death of her husband, and then by Ashley’s…experience. Two life-altering events hitting within a short period. His muscles rippled, his fists tightened. Suddenly, he was happy to involve himself in Ashley’s case.

  “Hi, Quincy!” a young voice, a sleepy voice, called.

  The dog had already taken over the driver’s seat, probably sensing Ash would awaken.

  “Hey, Ash,” said Rick. “You’re home.”

  She smiled at him, then turned her head in all directions. “Where’s Mom?” she asked quickly.

  “In the house. And we’re with you because you were still asleep.”

  “Oh, okay.” She hugged and cooed to Quincy, totally at one with the dog. The kid was a sweetheart.

  Kristin returned and Ashley got out of the car, the shepherd following her.

  “Time for a real bed,” Kristin said.

  “I guess.” Ashley looked longingly at Quincy.

  Kristin kissed her daughter on the forehead. “We had a terrific day. One of the best. Don’t you think?”

  The girl actually did pause to consider her answer. “Yes,” she finally pronounced. “We did have a good day. But we’re not going back home.”

  “Not for a while yet, honey.”

  “Never. We just can’t.”

  “We’ll see…”

  Rick intervened. “How about taking Quincy inside for a visit, Ashley? He’s missed you. If he follows your commands, you can give him a treat.”

  She raised a fist in salute. “Yes!” And the two disappeared.

  Neither adult spoke for a moment.

  “Maybe I should call a real estate agent,” Kristin whispered. “We can’t stay here forever. The therapist didn’t promise Ash would be over this by August. But we could move to another neighborhood in Mayfield, or even to another town. That might help her get back on track.”

  He put his arm around her, strictly for comfort. “Ashley will improve, Kris. She’s already made great strides here, and one day she’ll laugh and talk on the phone with all her old friends until you threaten to take it away.”

  “Promise?”

  “I’ve seen it happen—and not just once.”

  “Thank you,” she murmured, “for giving me hope.” She ran inside and a minute later, Quincy reappeared.

  No question about it. Kristin deserved some assistance. Rick was going to nose around this case and try to find the SOB who’d hurt Ashley. And if he needed some big brass behind him, he’d give Stein a call.

  The irony didn’t escape him.

  RICK STARTED HIS RESEARCH the next morning with calls to two buddies in Nassau County, Long Island, Kristin’s home turf. Andy Wheeler and Dave Evans were seasoned pros who knew how to listen even when no one was talking. Moreover, they’d keep their own mouths shut. Rick trusted them. Too bad he’d had to leave messages. Law enforcement ran nonstop, 24/7. They were busy.

  He tucked his cell phone in his pocket, packed his fishing gear and motioned to the dog. Outside, the sky was clear.
No surprise storms today.

  He drove first to Dora’s Diner for a quick breakfast and a packed lunch to go, and saw Sam Keaton at the counter, draining a cup of coffee.

  “Got a minute?” asked Rick, after placing his order. He nodded at a corner booth.

  “For you—sure.” The older man followed him down the aisle. “Find a new job yet?”

  “Still working on it,” replied Rick. “My résumé is coming along. Kristin looked it over, gave me some suggestions.”

  “Well, she can’t change the experience section. With your excellent record, she must have been impressed—and confused about you wanting to leave the NYPD.”

  The man was so transparent. Rick glared at him. “It’s not going to happen, Sam. I’m out. However…” He felt his neck get warm, then his face. “What more can you tell me about Ashley McCarthy?”

  “So the kid got to you, huh?” asked the sheriff, lowering his voice. They faced each other across the table, and Rick understood from his concerned expression that he would share what he knew.

  But in the next moment, Sam smiled and leaned forward. “Perhaps it was the mother who got to you?” The older man chuckled as though he’d cracked the funniest joke in the world.

  Sam would share, all right, when he was good and ready.

  Rick sighed loudly and waited. He knew his friend. More was coming.

  He was correct.

  “I knew you’d come alive again,” said Sam. “The job can wear you down, that’s for sure. You just needed to come home to Morningstar Lake and catch your breath.”

  Rick leaned forward. “I am not on the job, Sam. I’m not going back to the job. I’m just asking as a long-time friend—what do you know about the status of the Ashley McCarthy case?”

  His smile disappeared. “I know what Kristin McCarthy told me the day they arrived at the lake. I know what Marsha Goldman told me on the phone.” The sheriff spoke softly again.

  Rick raised his hand in a halting motion. “Why did Kristin come to you?”

  “To tell me the Long Island police knew she was here with her daughter—she’s kept them informed of her status since the attack. She asked to be notified if they called us.” Sam paused, but seemed to have more on his mind. “The case is getting cold—it’s been over two months.”

  Rick nodded. “Kristin thinks we’re all a bunch of incompetent morons.” In his case, she might be right.

  “She’s the mom. She wants answers. And there is an official investigation in their hometown,” said Sam. “Mayfield, Long Island. But basically, I know nothing because the officers downstate know nothing. The kid was unconscious when they arrived and later on wouldn’t speak, wouldn’t draw, wouldn’t reveal anything about the perp.” He lowered his voice further. “She was found on the floor of the men’s room, clothes ripped off, bruised and…bleeding.”

  Rick sucked air. Felt sweat pop out all over his body. And saw blood. Red droplets splattered on a white blouse. A little girl. Was Ashley wearing a white blouse that day?

  “I lost a kid, Sam!” The words exploded in a harsh whisper. His head dropped into his hands. “And the parents. The father shot them—we were right outside the house.” Bang. Bang. Bang.

  Doc Romano might be the best, but Rick had known Sam for thirty years, since Rick was five years old. He’d trust the man with his life…and with his soul.

  “Damnation!” Sam’s hand fisted on the table. “I figured something like that, but I’m sorry to be right. No wonder you’re at a crossroad. You’re a mess.”

  Rick grunted. “Perfect description.”

  A beat of time passed, and Sam spoke once more. “Sometimes, Detective, that invisible armor we wear breaks down. The cop disappears and the human being emerges. You’re just being human right now. And what’s wrong with that? You’ve been thrown over the edge once too often.”

  The sheriff’s words resonated. Rick’s armor had cracked. And he’d suffered. Was still suffering.

  “It’s an unsettling business we’re in,” Sam continued. “An unsettling business.”

  Rick laughed, surprised he was able to appreciate Sam’s dry humor. “That’s an understatement.”

  “Maybe. But it helps me put the job into perspective. Makes it doable.”

  And somehow, for twelve years, Rick had been doing the job and loving it. Just this morning he’d thought he could take on Ashley’s case without a second thought. Well, he’d been proved wrong. His memories still haunted him. And if he couldn’t handle kids’ cases, what good was he? He glanced at his old friend.

  “This unsettling business has an unsettled officer, Sam. And right now I’d appreciate your help with Ashley.”

  “You got it.” He reached for his pen and wrote on a napkin. “My contact is Joe Silva. Start with him. Mention my name or not—use your own judgment. Conduct your own investigation.”

  Rick had already started, by calling his buddies. The anxiety that had been his faithful companion since the shootings began to ease. A peaceful feeling slowly settled within him as he faced the truth. His truth. He hadn’t returned to the lake only for the fishing. Or for the isolation. Or for the cool evenings or the hiking. He’d returned for Sam. For absolution.

  His plans wouldn’t change. He just needed to forgive himself for making mistakes. Fatal ones. Not an easy task.

  “Sorry, Quince,” he said, scratching the dog behind the ears, “but as good as you are, sometimes you’re just not enough.”

  Ashley’s image popped into his head. The little girl and her mom were struggling. He wanted to help.

  But helping Kristin would be the last piece of police work he’d ever do.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  HOPE REMAINED HIGH in Kristin’s heart the day after their trip to the city. Ash had asked to visit the music store in town just to browse through their classical sheet music—if they had any. She was having trouble remembering the fingering for the first movement of Beethoven’s Sonata Pathétique, but could work it out on a table or a desk if she had the notation. She didn’t need to hear the real music out loud. She played it in her head.

  It sounded crazy, and anyone else would think Ash weird, but Kristin believed her daughter. Ashley heard the music in her mind just like her father had. When he slept, John had said, his dreams were lush with melody and harmony. Sometimes he’d heard full orchestral arrangements and sometimes a solo violin. He’d said that Ashley’s talent would be larger than his, but they should follow her lead in how hard to push her. All musical styles were acceptable. He wanted her to explore and to enjoy.

  John had stepped back when Ash was five, and hired a teacher known for working with young children. Ash galloped ahead, learning and playing as though it were a game, and grinning like the Cheshire cat when she mastered her material. Of course, listening to music nurtured her talent, too.

  The progress had never stopped until now. Lessons were on hold indefinitely, and at this point, Kristin would once again allow Ashley to take the lead in this area of her life.

  Kris drove down Main Street. She passed the library they’d visited, and searched for Tri-County Music. It was hard to miss. A brightly lit neon guitar shone in the window, and she wondered if the store had a classical section at all. Of course, this effort would be unnecessary if she’d been able to go to their home and get Ashley’s own music collection.

  She turned to her daughter. “What do you think?”

  “They don’t make money on kids like me.”

  “You cracked a joke! That’s so cool.” Kristin un-snapped her seat belt and gave Ash a quick hug. “Come on, my little capitalist, let’s see if we can contribute something to their bottom line.”

  Inside, the store was much larger than it seemed from the street. It ran deep from front to back. Drums and guitars took up a lot of floor space, saxophones and trumpets hung on the walls, but racks of CDs and sheet music had a big section, too. Signs on the cashier’s desk proclaimed Inquire about Summer Rentals and Practice Rooms.

&n
bsp; “I bet lots of parents rent practice rooms for their drummers.” Kristin chuckled.

  Ash smiled while thumbing through some sheet music. After a minute or two, she sighed in disappointment. “It’s all pop stuff that I can play on my own. They don’t have what I need.”

  Kristin wasn’t ready to give up. “Let’s ask.” She caught the eye of a young clerk, who quickly walked over. Kristin explained their quest.

  “Sure,” he said, leading them to the end of the rack. “Classical stuff is right here. We’ve got all the great composers. Browse all you want.” He smiled up at Kristin. “Are you a music teacher?”

  “No. This is for my daughter.”

  The teenager glanced at Ashley. “No problem. We have easy arrangements of the classics, too.”

  “Oh, no.” Kristin began to explain his mistake, but then sensed Ashley’s reaction. Her stillness. Her anger. She saw her daughter’s normally pale complexion whiten to alabaster as the child tilted her head back to stare the boy in the face.

  Kristin’s heart picked up speed. That’s my girl! Be brave. Look him in the eye and tell him what you want. She kept silent, but stepped closer to her daughter.

  Ash, however, moved away from her and declared, “I want Beethoven’s Sonata No. 8 Opus 13 in C Minor. I want Debussy’s ‘Clair de Lune,’ and as for Bach—that’s Johann Sebastian—any minuet you have in the store. And I want every one of them in the original notation.” She put her hands on her narrow hips and said, as if to an errant pupil, “That means the composer’s actual work.”

  The clerk held up his hands, palms outward. “Don’t bite my head off. How would I know? Here’s the rack of sheet music. Take as much time as you want, and I’ll see what we’ve got in the back.”

  Kristin watched the interchange, riveted. Then Ash reached out for her. A thin blue vein throbbed at her temple. Red blotches stained her cheeks and beads of perspiration dotted her forehead. “I don’t feel so good.” She began to sway.