Crushed

by Kate Watterson

  “How did the history test go?”

  Cindy made a face. “I got a C. I didn’t study.”

  It wasn’t hard to tell that it cost Mr. Helt not to comment on that, but he did have the sense to keep his mouth shut. It wasn’t like Georgia didn’t agree Cindy was bright enough to be a straight-A student, but the desire had to be there, and that was just life. Some of his daughter’s behavior stemmed from his high expectations and rigid rules, but he did seem to genuinely care; they just didn’t understand each other very well. That was hardly a new story in the history of mankind, but he was trying. Georgia was certain that one day Cindy would get it and she would appreciate him as a parent.

  Different personalities and different goals were an issue. Children didn’t come to order.

  Georgia wished he’d chosen to stay away from the conversation, but understood his position. When the light went on signaling Ellie and Jason had arrived, she rose to open the door, hoping their presence would lighten the tense atmosphere at least a little.

  Jason Santiago, as usual, looked not the part of a staid detective, but instead like he should be signing pictures for groupies after a rock concert in jeans and a collarless shirt under his jacket. Ellie was more polished in slacks and a light sweater, her blond hair smooth to her shoulders, but there was some definite tension going on Georgia could sense right away. She had brought in several more chairs for this discussion, and she made the introductions. “This is Detective Ellie MacIntosh and Detective Jason Santiago and they are here for a short while to answer your questions, Cindy.”

  She specifically excluded Mr. Helt because she felt strongly his daughter wouldn’t want him to be part of the conversation or she wouldn’t benefit from it nearly as much, and truthfully, both Santiago and Ellie were doing her a favor. If he wanted to listen, fine, it was his child.

  Surprisingly he was the first one to speak up briskly. “Just how dangerous is your profession?”

  Ellie was the one to answer because she would, of course, be diplomatic compared to her partner. Almost anyone would. “It has some risks, but so does driving a car. We deal with people who break the law. It doesn’t mean they are all necessarily dangerous, but some are. It isn’t a given that every situation will be safe, but they do train us on how to deal with it if it isn’t.”

  “Do you really carry a gun?” That was Cindy, not looking at her father.

  “Yep.” Jason moved aside his jacket to show his holstered weapon. “We do. But don’t get the wrong idea. It isn’t glamorous. There’s a lot of responsibility that is involved, and the department hammers that into you, as does the job. The definition of a police officer is to protect the safety of the general public, even if it means risking your life. That is a fairly strong commitment.”

  For him, that was diplomatic.

  Ellie spoke with a hint of dryness. “He likes to walk into bullets, but most police officers do not ever come under fire. If you do choose this path, don’t go down it thinking anyone will thank you. It means taking a lot of heat, dealing with not-so-nice people, and you do see a lot of things you’d like to forget. On the other hand, it is rewarding in that you are truly helping people. Some appreciate it, and some don’t. It can be hard to live with the ones that don’t, but I tend to just put that out of my mind. I like what I do. That’s what’s important.”

  It summed it up well. Even Cindy’s father nodded.

  “You’ve been shot?” Cindy’s eyes widened, and it was obvious Jason had risen to hero status.

  “Yeah, and I have to say I’m not interested in going there again, but like Detective MacIntosh said, it really doesn’t happen to most officers.” He turned to Ellie, “Come to think of it, you’ve been shot too.”

  “I was running around in the woods after a really bad guy.” She shrugged. “Flesh wound, no big deal, but like you, I’d just as soon skip repeating the experience.” She looked at Cindy’s father. “Since we are homicide detectives we deal with some people who have already done some pretty bad things and are desperate not to get caught. There are all kinds of different divisions in the police department. I honestly think it is more dangerous to be a convenience store clerk.”

  Cindy’s father said in his formal way, “I have the greatest admiration for your profession.”

  “Do I have to get a degree in criminal justice?” Cindy asked it eagerly.

  Georgia did a mental high five. Cindy was really considering it and had thought it over.

  Jason shook his head. “I went military first. When I became an MP, it seemed to work for me, so when my time was up, I became a police officer.”

  “I have a college degree. You can get in without it, but it doesn’t hurt.” Ellie was straightforward. “There’s an awful lot of paperwork involved, so learning to write papers and study notes is pretty valuable.”

  “Don’t remind me about the fourteen or so open files I have on my computer right now,” Jason said gloomily. “I think I’d rather get shot at again than finish those reports, so she’s right, some of it can be darned boring. Listen to her and do college first. I’m like an arthritic turtle or something when it comes to writing those things. She’s a lot better at it.”

  Cindy laughed, and it was actually animated, so that was a positive response, and even her father smiled, probably more for the recommendation about getting a degree than for the humor, but it was a good thing.

  Then Jason did the unthinkable and started to stare at Cindy’s chest. She was certainly well endowed already in that department, but as straightforward as he was, Santiago would never do anything like that, not ever, and certainly not in front of the girl’s father. He said urgently, “Cindy, where do you go to school?”

  She looked down at her shirt, which thankfully Georgia realized seemed the real focus of his attention. “Fairmont High School. Why?”

  “I assume a lot of students wear shirts like that, but how about faculty?”

  “Well, yeah. To football games and stuff like that, I guess so.”

  MacIntosh also seemed suddenly interested. “Wings. An educational institution?”

  Jason looked at her and she looked right back.

  “Cindy, can I take a picture of your shirt on my phone? We’re interested to see if someone might recognize it.”

  Cindy shrugged. “Sure, I don’t care.”

  Georgia had to admit she wondered what was going on, but was glad Cindy’s father was sitting right there and didn’t object, but looked as puzzled as she probably did.

  “You might have just really helped us out,” Jason said as both of them got up and headed straight for the door like something was on fire.

  Nonplussed because that was an unexpected moment, Georgia had to regroup. She asked Cindy, “Um, what do you think now? Was that helpful to you?”

  “That was pretty cool, actually. If I bring my grades up enough, next year I can take a class at the community college in criminal justice and see if I like it even though I’m still in high school.”

  “That sounds very reasonable and mature to me.”

  “What about to you?” Cindy asked her father, and Georgia thought he might topple from his chair he was so visibly startled she wanted his opinion. “If I bring up my grades will you pay for the class? I know someone in the grade above me who is doing it now.”

  “Uh … of course. Absolutely.”

  He was about to say something else and Georgia quickly intervened because she was sure it was to the effect that he and his wife always wanted Cindy to bring up her grades because they knew she was capable of it. This was not, in her professional opinion, the time to say anything remotely like that. “I’m glad that the positives and negatives from the detectives were helpful. You are at an interesting time in your life when you have to make decisions, and I don’t know anyone who would disagree they aren’t all that easy. What do you think?”

  They talked for a while, and when they went to leave, as Cindy walked out, her father lingered for a second. “I wasn�
��t at all sure this therapy thing would work. Her mother talked me into it.”

  Georgia lifted her brows.

  “But it seems to be helping. Thank you.”

  That was something anyway, she thought.

  “I have to admit, I wouldn’t mind knowing someday why my daughter’s shirt sent two homicide detectives flying out of here at top speed.”

  Georgia had to be honest. “I wouldn’t mind knowing that either. I’ll see what I can do.”

  * * *

  Carl parked his car and got out and realized at once something was wrong. He never left his garage light on. It was on a timer actually, and switched off after a few minutes, so why it would be on now …

  He was an imperfect person—who wasn’t?—but he was a very good cop. Prickles ran along his skin as he turned around and barely managed to reflexively deflect the blow aimed for his head as pain exploded in his arm. He went down on the garage floor in disbelief, and then wasn’t able to even draw his weapon because he was fairly sure his right arm was broken. He rolled away instinctively, which hurt more than expected, and struck out with his feet, catching the assailant solidly in the ankles. The man went down with an audible thud.

  He was the last person who would be unaware something like this could happen, but Carl really was taken by surprise.

  Luckily, he still had his keys in his left hand and apparently had hit a button as he fell, because the car alarm had started to go off, blaring away. Whoever had attacked him staggered up and did it again, going for his head, but he twisted and the assailant got his shoulder instead. He heard—and felt—the bone crack.

  Salvation came in the form of what he later realized was a UPS delivery truck pulling into his driveway. The man attacking him muttered something and apparently decided to run for it.

  The noise of the alarm was appalling, but it was supposed to be.

  For a minute he lay there, not a very happy person since he couldn’t use either arm without excruciating pain, but somehow managed to get his phone from his pocket. He pressed the first button he could find. Just lifting it up so he could speak into it was an extremely unpleasant experience.

  Santiago had been the last person he’d called and he thankfully answered, but with the usual lack of grace. “Santiago. What?”

  Carl rasped out, “My house. Now.”

  “What the hell? Why? I can hear an alarm.”

  “I’m in the garage. Get here. It isn’t good.” He said it through gritted teeth. “I’m guessing a hospital is in my future.”

  “No shit. Ambulance needed?”

  “No. Don’t want one.”

  “You sure? You sound … well, not like you.”

  It wasn’t necessary. “No, thanks. Hurt but not dying. I have no idea what just happened, but I think I have a broken arm and that someone doesn’t like me very much. If I was sure I didn’t also have at least a cracked collarbone as well, I’d just drive myself. I need someone here who can drive and shoot a gun.”

  “MacIntosh and I are on our way.”

  Carl got to his feet, but it wasn’t easy and involved using his vehicle for leverage.

  Opening the door into the house wasn’t even a remote possibility. He rested against the car and tried to shut off the alarm, but couldn’t manage it physically because it involved unlocking the door or the trunk, and so he endured the noise and took in a long breath. The arm was enough, but the shoulder was even worse.

  He would have called Georgia, but what if the attacker was still out there? No. At least MacIntosh and Santiago could defend themselves, though he was fairly sure Georgia could handle a tough situation, but why risk her if he had backup.

  His arm was aching badly already, but his shoulder hurt worse. Back one million years ago when he’d been in grade school a kid had nailed him with a killer tackle during a friendly football game and he’d broken his clavicle. It had hurt like pure hell. This was certainly the same kind of experience.

  Why the assault?

  He couldn’t imagine it wasn’t tied to the murders. His very expensive set of golf clubs sat untouched in the corner, or maybe if it was a thief, he just didn’t understand how much they cost because he didn’t play golf.

  He certainly knew how to use a baseball bat, though.

  “Mister, are you all right?”

  He found himself looking into the broad face of a young burly delivery driver peering into the garage. Carl admitted in a thick voice, “No.”

  “You don’t look too good,” the man confirmed anxiously. “And between the alarm going off and the guy running past me as I came to drop off the package I thought maybe I should just at least look anyway. Want me to call the police?”

  “I am the police,” Carl informed him wryly. “Lieutenant Carl Grasso of the Milwaukee Police Department. I think that’s part of the problem. They are on the way. I also think you just saved my life, so thanks. I just had a close encounter of the bad kind with a baseball bat.”

  “Oh jeez.” The young man’s eyes widened.

  “Would you mind doing me another favor and unlocking the trunk so the alarm turns off? I’m getting a headache from the noise and it really is trivial compared to everything else, but I’d appreciate it. Those are the keys right there on the floor. I can’t pick them up.”

  “Sure. Of course.” The young man hastily scooped up the keys and thankfully a few moments later the alarm stopped blaring. He said lamely, “Nice ride, man.”

  “Thanks.” Carl could feel the swelling was well under way from his injuries. “Did you happen to get a good look at the man who ran past you?”

  “I don’t know if good would be the right word.” He paused and thought about it. “He was really hoofing it and through the lawn, not right past me.”

  Well, that was disappointing, but how would this young man know it was important to pay attention? Most people didn’t. Carl’s phone started ringing and he ignored it, since using either arm wasn’t much of a cheerful option and was getting worse by the moment. “They’ll have to call me back. I’m not really able to get that.”

  “Um, hey, my route is almost done,” the young man told him earnestly. “I think I’ll stay here until the police arrive, if that’s okay with you. I kinda think if whoever worked you over comes back, there wouldn’t be a lot you could do about it if you can’t pick up keys or answer a phone.”

  Carl thought the same thing. He eyed the young man’s considerable bulk and agreed that was a very nice offer. “I really appreciate that.”

  Chapter 27

  He was taking too many risks.

  It had gone all wrong and he still wasn’t sure why he’d done it. Well, that wasn’t true. Killing the old lady might have been a grave error, so now he was backtracking and second-guessing himself.

  He needed to acknowledge that he was off center, but he also was resentful that Lieutenant Carl Grasso was investigating that murder instead of Ellie MacIntosh. He’d seen the news coverage. She should have been given the case; should have been the one to know it was him.

  He’d never failed before.

  Grasso hadn’t been taken enough by surprise.

  * * *

  “I’m positively infuriated.”

  Ellie thought Georgia looked it too.

  “We don’t know it was the Park Bench Killer.”

  That Grasso had to have an orthopedic surgeon on call come and put a pin in his arm and was still in recovery didn’t make Ellie happy either. No one liked hospital waiting rooms, but in this case it was necessary.

  Jason would sit down for about five seconds and then get up and walk around. “Hell yes, we do. Ellie, in that press conference that aired across the state, Metzger didn’t mention you or me, but he did say he had his best detectives on the case, including Lieutenant Carl Grasso, who was investigating a suspicious death linked to the other crimes. I don’t think you have to be a genius to make the connection.”

  She wasn’t going to argue the point he’d just made, but there was
no proof at all. That was the problem. “Whoever he was, that was not playing nice.”

  “He got lucky,” Santiago said emphatically.

  “I think Carl will agree once he’s not zoned out on painkillers.” Georgia was resolute, but at least it was nice to know she was there. Grasso didn’t have anyone else. “We’re remodeling the house anyway. I can stay there for a while with him.”

  “They” were? Well, in Ellie’s opinion that wasn’t a bad thing, but she wasn’t aware it was so serious between them.

  Georgia correctly read her expression. “He asked me to help pick out the finishes. I said yes.”

  “You might want to use that fancy alarm system he has,” Jason suggested, skirting around decorating since it was absolutely not his favorite topic. “He’s out of commission in the protection department right now. Luckily, you know how to fire a gun.”

  Georgia was pretty accurate with a firearm. Ellie knew that to be true. She said, “Metzger won’t ignore this.”

  “He’d better not.”

  “Want us to stay with you?” Ellie didn’t particularly wish to do it, but she certainly would.

  “No.” Georgia finally smiled even if it was a little halfhearted. “I will use the alarm system as suggested and you’re right, I can fire a gun. Did Cindy really help with the case in some way?”

  Ellie was the one who answered. “We think so. As per this entire case, it is still circumstantial, but she finally narrowed the playing field for suspects.” They had been sitting in the living room of the sweet older couple who found the first victim, showing the picture of a shirt with wings to the wife, when the call came in about Grasso’s attack. The woman had been decisive enough that she recognized it that it was worth pursuing.

  Parkview Elementary. Fairmont High School.

  * * *

  “I never admit I’m hungry until I’m too hungry,” Jason told her as they left the hospital. “At that point I’m not functional. I need to be part of a sitcom when I walk through the door and shout out, ‘Honey, I’m home,’ and someone in a dress has already set the table and I can smell roast beef.”