by Jan Burke
She closed her eyes. “At first, I thought he meant that Phil was dead — that someone had killed both Phil and Seth Randolph.” She opened her eyes again and said, “Well, I guess I was right. But I didn’t know that then. I just knew that every damned unit in the city was headed over to the hospital and that the hospital was cordoned off. I talked Hitch into going over there. It got worse and worse by the minute. The more I heard, the more I kept hoping I’d wake up from this nightmare.”
She paused and cradled her forehead in the palm of one hand. “I was so scared for Phil — I think some part of me knew that something horrible had happened to him. But I didn’t want to believe that, so I kept telling myself, ‘Phil will straighten all of this out. They’ll reach Phil at Matt’s house. He’ll be there by now.’ But he wasn’t. And Matt was lying to them, but I didn’t know why.”
“Why did he lie?”
“He didn’t know what to believe, but he knew something had gone wrong — terribly wrong — for Phil. Me, at first I kept my hopes up. Not Matt. Matt didn’t know who to trust inside the department, and he didn’t have enough to go on to take it to someone outside the department. Later he tried, but no one would take him up on it. Phil looked too guilty.”
“So that night Lefebvre’s gone, and you’re hearing that Matt has denied that Lefebvre planned to visit him?”
“Right. At first, I thought it was because Phil was there and Matt was keeping him safe until he could get an attorney or some proof that he was innocent. I didn’t dare call Matt, and he didn’t dare call me. That went on for a couple of days until Matt finally got a letter to me through the mailbox.”
“The mailbox?”
“Phil got his mail at a private mailbox — at one of those mailbox stores. It took our department sleuths a while to figure that out.”
“Okay, now I remember reading something about this in the case file. A place called Mail Call?”
“Right. Earlier in the day, Phil and I had figured out an arrangement so that we could keep in touch by mail if things really started going wrong — we just hadn’t imagined how wrong they could go. So he set things up at Mail Call that afternoon, and I stopped by there before I went into work that night and picked up two keys — a key to his box and a key to a second box that was in both our names, where he would send messages to me if phones became too risky. He told Matt we would be doing this.”
“I take it the owner of this Mail Call place didn’t tell all of this to the detectives who questioned him about Phil’s mailbox?”
“No. First, the detectives showed up with a very specific court order — naming only the box number Phil had on his own. Second, they came in with an attitude, so he wasn’t cooperative. But I don’t think he would have been cooperative no matter how sweet they were, because he had a good reason to be loyal to Phil. He was one of the people at the funeral today, although he didn’t speak. Phil met the guy while working on a case — the man’s daughter had been killed by her ex-husband. The only reason the ex didn’t walk was because Phil caught the case and just wouldn’t let go.”
“So how much of Phil’s mail got delivered to your mailbox?”
She smiled a little. “You know, I’m surprised you figured that out. Those dumb asses who worked this case before you never did. How much? A lot of it. There wasn’t a heck of a lot of mail for those guys to paw through. The owner of Mail Call was smart enough to give them the bills, figuring that was probably how they found out about the box in the first place — looking up his credit records. Everything else came my way before the LPPD saw it. Didn’t help me, though. The one letter I kept waiting for never came.”
“But you heard from Matt.”
“At first, I wasn’t sure if I was hearing from Phil, or Matt, or both. I got a postcard, addressed to me, but the message area was blank. On the other side was a photo of some chrysanthemums. You know—”
Frank groaned. “Mum’s the word.”
“I had the same reaction, but I had been so anxious, there wasn’t much humor in it for me. I was so angry and upset about Seth, too — Seth Randolph, I mean. I wasn’t as close to him as Phil was, but I had spent a lot of time with him, too. We had found him that night, and Phil saved his life, and Seth had struggled to live. So it was… it was painful to lose him. I liked Seth.”
Enough to name your son after him, Frank thought, but let her brood in silence.
After a while, she said, “So about three days into all of this, my nerves were shot. The first night I made the mistake of saying to Hitch, ‘I don’t believe Phil would kill that boy,’ and I got this rant from him that convinced me that I had better keep my mouth shut. And then… then I found that someone had gone through my desk. And I remembered that it had happened to Phil, that someone had gone through his desk.”
Seth chose that moment to open the apartment door again. “Mom!” he said, making it a complaint.
“Don’t blame your mom,” Frank said. “It’s my fault we’re still out here talking.”
Seth gestured to him to hurry in.
In Seth’s presence, Elena’s stiffness of manner returned. In a low voice, she said, “You do anything to bring him into harm’s way…”
Frank turned toward her and said, “What exactly do you take me for?”
“Mom!” Seth said again, more insistently.
Frank heard Yvette Nereault say something in French to her nephew, and Seth immediately apologized to his mother. “But I’ve been waiting forever!” he muttered, casting a glance back at his aunt. As if to make up for this small rebellion, he politely asked Frank if he could take his jacket and if he would like something to drink. Frank accepted an offer of coffee before Seth led him to the sofa, then sat beside him.
“It is past noon — you must be hungry, Detective Harriman,” Yvette said. “Seth would probably enjoy it if you stayed for lunch.”
Elena did not hide her look of consternation. Seth looked at him hopefully and said, “Can you?”
“Sure, if it’s not too much trouble—”
“Not at all!” Yvette said. “Elena and I will fix you something to eat.” She turned to Seth and said sternly, “Do not plague him with questions.” With that, she dragged a reluctant Elena off toward the kitchen.
As soon as they were out of sight, Seth asked, “Did you know my father?”
“No, I’m sorry to say I didn’t have a chance to meet him.”
He seemed momentarily disappointed, then shrugged. “Neither did I.” He thought for a moment, then said, “You’re a detective, right?”
“Yes.”
“So was my dad. Matt says my dad was a good detective.”
“Your dad was better than good. Is Mr. Arden back yet?”
“Matt? Not yet. He’s visiting a friend in the hospital. The policeman who got hurt in the building when the bricks fell on him. Do you know who I mean?”
“Yes. He’s my captain.”
“Did he know my dad?”
“Yes. He was made captain of the division just before…”
“Before my dad died?” he asked calmly.
“Yes.”
“Can you take me to see him?”
“No, I’m sorry. He isn’t able to talk much right now. He’s too badly hurt.”
“Oh. Do you know anyone else who knew my father?”
Frank hesitated. “I do, but I don’t think they really knew him. I think they’re mixed up about some things and wouldn’t be able to tell you the truth.”
“They’re liars?”
“No, they’re just mistaken.”
He grew thoughtful again. “What they said today in the church — those people — that was true, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, I think so. I had never met them before today. But I’ve read about your father, and everything I’ve read makes me think they were telling the truth. And there would be no reason for them to lie, right?”
Seth solemnly considered this, then said, “No, because they were in church, and you know�
�” He pointed up.
“Exactly,” Frank said, struggling to match Seth’s gravity.
“They were sad,” Seth added. “Their stories were sad.”
“Yes. But even though they were sad, they wanted to tell about how your father had helped them and to say that they were grateful.”
The boy seemed lost in thought. Frank hoped that Elena and Yvette wouldn’t take his silence as a cue to enter the room. He was fairly sure they were within earshot.
As if he had decided that — for the moment — he had puzzled out all he could about his father, Seth suddenly changed the subject. “Do you have a picture of your dogs?”
“Yes.” Frank pulled out his wallet and removed a slightly worn photo.
“What are their names?”
“Deke and Dunk.”
He frowned. “Really? Like in hockey and basketball?”
“Yes.”
“Who is that with them?”
“My wife. Irene.”
He studied the photo, then said, “Do they bite?”
“Irene? No, she’s nice.”
This information won a slight smile. “You know that’s not what I mean.”
“The dogs are friendly, too. They might bite someone who tried to hurt Irene, but I’m not sure. Now that I think about it, Irene would definitely bite someone who tried to hurt the dogs.”
The smile grew a little.
“Where do you go to school?” Frank asked.
“I don’t.” At Frank’s look of surprise, he said, “I used to, but now I’m home schooled.”
“Your mother teaches you?”
“Yes. And sometimes my aunt. She teaches me French and about the history of the Quebecois and Canada. My mom teaches me lots of stuff. Spelling, reading, math. Spanish — we learn that together. And self-defense. You should teach your wife that, you know.”
“Self-defense?”
“Yes, because the dogs are good, but they might not be with her all the time when bad guys are around.”
“You have a lot of trouble with bad guys?”
He shook his head, then smiled a little. “But once this kid at school? He was being mean to me all the time, and he tried to hit me, so I flipped him!”
“You mean, with a karate throw?”
“Yeah! All the other kids were going, ‘Whoa! I can’t believe it!’” He looked a little sheepish. “I didn’t break any of his bones or anything, but I got in big trouble. Mom said I can’t do that to other kids — I have to use it for my last dessert.”
“As a last resort, maybe?”
“Yes. That’s what I mean.”
“That’s not why you’re home schooled, is it?”
“You mean, did I get kicked out? No way!”
“Do you like being home schooled?”
He hesitated, glancing toward the kitchen. “Of course. I learn more this way. I’ll show you.”
He led Frank down a hallway toward the back of the condo, to a door with a hand-lettered sign taped to it: Private — Please Do Not Enter Without Permission. The second s in “permission” appeared to have been squeezed in after consultation with a dictionary.
“This is my room,” he said, opening the door.
At first glance, the room seemed to be in utter chaos. Hardly a surface was bare. A piece of clothesline stretched from two hooks in the wall above the bed, and over it a sheet formed a tent of sorts above the mattress. An elaborate Lego structure stood in the middle of the room — a fort, it seemed, judging from the number of green plastic army men on parade within its walls. They appeared to be under the command of a Batman figurine. In one corner, a large and intricate guinea pig abode held My Dog, who gave out a series of dovelike cooing sounds as they entered the room. While Seth greeted him, Frank continued to survey the room.
A Macintosh computer with a screensaver of constellations sat on a desk piled high with schoolbooks. There was a map of the world on one wall, a history timeline on another. “What are all the stickers on the map?”
“I come from those places. I mean, those are places where my grandfathers and great-grandfathers and great-great-grandfathers are from — and all the grandmothers, too. I’m from all over the world. Cool, huh?”
“Yes,” Frank said. “Very cool — so’s this poster.”
The closet door had an old hockey poster on it — Gordie Howe. Long before Seth’s time.
“Are you a hockey fan?” Frank asked.
“Yes. That poster was my father’s, when he was little.” Seth stared at it, frowning — although Frank thought he was concentrating on something other than Howe’s photo. The boy moved to a small telescope near the window, fidgeting with it for a moment before he said, “I saw a movie once where someone used a picture to make a ghost come into a house. Did you see that one?”
“No, I didn’t.”
Peering into the large end of the telescope, he asked with studied casualness, “Do you think there’s any such thing as ghosts?”
“You mean the scary kind, like the ones you see in movies?”
He looked up from the lens and nodded solemnly.
Frank thought of the times when, while working on especially disturbing cases, he had awakened with a start — and for a brief half-asleep, half-awake instant felt certain that he had seen a murder victim sitting at the end of his bed. “No,” he said. “Do you?”
“Not really,” Seth said.
“Are you afraid you might see your father’s ghost?”
“Maybe a little.”
“Your father was a good man who would have wanted to be with you if he could. He never, ever would have harmed you.”
“Even if he knew I had been bad?”
“Even then. He was smart, and he would understand that everybody does something wrong now and then. He’d know that you try to be good.”
Seth quietly considered this as he walked around the room, familiar with an unobstructed path of his own design. He straightened a Batman comic book that lay on a small table next to the bed, aligning it with a book about dinosaurs and another about ships. He picked up a portable CD player, flipped the cover open and shut a few times, and set it down. Then he gestured to Frank to come nearer a wall with a series of shelves on it. These shelves held an assortment of objects on them.
He showed Frank his rock collection, a seashell collection, a shed snake-skin that he had found while visiting Matt in the desert.
“Matt’s a good friend of yours, isn’t he?” Frank asked.
“Yeah. He’s pretty fun, but he’s been sick lately, so I don’t get to visit him so often. He had to have an operation on his heart. He’s got a big scar. From here to here,” he said with a certain amount of relish as he traced a line from his neck to his belly button.
“Who are your other friends?”
He looked away and shrugged, then said, “You want to see my hockey cards?” Without waiting for an answer, he got down on all fours and pulled a shoebox from beneath the bed. He pulled the sheet from the clothesline, then invited Frank to sit next to him on the bed, where he had already displayed several of his favorite cards. He began an impressive recital of not only player stats but observations on the players’ performances in recent games.
“Do you play hockey?” Frank asked.
“No,” he said sadly, then added on a more hopeful note, “I might get to play next year.” His face fell again. “But I don’t know. That might be too late. All the other kids will have a head start on me.”
“No, you can always learn to play. I just started playing last year.”
“You did?”
“Yes. I’m not a great hockey player, but I have a lot of fun. Do you ice-skate?”
“Yes. I’m a good skater.”
“And you watch the game. I think you’ll do fine.”
“Can I watch you play?”
“We’ll ask your mom. The games are pretty late at night.”
Seth smiled. “That’s one good thing about home schooling. I can sleep in
!” He fell back onto his pillow, eyes shut, making snoring noises.
There was a knock at the bedroom door. “Seth!” Elena called through it.
He sat upright and called back, “Yes?”
She opened the door. “Are you hungry? Lunch is ready.”
Frank saw a slightly mischievous look come into Seth’s eyes. “It can’t be!” the boy said. “I didn’t hear the smoke alarm!”
“Come on, Mr. Smartmouth.” She saw the hockey cards and said, “You must really rate, Detective Harriman.” She didn’t seem especially happy about it.
Mistaking the cause of her displeasure, Seth hurried over to her and said, “I was just teasing, Mom. You’re a great cook.”
Her face softened and she ruffled his hair. “Oh, yeah? I did burn dinner the other night, so I guess I deserve a little teasing.”
“You were upset—”
She glanced nervously at Frank, then quickly said to Seth, “Matt’s back, and you know he has to take Aunt Yvette to the airport right after lunch. So hurry and wash up, okay?”
Seth started to sit next to Frank, then moved to take a seat by his mother. Elena managed a smile and said, “Go on, sit next to your guest.”
Seth patted her shoulder and stayed where he was, which made Yvette smile and say something to him in French, which seemed to please him.
“Merci,” he said quietly.
As they ate ham sandwiches made on thick slices of bread, Matt, Seth, and Yvette kept the conversation rolling. Arden talked about his visit to Bredloe, which had shaken him. He began to reminisce about the captain and their days together on the force. Frank noticed that these war stories were strictly G-rated, with a careful concern for Seth, who was clearly drinking in every word.
“I knew him when he was just a rookie,” Arden said. “He went up the ranks quickly — like you must have done, Frank.”
“I’ve only known him as a captain,” Frank said, skirting the issue of his own advancement. “I hope he’ll be able to come back.”