She takes her pint and walks over to sit next to her boss, her friend.
“How do you always find me when I try to disappear, Kate?”
“Call it a sixth sense. I knew you’d be here, and I knew you’d need the company.”
He knows she’s right, but he doesn’t want to agree.
He likes the idea of sitting alone for many hours, glass after glass, bottle after bottle, drowning his sorrows until they are forgotten.
Kate won’t let that happen.
She’s seen it too many times before.
She slurps her beer, in love with the amber liquid. With four older, macho brothers, her love for beer was developed in her mid-teens. She spent many years in love with beer, fueling her party lifestyle. It wasn’t until she came to L.A. as a twenty-year-old that she learned that classy girls aren’t supposed to love beer. Classy girls are supposed to sip cocktails and giggle at the alpha male’s jokes.
She tried her best to fit in, but it just wasn’t her.
Whenever she finds herself in a dive bar, she can’t resist the call of a great ale.
“Harry Jones’ body was found yesterday. Murdered a week ago. His body was dumped in the river.”
“A friend?”
“An old friend. A school friend. He was a former cop. Worked closely with Pitt. A good man. A really good man. But…”
“Let me guess, he was a homeless drunk in the end? Lived in Skid Row?”
Bill nods. “He was a great cop until he walked into a family murder-suicide scene late one night. It hit him hard. Those are the sort of things no person should see. So, he turned to alcohol. It became his only escape. He couldn’t see it until it was too late, but he lost control. He couldn’t walk away from the demon drink, and it just got worse and worse. That was until one day he snapped after drinking all morning and beat a female African American police officer into the ground. Almost killed her. Put her in hospital. He said that she was trying to steal something from him, but it was caught on camera, and the footage went to all the papers. They had no choice but to fire him. It was a sad ending to his career, but he did the wrong thing. He knew that. He did the wrong thing.”
“I remember that story,” Kate says. “Four or five years ago, right?”
“That’s it. The thing is, I saw him a month ago – he said a lot of the same things that Gerard told me. Wanted to clean himself up, wanted to start again. We were good friends in high school, and I was happy to help him. Took him out for a coffee and gave him some numbers of people that might have been able to help him. He said he felt dead on the inside, and I tried to help him. He said that he was better off dead anyway because he felt like he was. He knew he shouldn’t have beat that woman, but he couldn’t stop it. He was the walking dead. Alcoholism did that to him. It turns the living into the dead.”
“I’m sorry,” Kate whispers. “Do they think it’s connected to your brother?”
“The cops think so. The timeline fits. The body only showed up yesterday, but they think he was murdered a few days before they arrested Jonathon. Matches all the criteria for the serial killer.”
“But?”
“But his body wasn’t left in the alley like the others. He was taken somewhere and dumped in the river. There were still bruises around his neck, and he still died due to strangulation. But then, he was dragged somewhere else to cover the tracks. It wasn’t the same as the others.”
“So the killer is getting better? Covering their tracks now?”
“It could be. Maybe they’re scared that they’re starting to get some attention from the cops. It’s the eighth drunk homeless man to be found dead on the streets in the past twelve months. If these men were celebrities, it’d already be front-page news. It’d be the biggest story of the year. Instead, they’re society’s forgotten people. The ones that tried to live, tried to put a life back together but fell apart. The murders barely even register in the police department, let alone the media.”
“You know, drunks aren’t all good people,” Kate replies. “Just look at what happened to Penny’s mother.”
“I know what happened to Penny’s mother. Nicole told me about it years ago, long before I met Penny. Nicole was devastated by it. I can’t imagine what it would have been like for Penny. But Nicole is a resilient woman, and she has raised Penny to be a generally upstanding citizen, and despite everything that she’s been through, she still seems like a nice person.”
“She’s been through a lot. You’re right, despite all that, she still seems nice… except when she’s talking about drunks. She has real fire in her voice when she’s talking about drunks.”
“Nice girl, except when she talking about drunks,” Bill agrees.
A moment of thought hits them both.
Bill looks across to Kate and she looks back at him.
“She fits the profile?” Kate murmurs, still trying to understand if it’s a possibility.
“She’s not a killer.” Bill shakes his head. “She doesn’t have that off feeling about her.”
“And your brother? Do you think he’s a killer?”
“I don’t know,” he concedes. “Every time I’ve seen him, I’ve been overcome with… emotion. I can’t see anything. I miss all those little signals because I’m focusing inward and not outward.”
Kate looks back to her beer, the pale amber liquid calling out to her. After she finishes the beverage, she asks, “Will he have a funeral?”
“Harry? No. I don’t think so. He was a cop a long time ago. He has always had a problem with alcohol, but he was a good cop. They tried to sweep his issues under the carpet and ignore the fact that he always had a flask at his desk, and they tried to ignore the fact that he stunk of vodka in the mornings. But it got too much. He pushed it too far, and they had no choice. They had to let him go. After the incident, they couldn’t have him coming back into the office. It was the wrong thing to do, not to mention a public relations disaster. But without the force, without his job, he had nothing. Nothing else. He wasn’t married, didn’t have kids. He just sunk further into oblivion until he was living on the streets.”
“Was he a good man in the end? Even after falling apart?”
“I don’t know.” Bill tilts the whiskey glass until the large cube of ice clinks on the side. “I just know he was a good man once. But alcohol addiction does funny things to people. It’s a curse. I don’t know who he was in the end.” Bill turns and looks at her. “You shouldn’t be here anyway. Shouldn’t you be getting ready for your holiday? Doesn’t your flight leave tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow night.” Kate smiles. “There’s not much left to pack, and we’re only going for a week. The flight doesn’t leave until five, so I have all day to get ready. Connor is at his father’s place tonight, and I couldn’t bear the thought of being home alone all night. I was actually quite happy to find you here.”
“Harry Jones was long dead before he was murdered. Alcohol did that to him.” Bill raises his glass, and Kate follows his lead. “This moment is in honor of Harry Jones.”
The two work colleagues sit at the bar, quietly considering a long silence.
“Death is so final,” Kate states, breaking the silence.
“Final? No. Death is only final if you think the story is about you. The story isn’t about just one person. The story is about everyone. Everything. Death is only the end of one small chapter. One tiny piece of the book.”
Kate stares at him. “Everyone fears death.”
“Why do we fear death but celebrate life? They’re part of the same process.”
“Because death is change. It’s a vast unknown. It’s normal to fear the unknown. If I start a new job, I would fear that. If I had to move cities, I’d fear that too. People naturally fear change. And death is the greatest change there is. It’s the great unknown change.”
“Then what if we knew what death was? What if we knew what would happen after we pass?”
“I guess death wouldn’t be feared as much. C
hange would still be feared, but maybe not as much.”
“We know what happens physically. We turn to ash. We turn to dust. Physically, we become part of this world again. Physically, we don’t leave this earth. That we do know.”
“That’s not the whole story, Bill. We don’t know what happens to us, what happens to our soul, our personalities. Do they just disappear? Vanished from history?”
He doesn’t answer.
Staring into his glass, shoulders slumped forward, he contemplates life, death, and everything in-between.
Kate leans forward. “It’s change and the unknown we fear. Not death. The living fear change.”
“And maybe the dead are the same. Maybe the dead fear living.”
Chapter 14
“It’s late.”
“It is.”
“And you’ve been drinking.”
“I have.”
“And I haven’t seen you in over a year.”
“I’m sorry. Life gets in the way.”
The woman standing in the front door of the large suburban house sighs. “Have you married that assistant of yours yet?”
“Not yet.”
Ella Joan Townsend stares at the man who was banging on her door just before midnight. She hasn’t heard from him in a year.
No phone calls. No texts. No contact.
Not that it was unusual.
She had pushed her oldest brother away after their family unit fell apart.
When she was younger, he had helped her through the rollercoaster ride of depression, mental illness, and loneliness. He had held her hand as they walked into the mental health center, cradling her at the lowest hour. He had been there for her as she rebuilt her life.
But Ella felt ashamed of what she had done.
She felt weak, embarrassed.
When life put her back on her feet, she disappeared almost as quickly as their brother, Jonathon, only keeping in contact via the odd text or email. It broke Bill’s heart, but he understood the need for space.
He understood the need to start again, to forget about the past.
When she made contact with him again two years ago, Bill was filled with pride. Life appeared fine. She had married a nice accountant, had a stable job in banking and lived in a newly built house in a peaceful street. Freshly mowed yard, all the mod-cons, friendly neighbors.
Everything middle-class dreams are made of.
“How’s your husband, Stephen?”
“He’s still not happy with you after you broke his nose.”
“Any more…”
“Indiscretions? No. He hasn’t cheated on me again, if that’s what you’re getting at. He’s a good man. I love him, and he loves me. He made one mistake, and that’s ok. We’ve moved on from that.”
Ella stares at her brother, the one that protected her for so long, the one that still wants to defend her.
“I figured I wasn’t welcome to come to dinner for a while.” Bill smirks.
As much as she still wants to be angry at Bill, she can’t be.
A smile slowly drifts across her face, letting down the emotional wall.
She jumps at him with a hug, gripping him tightly, years of forgotten emotion gone. Her legs wrap around her big brother, happy to be lifted off the ground, free from her past.
“Come in,” she says as he releases her from the hug. “I’ll make you a drink; you need coffee by the smell of whiskey on your breath.”
Filled with pride and joy, Bill follows her into the house.
“Stephen, Bill’s here.”
Stephen Townsend stands at the kitchen bench with a shocked look on his face as Bill walks into the house. He rubs the side of his nose, still sore at times after it was broken a year ago. It took numerous trips to the surgeon to straighten it back out.
“I’m going to bed,” Stephen states as tries to avoid Bill’s gaze.
Watching him closely, Bill doesn’t take his eyes off the man that broke his sister’s heart. Although she found a way to forgive him, Bill never went on that journey.
“Don’t be so hard on him, Bill.” Ella smiles as she turns on the coffee machine. “He’s a good man, and I love him. Go easy on the poor guy.”
When his sister came to him crying, having found out about Stephen’s drunken one-night stand with a colleague, Bill took action into his own hands.
Literally.
Stephen never stood a chance. The lean office worker opened the front door to be met by Bill’s angry fist. Ella convinced Stephen not to press charges, but only on the condition that Bill didn’t come by for a while.
“It’s good to see you again.” Ella starts to pour two cups of coffee from her latest modern appliance. It whirls, it whizzes, it bangs. But in the end it does the same job that other machines have done for one hundred years – it produces black coffee. “It’s always good to see my family.”
“Well, your family is growing.”
Ella stops pouring the coffee. “Who did you get pregnant? I’m going to be an aunty? Oh my gosh, Bill! Bill! That’s—”
“No, no, no.” Bill holds out his hands before Ella embraces him in another hug. “Nobody’s pregnant.”
“You’re getting married?”
“No.” Bill draws a long breath and thins his eyes.
“What is it?”
He looks down at the table. “Jonathon’s back.”
“Jonathon? Our brother Jonathon?”
“Yes, Ella. Our brother Jonathon.”
Everything stops.
Ella’s world stops spinning.
Her breath catches in her throat. She doesn’t know where to look. She doesn’t know what to grab. She doesn’t know what to do next.
“When?”
“Two days ago. He called me.”
“What did he say?”
“He asked for my help.”
“Help? He needs money? Or he’s in prison?”
“Prison. He needed a lawyer.”
Her head drops. If he was alive, this is what she expected.
A junkie locked up to save him from himself.
“He’s clean. Has been for over twelve months. He looks well.”
Her head shoots back up, looking to see if Bill is telling the truth. “Really?”
“Twelve months. No drugs. He even looks healthy. There’s white in his eyes. The last time he had white in his eyes was when he was fifteen.”
“Then what’s he been arrested for?”
“First-degree murder. A homeless man was found wearing Jonathon’s jacket, strangled to death in an alley.”
“Is he guilty?”
“I don’t know.” Bill shrugs. “It’s hard to tell. The evidence isn’t strong, and he says he’s innocent, but that means nothing. I don’t know whether he did it or not.”
“Come on, Bill. You always know if they’re guilty. You know if they’re lying, or if they’re spinning falsehoods. You know that. You’re the great Bill Harvey, the person that can spot a lie from a mile away. You must know if he’s guilty or innocent. In your heart, you must know it.”
“Usually.” Bill looks at the coffee mug, still only half poured. “Most of the time, I can see it straight away. A flick of the eyes, a brush of the hair. The body tells me more than words ever do. But with Jonathon, I can’t tell. I can’t see it. I don’t know if he’s innocent… or guilty. I just… I can’t tell. I can’t see any of the signs. He’s my brother, and he acts the same as I do. I can’t tell what he’s doing.”
Ella draws a long breath and finishes pouring the coffee, then passes a mug across to her brother. “Evidence?”
“Not a lot.”
“Any other suspects?”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“I’m not sure yet. There could be. I’m still trying to work it out.”
“Well, you need to work it out quickly. Who else do you have as a suspect?”
“A young girl that hates drunks.”
“Doesn’t sound likely
. Does she have a boyfriend?”
“Yes. And he’s a former Marine.”
“Well, maybe the boyfriend wanted to protect her. A drunk guy grabs at her skirt, and he lashes out, killing the guy.”
“Maybe.” Bill shrugs. “Maybe not. Who knows?”
“What?” Ella laughs. “What are you talking about? I have never heard you talk like that. You always know the answer. There’s never any doubt. You’re Bill Harvey. My brother. The man that can tell a lie a mile away. Don’t tell me you have lost your edge in your old age.”
“Old age? I’m not that old, thank you very much.”
“You’re going gray.” She giggles.
“Hey.” Bill laughs. “It’s distinguished. It makes me look more intelligent.”
“You should dye your hair then. You wouldn’t want to deceive people.”
He laughs again, not because of the joke, but because he’s happy. This is his sister, his little angel. The one that always has a place in his heart.
“So he looks well?”
“Healthy.”
She smiles. For all their faults, for all their mistakes, these are the people that have a place in her heart.
The siblings chat long into the night, remembering the good times, reminiscing about their distant childhoods, and avoiding any reference to the pain of their adult lives.
When the night is long, Bill delivers the statement that he came to make.
“You should come down and see him.”
“Me? Jonathon? No…” She shakes her head. “I’m not ready yet. I’m not ready.”
“Ella, I’ve never pushed it, but… I still don’t know what happened between the two of you in the end. What happened? Why didn’t you ever want to talk to him again?”
Ella stares into her empty mug, a cold distance suddenly created between the siblings. “I… I can’t talk to you about it.”
“Did he hurt you?”
“I…” she repeats. “I’m sorry, Bill. I’m just not ready to talk about what happened. Not yet.”
Chapter 15
Reginald C. Cooper was once respected.
Admired.
Sought after.
He was once a motivational speaker, throwing his words out to the masses, entertaining them with such a vast array of vocabulary. People traveled from far and wide to listen to him shout at them, motivate them to do such great things with their lives.
Fire and Justice_A Legal Thriller Page 6
