by Linda Berry
The redhead stood for a moment, wobbled in her heels, then slumped to the floor in a seated position against the bar, legs spread out in front of her. Blood gushed from her nose and part of a shiny bald head peeked out from under her lopsided wig. The gold blouse ripped open, exposing a thickly padded bra strapped to a muscled, hairy chest.
Spewing fiery expletives in Spanish, Steve finally cuffed Blondie, his flushed face beaded with sweat. To punctuate his frustration, he ripped off her blond wig and tossed it over his head. It caught on the spinning blade of a ceiling fan and dangled like a dead animal. The suspect’s beautifully made-up face looked at odds with the exposed military-style buzz cut. Lauren noticed for the first time the enlarged biceps and broad shoulders straining beneath the black turtleneck.
Respectful applause broke out among the patrons and several held up their drinks in salute. Lauren didn’t feel like taking a bow. She was breathing in ragged spurts, her jaw and knuckles hurt like hell, and the blood running down her chin was dripping on her uniform. She pressed a wad of napkins to her mouth and watched the front door swing open as Sergeant Birenski and his partner, Sally Gifford, rushed inside. Sally was tall, blond, and lanky, a sharp contrast to her partner’s short, compact frame and skin the color of espresso. On the force for fifteen years, Lauren knew Birenski to be a tough cop, but fair, and she respected his calculated decisions, often made split-second.
After assessing the situation, Gifford helped Steve yank the two suspects to their feet, pad them down, and search their pockets and purses. Steve studied their ID cards under the beam of his flashlight. “They’re fucking Marines!”
“No shit,” Gifford said.
“Shit,” Lauren repeated.
“Let’s take a look at your face,” Birenski said, turning to Lauren, his dark eyes studious under the bill of his cap.
Blood dripped down her chin when she pulled the napkin away. She pressed it back.
“Doesn’t look good,” Birenski said in his no-nonsense manner. “We’ll chauffer these two floozies to the station and report them to their commanding officer.”
“Assaulting an officer. Resisting arrest.” Gifford grinned, tossing her ponytail. “These two princesses are gonna go ape shit when they sober up and find out who they tangled with. I see demotions in their future.”
“Tonight it’s the drunk tank with the beautiful people,” Birenski said.
“Hope they like piss and vomit,” Lauren said dryly. She moved her jaw to the left and right. Not broken, thank God.
The officers ushered the suspects outside and into the back of Birenski’s patrol car. The sergeant turned to Steve. “Get Starkley to the ER.”
“Yes, sir.”
By the time the sergeant and Gifford drove away, Steve’s color had returned to normal except for a few blotches along his cheekbones.
Lauren tossed her wad of napkins into a trash bin. The bleeding had stopped, but her lip felt as thick as a sausage. Despite the pain, she had to chuckle. “You spent a helluva lot of time rolling around on top of that babe, Steve. Cop a handful of U.S. certified prime?”
His face flushed again, uniting the blotches. “Freakin’ crossdressers. I can’t believe they duped us like that.”
“They were good. The best I’ve ever seen.”
“That blonde was an ace wrestler. Strong as an ox. Fucking Marines.”
“Good thing they were sauced,” she mused. “Or I might’ve been the one in a puddle on the floor.”
“We should’ve been more alert.” Steve looked furious, his peppery Latin machismo in full gear.
“Lighten up, partner,” she said, opening the door of the cruiser.
“Lighten up? I’m royally pissed at myself. You almost got killed twice this week. First, sprayed with bullets by The Strangler. Now this. That painted culo could’ve killed you.” Steve rounded the front of the patrol car. “I messed up letting you approach them alone.”
“You’re not my protector, Steve. I can take care of myself.”
“Right. Let’s go, Rambo.”
“Nothing that went down tonight, or in Cypress Park was your fault.”
“Get in the car, Lauren. I need to get you to the hospital.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
SLUMPED ON A HARD PLASTIC CHAIR in the waiting room of the ER, Lauren tried to block out her pain, the misery of the surrounding patients, and the annoying drone of the talking head on the TV screen. She pulled a spiral-bound notebook from her breast pocket, flipped it open, and methodically transferred notes on her suspects in The Strangler case to the form attached to her clipboard, which was destined for Inspector Camino. When finished, she tuned into Steve, who was pacing in front of her with his cell phone pressed to his ear, engaged in yet another heated conversation with his wife, the third this shift. After clicking off, he jammed his phone into his pocket and sank into the seat beside her, arms crossed tightly across his chest.
“Male menopause?” she asked dryly.
“What?”
“Hormones out of whack?” She gave him a sympathetic pat on the knee. “I understand.”
“Judas priest, Lauren. What’re you talking about?”
“Your behavior lately. What’s with the multitude of calls to Pamela the last couple of days? Why’d you wake her up at four in the morning? You’re harassing her.”
Steve’s face darkened.
“You’re about as subtle as a steak at a hunger strike. You think she doesn’t know you’re checking up on her?”
Anger flared, then dimmed in his dark eyes.
“Aha! You’re jealous!” Lauren said, dumbfounded. Steve’s second marriage had been as solid as Gibraltar, and in Lauren’s opinion, the best thing that ever happened to him. Green-eyed and slender, with an abundance of wavy red hair, Pamela possessed a quiet maturity and intelligence that had a calming effect on Steve. Her unfaltering devotion soothed the wounds inflicted by his first marriage. “What were you expecting tonight?” she asked. “Some husky male voice to answer her phone?”
Steve’s left hand drummed an irregular beat on the armrest. “I don’t know what I was expecting. I do know that while I’m out here busting my ass trying to make a living, she’s giving the come-on to men all over the neighborhood.”
The notion of Pamela cheating, or even flirting with other men, seemed preposterous. Still, Lauren recognized the torment in his tone. “And you know this is true, because?”
“A hunch. A strong hunch.”
“We don’t convict on hunches. Got evidence?”
He gave her a stony look, shook his head.
“Get real, Steve. Pamela’s running around after a two-year-old all day. She keeps your house spotless. Cooks dinner. Where’s she finding time for extra-curricular activities?”
“She makes time.”
Lauren didn’t like seeing the ugly fissures of jealousy reawaken. During Steve’s first marriage to the fiery hellcat Maria Juarez, it had been warranted. The union had been a tragic blunder from day one. The power play between two strong wills, and Maria’s flirtatious nature, strained the relationship to the breaking point. It was Maria who finally severed the cord. Five years ago she abandoned Steve and fifteen-year-old Sarah and ran off with a comic to Las Vegas, where she landed a gig as a showgirl on the seamier end of the strip. At first, Maria routinely sent Sarah long, devoted letters stuffed with photos and brochures. But over the years, the letters dwindled and were replaced with hurriedly scrawled postcards sent at holidays and birthdays. The juice ran out for Maria in Vegas, along with her lover, and she joined a second-rate traveling revue that hit small towns no one ever heard of. Maria faded into the desert heat with her ghostly trail of postcards, leaving no clue to her whereabouts.
Lauren said gently, “Look, Steve, your first marriage was a bust. You got burned big time, but Pamela’s not Maria.”
“It’s been five years since Maria’s seen her daughter or sent a penny for her care. What kind of woman abandons her own kid?” He snuffle
d a bitter laugh. “It’s no wonder Sarah has problems.”
Lauren didn’t want to encourage this worn line of conversation, but it was apparent Steve needed to talk. “Okay, so why do you think Pamela’s cheating?”
His eyes sparked with irritation. “I have it on good authority.”
“Who’s good authority?”
He hesitated, cleared his throat. “Sarah.”
Sarah the terrible! The trouble monger! Keeping her tone in neutral, Lauren played along. “What did Sarah say?”
“That Pamela leaves her with the baby and takes off for hours at a time.”
“How often?”
He shrugged. “Two, three times a week.”
“So she’s probably running errands.”
He tightened his mouth, said nothing.
“What are you not telling me?”
“Sarah came home yesterday and found a man in the house.”
“Doing what?”
“She didn’t know. He left quickly. She thought Pamela acted weird after he left.”
“Did she ask who he was?”
“Yeah. A neighbor down the street. She asked why he was there, but Pamela brushed her off and went to check on the baby.”
Lauren was silent, her mind revisiting the antics Sarah had pulled over the years to drive women from Steve’s life. “You know how good Sarah is at putting her own spin on the truth, Steve. She’d do anything to come between you and Pamela.”
Muscles tightened along Steve’s jaw line.
“She’s a sponge for your undivided attention.”
“All right. That’s it. You don’t believe me. You don’t believe Sarah. This conversation is over.” He glowered. “Now it’s between Pamela and me.”
Lauren held her tongue. She knew better than to pit herself between her partner and his unwed, pregnant, college-dropout daughter, who in his mind could do no wrong. Steve needed to get a handle on his family affairs, and soon. This job had enough stress without bringing in personal problems. To pull his attention back to police work, Lauren handed him her report on The Strangler.
He whistled as he read it. “Man, you’ve been busy.”
“Yeah. I was making progress, but Jack cuffed my hands tonight. Camino’s scared I’ll steal her thunder. My leads are going to her.”
“Monetti shut you out?”
“Not entirely. I still have a few aces.”
“Why haven’t you asked me for help?” His eyebrows arched in silent inquiry. “Hell, I’m your partner, but I’m always the last one to learn shit. Like The Strangler showing up at Courtney’s soccer match. And why didn’t you tell me about you and Monetti?”
“There’s nothing to tell. Jack and I went out once. I didn’t realize it was a date until he drove me home, and ….”
“And what?” His eyes narrowed. “He kissed you?”
“Yeah.” She felt her cheeks warm. “But that’s all there was to it. A simple kiss. I didn’t tell you because I needed time to think about it. I decided dating Jack wasn’t a good idea.”
His face relaxed. “Good decision. It’s dicey getting involved with a superior.”
“Yeah.”
Steve shifted in his seat, stretched his legs out in front of him and crossed one foot over the other. “So what’s your next ploy in The Strangler case?”
“Just keep poking round under rocks until something slithers out.” Her jaw throbbed, and her split lip burned. She tilted her head from side to side to ease her cramped shoulder muscles.
“Doing all this off duty?”
She nodded.
“Need my help?”
“Thanks, but your hands are full at home with the baby. How’s she doing, anyway?”
“Ah, little Rosie. The light of my life.” A smile swept across his face, softening the lines of stress. “She takes after her old man. A regular li’l genius. You seen her birthday picture?”
She shook her head.
Steve pulled out his wallet, flipped it open, and handed it to her.
Lauren smiled at Rosie’s dark curls and plump cheeks. “I remember Courtney at this age,” she said with a prick of nostalgia. “All chubby little legs and arms. What a handful. Never gave us a moment’s rest.”
“Yeah. Rosie never stops moving.” Steve rose to his feet, put his hands in his pockets, and jingled some coins. “Want anything from the machines?”
“Coffee. Thanks.”
Steve sauntered down the hall and Lauren flipped to the next photo in his wallet. Sarah the Terrible stared back. She had inherited her mother’s dark coloring, high cheekbones, unmanageable curls, and rebellious spirit. Getting into one scrape after the other for as long as Lauren could remember. Last year, Sarah finally got on the right track when she enrolled in college and made the Dean’s list. Then she met Tony Romero, a social anarchist who dressed in black and shaved his hair into the shape of a lizard. After the two moved in together, Sarah emulated his politics and dress, and effectively dropped out of Steve’s life. She resurfaced six months ago and rocked his world, pregnant and abandoned by Romero, who was doing a stint at county. Steve had no choice but to move her into the small home he shared with Pamela and Rosie.
A shadow crossed Lauren’s lap, darkening Sarah’s photo. Steve stood over her with coffee and pockets bulging with snacks.
Lauren traded his wallet for a steaming Styrofoam cup. “How’s Sarah doing? Her baby must be due.”
“In a week or two.” He plopped down with coffee in one hand and a package of powdered doughnuts in the other, tore through the wrapper with his teeth. “She’s had a rough pregnancy, which makes her useless around the house. Pamela’s been doing most of the cooking and cleaning.”
“And taking care of Rosie. She must be exhausted, with all those men lining up outside.”
He frowned, digesting what she said. He bit into a doughnut and a burst of powdered sugar dusted his collar. “Pamela wants Sarah out of the house as soon as she’s on her feet after the delivery.”
“Has Sarah decided what she wants to do?”
He shrugged. “I’ll help her get by, as long as she stays in school. Unless ….” His eyes sparked.
“What?”
“I think she’s hoping Romero will miraculously transform his stinking life and come rescue her. I don’t want him anywhere near my grandkid.”
Lauren put her hand on his arm. “Sarah’s young. With a little maturity, maybe she’ll come around.”
“Maybe. But if that jerkoff comes knocking, she’ll be back with him in a heartbeat.” Steve chewed on his doughnut, said out of the side of his mouth, “She can support his drug habit with welfare checks. She won’t get a penny from me.”
“I thought he was safely behind bars. Drug sale, right?”
“And assault.”
“Assault?”
“He roughed Sarah up pretty good.”
“Christ.” Lauren felt her throat tighten. “How come you never told me?”
“I’m a cop. Yet I can’t protect my own kid.” Anger glinted in his eyes. “How do you think that makes me feel?”
“Lousy.”
“Damn straight. The prick only got eight months. He’s already served six.”
The two lapsed into an uneasy silence. Lauren sipped her bitter coffee on the good side of her mouth. The left side throbbed. Concern for her partner’s plight added to her misery. Steve fixed his gaze on the TV screen, which was airing a rerun of The Andy Griffith Show. No trace of Mayberry in Steve’s life at the moment.
A harried intern scurried in. “Officer Starkley? We’re ready for you.”
***
Lauren returned to the waiting room at five a.m. No fractured bones, but lots of swelling and an array of vibrant colors spreading across her face. She and Steve left the ER and got into the patrol car. Sitting stiffly behind the wheel, Steve said in an apologetic tone, “I’m sorry about dumping on you back there. Don’t know what got into me.”
“No problem. You’ve listened
to plenty of my crap over the years.” Sedated by pain pills, Lauren couldn’t muster the energy to snap him out of his dark mood. Neither spoke on the ride back to the station. They parted, falling into their normal routine. Steve returned the equipment, she headed for the locker room to shower.
Sergeant Birenski intercepted her on the stairs.
“You look as miserable as a starving mutt in the rain.” He gingerly tilted her head back to examine her chin. “You on meds?”
“Yeah.”
“Don’t come in tonight.”
“But—”
“No buts. That shit slows you down.”
Her scowl deepened as she climbed the stairs to the locker room. She showered, changed into jeans and a t-shirt, locked her duty belt in her locker, and left the building. She hit the parking lot just as the sun was cresting over the top of the adjacent buildings. It drenched the vehicles in clean morning light and backlit the liquidambar trees, transforming the leaves into stained glass. Nature’s stunning display momentarily startled her, brightening her awareness of this other world that existed outside the station.
It was the peak of autumn, her favorite time of year, yet she’d been landlocked inside these stucco canyons for weeks. A yearning swelled in her chest. Her spirit was rattling its cage, demanding liberty. Impetuously, she called home and told Sofie she’d be missing breakfast, then she headed east and got on the Bay Bridge. The hills surrounding the bay were vibrant with color, and the sunrise on the water was breathtaking. She eagerly looked forward to spending some quality time with her dearest friend, mentor, priest, and doctor, all rolled into one. Dad.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
STANDING ON THE PORCH of the Spanish ranch-style house in the Oakland hills, Lauren took in the scope of the two-acre property that comprised her father’s private world. Though his health forced him to give up gardening, his love of nature was evident in the vast array of flowering plants, and the air was sweetened by the scent of his prize-winning roses, some with blossoms as big as cabbages. Thick woods provided privacy from his neighbors, but he had an open view of San Francisco on the distant shore of the shimmering bay.
