“Ah. Let me guess, long, brown hair, blue eyes.”
“Yes.”
“Skinny?”
“Athletic.”
“Smart? Of course she’s smart she’s a teacher. Shit.” Rudy stopped. “She’s…a teacher.”
“Yep. It’s almost like looking at her picture.”
“I am looking at her picture,” Rudy said.
Mike stared off into nothing until Rudy made his last comment. He closed his eyes tightly not wanting to turn around.
“She’s gone Mike. Five years ago and there’s nothing you could have done to save her. Nothing,” Rudy said quietly.
They were both silent for a few seconds, neither with anything to add.
Finally Mike turned and looked at the bookshelves lining the back wall behind the couch where he had been sitting. In a sleek, black frame with a simple white matte was a wedding picture. Two people held each other in the embrace of eternal love only a wedding picture can show.
He walked over and picked it up studying his younger reflection. It seemed strange he could ever be that happy. And then he looked at her. He smiled contently then closed his eyes again trying to forget.
“I guess I see why you’re having such a problem,” Rudy said breaking his reverie.
“Yeah.”
“Same woman, same context.”
“Not the same woman,” Mike corrected him.
“Of course Mike, sorry. You know that’s not what I meant.”
“It’s okay man. I know what you meant.” He put the picture on the shelf and sat back down.
“So now you have a problem,” Rudy said putting them back on track.
“You could say that.”
“So, what are you going to do?”
“I have no idea. That’s what I need you for. I’m stumbling around here man and I’m not seeing clearly. Add on this new partner business and I can barely keep myself straight. I’m in the dark right now and I can’t find my way out.”
“Ok, let’s back up a bit. She…,” he prompted.
“Suzanne.”
“Suzanne is helping you with a case. Not only does she look like Carolyn but now you’ve rescued her so the circumstances are the same. Is it that you don’t know if you can leverage her to help you with the case anymore or that you’re falling in love with someone you’ve rescued…again…and you’re afraid of repeating the past?”
“Well, there’s more,” Mike said.
“There always is.”
“There was an eyewitness at the third crime scene.”
“The one you don’t know is related yet?”
“Yeah. The eye witness account matches Suzanne’s description.”
“Well that doesn’t mean anything. There could be hundreds of women out there who favor Suzanne.”
“True.” Mike’s spirits lifted for a brief moment at Rudy’s confirmation then quickly crashed as the similarities, details to which Rudy was not currently privy, piled up against him. “I don’t know. There’s just something about the way she answered some of my questions which makes me think there’s something more to it. That her attack wasn’t random and that it was her at the dump site. I can’t quite explain why I know it but…I just know it.”
Rudy didn’t make a sound.
Mike stared at his beer while repeating the details of his dilemma. When Rudy didn’t respond he turned and looked at him, his face begging for a helpful response.
“Sucks to be you,” Rudy said, smiled tightly and drank his beer.
“Great. Thanks. That helps a lot.”
“Okay so how long have you known this woman?”
Mike shrugged. “Thirty six hours.”
“Let me ask you this. If she didn’t remind you of Carolyn what would you be doing right now?”
Mike thought about it. “I’d probably be over at her house right now questioning her about the third body drop.”
Rudy shrugged his confirmation. “There you go.”
He was right. Mike allowed long ago memories cloud his judgment. He needed to focus on the facts and forget about the past. He wondered if Suzanne’s past or her present would be as easily dismissed.
Chapter 22
Mike met Carolyn de Santangelo, a kindergarten teacher, seventeen years earlier during a carjacking gone badly. He pulled her from the car after officers ran them off the road. Mike was still on patrol at the time and grabbed her as she fell out of the car. The paramedics had to give her a sedative before she would let go of the death grip she had around his neck.
They were married for ten years when Carolyn became pregnant. They were in shock when the doctors gave them the good news as they were told they could not conceive. Their lives were as perfect on the inside as it appeared on the outside and with the anticipated birth of their first child, whom they planned to name Henry, they decided to buy a larger home. During her six months they went to the bank to sign the loan documents for their new condo. Their perfect life ended when twenty minutes after they arrived at the bank three armed men stormed the bank taking everyone inside hostage.
It was still unclear to him exactly what happened after that. Scattered memories of shouting and gunfire cluttered his mind. In the end Carolyn and two other hostages were shot. She died in his arms, hers wrapped tightly around his neck just like the day they met.
Henry died at the hospital two days later.
His responsibility in stopping the robbery and saving the rest of the hostages garnered him a commendation and personal meeting with the Governor. But killing a lifelong petty thief named Zeke Wallach was no substitute for his wife and son.
Now, five years later he still held himself responsible for not saving her. He was a cop. He had a gun. He had training. He had everything he needed to protect her and she still died; she and their baby died because he wasn’t able to protect them.
“Protecting Suzanne isn’t going to bring Carolyn back,” Rudy said bringing Mike back to the conversation.
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“Yes. I know. Carolyn is dead and there’s nothing I can do about it. I’m not talking about Carolyn. I’m talking about Suzanne. I don’t know if she’s involved in this or not and I think someone is setting her up but I’m just not sure. Everything is just too perfect, too coincidental. I just…I just don’t know what to do.”
“Mike, will you listen to yourself please? You just said that you’ve only known the woman for thirty-six hours and now you’re talking conspiracy. Take a step back…again…and think about it. Get Carolyn out of your head and focus on what needs to be done.”
“I can’t just go up to her and ask her if she happened to kill anyone lately. Is this the best you got? For this kind of advice I could have just stuck with the kid.” Mike’s frustration increased at what he perceived to be crappy advice.
“No, jackass. I didn’t mean for you to just go up and ask her. You’re a detective right? Well, then get off your ass and start detecting.” Mike’s earlier words to Kevin stung when directed at him. “What do you know about her anyway? All you know is she’s an English teacher. That’s it and that ain’t much. Stop trying to figure everything out in your head and get some facts on that stupid whiteboard you love so much. How’d you find her anyway?”
“Kevin.”
“What, did he pull her out of the yellow pages or something? You just took some rookie kid’s word she’s your best option with nothing else to substantiate why he chose her. What’s your problem?” Rudy stopped as soon as he said it then softened his tone. “Look, I know what the problem is and it’s obviously affecting your ability to identify the basics but this is textbook, detective 101 stuff man. Find out who she is, where she came from, anything you can on her. Then you can determine how to approach her. More than likely this has nothing to do with her and everything will turn out to be circumstantial but until that time, you gotta’ stay focused on what you were trained to do. You can’t let her similarities to Carolyn affect your jud
gment.”
Rudy was right. It hadn’t even occurred to him to do some background work on her. He was so caught up in how much she reminded him of Carolyn and the feelings she evoked he forgot his training.
“You’re right,” Mike finally said. “I never did ask Kevin any details about why he picked her or how.”
“Remember, start from the beginning and don’t solve in your head. You’re the one who taught me that,” Rudy said, finishing with his best Yoda impression. “Understand this, you shall.”
“Ah, grasshopper, the student has now become the master,” Mike joked. He felt better now that he had a plan. Prior to their conversation he didn’t even know where to start. No doubt that caused him more frustration than anything. As usual, Rudy saved his sanity and kept him straight.
“It’s getting late,” Mike said, standing up, his bones popping from the effort. “I’d better go.”
“Are you sure? You know you can stay if you want.”
“Yeah but I should get home. Thanks though.”
Rudy smiled at him, got out of his chair and walked him to the front door.
“Listen,” Rudy said. “You need to stop punishing yourself for something you couldn’t have prevented. Carolyn would hate knowing you are still carrying this around with you.”
“I know,” Mike said, smiling sadly. “But put yourself in my shoes for a minute. Would you feel any different?”
Rudy nodded.
Mike reached out and shook his hand, following with a strong man-hug. “Thank her again for me.” He looked over his shoulder one last time and smiled at his best friend wondering what he’d ever do without him.
Chapter 23
As with the previous morning, Mike walked into the station early, the requisite McDonald's bag and large coffee in hand. Accustomed to only getting a few hours of sleep lately, last night was worse than usual. After coming home from Rudy and Maria's he found himself staring at the closet door for more than an hour, swinging between getting up and retrieving its hidden contents and trying to ignore them. Eventually he gave into his need to wallow.
Underneath forgotten golf clubs, tennis rackets, sweaters and jackets was a cardboard file folder box he buried in the back of the closet five years ago. He carried it out, put it on the coffee table and stared at it for another few minutes still wary of opening it, feeling a Pandora-like fear wash over him.
He spent the next three hours going through the contents reliving every memory conjured by the pictures, textures and the real or imagined lingering smells of the few clothing items he had kept. He settled on three items he eventually spent the majority of the time focusing on: a tiny, hand embroidered bib reading "Daddy's Little Detective", the twelve week ultrasound and their last picture together.
It was a professional photo of Mike and Carolyn taken the day before she was killed. He had balked at the idea at first but she had a way of getting whatever she wanted from him. All she had to do was look at him and say: "Now Michael" and he was sunk. Now, looking back on it he was glad she talked him into it. Then again he was glad when she talked him into just about everything.
He had forgotten all about the pictures after the accident. Two weeks later he received an e-mail with a link to the proofs. He sat staring at his computer for hours unsure what to do. Finally he accessed the site. The emotions overwhelmed him to such an extent he immediately turned off the computer and never looked at them again.
Weeks later, Maria presented him with an impromptu gift. "You'll be thankful you have this someday," she smiled as she handed him the silver framed picture.
It was a side view shot, outside with the desert landscaping as a backdrop. Carolyn wore a black and white, sleeveless, polka dot maternity dress and her dark wavy hair hung down over her shoulders. He had surprised her by wearing a gray sweater she knitted for him the year before, the right sleeve three inches too long and it didn't fit right. She protested initially but when she realized his mind was made up she smiled proudly. He told her he would push up the right sleeve just a bit and whenever they looked at the picture only they would notice; a sweet inside joke only a husband and wife should share. She smiled and cried.
He sat on the couch, staring at the extra bulk on his sleeve. Both sets of hands were on her protruding belly and he couldn't help but smile. He pressed the framed photo to his face but no tears came. He had cried enough for her when she died.
"I'm so, so sorry Care," he whispered, asking forgiveness for a sin he hadn't committed yet feeling the burden of his guilt regardless.
He eventually fell asleep on the couch, the picture pressed against his chest, his dreams filled with the memories of his past comingled with his present. Carolyn was standing in front of a terrified group of English students or Suzanne was in his kitchen pregnant and cooking dinner. His sleep was restless as his subconscious tried to reconcile the two women who favored each other so dramatically.
He jolted awake around five a.m. He was dreaming about a pregnant Suzanne running to her car at the dump site. He chased after her yelling for her to get down when a shot rang out. She immediately fell to the ground. He continued to run toward her but she kept moving farther and farther away. She reached out to him for help and he heard Carolyn's voice begging him to help her. That was when he woke up.
He sat on the couch feeling like he had been trapped in quicksand for hours. His muscles ached, his skin clammy. He felt frustrated and irritated. Finally, he got up, and made his way to the shower. He needed to get that feeling off him even if it was just in his head. He needed to get to work. Work got him through it before and he hoped it would get him through again. Unfortunately Suzanne was his work this time so there was nowhere for him to go.
Now, he stood in the doorway of his office, the feeling of dissatisfaction and uneasiness still lingered around him. He saw Kevin's car in the parking lot and mentally prepared himself to deal with him.
"You're in early," Mike said walking toward his desk.
"Yeah, I guess so. A lot to do today. I wanted to brush up on all the details. Plus, we've got the identity of our third victim," Kevin said. He was alert if not slightly shaky from copious amount of caffeine, the dark circles under his eyes the only indication on his alabaster skin that he was human.
"Really? That was fast. Details?"
“Well, I’ve added Victim #3 to the white board.”
Next to Mike’s black, chicken scratches was Kevin's meticulous penmanship in blue. It didn't go unnoted he included Dan’s description of the woman he saw at the dump site and Kevin sat waiting for Mike to react. When it didn’t come, he turned toward the updated notes and read:
Victim #3 – James “Jimmy” Ortiz, Occupation – last known job, convenience store attendant, Home – 1345 W. 191st Ave., C.O.D – starvation, T.O.D. – exact time unknown, Appx. October 3rd-6th, Found – around noon October 16th, Notes – massive decomp. Body discovered approx. fourteen days after death, Drugged? TBD, Book – TBD
"Hmm," Mike said. "I see you got the C.O.D. Greg come by early or something?”
"Actually, he dropped it off last night. He stayed until it was done…under the circumstances."
Mike smiled knowing his "dedication" would cost him. Greg was dedicated—for a price.
"I take it you've read it?" Mike asked.
"Yes,” Kevin replied.
Mike read through the details not giving any emotional indications. He dug into his first breakfast sandwich while he reviewed the updated details. He grabbed another of the remaining three sandwiches and held it up signaling Kevin to see if he was hungry. Kevin gave him a sure-why-not shoulder shrug, put both hands up to receive his breakfast via air freight only to drop it upon arrival.
Mike reached into the bag for the packet of cream for his coffee but came up empty. He dumped the contents out of the bag still in search when Kevin walked over and put two creamers next to his cup. Now used to Kevin’s spot-on utility, Mike’s only reaction was to say thanks.
"Well," Mike
said, his mouth half full. "Tell me what you see. And stick to the facts."
Kevin cleared his throat and took a deep breath as if ready to give his dissertation. "So far there's only one connecting thread between the bodies. The note cards."
Mike sat up and rifled through the folder. He hadn't seen anything written down about Greg finding a note card. "So there was a note card in Mr. Oritz? What did it say?"
Kevin searched papers on his desk while talking. "This time I had no idea what book it was from just from the note card so I looked it up on the Internet. I didn’t write it down on the white board just yet since I knew you didn’t want to advertise anything about the note cards anymore. At least any more than what was out there already.”
Mike nodded his approval.
"Anyway, the note was written on the same type of note card and appears to be the same handwriting. I've sent a copy off for analysis just to be sure but it’s from the Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad."
"Where was it found?"
"In the right, pants’ pocket. Just like the other two. It was still pretty compromised because of the acid from the decomp but fortunately it wasn’t pressed tightly up against the body so we were able to save it. I don’t know if the killer intended it to take so long to find the body. Greg sent everything to trace.”
"Read the note.”
Kevin began: “You know I hate, detest, and can’t bear a lie, not because I am straighter than the rest of us, but simply because it appalls me. There is a taint of death, a flavour of mortality in lies – which is exactly what I hate and detest in the world – what I want to forget. It makes me miserable and sick, like biting something rotten would do.”
Kevin put his notes down and sat waiting for Mike to respond.
“You said it was from The Heart of Darkness?” Mike asked.
“Yes. I never read this one so I have no idea of the context.”
Mike remember the previous night’s conversation at Rudy’s and knew he needed to get more information on Suzanne before exposing her to more details. But he also needed information on the book and the last thing he would do was get someone else involved.
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