The Policewomen's Bureau

by Edward Conlon

  That changed after January of 1969, when she broke her neck. Not too badly—nothing in her life was too anything then—but a vertebra was fractured when a drunk sideswiped her car on her way into work. She wasn’t in much pain, and she enjoyed the fuss the cops made—a caravan of cars escorted her to Bellevue, as if she were a fallen warrior. They strapped her down and doped her up, and when Ann appeared, Marie would have hugged her if she could. They had begun to speak again, but without much affection. Sal had told Ann that he’d throw her out if she had any complaints about Sid moving in. Marie knew what Ann must have gone through, but the hardness never wholly left her heart until that afternoon. She had changed her next-of-kin notification from Sid to Ann after the last hospital emergency, and she was glad that she’d forgotten to change it again. Sid had long since moved in with Carmen. Ann began to cry, and then Marie cried as well.

  “Please, Marie, please forgive me.”

  “It’s all right, honey. It’s all right. I’m fine, I really am. I mean it.”

  “I’m just so sorry, I—”

  “No, Ann, I’m sorry. What you did, I know . . . I know what it’s like.”

  “Yeah.”

  They sat for a while, having said all they could manage. It was a comfortable silence, reassuring. Ann fussed with Marie’s bedclothes, put flowers in a vase, and left the magazines she’d brought on the side table. Marie must have dozed off, though whether it was for two minutes or two hours, she didn’t know. When she awoke, they talked about practicalities—Ann would stay over with Sandy and Jim. Marie didn’t want the kids to visit. When Ann rose to put her coat on, Marie didn’t want her to leave. “Stay if you want, Ann, I know I’m not the best company, but—”

  “No, honey, I don’t want to keep you all to myself. You have another visitor, and only one person’s allowed in at a time.”

  “Really? Who’s there?”

  “Your boss. Lieutenant Stackett.”

  Once Ann withdrew, he poked his bunny face shyly in the door, as if a sudden noise might send him scampering off to the safety of the underbrush. Marie couldn’t say he was a welcome sight, but she probably wasn’t looking her best, either. He asked if she needed anything. She said that she didn’t and thanked him for coming. He wished her a speedy recovery and quietly departed. Marie reproached herself for misjudging him.

  During her months of recovery, she was obliged to revise her opinion of him again. He called every week, at first, and cards and notes began to arrive in the mail. When the phone rang, Marie would implore Sandy to answer, and to make excuses whenever she could. One afternoon, Sandy tried the Spanish accent she’d been cultivating for her school play—West Side Story, in which she played one of the Sharks’ girlfriends. “Alo? Jes?”

  “Uh, this is Lieutenant Stackett. Is this the Carrara household?”

  “Jes.”

  “Ah, um, to whom am I speaking?”

  “This is Consuela. I clean.”

  “I see. May I speak with Mrs. Carrara?”

  “Ah, no, meester. The señora, she sleeping.”

  “I won’t trouble her then. But you will let her know that I asked after her.”

  “Sí, meester. I tell Señora.”

  Though Consuela soon became an indispensable member of the household, Marie couldn’t dodge every call. Junkies napped less than Marie was said to, and Delores Del Río spent less time in the bathtub. She was almost amused by the fuss he made; it was a distraction, a game. She hadn’t noticed he’d taken to calling after three, when the kids were home, until she read this note:

  Greetings and Salutations!

  Your beloved daughter had some wonderful things to say about her outstanding mother. It seems to me that with the halo you are wearing there will be no need for artificial illumination once you return to the office.

  Best of everything,

  Joe Stackett

  Subsequent missives let slip that he knew little Jim’s favorite food was macaroni, and that his favorite TV program was Kimba, the White Lion. He commiserated with Marie over Sandy’s C-plus in math and angled for an invitation to the Roosevelt High School premiere of West Side Story, which wasn’t going to happen for several reasons. By April, when she was back at work, she recalled with nostalgia the days when she had a boss who couldn’t stand the sight of her. None of the bums in the office believed her stories about his unwelcome attentions. One of the women said, “Lt. Stackett is a very religious man. I can’t believe he’d do that.” One of the men said, “I don’t buy it. If you were a guy, I could see it. You? No.”

  That was aggravating. What was infuriating was the emerging consensus that Lt. Stackett wasn’t as bad as all that. The same slack-jaws and seat-fillers who so dreaded the new sheriff in town were free with their pearls of craven wisdom. “I wouldn’t be in such a hurry to pass judgment, Marie, if you know what I mean.”

  “You know what he said last week, when Smitty showed up in the morning, still cockeyed from the night before? He said, ‘Let him without sin cast the first stone.’ Old Joe Stackett, he ain’t the worst.”

  “Far be it from me to tell tales out of school, Marie, but he only has nice things to say about you. I really don’t think you should be badmouthing him like that.”

  Several of his recent decencies were meaningful. When one of the men’s children was in the hospital, he was told to stay home as long as he needed; a woman whose husband died was given three weeks off. Marie was glad for the kindness, but she refused to bear the burden of his better nature alone, still less to go down the road he expected them to travel. She reminded herself that she didn’t have friends in the office, let alone partners, and she’d never put much stock in their opinions. For what it was worth, it wasn’t long before no one doubted Stackett’s devotion to her. He made a show of taking her coat when she arrived each morning, and holding out her chair for her to sit at her desk. “You must rest, Marie! You must husband your strength.”

  The letters became more frequent. There was this one:

  Det. Carrara,

  Please!!! Continue to refuse the Hollywood and Broadway contracts. Our department would never recover from your loss—

  And this:

  Princess Marie Terese,

  It is with great appreciation and a deep sense of humility we are privileged to apprise you that in recognition of your outstanding performance of duty in the Flynn case, you will be excused from all duty on Thursday, May 22, and Friday, May 23—

  The letters might as well have been published in the Daily News. Each detective had a mailbox, an open slot in a stack of wooden shelves. Marie’s was stuffed to capacity every day, and its contents became required reading. If there wasn’t a mash note, there would be a coupon for twenty-five cents off a jar of Nescafé, or for a buy-one, get-one-free deal at Hamburger Heaven. There were comic strips Baby Jim might enjoy, or pages torn from magazines with pictures of fashion models or actresses, with notes disparaging their relative charms, or recommending an outfit that would be just perfect for her. To Commissioner Marie T. Carrara, the World’s Most Beautiful and Photogenic Officer.

  The office was full of lighthearted laughter, as it had never been before.

  “What movie will your boyfriend take you to on Friday?”

  “Is Psycho playing at any of the revival houses?”

  “Have you met his mother yet, or is she still with the taxidermist?”

  No jokes, no complaints. That was the pledge she had taken. The rest of the office hadn’t signed on.

  Marie couldn’t get mad at Smitty when he took her aside, late one afternoon, so blotto with scotch that he was more likely to become a missing person than he ever was to find one. He was a sweet-natured, deeply damaged man, and bets were divided between whether he’d be fired in his last year before retirement, or he’d die the year after. “You know, Marie, I don’t know how to say this. I don’t know how to thank you, and I wouldn’t, I couldn’t ask . . . I never thought of us being on a team here, you know? We were a
ll just a bunch of . . . whatevers. Now, it’s good. Guys are happy, they help each other. Never saw that here before. Anyway, I know I have no right to ask, but do you think you might ever really go out with him? Because if he doesn’t wind up screwing you, he’s gonna screw us. He’s gonna screw all of us, real bad.”

  Marie didn’t hit him. She didn’t say anything. She walked out the door and went home. It was only three o’clock. She hadn’t signed out, or put in a slip for time off. Why should she? She was good old Joe’s special favorite, and she couldn’t get in trouble if she tried. What Smitty said saddened her. He was right about what would happen when the honeymoon was over.

  Soon after, Lt. Stackett asked to take her and the children out to dinner. For a few weeks, she was able to stall him. Weeknights were out of the question because of evening classes, and then weekends were postponed because of parish events, family duties. She learned not to say that one of the kids was sick after he greeted her one morning with a bright smile and a lollipop.

  “Please, give this to dear Jim. The little ones do suffer so when they’re ill. Green is his favorite color, you know. I happened to be in the neighborhood yesterday—just by coincidence—and I stopped by your house. I thought maybe we could get coffee. You were out somewhere, sadly. But Jim looked fit as a fiddle, I’m delighted to say.”

  “Well, you know, with kids, they bounce right back.”

  At dinner that night, Marie warned her son about talking to strangers.

  “I know, Mommy. Uncle Joe told me the same thing.”

  “‘Uncle Joe?’”

  “Who works with you. He gave me a lollipop. He’s nice.”

  That was when Marie knew she had to put an end to it. For a moment, she thought about telling Sid, putting his crazy jealousy to use, for once. Nope. That was the worst idea she’d had in a while. She hadn’t had any trouble from him since the divorce, but there was no guessing what would happen if she opened that door, even just a crack. Now that Marie was talking to Ann again, she knew what Sid told Sal: “Sure, I know I got screwed. Marie can be a nutty broad sometimes, but one day, she’ll come to her senses, and she’ll beg me to come back.”

  Marie sat down with the lieutenant in his office. She decided to play to his religiosity, maintaining that her divorce made any kind of relationship impossible. When he replied that he only had the noblest intentions, she was afraid she’d miscalculated. Did he only want long walks in the moonlight, holding hands, forever and ever and ever? She told him that his attentions were exposing her to ridicule, and she had to protect her reputation. He reacted angrily, demanding to know names and quotes. Marie refused to answer. His face clenched with indignation and then became ashen and still. He told her that she was dismissed for the remainder of the day. Marie took care to fill out a slip for the time off. As she left the office, Smitty stumbled in, his eyes bloodshot. He was suspended for being unfit for duty.

  The lieutenant still sent Marie notes, but they were very different in nature.

  Det. Carrara—

  Please leave a written report on my desk listing by date and providing in detail your efforts to locate the parents, relatives, guardians, etc., of the four-year-old who is at the Children’s Center. The time and date of the teletype message that was transmitted will be entered on the report.

  In addition, I am interested in knowing what investigative leads you are pursuing and your plans for a solution to this case.

  For your strict compliance.

  Lt. Stackett,

  Commanding Officer, MPB

  Soon after, many of her cases were subject to similar scrutiny. Her evaluation was coming up, and her chances of promotion, however slim, would disappear altogether. She was sick at heart. Had it really come to this? It could be worse. It had been worse. And it was worse, now, for others she loved.

  No jokes, no complaints. There was no complaining to Dee, at least. Marie hadn’t been the only one in the family in the hospital over the winter. Marie’s broken neck was good news compared to Luigi’s bone cancer. He’d dwindled to a wisp, and he was in such agony that Dee had forbidden visitors, as he was either weeping from pain or delirious from the painkillers. Marie hadn’t seen him since February. Dee had arranged for the sale of the clothing store in April, when they couldn’t find a second opinion, or a tenth, that offered any hope at all. The other sisters agreed that it was a mercy when poor, sweet Luigi died.

  The wake would be that night, and the funeral fell on Marie’s day off, so she’d be spared from having to ask the lieutenant for any favors. When she got home, she helped Sandy pick out a dress. Jim was left with a neighbor, in tears. He was too young to attend. The wake would be open casket. Marie wanted him to remember Luigi in his vitality, for all the time spent with him to soften a father’s neglect. Jim was barely mollified when Marie gave him a lollipop. “Green’s my favorite color,” he said.

  So Marie had been told. Jim wouldn’t get a chance to say goodbye to either uncle he’d lost in recent days. At the funeral home, Dee set the tone of rigid dignity and controlled grief. Whenever someone sobbed, she shot them a look. If someone broke down, they were escorted to the lobby. Marie and Sandy signed the register, picked up prayer cards from the stack beside it, and took their places in line. Luigi had many friends. The room was crowded with flowers, thick with smoke. Mama and Papa were in black, as was Dee and her three children. Dee stood beside the coffin with the eldest boy, while Mama and Papa sat in the front row, beside the younger two. Vera and Ann were behind them.

  When Marie and Sandy reached the coffin, they knelt and prayed, saying an Our Father and a Hail Mary. Marie drew in her breath at the sight of Luigi. His face more horrible than she’d imagined, emaciated and painted like a clown. She leaned down to kiss him goodbye. When she rose, Sandy looked frightened—Mama, do I have to kiss him? Marie shook her head. Sandy began to weep. Dee held her gently, briefly, and let her go. Sandy went to Mama and Papa to hug them before taking a seat beside Vera and Ann.

  Marie hesitated as she offered condolences. Dee’s face had changed, too. There was a coldness to her, a stillness, that made her seem more like Luigi than any of the mourners in the room. Her remove was such that Marie couldn’t contain her own emotions. She embraced her and began to cry. “Sis, I’m so sorry. Luigi, he was so good. I don’t, I can’t . . .”

  Marie could feel her sister’s body recoil, but she couldn’t let go. She knew that she should be offering support instead of asking for it, but she needed to hold her. Dee pushed her away gently. Her eyes were dry, and her voice was calm when she said, “Now I’m alone, like you.”

  Marie didn’t understand. The words were clear enough, but the meaning was not. There no compliment in them, but there was no need to understand the insult right now. Marie offered a sad smile in response. “No, Dee, honey. Not like me. You have good memories. Luigi loved you, and you loved him. I was always alone.”

  Dee’s expression didn’t change. Marie touched her arm and took her seat with her daughter, her sisters, and her numberless confusions. What had Dee meant? Were they rivals in tragedy now? Maybe she’d ask, later on. Maybe not. Didn’t Dee know that was how the game was played? Marie tried to keep her temper. Not for nothing, but if there was a game show called Who’s Life Is Worse? Dee had a long way to go before she caught up. Dee was a second-grade detective, and she hadn’t made any more arrests at the Brooklyn DA’s Squad than Marie had at Missing Persons. She’d been accommodated and adored, at work and at home. And if you thought about it—

  “Mom? How long do we have to stay?”

  “Nine o’clock.”

  “Oh.”

  Marie held Sandy’s hand until Ann called her over. “C’mere, Sandy, I want to ask you a couple of things. What do you think—”

  When Mama turned around to shush them, Ann led Sandy out to the lobby. Thank you, Ann! Marie watched Dee as she met each mourner in line to accept fifteen seconds of commiseration. She could have been an usher taking tickets at the movie
s. Vera sidled over to Marie. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m all right, Vera. Seeing Luigi, it was . . .”

  “I know, I know.”

  Really, if you thought about it, that Dee only had seventeen beautiful years with Luigi was a sad thing. But Marie’s marriage had been a disgrace, a nightmare, from the first night to the last. She coughed from the smoke. She needed fresh air.

  “I have mints. Do you want one?”

  “No thanks, Vera. I ought to go check on Sandy, to make sure—”

  When Marie rose, Mama turned around again, and she sat back down. What an awful night this was. New grudges joined old griefs. Still, if Dee wanted to make this a fight, it would end in a knockout, not a decision. And then Marie was ashamed of herself. Whatever bitter pills Dee needed to take or to hand out, she was entitled to them, at least for tonight. Maybe that stillness in her face was from Valium. Marie was the big sister, and she had to be better—not that it was a competition—

  Vera nudged her. “Who’s the lady? Isn’t it your old boss? She’s looking at you.”

  It was Mrs. M.! She nodded at Marie but remained in line, kneeling and praying before paying her respects. As she walked out, she waved for Marie to follow. Just before they reached the lobby, Mrs. M. gave her an elbow, tilting her head toward the coffin. Sid was in line, and he wasn’t alone. Marie followed Mrs. M. outside. “I’m so sorry, my dear. I truly am. For your sister, but also for you. He was a wonderful man, Luigi.”