by Paul Seiple
“If it wasn’t for Reid, I may have swallowed a bullet years ago. When I was having the nightmares death seemed the only way out. Reid saved me. I couldn’t return the favor.”
“Some people can’t be saved. We can’t go back in time. We have to look forward. Barbara is alive. She will need us.”
I let a slight smile escape. “When did you get so wise, Tanner?”
“I figured one of us has to be the smart one.”
Thirty-Seven
James Beamer
Arlington, Virginia
The preacher tapped his fingers against the podium waiting for the last people to stop chatting and find seats. Reid would have appreciated the preacher’s anxiousness, but would have cursed him for hurrying his friends along. Reid was never much of a religious man. I’m not sure he had faith in anything. Barbara had faith. There was no doubt; otherwise she wouldn’t have stayed with Reid. Love can only get you so far. She handled his death better than I expected. Jill convinced me that giving Barbara the letter Reid wrote was the right thing to do. I watched Barbara read it. She cried. She smiled. She already knew he loved her, but it warmed her for him to say it one last time. We spent days sharing stories about Reid. Tears were shed. The occasional curse word was tossed in his direction, but through it all Barbara seemed relieved. She loved Reid. She missed him. She would miss him the rest of her life, but she knew he was at peace. Barbara had to let him go. She was strong, much stronger than me. I faced the same thing when I had to say goodbye to Rebecca and Michelle. I was selfish. It took a long time for me to stop being a wallowing pile of misery.
Reid’s funeral was a small gathering. Barbara saw to it that those closest to Reid would attend. It could have been standing room only, but Reid wouldn’t have wanted the attention. Knowing Reid, he would view the funeral as another slap in the face from Wallace. Another way of exposing his failures.
Barbara said Wallace kept telling her she was safe. He wouldn’t kill again until it meant something. He assured her that in the big picture she meant nothing. The last kill needed to end the war. All along, Wallace planned a final confrontation with Reid. He knew at least one of them wouldn’t survive. The last kill would end the war. I’m sure things didn’t go exactly as Wallace planned. That was the funny thing about him, as brilliant as he was, he could never get it just right. Robbing the last breath from Reid was something Wallace longed to do. In a way, he did, but I know the method didn’t satisfy him. He wanted to watch Reid die. Reid was gone. The last kill ended the war, but Wallace viewed the climax as a failure. Wallace and Reid were alike in a lot of ways.
After Wallace’s arrest it came to light he suffered from Stage IV stomach cancer. Doctors gave him less than a year to live. Death forced his hand. I’m thankful for that. One thing history tells us about the most evil men in the world is when one war ends, they look to start another. For years, Wallace searched for his successor. When my brother, George failed him, Wallace set sight on Michelle. Studies show that crime runs in the family. I know first-hand, that it’s true. Through all my resources I couldn’t find Michelle. Wallace taught me if someone wants to be a ghost, no matter how hard you try; you’ll only see them when they want to be seen. I worried that Michelle shared the same ideology as Wallace, but there was relief in knowing he could never groom her to be a death machine.
The preacher cleared his throat in a symbolic way as to tell the last stragglers to take a seat. I looked over at Reid’s coffin — a gunmetal gray shell, the final resting place for a man who never truly rested. Even now, there was a good chance Reid was cursing at me for the way I handled things.
Deep down, Reid understood the ending to the story was death. Like I said, Reid and Wallace were similar in certain ways. If Reid had killed Wallace, memories would still haunt him. He would continue to beat himself up over not being able to save the victims. Reid was an addict. Wallace was an addiction. He consumed too much of Reid’s life. Wallace was nothing more than a parasite intent on eating its host. John Hiatt may have called himself The Plague Vendor, but Wallace was the true infection.
I glanced at Barbara and saw a hint of peace behind the tears. She knew this was how it would end, too. Barbara spent every day worrying about Reid. He lived on borrowed time. She dreaded the minutes, the hours, the days, knowing at some point tragic news would come. The dread was over. She helped him as long as she could, but at some point help isn’t enough to keep someone who keeps playing in traffic safe.
Mack was the last person to sit. He took a seat beside an Oak tree. The old tree saw its share of sadness and celebrations of life. Maybe Reid was just another soul waiting for what comes next. Maybe there was more to it. The Oak could have been a tree of life showing the relationships between the living and the dead. Maybe it was just a tree strategically placed in the center of a cemetery for aesthetics. Or maybe it was all of those things, and its meaning was left up to the person looking at it. That moment I saw faith in the Oak. Faith in the weathered bark, in the imperfections caused by its surroundings, and in its ability to remain beautiful through tragedy. But more importantly, the Oak showed me hope. Hope in a world that allowed everything I ever loved to be taken from me. Wallace was wrong. The world wasn’t evil, people were. The best way for good people to fight the evil is through faith. It doesn’t matter what you believe in, just believe in something, and that will give you hope that things get better.
With everyone seated, the preacher quoted John 11:25. He spoke for a few moments on living even after death. Death was another thing people interpreted differently. A few people cried, more smiled and laughed. Those were the ones closest to Reid. Mourning was natural, but if Reid saw someone crying over his death, he would tell them to stop being so sensitive and have a Pepsi.
The preacher switched gears and quoted James 1:20. He added to it by saying there shouldn’t be any anger towards Reid for his actions.
Jill nudged me with her shoulder. “He would be so pissed at you for not shooting Wallace. You know if he were here he would string you up by your b…”
I placed my finger against her lips. “Have some respect. This is a funeral.”
“You’re right. This is for Reid. He wouldn’t say balls. He would say nuts.”
I shook my head and thought, She’s right. He would say nuts.
“Coke’s better,” Jill said, taking a sip from the can of Pepsi.
“Reid liked Pepsi. Today, Pepsi is better. Got it?” I sipped from a can.
“Coke is better. Reid had crappy tastes in beverages,” Barbara said. Her tone hinted that she was talking about something other than soda. “It’s OK. I’m OK. Coke is better.”
After the funeral we met at Canals of Venice, a small Italian restaurant overlooking the Potomac River.
“This is where we had our first date,” Barbara said. “Right over there…” she pointed to an outside deck. “…is where we danced for the first time. Reid was a horrible dancer. I had to take the lead. But, he let me without hesitation.”
“Two left feet?” Jill asked.
“Reid had the rhythm of a drunken monkey,” Barbara said.
I cringed and squeezed the aluminum can.
Barbara placed her hand on mine. “I said I’m OK. I will not stop being the person I was because this happened. I will not ban the word drunk from my vocabulary because Reid was an alcoholic. I told him that night he danced like a drunken monkey and every time after that when we danced.” She looked at the unopened Pepsi in front of an empty chair. “Where’s Mack?”
“He’s making a habit of being late,” I said.
“Talking about me behind my back, huh?” Mack tapped me on my shoulder and took a seat. “I’ve been researching a fingerprint hit I took from one of those traps in the woods.”
“Let’s talk about it later,” I said.
“Talk about it now,” Barbara said. “You want to honor Reid; this is how he would want it.”
I nodded.
“I was right. Wallace wa
sn’t working alone. The print came back to a Roger Cagney. He was in Vietnam from ’70 to ’73. But here’s the kicker, he died in a car wreck ten years ago.”
“Sounds like Wallace got to him about ten years ago,” I said.
“I’m betting he’s the sniper too. I found an article on Cagney. He was a decent shot in the war. Not Chuck Mawhinney good, but good enough to take out those cops on Halloween. I can’t find anything else on him,” Mack said.
“Now that Wallace is out of the picture, he’s probably long gone,” I said.
“I will not stop looking.” Mack wrapped a piece of chewed gum in a napkin and opened the can of Pepsi. “That’s not the best news. Hiatt’s autopsy showed massive amounts of the synthetic in his system. I’m thinking it was a way of disposing of the agent. At Hiatt’s apartment there was a ton of evidence linking Dr. Harry Monahan to Hiatt. I know Monahan well. I’m fairly certain he created the agent. Monahan is brilliant. He got rich off an antimalarial in the eighties. A couple years later a biking accident in Sweden left him paralyzed. He quit practicing medicine and moved to Wyoming.”
“And now you’re going to tell me you have a jet fueled up waiting for us to go grab him?” I asked.
“Well, this is the not-so-great news, looks like he left the country right after Halloween. Flight records have his private jet landing in Morocco.”
“No extradition,” I said.
“You guys really aren’t that great at catching bad guys. Good thing I was there to nab Wallace.” Jill smiled. She took another sip of soda. “Coke’s definitely better.”
Thirty-Eight
James Beamer
New York City
Six Months Later
“Green rooms really make you nervous, huh?” Jill asked.
The room was small, but the feeling of the walls closing in on me gave new meaning to claustrophobia.
“What gave it away,” I said.
“Well, you’re etching grooves into that chair like a pro.”
“It’s not so much the room. It's the reason I’m here. This is your first talk show. You’ll learn. Rob Randle wants all the gory details. Things the public doesn’t need to hear. Who knows? The next Ted Bundy could be out there listening for pointers.”
“Gory details equal ratings. Maybe I should tell them about the time we had those bad enchiladas from that food truck.” Jill took a sip of coffee. “Damn, I didn’t think I’d ever taste coffee worse than Mack’s.”
I laughed. “Those enchiladas created quite the crime scene.”
“Remember when Mack couldn’t make it to the bathro…”
A young guy with headphones stuck his head in the room. “Twenty minutes till we’re live.”
“In ten years, I’ll still hate green rooms,” I said.
“In ten years, you’ll be too old to catch killers,” Jill said with a smirk.
“It’s all I know. What else is there to do?”
“Well, you could meet a nice woman and see how that works out. When’s the last time you went on a date?”
“Keep it professional, Tanner.”
“Seriously, James, Rachel has a friend who would be perfect for you.”
“Did anyone ever tell you dating someone you met on a case is unprofessional?”
“Really, James? Really? You married someone you met on a case.”
“We are talking about you. This isn’t about me.”
“Oh, it’s always about you, James Beamer.” Jill smiled. “So, you ever talk to Rebecca?”
“She hasn’t called in about six months. I don’t think she ever got over the anger stage after Michelle ran away.”
Jill sipped the coffee. “Nothing new on Michelle?”
“Mack hasn’t been able to find Jessie. I always knew if Jessie wanted to go off the grid, it would be almost impossible to find him. His last number redirects to a Chinese restaurant now.”
Jill’s phone chirped. “Oh, a text.”
“What?”
“This new phone gets text messages. The guy at Radio Shack told me this was the next big thing.”
“How annoying. Ringing is bad enough.”
Jill laughed. “Barbara says she loves Hawaii.”
“Reid always promised her an island. I guess she finally got it.”
“Hawaii will be good for her. She deserves paradise. Speaking of paradise, has Mack left for Morocco yet?”
“Tomorrow I think, and we all could use a little paradise now that Wallace is dead.”
“You OK with that?”
“He was never my father. I grieved my father’s death a long time ago. Wallace was just another criminal to me.”
“Stomach cancer though. In jail. His last days had to be hell.”
“He got off easy.”
Headphone guy stuck his head in the room again. “Live in ten. Be ready to go on in fifteen.”
“You know they will bring up Wallace out there,” Jill said.
I smiled. “I had nothing to do with the capture of Wallace. That’s all you, Tanner. I’m not even sure why I’m here.”
Jill shook her head. “So, this weekend, why don’t you come over? Rachel makes a pretty good lasagna. I’ll ask her to invite Valerie. Maybe you two will hit it off, and you’ll stop being a downer all the time.”
“You obviously don’t understand the definition of good time. I’m the life of the party. Besides, I have plans this weekend.”
“Oh yeah? What plans?”
“Too much fun for you. A date with my couch, a Hungry-Man dinner, and Scooby-Doo.”
“You’re right. I can’t handle that kind of excitement.”
Headphone guy came back. “We’re going live. Get ready. Remember no gum and no cursing.”
“Are you shitting me? No gum? Really? Fuck.”
Headphone guy huffed and walked away.
“He hates me,” Jill said.
“You’re not all that likeable,” I said.
“You love me, James Beamer. You really do.”
My phone rang interrupting the love fest.
“Jill, you’re going to have to handle this. That was the Bureau. There’s a break in the Sorority Slasher case. They need me in Atlanta.”
“Right now?” Jill looked at her watch. “We are going out in two minutes. What the hell am I supposed to do?”
I put on my jacket and headed for the door. “You’ll figure it out. You’re better than me at these things anyway. Remember the Kevin Sawyer case?”
“I don’t think I can spend forty-five minutes asking Rob Randle if he knows what Meat Loaf wouldn’t do for love.”
“With commercials, it’s only about thirty-five minutes. You’ll be fine. You never got the answer to the Meat Loaf question anyway, right?”
“You’re an asshole, James Beamer.”
“You love me, Jill Tanner. You really do.”
Jill grunted as I left the room. I stuck my head back through the crack in the door. “And no cursing on live television.”
“Asshole.”
“Hey, you can’t leave. You’re about to go on,” Headphone guy said.
I flashed my credentials. “Protecting the innocent comes before T.V. ratings,” I said as I exited the studio.
A black Suburban was waiting for me at the entrance of the guest parking lot.
The driver’s side window went down. “She’s going to kill you when she finds out you had me call to get you out of that,” Mack said.
“If you think she’s going to kill me, what is she going to do to you for going along with it?”
“Medieval torture? Firing squad? Maybe I’ll take her to Morocco.”
“You’re not going to be able to bribe her this time.”
Mack shrugged his shoulders. “Guess we’re both on borrowed time then. What now?”
“A burger?”
Mack shoved a piece of gum in his mouth. “Add bacon and I guess it’s not a bad last meal.”
Epilogue
Charlotte, North Caro
lina
Seven Years Later
The red Camaro pulled into the employee parking of Healing Hands Hospice. A new brief about another missing girl resonated through the radio. Four girls disappeared in South Carolina in two months. The police correspondent said Charleston PD was working with the FBI on the case and Special Agent James Beamer would be in Charleston within a day.
“Change the station,” she said.
He pressed the CD button on the radio. “Go Your Own Way” by Fleetwood Mac played at low volume.
“I love this song,” she said, straightening her top. “But I hate these scrubs. I thought they were supposed to be comfortable.”
He turned the volume down. “Who cares? You look good in them.”
“I look good in five-inch heels too. But I’m allowed to bitch about their lack of comfort.”
“No one should ever walk in five-inch heels. They’re not meant for walking.”
She ignored him and pulled the sleeve of the shirt she wore under the scrubs toward her elbow. “Can you see it?” She referred to the tattoo depiction of the archangel Michael defeating Satan.
“I couldn’t see it before you pulled your shirt down. It’s fine.”
She held an employee ID to the windshield and flipped it between her fingers. “And you’re sure this will get me in?”
“Positive. I hacked into the system and downloaded the employee directory. This week a couple of new nurses are starting. They won’t say a word to you.”
“I’m not worried about that. I can bullshit my way through anything. Will this get me through the door?” She pointed the ID card at him.
“I’m hurt you don’t have faith in me. Just swipe the card, put the access code in. You remember the code, right?”
“629436.”
“You’re golden. Don’t worry about that, but are you sure this is something you want to do. You don’t have to see him.”
