The Hooker, the Handyman and What the Parrot Saw

by Patricia Harman

  He hesitated. “It’s not a happy story.”

  Charlie nodded, her face encouraging him to continue. He imagined she had used this technique on many people from whom she was trying to extract information, and that she probably got what she wanted. Resistance was futile so he continued, cautiously. “I grew up in Santa Cruz, California; I’m an only child and my parents died when I was sixteen years old.” He said it matter-of-factly like he was describing the death of a childhood pet.

  “What? Both of them? Together?”

  Jake shrugged. “It is what it is. October 17, 1989. A 6.9 earthquake hit the Oakland and San Francisco areas of California where we lived. My parents were driving on a bridge when it collapsed during the quake. Sixty-four people were killed that day, including my parents.”

  Charlie was speechless, so he continued. “I had stayed late at school that day. I had detention for doing something stupid. They were on their way to pick me up when they were killed.”

  “Is that true?” she asked, quietly. He raised his head to let her see his eyes and she immediately felt awful. Hook, line, and sinker, he thought. Women love a tortured a man. He was almost disappointed at how easily she bought his story. “I’m so sorry Jake. Jesus, maybe I have been a cop too long. This job can make a person so cynical.” The story was bullshit, but the pain in his eyes was real. Jake had in fact lost both his parents on that day in 1989 but an earthquake was more palatable than the truth. He didn’t like people judging his misguided parents, which he knew would be the case if he told the real story. The earthquake happened the same day they died so he always associated it with their death. It somehow made it less of a lie. He didn’t mind seeing sympathy in someone’s eyes, but not pity. Pity was something he simply could not bear.

  “So, then what happened? Who took care of you?”

  Jake wanted to take her in his arms right then and there. The tough side of this woman was attractive, but the soft side of her was irresistible. Easy Jake. Female cops are bad. Female cops are bad, he chided himself.

  “Jake? Who took care of you?” she repeated.

  “Umm . . .” he stumbled, lost in her eyes. “My uh, my mother was estranged from her sister at the time of their death but she was the only relative I had so CPS tracked her down. She told Child Protective Services she would leave her family in Nevada and move to Santa Cruz to live with me in my parent’s house until I graduated seven months later. Two days after graduation she emancipated me and asked me for some money. From her perspective she was owed something for being inconvenienced.” Jake rolled his eyes and made air quotation marks. “She handed me off to a lawyer who explained the facts of life quick and dirty. He also asked me for money and then he sent me on my way.”

  Charlie shook her head in horror. “Then what?”

  “Then? Then I survived.” He shrugged. “My parents were fairly well off. I spent eight years bumming around before I finally grew up enough to realize the money wasn’t going to last forever. I bought my way into UCLA, graduated, applied to the Bureau.”

  “Wow. That’s quite a story,” she said, hoping he would catch the movie line reference from My Cousin Vinny, but figuring that was too much to expect. He couldn’t possibly be this good looking, this smart, and be able to quote movie lines. She shook her head as she processed the circumstances of his parent’s demise, still slightly suspicious, but then realized that her own story was equally fucked up.

  “It could have been worse,” he said.

  “How?”

  “They could have been poor.”

  She looked at him like he was crazy and they both busted out laughing.

  Cops are sick.

  Chapter 11

  My Cousin Vinny

  “Your turn now,” he said narrowing his eyes.

  “Well, clearly, I should have told my story first. Now my story isn’t interesting at all.” They both laughed.

  Why am I so comfortable? They both thought at the same moment. For two traumatized and mostly hollow human beings, they were connecting in a way that simply did not make sense to either of them. They talked through lunch, through dessert, and into their fourth cup of coffee, until the colonel finally interrupted. “I hate to break this up kids but we actually closed the restaurant an hour ago.” Charlie looked at her watch in alarm. It was 3:30. She looked around and realized the place was completely empty and she blushed.

  “They only serve lunch?” Jake whispered.

  “No. They are open from noon to 2:30 for lunch and then they reopen at 5:00 for dinner so the colonel can have his afternoon nap.” She stood up to hug the colonel and handed Jake the check. “I’m so sorry Colonel,” Charlie apologized. “It’s this case.” She made wide eyes at the colonel and with her back to Jake she mouthed “Stop.” The colonel’s eyes danced mischievously. Charlie rolled her eyes, hugged him, and headed for the car while Jake took care of the check.

  Once they were both back in the car, they sat quietly for a minute as it warmed up. She turned in her seat to face him. “Thank you for lunch Jake, I’m sorry for giving you such a hard time this morning.”

  “I understand Charlie. I mean, Sergeant,” he smiled warmly. “I know this is a tough position for you to be in.”

  Charlie’s eyes softened. “Jake. You can call me Charlie away from the office. I just meant, you know, around the guys, Sergeant is more appropriate.”

  “I’m just here to help, Charlie,” he said quietly. Then as if his hand was detached from his body he watched as it reached up and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She stared at him, mouth partially open and breathing audibly.

  “My Cousin Vinny.”

  “What?” she asked, snapping out of her trance.

  “‘That’s quite a story’ is a line from My Cousin Vinny.”

  “Holy shit,” she said out loud putting the car into drive. “Buckle up, Agent.” After the drive to the restaurant, she didn’t have to tell him twice.

  When they got back to the station, Jake headed for his car saying that he had taken up enough of her time but would see her in the morning. Thank God, she thought, realizing that she still had a ton of work on her desk. She no sooner sat down at her desk and got started on the first report, when Clint appeared in her doorway.

  “How was the autopsy? Any surprises?”

  “Where the hell have you been?” he demanded in a tone that caused her to put her pen down and raise a warning eyebrow at him. There was always a fine line of familiarity where Clint was concerned that had to be managed.

  “You’re the subordinate. I’m the boss. These are the facts and they are not in dispute,” she said eyeing Clint playfully.

  Clint grinned. “Oh! Oh! Oh! Wait! A Few Good Men!” he blurted.

  “Who said it?”

  “Uhhh, wait. The Six Degrees guy! Bacon! Kevin Bacon!”

  “And the character he played?”

  “Oh, come on Sarge! Jeez! Um . . . Jack . . . his name was Jack . . . damn!” he said slapping his hand on his leg.

  “Ross. Captain Jack Ross.” She said smiling triumphantly. “Amateur.”

  “Damn Sarge! I was close to pulling it!”

  “Like hell you were,” she laughed and pointed to the chair in front of her.

  “What’s on your mind, Night Rider?” Night Rider was her pet name for Clint because he liked working nights. It was a term of endearment. She leaned back in her chair and stretched her arms over her head, making it difficult for Clint to concentrate.

  “Nothing,” he lied. “I just asked where you’ve been.”

  “The Anchor.”

  “You took Preppy McFed to The Anchor?” he asked, looking and sounding hurt.

  “Look Clint, the captain, in his infinite wisdom,” she said as she made a dramatic sweep of her hand, “has not only assigned this guy to our serial but to me personally, so don�
�t hump my leg about this. Don’t we have enough to deal with? We had to review the case.”

  “Okay,” he said with a pout. “Are we working out or what?”

  “Ugh,” she grunted. “I’m not used to eating lunch. Let me let this settle a little?” She put a hand on her stomach.

  “Hey fine with me, you’re the one that said the extra twenty CID pounds were making you look like a fire hydrant! I’m just sayin’!” he said as he walked away.

  “Just give me an hour, dickhead,” she shouted.

  “I’ll be at Amy’s after.”

  “Beer only Clint!” she shouted after him. “Clint! Did you copy that, Night Rider?”

  Clint was one of those weird-as-shit alcoholics. He could drink beer with no problem, but the hard stuff made him crazy, dark and addicted and he had to steer clear of it. Charlie had helped him out of a very deep hole and she was committed to making sure he didn’t return to Wonderland.

  Charlie finally wrapped it up at around nine p.m. and headed back to her apartment feeling surprisingly chipper. She thought about her long lunch with Jake and laughed to herself when she remembered Clint calling him Preppy McFed. Clint’s funny. She couldn’t shake how Jake’s eyes looked when he talked about losing his parents. She felt an ache in her gut over all he must have gone through. Then she remembered him pushing her hair behind her ear. What the hell was that about? A shiver ran through her body. Good shiver or bad shiver? Usually she could tell, but not this time. Both? Jesus, what a day.

  Chapter 12

  The Stakeout

  The killer was feeling benevolent. Benevolence always came in the form of Pearl Jam’s “Black.” He desperately tried to remember what it felt like to love. To be loved? No. That, he had never known, but had he loved? Maybe. He hadn’t killed her. If that wasn’t love, he didn’t know what was. She wanted to come inside but he couldn’t let her. Not knowing protected her. He protected her. Ungrateful bitch. She didn’t understand. “Distant, closed off, secretive, cryptic.” No, these were not words of love. She did not love him. Perhaps he should have killed her. The next one would pay the price for her insolence.

  Charlie sat in Captain Grisolm’s office arguing with him. The captain was used to this. “Seriously Captain, this is going to soak up every resource I have. Wouldn’t our time be better spent working the cases and tracking the leads?”

  “That’s why I’m leaving Clint off the stakeout schedule. Look Charlie, it’s a rare thing when a police agency can predict who might be a victim of a homicide, but that’s where we are, aren’t we?” She nodded begrudgingly. “Is there any doubt in your mind that the next victim is one of the offenders left from your cases in kiddy crimes?” She shook her head. “Then what are we arguing about?” he asked, handing her the stakeout schedule.

  Charlie had closed thirty-eight cases as a detective. Twenty pedophiles were in jail. Two had committed suicide. One was a fugitive and on the run. Three had been killed by the serial. That left twelve offenders that had received relatively light sentences following plea bargains to protect the victims from testifying.

  Wed, Thu, Fri 2100–0500 Cavanaugh/Adams—Daniel Silver residence.

  “That work for you Charlie?” the captain asked, rhetorically.

  “Sure, Captain. Do we have enough bodies to cover the other potential victims and still work other cases?”

  “It’s going to be tight but we can manage for about a week.” The captain ran his hand through his thinning hair.

  Charlie prepared for her first stakeout with Jake Adams, reminding herself over and over that this was an assignment, not a date. Her stomach was churning and her hands were shaking. Focus, Charlie, she admonished herself. The admonishment sent a shiver up her spine and across the back of her neck for reasons only she knew. It had to do with her “unconventional” introduction to sex and it made her smile. It always made her smile.

  Charlotte Cavanaugh took her job very seriously and anyone who had ever worked with her thought nothing less. She was smart and tough. She skewed male more than female when it came to handling stress. Being overwhelmed by a man just was not in Charlie’s DNA. She was very uncomfortable with the impact Jake Adams was having on her. He was making her think about everything but the job—and she needed to stay sharp. She had clawed her way back from her divorce. All the personal crap was over, long since committed to the tattered pages of the manuscript of her life.

  Jake Adams was a game changer. The problem was she wasn’t sure that was a good thing. He was making her dream about things she had given up dreaming about; passion, heat, companionship, laughter . . . love? It hurt to even think about the possibility, but it hurt more not to. Charlie had spent a lot of time convincing herself that she could do this life on her own, but even as she found a way to live this life sentence of loneliness and self-doubt, she knew in her heart it wasn’t what she wanted—it was just resignation and fear and she hated herself for it.

  “Fucking suits,” Moses squawked.

  “Moses, be nice,” she reproached the obnoxious bird.

  “Hi, Brown Eyes,” he chirped.

  “That’s much nicer, Mo. Thank you.” She grinned thinking of Thompson’s special greeting for her and put her lips to the cage to receive a peck from Moses.

  She smiled at her reflection in the mirror. Jake Adams was making her feel desirable. It had been a while since that happened. Charlie wanted to be wanted. Hell, everyone wants to be wanted. Everyone wants to be excited to see someone and to have that excitement reciprocated but for the abandoned—it is life-sustaining. She wondered if Jake Adams was as nervous as she was. Probably not, she thought. Then she stopped herself and forced herself not to go to that place of inevitable disappointment. Here she was spending extra time on her hair and make-up just to sit in the dark all night and stare at a house. She tried on three different outfits in the hopes of seeing desire in his eyes. Damn it! Focus, Charlie! And she snickered to herself again. Over her protest Jake had decided that they would use his fed SUV instead of her unmarked Caprice.

  “Do you think that doesn’t look a police car Charlie?” He had rolled his eyes at her.

  “Do you think that doesn’t look like a Fed Mobile?” She had rolled her eyes right back.

  She was waiting for Jake outside in front of her apartment when he pulled up. He was right about one thing, the Fed Mobile was much more comfortable than her aging fleet cruiser. It had satellite radio and heated seats and heavily tinted windows. When she sat inside it, she felt like she was wrapped in a cozy little cocoon. She handed Jake a portable police radio and explained that he could keep it for as long as he was going to be working with them. “Really? Thanks.” Local agencies weren’t usually so accommodating but nothing about this assignment was usual.

  An hour into the stakeout, it was like no other two people existed on the planet. They were both vigilant about keeping one eye on the house but they were locked in on each other. He was feeling it too, wasn’t he?

  Jake talked about what it was like losing his parents at such a young age and Charlie told him about her unconventional upbringing . . . not all the nitty-gritty details but most of it. We are all a product of our fucked-up parents.

  March 1992, Sterling, Virginia

  Charlotte Cavanaugh didn’t exactly aspire to police work growing up. There were no police officers in her family, no police friends, but there were police. Police who chased her, who hunted her down trying to return her home when she ran away and tried to take her smokes and her weed. Life at home as a young teen was . . . unsatisfactory. Charlie’s mother left when she was ten years old and Charlie’s older brother was twelve. Her mother had said she didn’t want to leave and that she loved Charlie and her older brother very much, but she was, in fact, leaving them. It was a theme that would carry on throughout Charlie’s life . . . “I love you—Goodbye.”

  Her mother had told Charlie three m
onths before she left of her intentions and asked her to keep quiet about it until her plan was set. “Okay Mom.” That was all Charlie could manage to say. Young Charlie’s head was swimming with questions, with confusion, with fear, and with anger—a lot of anger—but all she could say was “Okay Mom.” Three months later, right on schedule, Charlie listened as her mother hummed a carefree tune while she packed up her dark green hatchback, hugged her children, told them she loved them, and drove away.

  “Tom?” Charlie said to her big brother “What do we do now?”

  “Enjoy the peace and quiet,” he said, sounding very much like their father. “She’ll be back. She’ll be back,” her brother assured her. But her brother was wrong.

  A week turned into a month, and a month into six months before their mother finally called. “So, how’s my little Bunny? You doing okay sweetie? I’m sorry I haven’t called but I have been so busy. I’ve had job interviews, busy setting up my new apartment, and dating! Can you believe that Bunny? Your mother is dating!”

  And after six long months the tears finally came, they came big and they came hard and Charlie was gasping for breath as she sobbed into the phone. “Mom, I’ve missed you. Daddy and Tom have missed you. Why haven’t you called us or come to see us? I’m scared, Mom.”

  “Scared of what Charlie?” her mother asked in an icy tone that was all too familiar. It meant Charlie was feeling something she shouldn’t feel, saying something she shouldn’t say, or doing something she shouldn’t do.

  “I told you I would need some time to get settled, Charlie. Do you remember me telling you that? I told you that I would see you soon and I will. Okay?”

  “Okay Mom.”

  Charlie’s father fell into a deep depression. John Cavanaugh tried to take care of his young children but he was dealing with his own grief and his children were a daily reminder of everything that had gone wrong in his life. Two years passed and at age twelve, Charlie and her fourteen-year-old brother Tom started stealing their father’s cigarettes. One night their father caught Tom with the cigarettes and he beat him while Charlie screamed and looked on in horror, finally physically attacking her father to get him to stop. The next morning there were two cartons of cigarettes on the kitchen table and a note from their father.