Criminal Negligence

by Danielle L Davis

  A little while later, I was riding the elevator at San Sansolita Memorial Hospital. I’d called Bernie to update him on the case and ask for Khrystal’s room number. He was at home, gathering items to bring to the hospital for Khrystal and their yet-to-be-named son. The elevator dinged, and the door opened. I walked out and made a right, following the colored stripes as if they were the yellow brick road to Oz. I sauntered past food carts and nurses in colorful uniforms. Although I didn’t like the smell of hospitals, I sucked it up and kept walking.

  Eventually, I found Khrystal’s room and stood at the door, watching her holding her son. She was sitting near a window in a white plastic chair next to the bed, a thin white hospital blanket on her lap. I grinned and stepped inside the dim room.

  “Hey, Mom.” I whispered, because it seemed like the thing to do.

  Khrystal looked up, smiling radiantly. “I just fed him, and he fell asleep. Do you want to hold him?” She whispered, too.

  She was handing him to me before I even nodded. I sat on the bed and looked at the little guy cradled in my arms and gasped. An unexpected feeling of warmth flooded through me. Couldn’t help myself—I was grinning like a loon, I was sure.

  “Khrystal, he’s beautiful. Look at all that hair.” He had a blotchy pink face, and black curly hair peeked out from his blue cap. I sat on the end of the bed, looking at her. Bare-faced, with her hair in a loose ponytail draped over her shoulder, she glowed. She appeared cozy in plaid pajamas and fuzzy socks. Beautiful and content.

  All of a sudden, my body felt like lead, and I yawned. Khrystal yawned too, and we laughed quietly.

  “It’s been a tough day.” I yawned again. “We closed a case.”

  “That’s great. Does Bernie know yet?”

  “Yep. I called him before I came here. When do you two get to go home?” The baby started to flail in a jerky manner in his sleep. I stood and returned him to his mom. “I have to get going. I’m exhausted.”

  “You look it. Get some rest. We go home tomorrow. Stop by and see us soon as you can.”

  I caressed the baby’s soft cheek. “I will. Take care, Khrystal.” I gave her a hug.

  “You take care, too, Syd. I mean it. Get some sleep.”

  “I plan to.” As I left the room, my phone buzzed with a text from Brad. I told him I’d be in touch tomorrow because I was exhausted and going home.

  I was up early the next morning, and headed to the station and spent several hours working on the case reports. By lunchtime I’d had enough and decided to take the rest of the day off. I called Bernie, who told me Khrystal and the baby had returned home earlier. Then I called Brad. “Hey, stranger.”

  “Hey, yourself. What are you doing?” He sounded relaxed and happy.

  “I’m heading out to Bernie and Khrystal’s. She had the baby, and they just got home.”

  “Cool. When do I get to see you?”

  “When do you want to see me?” I headed to my car and slid behind the wheel.

  He laughed. “Right now.”

  “What’s your second choice?”

  “After you see Bernie’s baby. I can meet you at your place, or you can come here. Don’t you owe me a meal?”

  “Do I?”

  “Yes, definitely.”

  “Okay, I have the rest of the day off. Come by my place at four.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  We ended our call, and I headed to Bernie’s. My heart was light with anticipation of seeing the baby and spending time with Brad later.

  33

  I sat on the sectional sofa, visiting with Bernie while Khrystal tended to the baby in the other room. He drank a Corona and had dark crescents under his eyes. Stubble speckled his chin.

  “How are you doing, Pops?” I watched him drink.

  “Can’t believe I’m a dad.” He shook his head and took another gulp. “My parents are coming over tonight. They’re grandparents again.”

  “Do you have a name picked out for him yet?” The baby started to fuss, which quickly became a wail. I turned toward the sound.

  Bernie laughed. “Strong pair of lungs on him.” He set the bottle on the table, next to two others. “We do have a name.”

  “And it is … what?” I leaned in, elbows on my thighs.

  “I’m thinking about Joseph.” He looked away.

  I nodded. “All right.”

  “You know why?”

  I nodded again, leaned toward him, and whispered “Bernie, you’ve got to let it go. It’s eating you alive.” I pointed to the beers on the table.

  “Syd, I killed that kid.”

  “As I keep telling you, he would’ve killed you if you hadn’t.”

  His shoulders slumped. “I know, but he wouldn’t be dead.”

  “And you wouldn’t have that beautiful baby in the next room.” I stood. “You need to talk to the department counselor about it.”

  He cleared his throat. “I’m fine.”

  “The hell you are. I don’t think you should name your son after a kid who tried to shoot you. Does Khrystal know?”

  “She knows I shot Joey.”

  “Does she know his name?” I sat near him.

  He peered at me and rubbed his bloodshot eyes. “No, I never told her.”

  “She doesn’t know that’s who you’re naming your son after.”

  He sat back, staring at his hands.

  “Bernie, don’t do it.” I shook my head, not knowing what else to do. “Please, let it go. Talk to someone.”

  “I already went through that crap for the job.” He snatched the beer from the table. “They said I’m fine and I’ve dealt with it.”

  “Oh, yeah? Well, they’re wrong.”

  “I’ll be okay, Syd. Don’t worry.” The corner of his mouth lifted.

  “I’m going to have to talk to Lieutenant Peterson. You’re not right.” I waved my hand over the table of beers. “Look at this. Look at you.”

  “Syd, do what you have to do. I’m tired. I’ve been up all night. Couldn’t sleep at the hospital.” He picked up the empty bottles and headed to the kitchen.

  I followed him. “I’m going to go. Tell Khrystal I said goodbye. Think about what I said.” He was still in the kitchen when I left and went home, where I cleaned for a while. My cell phone blinked with a text from Bernie telling me he’d think about what I said, which made me feel slightly better. I went to my bedroom, removed my shoes, collapsed into bed, and fell asleep.

  Waking to the chimes of the doorbell and completely disoriented, I gave the clock a one-eyed peek: quarter after four.

  Shit.

  After rolling over and covering my head with the pillow, I tried to go back to sleep, hoping the person would go away. I glanced at the clock again. Four fifteen in the afternoon?

  Oh no! Brad!

  Hopping out of bed, I sprinted through the hall and pulled open the door. Nobody was there. In my socks, I ran out of the door in time to see Brad’s truck rolling down the street. I jumped up and down, waving like a maniac. He screeched to a stop, the reverse lights brightened, and he backed straight up to the curb. I hurried to the driver’s side.

  “I’m so sorry. I fell asleep. Why didn’t you call when I didn’t answer the door?”

  “I left my phone at home.” He climbed out of the truck and took my face in his hands. “Are you sure you want to get together tonight? You look like you could use more sleep.”

  I stepped back, shoving his hands away. “Well, thanks a lot.” I smoothed my curls back from my face and probably looked a real mess. My face warmed with embarrassment.

  He pushed my hands out of my hair. “Stop. You look fine—just tired. That’s all.”

  “I am tired.” I looked away, down the street. “Maybe we should try again tomorrow. I’m not going to be much fun tonight. I can barely keep my eyes open.”

  “You got it. Maybe we could go to the park and have a picnic with Josh?”

  “Yeah, he’d love that.”

  “Then that’s
what we’ll do.” He kissed the top of my head. “Go back to bed, Sydney. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He pulled the truck’s door open and climbed in.

  “Bye, Brad. Thanks for understanding.”

  “No problem. Go.” He pointed toward my open apartment door and waited as I shuffled toward it. I stepped inside, closed the door, and opened it again to see him driving off. Then I went back to bed and slept like a baby.

  Epilogue

  A search warrant on Joan’s office returned Vincent’s cell phone in Arnie’s desk. We were able to track the location of the phone to Arnie’s apartment and Joan’s office after Vincent was already dead.

  Arnie admitted to setting fire to the apartment next to mine and killing Vincent on Joan’s orders. The reason for the apartment fire was to divert attention elsewhere. Arnie was desperate and heavily in debt and Joan knew it. Vincent’s original will left the businesses to Sylvia. However, as their business goals diverged he’d decided to give Sharon and Monica portions as well. Sharon was his deceased brother’s daughter and Monica was Vincent’s daughter.

  As the Simons indicated, Joan had wanted to sell the businesses when their father passed away. Since he left it under Vincent’s control she wasn’t able to do it. Once he was gone she thought she’d be able to convince Sylvia to sell. She didn’t know of Sylvia’s plans to grow the business, however. Joan’s law firm wasn’t doing well and their house in San Sansolita was in foreclosure. Her fear of what others would think of their financial situation led her to attempt to get money at any cost. She should’ve been more like her daughter, Jennifer, and ignored what others thought.

  After further investigation, we were unable to determine if Kelly’s husband Jake participated or knew of the schemes. No charges were brought against him.

  Brad and I were still trying to make the space in our lives to move on with our relationship. Time would tell.

  I received a call from Bernie and he told me they’d named their little boy, Michael. Good choice.

  Theresa and I arranged to meet at the San Sansolita Boxing Club the weekend after we’d closed our case. I hoped she was ready to take a beating, because I was ready to give one.

  To stay informed about my books and other news, sign up for my Readers’ Group at https://danielleleneedavis.com

  Acknowledgments

  My copyeditor and proofreader, Kerry J. Donovan and Nicole O’Brien, have been wonderful! My goal was to write the best story I was capable of telling at this point in time. With their assistance that goal has been met.

  Kerry can be reached at http://kerryjdonovan.com

  Nicole can be reached at Word Ballet Editing.

  www.wordballet.com

  nicole@wordballet.com

  About the Author

  Danielle lives in Southern California with her family. She enjoys spending time with loved ones, photography, reading, and writing stories. She’s currently working on another book in the Sydney Valentine Mystery series.