by Meg Lelvis
“I have two light bulbs need changing. They’re on the ceiling, too high for me to reach, and I don’t want to call Bob, my handyman over for just—”
“Yeah, I’ll be around. But it’ll cost ya. A piece of strawberry pie.” Had to admit, the woman made the best pie in town.
She giggled. “Oh, Mr. Bailey, I’d love to make you some.”
“Okay, good night.” He unlocked the front door and he and Boone hurried inside before she thought of anything else to yak about.
After a dinner of frozen sausage pizza and two Sam Adams, Jack sat at his computer and looked up the link Tom sent him about the detective position for Bridgeport PD. On the surface, it sounded like a reasonable deal, but was Jack ready to make the move to Chicago? In the last year, the idea had grown more appealing. Maybe he reached an age where it’s time to assess the last part of life, to close the circle and return to his roots, his family. Some people choose that path. He felt he had evolved in the past several years from the zombie he was after the tragedy, to harbor a flicker of hope for a different kind of satisfying life. He knew better than to expect to be happy.
He glanced at Boone, who stared back with soulful dark eyes. “What the hell, I’ll send an application. I can change my mind if they respond. Not written in stone.”
Boone yipped, turned around two times, and plopped at Jack’s feet.
The application was taking too long. Jack grew impatient with gathering references and contact information, so he gave up. He’d finish it in the next day or two.
Jack went in the bedroom and opened the bottom drawer of the bedside table. He reached below several CD’s and touched a silver picture frame turned downward. Slowly he lifted it and turned it face up. His breath caught in his throat. A long time since he allowed himself to look at it. Sitting on the bed, he gazed at a laughing auburn-haired woman in a blue flowing dress, her arm circling a small, smiling light-haired girl in a white and yellow dress holding a colorful basket with a fluffy pink bunny peeking out. Easter Sunday, Elizabeth, three years old, sitting with her mother on a porch swing after church awaiting the family egg hunt.
He choked. Groaned. “Oh God. I’m so sorry, so sorry.” He couldn’t stop the tears brimming, then trickling down his cheeks. “Happy Birthday, Elizabeth, sleep well.” He clutched the picture to his chest. He did not move for a long time.
Chapter 30
The next morning Jack arrived at the station feeling rested and more relaxed than usual. Maybe releasing buried emotions about his little girl relieved built-up pressure, like lancing a boil.
Jack parked the Beemer in his usual space. His sunglasses fogged up as he emerged from the car, and beads of sweat dotted his brow. After last week’s rain and gloom, streets, houses, and buildings were drenched in sunshine.
He picked up his pace when he noticed Captain Murphy’s red Porsche turning into the parking lot. He hurried into the building before the cap spotted him. Didn’t want to poke the hornet’s nest. Jack had enough on his mind.
He called in the team after making time for coffee and a stale cinnamon roll. Dry as dust, but better than nothing. Left over from night shift, no doubt.
Moose updated the men on the home invasion near Jane Long School. “Around 11:00, family of four are in bed. Two guys in ski masks kick in the door, ransack the living room and are almost outta there with a TV and laptops. The dad wakes up, wastes time fumbling, finally unlocks his handgun case, goes downstairs and damn near runs into the perps at the front door.” Moose gulped his coffee.
“Before he can do anything one of ‘em whacks him across the head, he hits the floor and the asshole kicks him a few times in the gut. They take off and the wife comes down, calls 911.”
Jack shook his head. “Sounds like the same fuckers who did the one out by the mall last week.”
Hector said, “Yeah, and the other one last month. This makes three. Probably the same perps.”
“The dad’s still in the hospital. Got beat up pretty bad, internal injuries,” Moose added.
“He’s in Oak Bend?” asked Jack.
“Yeah, why?”
“I’ll go talk to him. He may remember something more.” Jack admitted to himself he had an ulterior motive. He might run into Terri at the hospital.
Tilford shifted his substantial girth. “We had a good trip to Schulenberg yesterday.” He grinned.
Jack clenched his jaw. “You gonna tell us?”
“Didn’t have much luck with the girl. Turns out she goes out with Todd a couple times before he tries the booze and drug crap on her.” He flipped open his notebook. “Her name’s Abby Sivika or something like that. We track her down at work, she’s a clerk at the courthouse. Anyway, she remembers Brooke Warner at a party at Olive Garden. Kaplan and Brooke leave together.”
Hector checked his notebook. “Abby goes out with him even after she hears he probably screwed Brooke over. Said Kelly Vega warns her, but she thinks he’s cute and she can handle him.”
Hector rolled his eyes. “Prick must’ve been a real con man.”
Tilford said, “Yeah, and get this. When Abby hears about his murder she’s upset, almost breaks her up. So no motive there. She claims he never got to first base, but I don’t buy that. Anyway, we’re sure nobody connected with her would’ve bumped off Kaplan.”
Jack stood. “Too bad you wasted your time.”
Tilford perked up. “All was not lost, Jack. Had a great meal at the Oakridge Smokehouse off I-10. Best bratwurst and sauerkraut you ever had.”
Hector smacked his lips. “I had barbecued ribs and hot rolls smothered with butter. Apple strudel for dessert.”
“No fair,” said Moose. “Jack, later on let’s head for the new pub in town. Clancy’s I think, on 359 near 90. Used to be Karl’s. I hear the beer menu is huge. Even has shepherd’s pie.”
Jack grunted and waved them out. He may take Moose up on lunch, but no way could a Texas knock-off compare with pubs in Chicago or the real thing. He remembered how Karen loved the places in Ireland, the pub grub, the sticky toffee pudding. He smiled at the memory.
Jack spent the rest of the morning catching up on paperwork, including the application for the Bridgeport position. Used his laptop from home. Jack never pretended to know squat about technology, but was smart enough not to use his office computer for personal business. He figured he had a good chance of getting an offer. Tommy worked narcotics in Chicago PD for years, had a solid rep. He’d put in a good word for Jack. If you have coattails to ride, might as well use ‘em.
Jack jotted down the name of the homeowner in the hospital. He’d stop in later this afternoon when Terri was scheduled to work. He could wander past the ER, maybe run into her. For the first time, he thought Karen might approve, that she’d want him to be happy, not miserable like he’d been for the last ten years. She’d said those words more than once.
But if the new job materialized, what about Terri? They weren’t serious yet, though things could progress. Deep down he felt the Kaplan case would go cold in another week. Three weeks since the murder; usually homicides were put on the back burner after a couple weeks. In larger PD’s like Houston, a case could get shoved aside in a few days to handle new crimes that poured in. He’d need to let things play out, get through his therapy before making major relationship or job decisions.
. . . . .
Several hours later, Jack and Moose sat in a booth at Clancy’s Public House with two frosty mugs of Sam Adams in front of them. The lunch crowd had thinned, and the noise level was down. Loud places annoyed Jack, so they purposely sat away from the bar where a huge TV was barely audible.
Moose took a gulp and glanced around. “Nice place. Like the flags. Looks k
inda like a pub. Had some good ones in Milwaukee.”
Jack took in the dark wood paneled walls decked with framed coats of arms. A large Irish harp surrounded by green shamrocks proudly displayed itself. Irish flags were scattered about. A decent attempt to capture the real McCoy, but no cigar.
A young dark-haired waiter with heavy tattoo sleeves brought their lunches. Jack ordered fish and chips, while Moose opted for a burger with Irish bacon, cheese, and a fried egg on top, along with a side of sweet potato fries.
Moose picked up his burger. “This’ll top Tilford’s lunch. Wipe that smirk off his face.”
Jack nodded and took a bite of fried cod. “Mmm, not bad for a Texas pub.”
“Carole wants to know if you can make our cook-out a week from Sunday.” Moose hosted an annual Labor Day barbecue; Jack never attended. Always dreamed up lame excuses to avoid it.
“Got other plans, Moose.”
“Yeah, right. Mrs. Baumgartner invite you over?”
“No doubt she will.”
“Come on, Jack, cooking brisket this year.” Moose paused, chewing his burger. “You could bring somebody.”
Jack eyed him. “Bring somebody?”
“Duh. Like a date.”
“A date.”
“There an echo in here? You know what I mean.”
“Got anybody in mind?”
Moose smiled and raised his brows. “Not a soul, Jack. Not a soul.”
Irritated, Jack rolled his eyes. Better not to respond, even though he wondered if Denise had blabbed to Moose about her suspicions of his attraction to Terri.
“Need anything else?” The waiter appeared as Moose drained his beer.
“We’re good. Just the check.” Jack planned to drop Moose off at the station and head for the hospital to see the homeowner.
The waiter returned with the check. “Sure I can’t talk you into dessert? Our lemon pie’s the best.”
“Sticky toffee pudding?” Jack asked.
“Sticky what?”
“Never mind. We’ll pass.” Well, worth a try.
The men climbed into the Beemer and Jack fired up the engine. “I’ll drop you at the station and go on to the hospital.”
“Thought I’d go too. The guy knows me. Might be more relaxed.”
“Don’t you have to get back for that robbery follow-up?”
Moose looked at Jack. “Nah, it’ll wait. I’ll go with you.”
Jack reluctantly agreed, but damn, he wanted to be alone in case he ran into Terri. With Moose along what excuse would he have to go past the ER?
“Yeah, okay,” Jack muttered.
. . . . .
An hour later they were back at the station. The hospital visit amounted to zilch. The patient complained of sore ribs and expected to be released this evening. He couldn’t remember anything further about the perps, so not much to investigate. The best Jack could do is warn the public to be cognizant of recent home invasions. He asked Jill to notify the newspaper and local TV stations.
That evening Jack completed his application for the Bridgeport job and submitted it. He emailed Tommy to inform him. His brother responded; wrote he was pleased, but would not inform Ma at this time. A wise decision.
. . . . .
Jack spent the following day watching the hands of the clock creep unwillingly around its numbers. After much internal deliberation, he threw caution to the wind and called Terri at noon.
On the fourth ring she answered. “Hello, Lieutenant.” Her voice was full of silk.
“Call me Jack. Am I disturbing anything?”
“Of course, but since it’s you…”
“I’ll hang up and call later.”
“Not a chance.” She paused. Jack could visualize her smile. “There’s a tuna sandwich here with your name on it.”
“I prefer beef.”
“You got it.”
“See you in ten.” He hung up. What the hell was he doing?
Chapter 31
A cloud of dread hovered over Jack the next morning at the station. He knew what lay in wait for him this afternoon at Clemons’s office. Needed to finish what he started three days ago before he chickened out and bailed during the appointment. He needed to revisit the day his life disintegrated ten years ago. Work the therapy.
His day of reckoning was upon him, whatever the hell that meant. On second thought, didn’t reckoning mean atoning for something, setting things right? Today felt more like baptism by fire.
Pretty sure what that meant.
He admitted he was scared shitless. Told himself there’s nothing to fear but what FDR said.
Jack never understood the saying, but it worked for people during the Great Depression. One quote by old Franklin that Jack understood in spades: a day living in infamy. He got that one loud and clear. His own infamous day would never release its grip.
Later in the morning Moose stuck his head in the door of Jack’s office. “Morning, Jack. Busy?”
“Would it make a difference?”
Moose rolled his eyes and came in. “Mind if I take three vacation days next week? I would’ve asked sooner, but Carole’s sister from—”
“Yeah, no problem. Things are slow, won’t miss ya.”
“Sure you will, Jack. Just saw Tilford. He’s gonna update you on that domestic yesterday. Bastard beat the shit out of the wife.”
“Tilford return the favor?”
Moose shook his head. “Sure wanted to though. Catcha later. Close the door?”
“Yeah, takes concentration to do nothing.” He welcomed the solitude.
To distract himself from his shrink appointment, Jack turned his thoughts to Terri. Yesterday was great in every way. Sex was exciting after his long dry spell, and Terri was intelligent and fun.
Except when she talked about Brooke, she withdrew into herself, her voice a monotone, her expression trance-like.
Jack remembered her words: “When Brooke’s future went down the drain, our family was ruined. It affected Bryan, I think he’s carried around his anger ever since he found out what—”
Terri stopped talking, almost like she realized she didn’t want to reveal anything more to Jack.
He blinked himself back to the present and began stashing files; put a dent in the clutter on his desk. Too restless and unfocused for paperwork, he locked his door and headed for the parking lot. He figured he’d have an early lunch and hang out at the restaurant, his phone for a companion until his appointment with Clemons.
On his way out, he stopped at Jill’s desk. “I’ll be gone for the afternoon. Dental appointment.”
“Hope it’s nothing serious.” She scribbled something on her memo pad.
“Nothing that a heavy dose of laughing gas won’t help.”
Jill giggled. “I have the nitrous too when I have work done at the dentist. Why suffer if you don’t have to?”
“Why indeed.” He nodded at her. “Later.”
Jack reached his car, climbed in, wiped the sweat from his brow, and revved up the engine. He resisted the temptation to stop by Terri’s house. How would she react if he showed up unannounced?
Last week his surprise visit resulted in a memorable time in her bedroom, but today his energy level was down. Besides, he never liked unexpected visitors, or any visitors for that matter. He’d go straight to lunch, then face his demons at Clemons’s.
Jack dragged out his meal for over an hour, time creeping by. He didn’t eat much of his meatball sandwich, but drank two glasses of Merlot again
st his better judgment. Good thing he could hold his booze.
Joel Clemons, dressed in a pale yellow shirt, navy tie, and khaki’s, greeted Jack within five minutes of his arrival.
He gave a warm hand shake. “Hello, Jack, good to see you. Come on back.”
They walked into Clemons’s spacious office and Jack settled onto the sofa. He turned down the doc’s offer of water or soda. Two glasses of wine would last him awhile.
“Sorry for bailing on you last time, doc. Don’t know what came over me.” Jack paused.
“Actually I do. Couldn’t go on, hard to say the words.”
Clemons nodded. “Nothing to apologize for, Jack. Your reaction was not unusual, and many folks experience what you did. Actually, you made progress.”
“Yeah, guess I get that.”
“How have you been the last two days?”
“Getting by. I sent in that job application. Figured I’d give it a try. Leaning more toward moving back north.”
Clemons nodded and took a drink of water.
“I hate being this undecided, wishy washy, but hard to know what to do.” Jack crossed his legs, one ankle on his knee.
“Yes, that’s understandable, but try and cut yourself some slack. Give it time; acknowledge that it’ll take patience and won’t be easy.”
“Yeah, need to remember that.” Jack was glad Clemons didn’t preach cliches and platitudes like “it’ll be okay”, and bullshit like that. He told it like it is; it ain’t a cake walk.
“Last time you talked about some pleasant memories of your Ireland trip, but also about warnings you heard.”
Jack wet his lips. “Yeah, there was a bombing in Banbridge, near my relatives, early August, a couple weeks before we came. I’d heard about the IRA shit off and on for years, but never thought —”
Clemons waited.
“The old saying, it’ll never happen to me; won’t believe that again. Can’t quit cursing myself for not listening. Should’ve never gone to that damned town to visit, but who the hell knew.”