by J. D. Robb
“It’s a good thing you said that before I wasted this very nice coffee by pouring it into your lap. But I’m still not sharing it.”
When they turned into hospital parking, she shifted on her seat to face him. “It’s going to take several days to close this Ricker business and hand it over to the PA. His psych evaluation is going to be one big mess, seeing as he’s loon crazy.”
“He’ll end up in a mental defective prison unit.”
“Oh yeah, and believe me, they’re no picnic. Anyway, we’ve got a lot of people to interview, and I can’t calculate how many of his businesses and properties to search and seize. I’m letting Martinez take the bulk of it, but I’m still going to be tied up for awhile. If you can put off the trip you need to take to Olympus, I’d like to go with you.”
He pulled into a slot, stopped the car. “You’d voluntarily take off several days? Not only that, but go off planet without me having to drug you?”
“I said I’d like to go with you. If you’re going to make a big deal out of it, we can just—”
“Quiet down.” He leaned over, kissed her sulky mouth. “I’ll put it off until we can go together.”
“Okay. Good.” She climbed out of the car. Stretched. “Look, there’s some whattayacallems.”
“Daffodils,” he said and caught her hand in his. “Daffodils, Eve. It’s spring.”
“Finally feels like it, too.”
She kept her hand in his as they walked into the hospital, and all the way to Webster’s tiny room.
His face wasn’t gray as it had been the last time she’d been there, but it wasn’t pink with health, either. Instead, it was as white as the bandages stretched across his chest.
She felt a trip of alarm cut into her cheerful mood as he lay, silent and still.
“I thought they said he was awake.”
Even as she said it, in a sickroom whisper, Webster’s eyes fluttered open. They stayed dazed for a moment with the baffled, vulnerable look of the very ill. Then, as they focused the faintest glint of humor shot into them. “Hey.”
She had to step closer; his voice was pitifully thin.
“You didn’t have to bring the guard dog. I’m too weak to make a half-decent pass at you.”
“You never worried me in that area, Webster.”
“I know. Damn it. Thanks for coming.”
“It’s okay. It’s not much out of my way.”
He started to laugh, lost his breath, then just lay there concentrating on finding it again.
“You stupid bastard.” She said it with enough passion to bring that baffled look back on his face.
“Huh?”
“You think I can’t handle myself? That I need some idiot IAB moron half-ass to knock me down and stick out his chest for a knife?”
“No.” The humor was coming back. “I don’t know what got into me.”
“If you’d stuck with the streets instead of getting fat and happy behind a stupid desk, you wouldn’t be lying here. And when you’re on your feet, I’m going to put you right back in the hospital.”
“That’ll be fun. Give me something to look forward to. Did you get him? They won’t tell me a damn thing in here.”
“No. No, I didn’t get him.”
“Shit.” He closed his eyes again. “That’s on me.”
“Oh, shut up.” She stalked to the tiny window, fisted her hands on her hips, while she tried to calm down.
In her place, Roarke moved to the side of the bed. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
And that was all they needed to say on the subject.
“We got Ricker,” Eve continued, as her anger abated. “Took him down last night.”
“What? How?” Webster tried to sit up, couldn’t even lift his head. And swore with as much energy as he could muster.
“It’s a long story. I’ll fill you in some other time. But we got him, solid, and have his lawyer on the hot seat for good measure, and a dozen of his men.”
She turned back, walked to the bed. “He’s going to stay in MD status by the looks of things, and we’re going to take his organization apart, piece by piece.”
“I can help. Do some of the data searches, run scans. Let me in on this. I’ll go crazy in here with nothing to do.”
“Stop, you’re breaking my heart.” Then she shrugged. “I’ll think about it.”
“Come on, you know you’ll cave on it. You feel sorry for me.” He managed a grin. “And I should tell you, both of you, so there’s no baggage, I’m pretty much on the way to getting over you.”
“That really adds to my peace of mind, Webster.”
“It does a lot for mine. Only took getting sliced in half, more or less. Nothing like a good coma to give a guy the opportunity to put things in perspective.”
His eyes drooped, nearly shut before he fought them open again. “Man, the meds just knock you out.”
“So, get some sleep. Word gets out you’re coming around, you’ll have plenty of company. You’ll need all the rest you can manage.”
“Yeah, but wait.” He was losing it, struggling to hold out another minute. “I gotta ask you a question. Did you come in before?”
“Before what?”
“Come on, Dallas. Before now. Did you come in and talk to me?”
“Maybe I dropped in to see what an idiot looked like. Why?”
“ ’Cause I had this dream. Maybe a dream. You were standing over me. I was just floating and you were standing there, ragging my ass. Ever tell you how sexy you look when you’re ragging ass?”
“Jesus.”
“Sorry, a little re . . . residual lust. D’ya say you’d spit on my grave?”
“Yeah. I will, too, if you try to cash out again.”
He gave a weak chuckle. “Who’s the idiot? Not gonna have a grave. You gotta be rich or religious these days for that. Recycle and cremation, thatsa way to go. Return and burn. Sure nice to hear your voice though. Made me think I’d prob’ly get bored floating. Gotta go. Tired.”
“Yeah, you go on.” And because he was asleep, and Roarke would understand, she gave his hand a little pat. “He’ll be okay.”
“Yes, he’ll be okay.”
“I think he was glad you came along.” She pushed a hand through her hair. “Return and burn. What a jerk. But I guess he’s right. Graves are out of style, mostly. Except . . . Oh no.” She whirled to Roarke. “I am such an idiot. Rich or religious. I know where he’ll go, where he’ll go to end it. You drive.”
She was already out of the room, running down the hall.
“His son’s grave.”
“Yeah, yeah.” She yanked out her PPC. “Where the hell is it? They’d have one. People who have religious statues in the living room want to bury their dead and put crosses up.”
“I’ll find it faster.” He had his own unit out as they hit the elevator. “Call your backup.”
“No, no backup, not yet. I have to find him first, to be sure. Son’s name was Thad. Thadeus Clooney.”
“I’ve got it. Three plots, Sunlight Memorial. New Rochelle.”
“Near the house. Makes sense.” She exchanged her PPC for her communicator as she strode across the lobby and out to the lot. “Peabody. Listen up.”
“Sir? Dallas?”
“Wake up, get dressed. You’re on call.” She climbed into the car. “I want you to get a squad car, have it and an officer ready to transport you. I’m following a lead on Clooney. If it pans out, I’ll contact you. I want you to move fast.”
“Where? Where are you going?”
“Back to the dead,” Eve said. “Push this thing,” she added as Roarke headed out of the lot. “He could have heard about Ricker by now.”
“Strap in,” Roarke advised, and he punched the accelerator.
The dead rested in sunlight and dappled shade, in gentle green hills, with markers of soft white, soft gray. The rows of them, the crosses and curves, made Eve wonder how the living could find comfort there,
faced with the unassailable proof of their own mortality.
But some must. For even in these days when few chose to go into the ground or could afford the real estate, many of the graves were splashed with flowers. That symbol of life given to the dead.
“Which way?”
Roarke had a diagram of the cemetery on his pocket screen. “To the left, over that rise.”
They walked around the markers together. “The first time I spoke to you,” she remembered, “we were in a graveyard. Kind of creepy, I guess.”
“Apt.” He laid a hand on her shoulder. “There he is. Your instincts are excellent.”
She paused, taking a moment to study the man sitting on the tended grass beside a flower-strewn grave. And the marker was indeed a cross, pure and white.
“I need you to hang back.”
“No.”
Saying nothing, she crouched, pulled out her clinch piece. “I’m trusting you not to use this unless you have no choice.” She handed it to him. “Trust me to do my job. I need to try to talk him in. I’m asking you to let me give him that chance. Compromise.”
“All right.”
“Thanks. Call Peabody. Tell her where to come. I need her here.”
Alone, she walked down the gentle slope and through the graves. He knew she was coming. He was cop enough to hold his ground, to bide his time, but she saw from the slightest shift in his body, he knew.
Better that way, she thought. She preferred not to surprise him.
“Sergeant.”
“Lieutenant.” He still didn’t look at her, didn’t take his attention from the name carved in that perfect white cross. “I want you to know I’m carrying. I don’t want to harm you.”
“I appreciate that. You should know I’m carrying, and I don’t want to harm you, either. I need to talk to you, Sergeant. Can I sit down here?”
He looked at her then. His eyes were dry, but she could see he’d been weeping. There were still tracks of the tears on his cheeks. And she saw, too, that his weapon, the same make and model as her own, was in the hand resting in his lap.
“You’ve come to take me in. I don’t intend to go.”
“Can I sit down?”
“Sure. Sit. It’s a good spot for it. That’s why we picked it. But I always thought that Thad would be the one to sit here, to sit and talk to me and his mother. Not that I would be the one to sit. He was the light of my life.”
“I read his service record.” She sat on the opposite side of the grave. “He was a good cop.”
“Yeah, he was. Oh, I was proud of him. The way he carried himself, the way he took to the job like he was born to it. Maybe he was. I was always proud of him, though, from the first instant they put him in my arms and he was squalling and wriggling. All that life in one little package.”
With his free hand, he brushed at the grass that grew over his son. “You don’t have children as yet, do you, Lieutenant?”
“No.”
“I’ll tell you that whatever you feel for anyone, however much love’s inside you, there’s more of it when you have a child. You can’t understand it until you’ve experienced it. And it doesn’t change as they grow into men, into women. It just grows with them. It should be me in there, and not my boy. Not my Thad.”
“We took Ricker.” She said it quickly, because she’d seen his hand tighten on his weapon.
“I know it.” And relax again. “I heard it on-screen in the little room where I’ve been staying. My hidey-hole. We all need our hidey-holes, don’t we?”
“He’s going down for your son, Sergeant.”
She used his rank, and would use it, again and again, to remind him what he was.
“I want you to know that. Conspiracy to commit murder. The murder of a police officer. And he’ll go down for the others, the same way. With everything else we’ll nail on, he’ll never get out of a cage. He’ll die there.”
“It’s some comfort. I never thought you were part of it. Not in my gut. I can’t say I’ve been clear in my mind for the last bit of time. After Taj . . .”
“Sergeant—”
“I took that boy’s life, a life as innocent as my son’s. Made a widow of his sweet wife, and took away a good father from those babies. I’ll carry that regret, that shame, that horror to my own grave.”
“Don’t.” She said it quietly, urgently, as he lifted his weapon and placed it to the pulse at his throat. It would be lethal there. And on maximum setting would end it instantly. “Wait. Is that the way you honor your son, by taking another life on his grave? Is that what Thad would want? Is that what he’d expect from his father?”
He was so tired. It showed in his face now, in his voice. “What else is there?”
“I’m asking you to listen to me. If you’re set on this, I can’t stop you. But you owe me some time.”
“Maybe I do. The boy who was with you when you came to my door, when I knew you knew. I panicked. Panicked,” he said again like an oath. “I don’t even know who he was.”
“His name’s Webster. Lieutenant Don Webster. He’s alive, Sergeant. He’s going to be okay.”
“I’m glad of that. One less stone to carry.”
“Sergeant . . .” She fumbled for the words. “I’m a murder cop,” she began. “You ever work Homicide?” She knew he hadn’t. She knew it all.
“No, not as such. But you deal with it wherever you are if you’re a cop. And you deal with it too much if you’ve been one as long as me.”
“I work for the dead. I can’t count the number of them I’ve stood over. I don’t think I could stand to try. But I dream of them. All those lost faces, those stolen lives. It’s hard.”
She was surprised she was telling him this, surprised it seemed the way. “Sometimes it’s so hard to see those faces in your sleep, you wake up hurting. But I can’t do anything else. I’ve wanted to be a cop as long as I can remember. It was my one clear vision, and it’s all I can do.”
“Are you a good cop?” The tears were overflowing again. In sympathy or despair, she couldn’t tell. “Eve. Your name’s Eve, isn’t it? Are you a good cop, Eve?”
“Yeah. I’m a damn good cop.”
Now he wept, and she felt her eyes tear up in concert. “Thad, he wanted the same as you. The one clear vision. I like that. Yeah, his one clear vision. They let him bleed to death. They let him die. And for what? For what? Money. It rips my heart.”
“They’ve paid, Sergeant. I can’t tell you what you did was right, or what the judgment on you will be in the end of things. But they’ve paid for what they did to your boy, for what they did to their badge. Ricker’s going to pay, too, I swear it to you, here on the grave of this good cop. He’ll pay for playing them all like puppets. He played you, too. Played on your love for your son. Your grief. Your pride. Will you let him keep pulling your strings? Will you dishonor yourself and your son by letting him win?”
“What can I do?” Tears streamed down his cheeks. “I’ve lost. I’m lost.”
“You can do what Thad would expect of you. You can face it.”
“I’m shamed,” he whispered. “I thought when it was over, I’d be glad. I’d be free. But I’m shamed.”
“You can make up for it, best you can. You can erase some of the shame. You can come with me, Sergeant. You can be a cop now and come with me.”
“Prison or death.” He looked at her again. “Those are hard choices.”
“Yes, very hard. Harder to live, Sergeant, and balance the scales. Let the system make its judgment on you. That’s what we believe in, people like us, what we work for when we pick up the badge. I’m asking you to do that, Sergeant. I’m asking you not to be one of the faces I see in my sleep.”
He bowed his head, rocked, so his tears fell on the flowers he’d laid on the grass. He reached out a hand across the grave, clasped Eve’s. Clung. She sat like that while he sobbed.
Then he leaned forward, pressed his lips to the white cross. “I miss him. Every day.” With a sigh, he
held out his weapon to Eve. “You’ll want this.”
“Thank you.” She got to her feet, waiting for him to get laboriously to his.
He wiped his face with his sleeve, drew in a breath. “I’d like to call my wife.”
“She’ll be glad to hear from you. I don’t want to put restraints on you, Sergeant Clooney. I’d like you to give me your word you’ll go with my aide and walk into Central of your own volition.”
“You have my word on it. Eve. It’s a good name. I’m glad it was you who came today. I won’t forget it was you. It’s spring,” he said as they walked up the rise. “I hope you’ll take time to enjoy it. Winter comes too soon, and always lasts too long.”
He paused at the top where Peabody waited with Roarke. “Those faces in your dreams? Have you thought they might be coming to thank you?”
“No. I guess I never thought of that. Officer Peabody will accompany you in the black and white, Sergeant. I’ll follow you in. Officer, Sergeant Clooney is turning himself in.”
“Yes, sir. Will you come with me, Sergeant?”
As they moved off, Eve slipped Clooney’s weapon into her pocket. “I thought I was going to lose him.”
“No, you had him the minute you sat down.”
“Maybe.” She blew out a breath. “It’s a hell of a lot easier just to put a boot to their throats. He got to me.”
“Yes. And you to him.” He crouched down, and to her amusement, tugged up her trouser leg and slipped her weapon back into the ankle harness. “Our own variation on Cinderella.”
The laugh went a long way to easing the rawness around her heart. “Well, Prince Charming, I’d ask for a lift to the ball, but how about giving me one in to work?”
“My pleasure.”
They linked hands, skirted around a young tree with leaves unfurling tender green. And walked away from the dead.
