by Mike Slavin
Confused, Case opened the door and stuck in his head. “Gloria? You okay?”
She looked up, her face streaked with tears.
“Have you seen Becky?” he asked.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
“About what?”
“Ov … over … the …” Gloria mumbled, unable to get the words out. She pointed to the convenience store across the street.
“What? Is Becky ...?”
He took off at a dead run toward the store. A police officer grabbed him right before he reached the store. “Sir, you can’t go in there!”
“I think my wife and son are in there!”
“Let me get the officer in charge,” the officer said. “Just a minute, sir.”
“Her name is Becky Case. I mean—Rebecca. Rebecca Case. Did something happen? Are they hurt? Is she in there? Tell me!”
“Sir, you need to calm down.”
Probably having heard the commotion, an older policeman walked over. “You’re Mr. Case?”
“That’s my wife’s car over there,” he said, pointing. “I think she may have gone inside. What’s happening?”
“Sir, I’m Sergeant Sanchez. There’s been a robbery. Your wife ...”
“Is she okay?” Case asked.
Sanchez looked sympathetically at Case. He hesitated before he spoke. “Sir, I am very sorry to inform you that your wife and son have been killed.”
Case’s knees weakened and his gaze went distant. The sergeant took his arm and eased him onto the curb.
“I’m okay.” Case stood right back up, still feeling disoriented. He looked at the roses in his hand and held them up to his nose. They smelled nice, fresh, alive. They made him think of flowers at a funeral and his dead wife and son. He reached over and dropped them in a trash can. His ears rang and his heart pounded. Case sat back down and took a drink of water from a bottle someone had handed him. He lowered his head, shut his eyes, and breathed deeply.
It’s shock. I can fight this. Relax, deep breaths.
Case was vaguely aware of what was happening around him. But he noticed he was slowly able to focus again.
Sergeant Sanchez recognized shock. He told a patrolman to get Case another bottle of water. “You okay?” Sanchez asked Case.
“I’m okay.” Case stood.
“Stay with him,” Sanchez told the patrolman.
No man was ever ready to hear that his wife and son had just been murdered. Sergeant Sanchez had been the first one on the scene. As the ranking officer, he took charge when the other patrol cars arrived.
The EMTs had shown up immediately after Sanchez. They’d checked the store owner’s vitals even though it was unnecessary—a gunshot had obliterated half of his head. Sanchez told them about the woman and baby outside by the dumpster. He followed and watched the EMTs check the woman and her baby. One EMT shook his head. Sanchez knew there was nothing they could do but wait until the medical examiner had officially pronounced them dead.
He had identified the woman from the driver's license in her purse and he presumed the child was her son. He already knew the store’s owner, Mr. Park. Sanchez was a local and had frequented the store many times. A patrolman had told him that homicide had been notified and was on the way, as were the medical examiner and the coroner.
Sanchez had just secured the crime scene when Case showed up.
Case was stricken at first, but he’d stood up again and—outwardly—recovered quickly.
Sanchez told Case, “I’m very sorry for your loss, but you need to wait for homicide to show up. They should be here soon.”
Right on cue, the homicide detectives, brothers Pat and Mike O’Leary, showed up followed by the medical examiner.
Sanchez had never met these detectives before, but he’d heard of them. Everyone in the department had heard of them. They were tall, blond, and wide. They could have moonlighted as football players on their time off. They wore nondescript sports jackets, white button-up shirts, and slacks.
They reminded Sanchez of Vikings, minus the long hair and beards.
Pat and Mike O’Leary talked to Sanchez away from the victim’s husband. Then Mike walked into the store as his brother approached Case.
“Mr. Case? I’m Detective Pat O’Leary. I’m very sorry for your loss.”
Case could only nod. He had experienced this feeling before during his first time in combat. Case knew how to push down his rising emotions. He just allowed his analytical brain to override the numbness creeping in, not allowing himself to think about what had just happened.
From where he stood, he scanned the crime scene, taking in every detail.
“We need to take a look around. Then I’d like to come back and talk to you,” Detective Pat said. “Is that okay?”
Case’s attention snapped back to the detective. “Sure, I’ll be here.” He moved from the curb and sat on some stacked cases of bottled water outside the store, straining to overhear the patrol officers and detectives talking inside.
“Damn, there’s a lotta blood in there,” a patrolman said.
“You think it’s from the robbers?” another patrolman asked.
“Could be. See that big pool o’ blood where the owner was shot? Then there’s that smaller one there. It could be the robber’s blood.”
“The lab boys’ll figure it all out.”
“You two. Come here,” Sanchez called.
Case stood and paced, looking into the store. The crime scene investigators were taking samples from the blood pools. Case watched TV. He knew it might take weeks before the DNA could be analyzed.
He didn’t want to wait weeks or days. Not even hours.
Reporters began showing up. Cameras pointed in every direction, the reporters yelling questions at any police officer who happened to walk by. The scene became even more chaotic when neighbors and passersby stopped to see what was going on.
Case listened closely when Detective Pat returned and addressed the crowd.
“Excuse me, everyone. I’m Detective Pat O’Leary of HPD Homicide. At this time, all I can say is that this appears to be a robbery. Several people were found dead at the scene.”
Goddamn! Why? Why? Why?
When Case heard the police announcement, his heart pounded, and adrenaline surged through his veins. It surprised him when his legs got so weak he stumbled a little. He wanted to scream, he wanted to lash out, but at whom? His wife and son had been murdered in cold blood. But now they weren’t his wife and son anymore. They were just people found dead at the scene.
Oddly, a quote from General George S. Patton jumped into his mind.
Do your duty as you see it, and damn the consequences.
Case had no idea what to do right then. Let the cops do their job. It seemed like the cops should easily be able to catch the robber of a convenience store.
But goddammit, why would they kill my family?
Detective Pat called the reporters closer.
“We are dealing with a triple homicide and robbery. The names of the deceased will be released after the next of kin are notified. We ask that you clear out and let us do our work. Reporters can call the precinct tomorrow and we’ll provide any updates as they develop. Thank you for your cooperation.”
Detective Pat approached Case and started up with the usual round of routine questions. Case knew his answers came off as robotic. He knew the cops were just handling another case, nothing out of the ordinary. Becky and his son had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Case couldn’t remember driving home, pouring a glass of wine, or even sitting in the overstuffed chair in his living room. He stared at a picture on the mantle over the fireplace. It was from graduation day at West Point. He, Becky, and his best friend, Baker, stood with their arms around each other, smiles so big it hurt.
That had been one of the happiest days of his life. Finally getting to marry his high school sweetheart and celebrating the birth of Little Jeff had been equally wonderful, overwhelm
ingly happy days. Days full of life and hope. There would never be a day like any of those again. There would be a funeral. And after that, there would be only loneliness.
Case wanted to kill Becky’s murderer with his bare hands, but he knew he would never get the chance. The police would catch the man, and he would hopefully be executed someday. That would be a happy day, watching whoever did this die. Those were the last thoughts Case had as the wine allowed him a short reprieve and some sweet dreams of those he’d just lost.
6
Case slowly opened his eyes. He took a deep breath and stretched. The clock read 2:52 a.m.—not morning yet, but a new day. In the fog of waking up, he wondered why Becky had gone to bed without him, and how she’d gotten Little Jeff to sleep without waking him.
He felt like he’d had a nightmare that Becky and Little Jeff had been killed in a robbery. Then reality crept in and he jolted wide-awake. They were dead, but he still refused to believe it.
Case put the thought out of his conscious mind, muttering, “No, no, no, no …” He jumped up and ran down the hall to the master bedroom.
For more than a few seconds, Case paused with his hand on the light switch. The room was pitch dark, but he didn’t want to turn on the lights to verify what he already knew.
After a deep breath and a sigh, Case flipped on the light switch. He’d shut his eyes, giving himself a few more moments to deny it. Then he opened them.
Case screamed a wild animal sound for as long as he could.
He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t catch his breath. He dropped to his knees on the wooden floor, and then sat back on his legs as he put his hands to his chest.
Heart attack—only fair I should die, too.
Case slowly realized it wasn’t a heart attack. He wasn’t going to get the relief of death. He forced himself to calm down. He stood up and walked over to the dirty clothes in the bathroom. There, he took out Little Jeff’s blanket and Becky’s blouse. Case sat on the white tile floor and smothered his face with the blouse. His eyes shut, Case breathed as deeply as he could, inhaling Becky’s favorite rose-scented perfume. It flooded him with memories of her smile, her touch, her warmth. He allowed himself to float off.
Slowly and gently, Case set down her blouse. Then he lifted Little Jeff’s blanket to his face and inhaled deeply. It smelled like baby powder, like his little boy—a little boy who would never grow up. Case quietly started to cry. His tears became deep, uncontrollable sobs. He wanted to be with them.
“God, I’ll do anything ... it just isn’t fair.”
It hurt too badly. His whole body ached from the sobbing. Case wasn’t sure how long he’d cried, or how long he’d been sitting on the floor. He wasn’t even sure if he’d drifted off. He was surprised to find he was holding his Glock, cocked with a round in the chamber.
Guess I don’t have the guts to do it. He stood up and set down the Glock.
Light shone through the windows. As he walked out of the bathroom, his eyes ran over the bed and crib.
Did Becky’s parents know yet? It must have been on the news.
He’d turned off his phone when he got home. He didn’t know what he’d say anyway. Case powered up his phone and looked. There were twenty-five messages.
Not now.
Case went to the kitchen and made a cup of coffee with his Keurig. He inadvertently got a second cup for Becky. Then he set down her cup. He returned to his study with his pistol in one hand and his coffee in the other. He looked at the pistol and wondered how close he’d been to committing suicide. He honestly couldn’t remember. He put the pistol back into his desk drawer and then sat at his desk. After a while, he picked up his cell and dialed.
“Hi, Sam. I’m not sure if I’ll be in today,” Case told his personal assistant.
Sam murmured, “I tried to call you earlier when I saw the news. I’m so sorry, sir. Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Just tell everyone I’ll be out for a while. And put me through to Buster, would you?”
“Yes, sir, just a minute.”
Buster came on the line. “Jeff? I’m so sorry. I don’t know what to say. I just heard this morning.”
“Look, Buster, can you take care of the company for a while?”
“Of course. Take as much time as you need.”
“Thanks. Look, I gotta go.”
Case hung up and called his best friend, Larry Marsh.
“Jeff, where have you been? I’ve been calling you, texting you.”
“I had my phone turned off. You know about Becky and Little Jeff?”
“I know. I’m so sorry. I’m coming over.”
“No, I’m fine. Just give me a little time.”
“Come on, you need to be around people.”
“I’m fine. I’ll give you a call a little later.”
He called Becky’s parents next. The call was full of uncontrollable, raw emotions. Everyone was crying. They wanted to come over, but Case put them off. “I gotta go, sorry.” He could hardly get out the words, he was sobbing so hard.
Case calmed himself down. He knew he had to make one more call. He had to call his wife’s twin sister, Michelle Stefani. The conversation was just as emotional as the one with Becky’s parents. Michelle cried so much she couldn’t talk and had to give her phone to her husband, Steve. Case made him promise to not come over. He knew they’d tell his two nieces, too. Case didn’t think he could take anymore crying and he didn’t want to be around anyone right then.
Usually, by this time, he would be clean-shaven, dressed, and on his way to work, but not today. He turned off his phone again, got a bottle of wine, and sat in his living room with the shades drawn.
The doorbell startled him. Through the lead glass panes in the double doors, Case could see that it was the maid. Becky had hired the middle-aged Mexican woman a few years earlier, when she’d started working at Jeff’s office and no longer had time for housework. The maid was dressed in a simple blouse and pair of pants, ready to work. She probably had no idea what had happened. He didn’t want to explain. He didn’t want to console her. He didn’t want her sympathy. Case just wanted her to go away.
He opened the door. “You can take the week off, Maria.”
“Is okay?” she asked in her heavy accent.
“Yes, I mean—no. Look, I’ll call you when you should come back to work.”
“Me fired, Mr. Jeff?” Maria looked concerned.
Case sighed. He knew he had no choice but to explain. “No, no. Becky and Little Jeff … were killed in a robbery. Yesterday. I just need some time.”
The expression on her face went from concern to complete confusion. Maria smiled and shook her head slowly from side to side. She didn’t understand. “Miss Becky and Little Jeff, okay?”
“No. No, Maria. Becky and Little Jeff … are muerte.”
With full comprehension now, Maria started to cry. She rushed to hug Case. He couldn’t hold it back. He cried again, hugging this warm soul who had loved his family, too. He was able to stop his tears after a few escaped. He led Maria into his study and sat her in one of the oversized chairs in front of his desk.
He was now consoling Maria, holding her hands and explaining as best he could how Becky and Little Jeff had been killed. Case wrote her a check to cover four weeks’ pay, plus a little extra. “I’ll call you. I just need a little time.”
Maria handed the check back to Case. “No, you need help. Me stay and make food.”
Case stood Maria up and walked her to the front door. “Please, take the check and give me a few days. I’ll call you.”
“Okay. God Bless. Me very sorry.” Maria gave Case another hug and was trying to hold back her own tears. As she walked away, he saw her wiping tears from her eyes. Case thought he was cried out, but he knew his emotions were unpredictable now. He was feeling a little numb.
Larry and Sandy Marsh came over later the same day. Larry kept pounding on the door until Case opened it. Case had met Larry through his wife, S
andy Marsh, who was Case’s personal banker. Both couples had hit it off right away and had become best friends. Larry was about seven years older than Case, and roughly the same height, but carried a little more weight. He still wore his buzz cut from when he was in the military as an MP and he was a warm, friendly guy, most of the time.
“Can’t take a hint, can you?” Case asked.
“You know you look like shit?” Larry said.
“Yeah, I know.”
“I know this is horrible, Jeff, but you need to take care of yourself,” Sandy said. She pushed past Larry and threw her arms around Case before wrestling the bottle of wine from his hands. “You don’t need any more of this. You need something to eat.” With that, she went right to cooking.
Case put on a good face. Larry and Sandy were there for him the rest of the day. Case took a shower and changed his clothes before they all sat down to eat a meal together. While Sandy cleaned up, Larry sat with Case. He turned on the TV for background noise.
Larry leaned over to Case. “I hate to bring this up, but you’ll have to start making arrangements for Becky and Little Jeff’s funeral.”
Jeff didn’t answer or even look at Larry. He stared straight ahead at the TV. His lower lip began quivering and he balled up his fists.
Larry reached over and squeezed his hand. “I just went through this with my mom. Let Sandy and I help you with this, please.”
“Thanks.” Case was able to get only this one word out, and at a whisper. Case got up and forced a smile. “Sorry, excuse me.” He walked back to his bedroom, feeling empty—like he’d lost the will to live.
The funeral came and went in a blur, but Larry and Sandy helped him sort out the details. Everyone gathered at Case’s house after the funeral. He listened to their apologetic whispers and their plaintive pity, but eventually, he lost the patience for them. He snuck out and drove back to the gravesites. The caskets had been lowered and two men were already putting new grass over the filled-in graves. Case sat and watched. The process was not dignified at all, but it was very final.
