Crossing the Line

by Hugh Macnab

  ‘Yes. We can get that circulated along with her name,’ said Jamie.

  ‘Let’s make sure we communicate what we have with the other Counties. Keep them onside.’

  Kathy asks what I think about Pamela Wilson’s death, and argues that we should add her to the list of Charlie’s victims. The weapon used doesn’t match, but the placement accuracy of the deadly strikes does. I’m not so sure, but find the logic hard to argue with.

  While we’re all thinking that over, I tell them I’ve asked Jimi to give us some fresh eyes on all the evidence from Pamela Wilson’s home, and that I’ll follow up on that with him. Maybe he can give us something new to work with.

  I quickly update them that the District Attorney is charging Mark Jason’s two cohorts with the assault of Pamela Wilson. Everyone’s pleased at that.

  We agree to meet again the following morning.

  It’s been a long day, but a productive one. I’m ready to head home. This time, I’m going to do some online research with Trace. It’s time she realizes how unrealistic her request to live with me really is. On reflection, I probably need the same advice. I’m noticing that I look forward to going home at night. Even my internal dialogue is changing. I would normally think about going back to the apartment, not home.

  34

  I save cab fare again and walk home. Everything’s still going round in my head and I don’t even make it all the way when I text the team with a new question. What ages were each of Charlie’s abusers?

  I’m in my apartment making cheese on toast for Trace and myself, when the answer comes back from Jamie. Twenty-five, twenty-nine and twenty-seven.

  Before I can even process the information, another text from Jamie follows. ‘All the victims were in their twenties or early thirties.’

  Trace and I take our cheese on toast, me with a Corona, Trace with a Diet Coke, into the lounge area. Trace collapses onto my beanbag, which has now become her default seat, and I sit on the two-seater.

  I take a first bite, then ask Trace if she would like to help me look into future options for her. She asks if that includes living with me.

  Not wishing to burst her bubble, I tell her it should include all options. We agree to finish eating, then power up the laptop and see what we can find.

  Before we finish eating, I receive another message from Jamie. ‘backdated the vics ages to the time Charlie put them on the list and they were all in their twenties.’

  It looks to me like Charlie is exacting revenge on people of the same age as those who had abused her. That they were not personally responsible doesn’t seem to matter to her. At least maybe we’re beginning to understand what she’s up to, and why.

  When we finish our cheese on toast, Trace takes control of the laptop. Again, I can’t help but see how comfortable she is working with an unfamiliar laptop, without having had an education. This is exactly how my serial-killer must be.

  When I ask her about it, she explains her formal education is non-existent, but she is street-smart, and technology’s a way of life out there. I don’t ask, but I guess a lot of stolen cell phones and laptops would pass around her former community all the time.

  She pulls up several relevant websites one after another, and we consider their content through different lenses. I confess, I focus my lens on the difficulties, responsibilities and costs. Her lens only sees the possibilities. She writes off my concerns with her positive need to succeed.

  I read her a passage. As a single parent, there is typically no break or relief—parenting is a 24-hour job. As a single parent, the individual will not only have to provide an income that can support two lives, but the individual must also tangibly care for the child to provide the youth with all the essentials to secure and maintain a productive life.

  Trace explains everything away by saying that she’s no ordinary youth. That she’s not only self-sufficient, but can help me run my home life more cost effectively. And she can clean and learn to cook, so I will live more hygienically and eat better.

  I try a different paragraph. When undertaking single child adoption, you must understand the costs associated with the endeavor. Because of agency fees, national fees, traveling fees and the costs associated with caring for a child, the single parent adoption process is exorbitantly expensive.

  Her take here, is that I don’t need to actually adopt her. That she just wants somewhere to live and someone to share her life with. Hearing the raw innocence of her thoughts expressed like that, my guilt floods me all over again. I’m arguing complexity, expense and legal issues. But what else can I do? I can’t just have her live here, can I?

  As we keep looking, we find another site that tells us that single adults of either gender can adopt children of either gender. But prospective parents of children above the age of five should be between fifty and fifty-five. When we read this, without saying anything, we mutually agree to switch the laptop off, and MASH on. Which is how we spend the rest of our time together. Each silently wondering what we are going to do.

  Later, in bed, I start thinking about Charlie again. She’s far too smart and focused to be killing random twenty-something year old men. There has to be more to it than that. Then, I remember that two of them were guilty of child-abuse involving seventeen-year-olds. That would be an excellent motivation for her in those two cases, but doesn’t explain the rest. Something to think more about tomorrow.

  That night, I have the best sleep in a long time, and waken to the Black-Eyed Peas singing about how people killin’, people dyin, children hurt and can you hear them cryin on the lowest volume.

  It makes me think of Bossy-boots again, but this time Trace and Charlie are also in there. Life’s becoming more complicated with all these kids to think about.

  Stepping into the shower, after my conversation with Cliff I feel like Bossy-boots has finally forgiven me, and I’m now seriously considering seeing him again. I know if I do, we’ll sleep together and I don’t think I’m ready for that, but I won’t rule it out either. I wonder what he would say about me sharing my apartment with a street urchin?

  After the shower, I consult my body in front of the mirror again. Butt ok, check. Knee okay, check. Boobs still smaller than Kathy’s - check. Everything’s fine, so I select a turquoise shirt and my trusty jeans, dress, badge and Glock-up, ready to walk to the office. I’m just wondering why I haven’t done more of this before, when I remember that for the best part of the last year I struggled with my crocked knee. Then just when I’d recovered from that, it was my fractured butt, and before either of these, I had my trusty late-Chevy.

  Maybe this is the new me? A walker.

  I check Trace, but she’s still sound asleep. Hard floor or not, I suspect she’s enjoying the relative safety of the apartment. I can’t imagine how frightening some places she’d slept in before must have felt. Places like the Project. I leave another five on the breakfast bar and head out.

  My decision to walk is a good one. It’s still cool, but the sky is clear and the sun on its way up when I arrive at EJ’s. It certainly feels different not being soaked in sweat. I haven’t really thought about it before, but my sweat and dry skin must be all over my booth. I know it would all be my own, but somehow sliding in still gives me the creeps.

  I’m just about to order when Cliff slides in opposite me. I imagine the look on my face must be funny. It definitely gets a laugh from him. I’m too surprised to be tactful.

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Well, that’s not a friendly welcome detective. We ate out in one-style yesterday, so I thought I would see how the real world live today. Can you pass a menu?’

  I’m still in shock. I tell myself again; he doesn’t do fast food. He shouldn’t be in here.

  The waitress pours us some coffee and asks if we’re ready to order. He orders the full breakfast fry. I go for the cheaper option of waffles and hope he isn’t expecting me to pay.

  Sipping his coffee, he says that he hoped to find me here
. That yesterday, he’d forgotten to ask how I was doing after the shooting almost a year ago.

  I’ve been so busy since being back at work; I admit this is almost the first time I’ve really thought about it. It’s something I’m planning on discussing with Luisa del Roy later in the day.

  As I don’t reply, Cliff gently reminds me it was his office that carried out the independent review and provided recommendations back to the Sheriff. That he had followed the review closely.

  Again, he asks me how I am.

  What can I say? As long as I am busy, I’m fine? Or, You’re the first person to bring it up again, thanks for that. But again, I surprise myself with the answer I give - the truth. That I honestly don’t know.

  He has this habit of being able to get me to open up to him like this. It’s annoying, but also something I like about him. He’s easy to talk with.

  We talk all through breakfast, and like the true gentleman he is, he pays, then tells me he hopes I’ll be in touch soon.

  Ten minutes later I’m at work, wondering what has just happened. I watched him eat a full fried breakfast and enjoy it. I’ve told him things I’ve never voiced to anyone else about the shooting. We laughed about quite a few things. Shit. Now I’m in a good mood and happy again. That’s now three times in so many days.

  I grab a coffee and head into the conference room to meet with the team. They’re checking off the list of objectives we agreed on, a few days before.

  It seems like we’re now left with two immediate objectives. To review the killing of Pamela Wilson and decide whether she was one of Charlie’s victims or not. Then, to track down Pamela’s assistant and bring him in for questioning.

  I add a further aim. Figure out Charlie’s next step and catch her.

  After that, it’s time to check in with Jerry in Narcs and see how he’s getting on with bringing down Chico Vegas.

  As I approach the Narcs conference room upstairs, I can hear the sound of raised voices. There are two other people in the room with Jerry, and I recognize one of them as his Lieutenant. I don’t know the other. I go looking for his team and find them huddled together at the rear of the room, drinking coffee.

  ‘What’s up in there?’ I ask, indicating the conference room.

  ‘Fucking DEA.’

  ‘What do they want?’

  ‘We’re only guessing from what we’ve heard, but it sounds like they don’t want Miami allowing us to use their mole to wrap up the Savage City Gang here in Naples.’

  ‘Why would they want to stop us doing that? That makes no sense.’

  ‘It does if you think the alternative may be to let the guy buy his way out with information about the supply chain leading into Miami instead, so they can cut that off.’

  ‘So, Chico Vegas and his guys just find a new supplier and keep experimenting on people?’

  ‘It seems.’

  ‘Well, not on my shift, they won’t. Can you guys somehow make sure they stay here for twenty minutes?’

  ‘Sure. What have you in mind?’

  ‘I’m going for the cavalry.’

  With that, I head back downstairs.

  Twenty minutes later, I’m back with the cavalry right behind me. Well, a cavalry-individual to be specific. But a very good one.

  I knock on the conference room door and enter with Arnie Collins right behind me.

  The lieutenant immediately tries to tell me to leave, but I just jump into the conversation feet first.

  ‘It seems like you’re struggling with a simple choice, gentlemen. To round up the Savage City Gang here in Naples, or cut the supply chain feeding Miami? Which by the way will be replaced within days if not hours.’

  ‘And who exactly are you?’ asks the DEA agent.

  ‘Just a concerned detective. Concerned how the Savage City Gangsters have used one-hundred thirty-four people in the most horrific way. This is our head Medical Examiner and before you make your decision, I would like you to listen to what he has to say.’

  Giving no one the chance to respond, Arnie sits quietly and starts explaining how the Project was really a laboratory. How it was used to test various combinations of drugs on a population nobody cared about. He then goes into the details of how badly affected people were. How much suffering the victims had gone through because of the uncontrolled experimentation, and that the deaths had now climbed to nineteen and would probably go much higher.

  One of the great things about Arnie is he naturally commands respect. It’s not just that he’s an expert in his field, which he is. It’s more about his manner and the way he speaks to people, drawing them in. His age adds a gravitas that no-one else in the room can match, so he’s on a winner with that.

  I observe their faces throughout his explanation. I know where Jerry’s coming from. That’s a no-brainer. The DEA agent obviously will have his own agenda, and I guess I have to respect that. But the lieutenant’s on the fence. He’ll probably want to support his own team as any leader should, but he’s also being forced to get involved in inter-departmental politics. If he’s to have a career ahead of him, he will need to carefully consider which side to come down on. I don’t know this lieutenant personally, but I know Jerry and his team don’t rate him.

  Arnie finishes what he has to say. Asks if there are questions before thanking everyone for allowing him to speak, and explains he has work to get back to.

  When he leaves, I see from the lieutenants’ expression that not only is he pissed at me, but he’s on the wrong side of this thing. At least I’ve taken my best shot.

  Sure enough, he speaks first. Directing his comments directly at me.

  ‘Well, detective. Thank you for attending a meeting to which you had no invite, and for dragging the ME away from a busy work-load to attend a meeting he was not invited to either, to tell us what we already know. I’m sure this will stand out on your performance review, although perhaps not in the way you might have intended.’

  Jerry tries his best to support me, but it’s clearly useless. The damage has been done. The lieutenant has already decided. At least, that’s what I think until the Agent from the DEA speaks up.

  ‘First, detective. I believe you are Detective Greyfox. Am I correct?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Then I would start by extending you my condolences on the loss of your cousin. I was sorry to hear about that. I believe he was just about to help bring in a particularly dangerous man. A man we tried to prosecute many times and failed thanks to expensive attorneys.’

  ‘Yes, he was.’

  ‘As you rightly point out, cutting a supply line isn’t a permanent fix. In fact, we’re lucky if it has any noticeable effect on the streets at all, before they establish a new one. As the lieutenant here has said, I was already aware of the damage caused by the SCG here in the Project. But being aware, and understanding the abhorrence and longer-term consequences of an experiment such as the one at the Project, are two very different things. I really appreciate you bringing your ME in to share that with me and I will take onboard everything he said when I go back to speak with my superiors.’

  Then he finishes with a sentence I’m not expecting.

  ‘I’ll be recommending that we form a joint task-force to bring down the SCG here in Naples at the earliest date. Thank you, detective.’

  I don’t think my lower jaw actually hits the floor, but it’s difficult to know. What I am aware of, is that I’ve made an enemy out of the lieutenant and need to make sure I come across as trite and thankful, instead of smug the way I feel. I do my best, but he’ll be the only one who will know if I succeed. Besides, I don’t work in Narcs.

  I doubt he’ll be making an alternative positive contribution to my performance appraisal.

  Now it’s time for a change of gear. I have a psychiatrist to see.

  Jerry gives me a wink on my way out the door.

  35

  Maggie welcomes me and makes sure I have a cup of fresh brew before seeing Luisa del Roy for my secon
d personal session. Since talking about the shooting with Cliff over breakfast, I’m strangely unconcerned about any further probing discussion with this woman. That I left here feeling so positive the last time was also helping.

  This time, she spends quite some time explaining PTSD to me. Obviously I’ve heard the term many times in past years and always took for granted that I know what it is without stopping to understand it in any detail.

  The way she describes it is so simple.

  It explains so many things about how I’ve been feeling in the past year. Why I’ve been so emotional - sad, angry, depressed? Why I feel so guilty or hopeless and out of control? Why I’ve been behaving irrationally much of the time, and have been finding concentrating and doing my job ten times harder than before. And most interestingly, why I’ve lost confidence and have such a low opinion about myself.

  I’ve been going through these without understanding why. Just accepting them. In fact it’s clear to me now, that I’ve been allowing all of these symptoms to change the way I lead my life. Not just at work, but also in my personal life.

  But now, once she has explained why I’ve allowed this to happen, it’s easy to understand how she helps people recover. I don’t think I’ve ever had such a meaningful conversation in my life. It explains everything to me. Not only that, armed with this new understanding of myself, I know I’ll now look at other people differently. That I’ll be more able to recognize people struggling emotionally and be able to empathize better.

  So, before we even run what she calls her simple little process, I’m already feeling better. Knowledge can do that to you. It changes the way you think.