by Kitt, Sandra
“Don’t tell me you were just in the neighborhood. Don’t you have patrol or rounds or something you should be on?”
He couldn’t help grinning as he shook his head. “You’ll be happy to know that we’ve discontinued the surveillance of your room.”
Carol shrugged. “I didn’t know that having the police outside my room meant house arrest. It didn’t really bother me. I knew I hadn’t done anything wrong.”
He shifted in his chair, glancing around the plain room. “How is your family taking the news? I suppose they’ll want to speak to someone at headquarters.”
Carol knew he couldn’t have missed noticing the unusual makeup of her family the day of her parents’ arrival. She held her chin up, fighting the urge to become defensive.
“My father called the head of the investigation this morning. He went over there this afternoon, but I haven’t heard from him.”
“There may not be a lot they can tell him yet. He’ll probably want to speak with a lawyer first, anyway.”
“Do you think I’ll need one?”
Lee shifted again. He shouldn’t have said that. “I think it’s important for you to know what your rights are and what recourse is open to you, given what’s happened. Just to protect yourself.”
She stared off into space for a second and nodded. “I’ll talk to my father. See what he thinks. But… I don’t see any need to make a fuss.”
That surprised him. “You don’t,” he half stated, half asked.
“Not yet,” Carol clarified. “The police don’t need that kind of publicity, and I don’t want it. You do know what I’m talking about, don’t you?”
“Oh, yeah. But you might still get swept up in something.”
Carol’s expression was reflective. “Not if I can help it,” she said softly.
“Can I see?” Lee suddenly asked, wanting to get off the subject.
“What?”
“Are you sketching?” He reached for the pad and waited until Carol handed it to him.
Lee looked at a line drawing of the old woman sitting watching TV. He briefly glanced in her direction and saw that she hadn’t moved an inch since he’d entered the room. To Lee she appeared to be hypnotized by the action on the screen. But Carol had seen much more. The pencil lines accurately captured the slope of the woman’s back, shoulders, and neck with their evidence of slight osteoporosis. Her hair had the wiry texture of the aged, her face lined and flaccid. Her expression was gentle and distant, and Lee studied the sketch long and hard because it seemed that Carol had sympathetically rendered not just a picture of an old woman but a likeness of someone who had lived a long and full life.
He found Carol watching his reaction closely, but not as if she was anxious for his response or held any store by it.
“You’re very good,” he said simply.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“Are there more?”
“A few.”
Lee began to leaf slowly through the rest of the drawings. Neither spoke while he looked at the half dozen or so pictures. It was a diverse collection. One of a doctor bent over the counter of the nurses’ station. A picture of a small child sitting on the lounge floor entertaining himself with toys while two adults conversed in the background. What looked like an incomplete portrait of a man. Other studies included the flowers in her room, an old black man sleeping in a wheelchair in the hallway.
She was very good.
After a while he returned the book to her. “Outstanding. I’m impressed. My daughter likes art. Has since she was very small.”
“Oh, really?” Carol asked, interested. She couldn’t help but notice the lilt of pride in his tone. She gazed at him again, trying to figure out how old Lieutenant Lee Grafton was. A year or two either side of forty, she guessed. “How old is your daughter?”
“Fifteen.”
“What kind of art does she like?”
“She… doodles. Fashion stuff…” His beeper began to vibrate and Lee reached blindly to turn it off. “She, ah… she also likes to make jewelry. Drills holes in coins to make necklaces. Nuts and bolts for earrings.”
Carol nodded. “She sounds talented and clever.”
“She is,” Lee agreed thoughtfully, as if it had not fully occurred to him before.
“I teach art,” she volunteered. “Advanced anatomy and still-life classes at City College.”
“Ever exhibited anywhere?”
She chuckled. “Mostly in my parents’ house. My work is all over the place.”
He nodded, watching her closely. “They’re proud of you,” he suggested, then noticed that she seemed thrown by his observation.
“They’re biased,” she countered, then realized what she’d said. “I… I mean…”
“I know what you mean. You’re their daughter, so you can do no wrong in their eyes.”
“Right.”
“So who do you get your talent from? Mom or Dad?”
He might as well have asked whose genes she’d inherited. But he’d seen her parents and so she answered straightforwardly.
“My father plays the piano and has a great singing voice. Mom makes wonderful original quilts. She’s won ribbons for them. Does that count?”
“What does your father do?”
“He’s a Methodist minister. He’s also certified in family counseling.”
A minister. Lee wouldn’t have guessed that. “You weren’t born or raised in New York, were you?”
“Is it obvious?”
“No, not at all. It’s the cop in me. I’m trained to read people. It’s important in the work I do.”
“Hmmm,” she murmured. She frowned at him. “Is that what you’re doing here? Reading me?”
Lee arched a brow. “I guess I am.”
“So… what am I to make of a police lieutenant who comes to see me twice, unofficially, and asks a lot of questions? Are you spying for headquarters? Do you still think I’m lying about that morning? Does anybody remember that I’m the one who got shot, and it was my dog who was killed?”
Lee calmly listened to her tirade. It was totally unexpected, and she was absolutely right. She was the injured party. So what should he tell her? How much did he want her to know?
“I was concerned about you. I know the police interrogation can seem a little… cold. That we seem to be interested only in what you know. I, for one, don’t believe you saw what was coming that night. You were in the wrong place at the wrong time. And…” He hesitated. “I know you’re not going to like this but—better that your dog died than you, okay?”
Carol listened closely. It wasn’t an apology. It wasn’t even much of an explanation. But it was the most she’d gotten from anyone in the police department since she’d awakened in the hospital with tubes coming out of her and a burning pain in her chest. He was also right that she didn’t like the reference to Max. She would not have seen him die under such terrible circumstances for anything in the world. But she was very glad to be alive.
“It’s okay.”
She heard his low voice and realized he was talking to her. Trying to comfort her. He was awkward and hesitant, but he seemed to know what she was going through.
Carol looked up at him and shook her head. “I’m not going to cry,” she said softly. “I’m just feeling sad.”
“I know,” Lee nodded. His beeper went off again, and this time he reached to examine the readout. He glanced quickly at his watch and stood up. “When are you going home?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Are your parents staying with you?”
“I told them it wasn’t necessary to hang out in New York with me. The doctors told me I can return to work as early as next week if I want to.”
Carol stood up awkwardly, trying to keep her balance as she juggled the sketch pad and several magazines. Lee took the pad and magazines from her and waited for her to proceed before him through the doorway. Together they headed back to her room. She moved gracefully, straight and stead
y. Lee matched his steps to hers.
“Why not let your folks take care of you? You’ve had a tough time.”
She grinned wanly. “Thanks for realizing that.”
Lee glanced sideways at her. If only you knew, he added silently. But he certainly wasn’t going to enlighten her. Maybe in the long run it wouldn’t matter. Maybe it wouldn’t ever come up—where the bullet that had struck her had come from. Carol Taggart would completely heal… and maybe he’d get away with his soul intact.
They reached the door, and Carol stopped and faced him. Silently she held out her hand for her things.
“Thanks for carrying my books home from school,” she teased.
Lee chuckled, but her sense of humor made him uncomfortable, knowing what he knew.
“You get ten points, Lieutenant.”
“What for?”
“For being a nice guy.”
He was surprised and embarrassed by her remark. Lee couldn’t recall if, as a cop, anyone had ever thanked him for anything.
“Good-bye, Ms. Taggart. I hope everything turns out well for you,” he said with unintended formality.
“It’s Carol.” She smiled.
“Lee,” he added, accepting that he was probably not going to see her again.
Carol stood watching as he walked to the elevator. She half expected Lee Grafton to turn one last time, to wave or something. But he merely boarded the elevator and the doors closed behind him.
Lee felt worse than ever. He liked Carol Taggart, liked the kind of woman she was. As the elevator descended he reflected that his job used to be pretty clear-cut. There were good guys, although he rarely came across many of them in his work, and there were bad guys. He accepted that over the years exposure to the latter had effectively established a wall of demarcation. The awareness helped him to stay focused, and survive.
There was no room for introspection. It was dangerous and pointless. Because then you started to second-guess yourself, which was exactly what he’d been doing lately.
Out on the street, the crisp, cold air hit Lee straight on, like a slap in the face, clearing his head and bringing him to his senses. He took a deep breath and looked around impatiently. The car was near the corner. He wanted to walk for a while but knew he would only think about Carol Taggart. And thinking about her was making him more confused.
Lee opened the driver’s side of the car and climbed in. Barbara, reading the daily paper and drinking coffee, turned to him.
“What took you so long?”
Lee reached for the second cup of coffee in a holder below the dash. He unzipped his parka as he took a sip. It was lukewarm, but he drank it anyway, taking a moment to think of an answer.
“He wasn’t there. At a meeting or something.”
She glanced at her watch. “You wanna wait or come back? We got time.”
Lee shook his head. “No. Let’s get to the office.”
Barbara continued to stare at Lee and drink from her cup.
“What?” Lee asked.
“You went to see that woman again, didn’t you?”
“What makes you say that?”
“Well, didn’t you?”
“Internal Affairs was already there to interview her. I… wanted to find out if they’d learned anything new.”
Barbara scoffed. “Bruta! Those guys don’t know anything. They never get it right.”
“It will be interesting to see their report,” Lee responded, hoping Barbara would get off the subject of Carol Taggart. He didn’t want to talk about her, especially not to Barbara. “Let’s face it, it was a bust. And don’t think the section captain isn’t asking about the informant and how that got screwed up.”
Barbara shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “Look, they can’t blame us for that. They knew we were taking a chance, right? I just don’t need anybody telling me it’s my fault ’cause I made a case for using him…”
Lee frowned at her. “All right, take it easy. Nobody’s come down on you. What happened, happened. Now we have to clean it up. That means we’re going to have to find Mario.”
“I know,” she murmured. “What the papers are saying will make it worse.” Barbara held up her newspaper, which she’d folded back to a specific page. “Did you see this?” Lee shook his head. “There’s a write-up about what happened. They’re calling the woman an innocent bystander, the victim of a police fuckup.”
“What do you expect them to write? It sells papers.”
“You should read it. HQ don’t want us to say anything, but then they don’t handle it.”
Lee waved the paper away. “I don’t need to read what it says. I was there, remember? We have more important things to think about. I want to bring Mario in and find out what he has to say. You heard from him?”
Barbara took her time adding another packet of sugar through the drinking spout of the cup. Covering it with her thumb, she swished the contents around. “No, I haven’t.” She shook her head, avoiding eye contact with him.
“That’s the first thing we have to do. Find him. He’s got some explaining to do.”
“Yeah, okay. I know that. But… what if Willey made him? What if…”
“I don’t care,” Lee said impatiently, putting down his cup and reaching for the ignition key. “Mario knew what the deal was. His ass or Willey’s. It’s not like Mario is some innocent. His rap sheet is longer than the Declaration. And the information he’s provided in the past doesn’t let him off the hook.”
“I know. I’m not defending him, but…” Barbara stopped, at a loss for words.
“But what? Three nights ago you wanted to find him then and there. The fact that he hasn’t come forward or tried to get in touch doesn’t sit well with me. We had a deal and it fell apart. I want to know why. And I want to know what he knows… and when he knew it.”
“I thought you were going to take one more day of sick leave,” Barbara said.
“I changed my mind,” Lee said shortly. “I shouldn’t have wasted the time coming here.”
“You mad about something?”
Lee concentrated on merging into traffic. “Why should I be mad? I… never mind, forget it. We have work to do.”
Lee’s cellular rang, cutting off Barbara’s inquiry, and they were both relieved by the interruption.
“Yeah.”
“Hi, Daddy.”
“Hey.” Lee was aware of Barbara trying to figure out who he was talking to.
“Didn’t you get a beeper call from me?” Erica asked. “I tried twice.”
“Only a moment ago. I was just leaving a meeting.”
“Oh.”
“Is everything okay? How are you doing?”
“I’m okay, I guess,” Erica said in a tone that indicated anything but. “I had a fight with Mom this morning. She makes me so mad. She never listens to me or what I want. It’s always about her. It’s unfair. I wish…”
“Sweetheart… I can’t talk about it right now. I’m in the car.”
“Well, when do you get off duty?”
“At six unless something comes up. Where are you?”
“In my room. And I’m not coming out.”
Lee awkwardly managed the phone as he made a one-handed turn onto another street. He was beginning to feel like he was trying to juggle too many balls at once. A few of them were going to drop for sure. But which ones could he afford to let go of? And what was he complaining about exactly? That he had to take some responsibility? Make tough decisions? Be there?
Lee accepted that this was not the first time his daughter had bemoaned her troubled relationship with her mother. But for perhaps the first time, he realized that there was more he could do to ease his daughter’s unhappiness than just tell her everything was going to be okay.
“Maybe I could talk to her,” Lee suggested, almost to himself.
Erica gasped. “Would you?”
“I don’t know if it’s going to do any good, so I’m not making any promises.”
�
��I don’t care. Maybe you can tell her to stop being so mean to me. She’s always telling me I’m just like you, like that’s a crime or something.”
“Does she?” he said in some surprise, frowning. He hadn’t known that, and he didn’t like it. “You have to do your part as well.”
“Like what?”
Lee thought about it long and hard. It was too late for him and Beth to save the shattered pieces of their marriage, but Erica was their future—and most likely the best part of both of them. The person who needed to know that most of all was his daughter.
“Remember that it’s not easy being the parent of a teenager. You might try saying you’re sorry once in a while when you know you’ve done something to make her mad. A ‘thank you’ and ‘I love you’ every now and then would help too.”
Erica sighed dramatically. “I don’t think it’s going to make a difference.”
In all honesty Lee wasn’t sure either. But it sounded good. As a matter of fact, he wasn’t above taking his own advice, he considered, as an image of Carol bending over her sketch pad came to mind.
It was the least he could do.
Chapter Five
THE HOSPITAL DOORS OPENED automatically, and Carol was wheeled out into the cold day. The sky was overcast and the feel of snow was in the air. But to her everything seemed overly bright, too open and very noisy. Her senses felt assaulted, and for a moment panic swept over her, producing a tingling sweat beneath her clothing. She gripped the arms of the chair and closed her eyes, suddenly thankful that she had been required to remain in the wheelchair. Then the moment passed. She opened her eyes again, and everything seemed familiar.
Familiar… but disconcertingly different. She couldn’t decide immediately what had happened to the world since she’d entered the hospital five days earlier. Carol let her gaze quickly scan the street. She was forced to conclude finally that it wasn’t the world that had experienced warp-time, but herself.
Directly ahead of her a black town car was parked at the curb, and Matt was standing with the back door open, waiting for her. The driver stood nearby as well. It struck Carol that the car and all the attention had the grim feel of a funeral procession. But she was alive and grateful for it. She was not going to act like a victim because of what had happened to her, nor was she going to allow anyone to treat her like one. Nonetheless, it was scary to be starting over, a new person, unsure of what that would mean exactly.
