by Meg Lelvis
“Thanks, Bryan.” Jack stood. “You and Brooke get along?”
Bryan looked suspicious. “Yeah, why?”
“Just wondering. I know what it’s like growing up with a younger sister.”
Bryan stood and grabbed his backpack. “She was kind of a pest when she was little, but we’re cool now. She’s always been the good kid.”
Jack smiled. “And you?”
“Not so much. Messed around a lot. Brooke was perfect, smart, behaved good, ridin’ high, it wasn’t until—”
“Until?”
“Nothing.” Bryan looked at the floor. “Are we done? I got a slew of things to do.”
“What were you going to say, Bryan?”
The kid didn’t make eye contact. “Nothing.” His voice louder. “Wasn’t important.”
They walked toward the foyer. Jack paused. “Could you ask your mom to come down for a minute?”
“Yeah, sure.” Bryan trudged upstairs.
A minute later Terri joined Jack by the front door. “Leaving so soon, Lieutenant?”
“Thought I’d give you a break,” he said. “I’ll let you know if we need anything else.”
“Let’s hope so.” She flipped her bangs to the side and made eye contact with Jack.
He hesitated, felt awkward. They stood facing each other. She reached for the doorknob.
“Have a good day.” That enigmatic smile again.
“Ah— you said you—” Jack started, then shrugged and took a step toward the door.
“Excuse me?”
Jack cleared his throat. “Nothing, never mind. Thanks for your time.” God, I’m an ass. He’d come this close to making sure her husband wasn’t hanging around and then asking her for a date.
She tilted her head and swept her hair behind her ear. “Well, if you think of it, you’ll let me know, won’t you?” She opened the door and stepped aside as Jack walked out.
Shit, he couldn’t believe what happened. He admitted he wanted to see the woman again, with thoughts of Karen fading to the background.
Chapter 21
When he climbed into his car, he felt an urge to go back, ring the bell, and arrange to see Terri again. Yes, Terri replaced Mrs. Warner in his mind. Feeling like a bumbling teenager, he fired up the engine, the AC, and headed out the neighborhood.
Knowing he’d have time to burn, he planned to eat a leisurely lunch somewhere near the shrink’s office. Jack followed instructions on his GPS and after ten minutes found himself driving along Grand Parkway and exiting onto I-10 toward downtown Houston. Mile after mile of high rises and shopping centers sped by.
The Houston area differed from Chicago, even though both are among the top five largest cities in the nation. Hard to explain the difference, but in his view, Chicago had grit, life, character, history, atmosphere, that Houston lacked. There was something artificial about the suburban sprawl he drove through; too new, lacked substance, guts. Hell, he couldn’t verbalize it, not that he would to anyone here. Wasn’t about to insult their native home, even though most folks here came from elsewhere. Even Baumgartner grew up in Munich and moved here as a kid.
When Jack reached the Memorial City complex, he exited and drove south past the mammoth steel gray hospitals with landscaped courtyards. The shrink’s office was several blocks from the freeway, and Jack easily found a parking spot across the street by a Sears store. The mall sat next to the lot and spread its way east. Glancing around, he spotted a Cafe Express within easy walking distance. Jack stepped out of the car and headed for the restaurant. Would Dr. Clemons be like his Chicago doc? He braced himself for a bumpy ride.
. . . . .
By the time Jack’s watch showed 2:45, he was riding up the elevator of a modern gray high rise shimmering with glass inside and out. He entered Dr. Joel Clemons’s fifth floor suite and was struck by the contrast of the waiting room’s traditional décor and contemporary design of the building. Forest green walls displayed large paintings of clipper ships and elaborately framed vintage maps. An old world armoire in highly polished cherry wood stood against one wall. It must’ve cost a bundle. Years ago Karen educated him on antique furniture.
A plain, middle-aged woman sat behind a sliding window. She smiled, introduced herself as Joan Ford, and handed Jack several pages of forms to fill out. Always a pain in the ass.
After ten minutes he returned the papers to Ms. Ford and waited another fifteen minutes until a door opened, and a fifty-something man appeared.
“Mr. Bailey, please come in.” He held out his hand as Jack approached him. “Joel Clemons. Glad to meet you.” He was stocky, but trim; looked like he just came from the gym. His thick white hair set off tan skin and clear blue eyes. He wore a white shirt, navy tie, and charcoal pants.
Jack shook his hand and followed him down a short hallway to the inner sanctum. They walked through the open door, and Clemons indicated a long tan leather sofa for Jack to sit. The room was brighter than the waiting room; floor to ceiling windows revealed large trees and houses unseen from the street. The doc sat across from Jack, a rectangular dark wood coffee table sprawled between them.
An ornate jade urn sat next to a small stack of leather bound books on the table. Yeah, shrinks had it made. Sat on their ass all day and listened to rich folks whine about their problems. That’s what Jack’s old man used to say.
“Jack, would you like something to drink? Water, coffee?”
“No thanks. Just ate lunch.” He settled on the sofa and glanced around the room. Several impressionist prints framed in dark wood hung on ivory colored walls. Jack recognized a Renoir and a Monet, thanks to Karen’s influence in his other life.
The men made small talk about Chicago and Jack’s previous psychiatrist, Ted Nathan.
Clemons reviewed guidelines of the therapeutic directives: confidentiality unless threats of harming oneself or others occurred, which Jack already knew. But the doc had to follow procedure.
Then Clemons asked the inevitable question: “What brings you here, Jack?”
“I thought Ted may have told you, even though he said he didn’t.” Jack squirmed.
“Ted told me you had experienced a trauma and were displaying Post Traumatic Stress Disorder symptoms,” Clemons said. He rested his elbow on the armrest and crossed his legs.
Jack liked his relaxed demeanor. “Don’t you take notes or record anything?” He knew he was changing the subject.
Clemons smiled. “I have a good memory. I jot down notes after my sessions.”
Silence. The men gazed at one another. Jack glanced at the walls and crown molding.
“Nice digs. A far cry from my office.”
“Thank you.”
More silence. “I gotta tell you, doc, I’m not comfortable doing this.” Jack paused, but Clemons said nothing. “I mean, I know I need it. Can’t sleep worth a damn, nightmares are killin’ me. The job’s high stress. Might not get closure on the case we’re working.” He shifted position on the sofa and uncrossed his arms. Hadn’t realized his hands were hugging his elbows.
“Jack, have you had thoughts of suicide?”
Jack shook his head. “Not for years, maybe eight, nine years ago, but definitely not now.”
“The nightmares—do they have a recurring theme?”
Jack brushed hair from his forehead. “Yeah. No question what they mean.” He waited. “Just haven’t talked about it since Ted.”
Clemons nodded. Silence.
Jack sighed. “Shit, doc, I know I’m supposed to talk. I know all that, but—”
The doctor smiled kindly. “Jack, whatever it is, I kno
w it’s hell to talk about. I also know Ted probably said what I’m going to. In order to heal, to come to terms with what events caused the pain, you need to go through it, not around it. That’s the kicker.”
Jack looked at Clemons with respect. He liked his no-bullshit approach. “Yeah. I used to ask Ted to drug me into reliving it, and I’d wake up and wouldn’t remember a thing.” Jack snorted. “But he wouldn’t cooperate.”
“Yes, that would be the easy way, but unfortunately sodium pentothol and other drugs proved ineffective and counterproductive.”
“Just my luck.” Jack waited. “Where should I start? Should I tell you about my father’s drinking?” Jack’s chuckle was humorless. “Just kidding, doc. You know the old saw about how everything’s our parents’ fault.”
“Is that what you think, Jack?”
“Naw, just evading the subject.” Clemons nodded.
Jack looked at his watch. “Time to go yet?” He knew he was being a tiresome jerk.
The doctor smiled and shook his head.
Jack felt trapped. “It’s just—I don’t think I can talk about them yet.”
“Them?”
“Yeah.” There was no sense in putting off the inevitable. “My wife and daughter. I lost them ten years ago. August fifteenth to be exact.”
“Do you feel a connection between that date and your increasing nightmares and other symptoms?”
“I’m sure of it. I always dread that day.”
“Tell me about your wife. What was her name?”
“Karen.” Jack sat back. “You know, I’d like some water after all.” His voice scratchy.
“Of course.” Clemons rose from his chair and walked to a large dark wood cabinet where he opened a door. Glasses and an ice bucket sat on a shelf beside several bottles of water and soft drinks.
After filling a glass with ice and water, the doctor returned and handed Jack the glass and a coaster.
“Thanks.” He took several gulps and set the glass on the table.
“How did you meet Karen?” Clemons said.
Hesitant, Jack told the doctor how, after two failed marriages, he’d met Karen in Chicago through mutual friends. He felt inferior at first; she lived in Park Ridge, an upper middle income area, in contrast to his working class neighborhood in Bridgeport. But she was different from other women.
She laughed at his one-liners and appreciated his work ethic as a detective. She discovered inner regions of his character and brought out the best in him. He learned about art and theater from her, and developed an interest in travel. Yes, for the first time, he knew what the term, soul mate meant.
Besides, he loved her auburn hair, and she was damn sexy.
Jack couldn’t sit still any longer. He stood and paced between the sofa and window. “Sorry, doc. Been years since I talked about her.”
“It’s okay, Jack. You did well.” Clemons rose and approached his tidy desk. “We’re about done, but I’d like to prescribe two medications that should help. I see by your paperwork you aren’t currently taking prescriptions except Ambien.”
“Right. I took Paxil a few years, but quit after I moved down here.”
Clemons sat at his desk and scribbled the prescriptions. “The antidepressant, Zoloft, is effective for many people with PTSD. It’s the same family of SSRI’s as Paxil. I’m also giving you a sleeping aid called Prazosin. It’s been helpful in reducing or suppressing nightmares in a lot of cases like yours. And neither med has much risk of side effects.”
The men shook hands. “I’m glad I met you, Jack. I’ll see you next week. Joan will set you up with an appointment.”
Jack hadn’t agreed to a schedule, but he didn’t protest. He’d cancel if he got cold feet. Most likely, he would.
He nodded at Clemons. “Thanks.”
On the way out, he stopped by Joan’s desk and scheduled a time to return next week. Was it too soon? Who the hell knew.
Jack headed for his car, surprised he felt uplifted. Maybe beginning to unburden himself made him feel lighter. More work lay ahead though.
Rush-hour traffic piled up on I-10, but Jack amped up his jazz station to offset his irritation at asshole drivers he’d like to arrest. He felt hopeful with Clemons and his first session. Thoughts of Terri filtered into his brain. Wonder if the doc would tell him to downplay her and concentrate on coming to terms with his past before diving into new relationships. Why did her hair have to be that damned auburn?
Chapter 22
After dinner Jack was set to call Tom about his mother’s hip surgery when the doorbell rang.
Boone raced to the door, yelping wildly. Shit, probably Baumgartner.
“Yoo hoo, Mr. Bailey, I know you’re in there.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Jack put his Guinness down and trudged to the door. He opened it and Mrs. Baumgartner stood holding a covered glass dish. Boone calmed down when he recognized her.
“I made this hamburger casserole for you.” She walked past Jack toward the kitchen. “It’s not spicy, just nice with tomatoes and onions and other things. I checked your fridge when I cleaned today, and it was bare, so I knew you’d need supper.”
“All right, all right, put it in the fridge.” Jack followed her into the kitchen. “I stopped on the way home for tacos, so I’ll have it tomorrow.”
Baumgartner sighed. “Not much of a supper. You need salad and bread too.”
“Okay, okay.” Jack guided her by the elbow toward the front door, Boone trotting behind.
“Oh, by the way, Father Joe told me today they’re having a get-together this Sunday night—”
“Thanks for the casserole, I’ll pass on the church thing.”
“Okay, see you tomorrow.” She reached down and petted Boone before heading out the door. “It would do you good to—”
He held up his hand near her face. “Baumgartner, give it a rest. I appreciate the effort, but you know by now—never mind. Good night.” He wanted to push her out the door.
Jack returned to his chair, took a swig of beer, and punched in Tom’s number. After one ring, his brother picked up and told Jack his mother’s surgery went well. She was in her hospital room, complaining about the food, everything back to normal. Jack planned to call her tomorrow.
He dialed Moose for an update on the team’s interviews.
“Hey, Jack. Just got home. More info from Doug Warner. No alibi for Tuesday night, and he owns a Sig Sauer 32. The caliber we’re looking for. Hector and I both agree he’s a possible suspect.”
“Okay, I’ll put in a request to bring the gun in for a match. Was he cooperative?” Jack gulped his beer.
Moose chuckled. “Hardly. Pissed at having two suits come in to talk again. Probably worried what his coworkers thought. Seems to have a short fuse. Big too, not fat, but huge.”
Jack found his interest piqued because of Terri. He couldn’t help visualizing her and Doug together. Damn, quit thinking about it.
“Did Hector and Tilford talk to Kelly Vega’s dad?”
“Just talked to Hector. He’ll call you tonight.” Moose paused. “How was your day? See Bryan?”
“Yeah, kid doesn’t have a good alibi, but I’ll check out the college friends. My gut says he’s not the perp.”
“And was the lovely Mrs. Warner there, or should I call her Terri?”
“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” Jack didn’t want anyone to know how he felt about her. Wonder if Denise blabbed.
“Oh nothing. Nothing at all.” Moose almost cackled. “See you tomorrow, Jack.” He hung up.
Shit. Now the whole squad
will think he was after a suspect’s wife. Cop school 101: anyone involved in the investigation of your case was off limits for a personal relationship. Damn good he hadn’t asked Terri for a date. Must’ve been temporary insanity on his part. Hell, a Houston detective recently made news when he was canned for banging a witness from his murder investigation.
His cell rang.
“Yeah, Hector.”
“Hey, Jack. Might have another suspect. Me and Tilford talked to Vega. Got him on the job. Security guard at the mall.”
“Yeah, I know.” Jack’s voice impatient.
“Has no alibi for Tuesday night. Packs a Smith and Wesson 32. Small caliber for a cop, much less a guard. Fits the size we’re looking for.”
“So we have two possible guns, Vega’s and Warner’s. I’ll work on getting a warrant for ‘em.”
“Vega’s a real prick, Jack. Busts our balls for showing up at his work, threatens to call the chief. Claims we’re harassing him for no reason. Big son of a bitch too; looks like a Mexican Hulk.”
Jack chuckled. “Careful, Hector, someone might think you’re racist.”
“Hey, my grandpa’s from Matamoros; gives me open territory on Mexican jokes.”
“Right. Well, I’d say we have two persons of interest; I’ll tell Murphy tomorrow. See ya, Hector.”
Jack drained the rest of his beer and powered up his Kindle to continue the saga of the doomed Lusitania. But concentration eluded him. Why hadn’t he waited for his prescriptions to be filled at Walgreen’s so he could take the sleeping pill? Maybe tonight would be nightmare-free after his session with Clemons.
Boone lay curled on the floor beside the chair. Jack struggled to focus on the German torpedoes, but Terri’s slender body floated before his eyes. He’d hold off contacting her until the investigation ended, tempting as it was to meet on the sly. Play by the rules on this one. For now anyway.
During the night, Jack wrestled his way out of subconsciousness, opening his eyes to blackness.