Possession

by Rene Gutteridge

  “I thought that day would never end. When Chief Moo—”

  “Don’t say his name. His name is never to be uttered in my presence.” Doug’s tone turned sharp, and he set his coffee down. Then he stood and went to the railing of the deck. His wispy gray hair parted as the brisk wind captured it.

  Moose had been a central but controversial figure in the middle of the chaos. The public counted him as a hero and a reason to hope. But inside the police force, many believed he made some vital errors that caused them to miss Muhammad on several occasions. Vance closed his eyes, trying to shut out his thoughts. But he knew . . . he always knew . . . there was never a way to run from what was in the mind. It relentlessly haunted him, which was why he found himself in this place.

  “What sucker punches me to this day,” Doug said, drawing Vance out of his dark thoughts, “is how many times we had them. They were right there—right in front of us—the whole time.”

  “You’re talking about the pizza delivery guy?”

  “I could talk about all of them, but don’t get me started.”

  Vance knew Doug was thinking of all the times that Muhammad and his sidekick, Malvo, had been stopped by police. Their dark blue Caprice always raised suspicions. It had black-tinted windows—a red flag for cops, especially when coupled with the kind of car. Criminals love retired police cars. The old Chevy Caprice police model was a popular car among the low-rider crowd because of the heavy-duty suspension components and its ease of conversion.

  The pizza delivery guy, just a few doors down from Michaels craft store, where the first shot was taken the day before the massacre began, described to police a suspicious blue car with two men in it.

  The report was discounted because they didn’t believe the car could’ve been in the right place to make the shot.

  Other officers over the coming days would stop the Caprice or run its tags, but they were always cleared because nothing came up on the computer.

  Doug said, “It taught me something. Taught us all something. We cops depend too much on computers. We should go with our gut. Always.”

  Vance was suddenly overcome by nausea. He hunched over, afraid he was about to hurl.

  “Are you okay?”

  Vance nodded, but he wasn’t. The guilt of the entire case crushed his lungs and squeezed him from the inside out. He was shaking, but he couldn’t stop.

  “You sure, son?”

  No matter how much he tried, he couldn’t have stopped the sobs that seized him.

  Doug sat back down. “We have hit a nerve, then.” He put a hand on Vance’s shoulder.

  “I can’t live with this secret anymore,” Vance said. He couldn’t even uncover his face.

  “Whatever it is, it has consumed you.”

  “I just wanted my life to be lived out normally, but that will never happen. Not after this.”

  “Son, tell me what’s wrong. Tell me what happened.”

  The sobs faded and numbness spread over him. “I should’ve seen the car.”

  “What car? The Caprice?”

  “I missed it. I was assigned to surveillance tapes. I was supposed to be looking for . . .” A sharp pain splintered through his head, pounding behind each eye. “Only one soul on earth knows about it. And she will never tell. And if I ever tell, it will change both our lives forever.”

  Doug picked up his mug again, sipping as if they’d been talking about an upcoming sports event. “So all your possessions are missing and you need to get them back.”

  Vance looked at Doug, unsure what to make of his comment. “I guess so.”

  “You guess?” Doug raised an eyebrow at him. “You’re going to let this guy get away with this?”

  “I don’t know what to do. He’s got the upper hand.”

  “Only because you’re letting him have it.”

  “I don’t know how to find him.”

  “A good detective always finds a way.”

  “I’m not sure I’m a good detective.”

  “Of course you are.”

  The headache worsened. He could barely focus on anything, so he closed his eyes.

  “You fight for what is rightfully yours.”

  “How do I fight against this?”

  Doug set his coffee down. “Let me see the note that was left to you.”

  Vance handed it to him, then watched as Doug carefully opened it, turned it back and forth, held it up to the light, looked it over like he was trying to find something very tiny on it. Then he set it down on the table, secured it with the sugar, and folded his hands together.

  “Lots of things can kill the body. But guilt can kill the soul.” He glanced at Vance. “You have nightmares?”

  “Not as many anymore. But some.”

  “At least once a month I dream about Maiden Choice. I used to drive by there every week to remind me what had been at stake. The unimaginable horror that none of us could have comprehended was even a possibility.”

  “What is Maiden Choice?”

  “It’s a school for severely disabled children. It was written on a note found in Muhammad’s car, under the headrest of the passenger’s side. Along with Maiden Choice were three other schools and a preschool. Those were their next targets.” He let out a long sigh. “There is always a next phase. Higher stakes. You have to stop it at all costs.”

  “Why can’t I just let it go? Just let this guy win, go on with my life, take my wife and kid, and—?”

  “Because that’s not in you. And whatever mistakes you made in life? There can sometimes be restitution. But you have to seek it out. Now,” Doug said, tapping his finger against the note on the table. “The first clue you need is right here on this paper.”

  * * *

  The smooth, rehearsed tone in her mother’s voice caused Lindy to shiver. What in the world could she mean by “prepare yourself”?

  “What are you talking about?” Lindy asked.

  Suddenly the back door flew open. Conner said, “Grandmother?”

  Joan smiled and cringed at once. She hated to be called Grandmother and had asked to be called Mama Joan instead, but it never stuck with Conner. And Grandma certainly wasn’t appropriate. It didn’t even sound close to right.

  As Conner stood at the door, his eyes flickered with hesitation. He didn’t run to her. Or even smile.

  “Conner, dear. Come over here and give me a hug.”

  Conner walked slowly, glancing at Lindy for assurance. Lindy smiled and nodded and tried to encourage him on with what was surely a tense imitation of what he was seeking—approval from her.

  “Surprise!” Lindy grinned. “Mama Joan came for a visit.”

  “Hi,” Conner said, reaching in for an awkward, sideways hug.

  “My! You’ve gotten so big since I last saw you!”

  Lindy wanted to say, Yeah. Two years is like an eternity in a kid’s life. Last time Joan saw Conner, he was six and still dragging around a blanket. Thank goodness he’d traded it in for an Etch A Sketch.

  “Does Grandmother live in California?” Conner asked, breaking away from her hug.

  “Yes, I do,” Joan said. “About two hours to the north, when the traffic is tolerable. We’re practically neighbors now, aren’t we?” She looked at Lindy. “I drove all that way to see your mother. It is such a long drive for a woman my age.”

  Conner glanced between them. “I get it. This is an adult conversation and you’re going to need me to play outside.”

  Lindy pressed her lips together, trying not to wince. The poor kid had probably heard that more than a dozen times since they’d arrived in California. Lindy was unsure how to respond. Obviously there was something her mother needed to tell her, and by the tone of it, she didn’t think it was going to be something she wanted Conner to hear.

  “Don’t worry,” Conner said, patting her shoulder. “I’m having fun outside. I’m playing with sticks and rocks and stuff.” He bounded back outdoors.

  Lindy hesitated once again because she knew Van
ce didn’t want him outside by himself. But Vance didn’t see what she saw . . . a kid enjoying his freedom. He was eight now. They couldn’t keep him in the house forever. Besides, they were three thousand miles from Maryland. That was like another world.

  She let him go and decided to keep an eye on him through the back window. She could see his head bobbing around.

  “He gets more and more handsome, doesn’t he?” Joan asked. “He really reminds me so much of you. His eyes.”

  Lindy nodded, even though he was really the spitting image of his father. She lowered her voice. “So what is this thing that you have to tell me?”

  Joan drew in a long breath, as if all this might cause her to faint if the day were a little bit hotter. She studied the cuff of her navy blazer, probably because there was nothing in the house to fix one’s eyes on.

  “Your father and I went bankrupt before. You never knew. You were just a baby.”

  Lindy sucked in a breath, slightly, trying not to gasp. “You did?”

  “The higher your father climbed in the ranks, the more disgruntled he became. He’d go buy all kinds of things. Boats. New cars. Jewelry for me. Anyway,” she said, “not important. It was a long time ago.”

  “That’s what you came all the way here to tell me? Dad drove you into bankruptcy?”

  “Sweetheart, there is a sense of disillusionment that every wife of every cop seems to have to endure. Their own disillusionment and that of the marriage.”

  “Look, if you’ve come to lecture me on how disillusioned you think I am about my marriage, save it. Yeah, we went through some rough patches. This is our new beginning.”

  Joan suddenly rose, gliding across the carpet as if she’d been walking in heels since the day she was born. She twisted her bracelet around and around her wrist, staring out the front window for a long moment. Then she said, “I received a phone call.”

  Lindy waited, listening to every breath she took.

  Joan continued to keep her back to Lindy. “It was a woman. She said she had information that would help save my daughter.”

  “Save me?” Lindy rose from her chair. “Save me from what?”

  “She didn’t say, but I know. Disillusionment.”

  “What did she say?”

  “She said one sentence and then hung up.” Joan turned. “‘Vance never got the psychological help he claimed he did after the sniper case.’”

  Lindy planted her hands at her waist, staring hard at her mother. She tried her hardest not to have a reaction. She kept her tone neutral. “That’s preposterous.”

  “I am only telling you what she told me. That’s all she said.”

  “Maybe you’re making this up. You’ve never really liked Vance.”

  “That’s untrue. But, my dear, a mother’s greatest hope for her daughter is that she doesn’t make her same mistakes. I stayed with your father far too long. There were all kinds of warning signs that things were not right, except I chose to ignore them.”

  “Who would call you and tell you this?”

  “She didn’t give her name.”

  “I don’t believe it.”

  “So you are choosing to ignore it, like so many other things, Linda.”

  Lindy turned away, willing herself not to cry. Was her mother so against the marriage that she would make something like this up? Vance had promised her he’d get help, and he did. He even gave her the name and number of his therapist. It had worked, too. He’d changed. Not overnight. But it had seemed like one day he came home from work and there was a smile on his face. And he played with Conner. And the world wasn’t sitting so hard on his shoulders.

  “My dear,” Joan said, spinning out her words as if Lindy were hanging on them, “I am not a religious woman, as you well know. But I’ve heard of generational curses, and not to sound overly dramatic, but you may be living in the middle of one.”

  11

  Doug handed him the paper. Vance looked it over, but he wasn’t seeing anything. He looked at the lettering, the way it was written, the words used . . . but none of it was giving him any clues. He hated that he was already failing his first test.

  “I’m sorry. I’m not seeing it,” Vance said.

  “Then close your eyes.”

  “Close my eyes?”

  “Yes.”

  “But how am I supposed to—?”

  “Just do it.”

  Vance sighed and closed his eyes. He sat there for a moment, trying to figure out where Doug was leading him. He listened to the waves. He felt the wind against his face. He smelled the saltiness of the air—

  “Smell . . .” Vance brought the paper close to his nose and took a deep breath. “What is that? Gasoline?” He opened his eyes.

  “Oil.” Doug stared intensely at him. “What does that mean?”

  “He was maybe changing his oil or messing with his rig?”

  “But there are no smudges of oil on the paper, are there?”

  “No. It’s clean.”

  “But smells of oil.”

  Vance tried to think it through as Doug watched him carefully. He looked away, trying to concentrate. “The air.” He smiled, looking at Doug. “It’s in the air. The air is so saturated with it that it soaks into the paper.”

  “Well done. So that would say to me that this guy is staying somewhere that works on cars. A mechanic shop maybe. Or someplace that runs machines.”

  “He’s got to be hiding the truck somewhere. It’s bright yellow, easy to spot.”

  “Now you’ve got the upper hand. He can’t be far from you. He wants his money and he wants out.”

  Vance folded the paper and put it in the front pocket of his shirt. “What do you make of it being connected to the sniper case?”

  “Vance, the case made us all a little crazy.”

  “You think I’m crazy for what I saw?”

  “What do you think?”

  Vance stood this time. He walked to the railing, wanting to lay into Doug for even suggesting it. He couldn’t really wrap his mind around it all.

  “You know,” Doug said from behind him, “people used to think I was crazy. I’d hear them talk about it around the office. I guess it’s no secret that I was critical of the department. Critical of how they handled the sniper case. Critical of the chief and all the red tape that made a hundred men lose their minds with anger.”

  “It was unprecedented. We’d never dealt with something like that before.”

  “Doesn’t matter. Our very basic police skills should’ve gotten these guys long before we did. How many lives could we have saved?”

  “There’s no use thinking about it now. It will just drive you crazy.”

  “So maybe I’m a little crazy. That’s all I do in this little house . . . think about all the ways we failed.”

  “We didn’t fail.”

  “Then I guess I can only speak for myself.”

  “Do you have a family?” Vance asked without turning around. He liked the view of the bay. It calmed him down.

  “Used to. They’re gone now.”

  “Gone?”

  “My wife left me. Took my kid. Haven’t seen them in years. My boy’s twenty now. I can only imagine what he looks like.”

  “Why didn’t you fight for them?”

  “I did. I tried. But at the end of the day, my wife gave up on me. Gave up on us. Didn’t want me to see him. And let me tell you, when a mother makes a decision like that, there’s really no hope.”

  “I’m sorry, Doug.”

  “It’s probably for the best. I live by myself. Mind my own business. Dwell here, waiting to die.”

  “You can go on living your life, you know. A fresh start.”

  “I got a fresh start all right. A fresh nightmare that never ends.” Doug paused, and the bay’s noises drifted lazily over them both.

  Vance finally sat back down. He didn’t want to leave this place. He didn’t want to face what waited for him—the possibility of failure, of losing what he’d worked har
d for. He didn’t want to disappoint Lindy. She’d already gone through enough.

  “Now,” Doug said, “I am going to go get us more coffee. And when I return, we are going to talk about this secret that is eating you alive.”

  * * *

  Joan had backed off her doomsday predictions for Lindy’s marriage and somehow managed to turn the entire conversation into chitchat. She was notorious for being unable to keep an in-depth discussion going unless she was paid by the hour for it.

  But Lindy could barely follow even the light conversation. Although she refused to show it, distractions kept tangling up in her mind. She needed to get rid of her mother. But how?

  “. . . so I told the tailor that it just wouldn’t do, and then she rambled on and on about something. I couldn’t even understand her, and—”

  “Listen,” Lindy interrupted, “you’ve traveled so far, I hate to hog all your time here. Why don’t you go outside and play with Conner for a little while? I know he’d love it.”

  Joan raised an eyebrow, and her normally less-than-enthused eyes lit with a startle. “Play?”

  “Dirt is completely removable with dry cleaning.”

  Joan rose from her lawn chair. “Dear, I’m sorry, but I must go. I’m having dinner with friends. I need to go freshen up at the hotel.”

  “You booked a hotel?”

  “Of course. I wouldn’t want to drive home tonight. That’s a lot of driving for one day, don’t you think?”

  “Sure. I want you to be safe, of course.”

  “Breakfast in the morning at the hotel? Bring along the family.” She handed Lindy a card. “Here’s where I’m staying. Say around ten o’clock?” She smiled mildly. “My treat.”

  Lindy shrugged. What else did she have to do around here? “Sure.”

  She let Joan out but didn’t bother walking her to her Mercedes. Instead, she locked the door and ran to her bedroom, scrambling through her suitcase to find her directory. She’d grabbed it out of the truck, figuring there might be some numbers that would come in handy. Her husband’s former therapist was not one she’d predicted she might need.