Heart of Cole

by Micheal Maxwell

  “What’s your name?” Chin barked.

  “Bite me. I’m not saying nothin’ ‘til you let me out of here and get these cuffs off.”

  Chin stood and waved Cole forward.

  Cole quickly moved to the door. His heart sank as he spotted the pimple faced girl in the back seat, right age, right size and build, right hair…but it wasn’t Lindsey.

  Cole shook his head.

  “Take her to Juvenile Hall until she remembers her name. See what we have on her.” Chin walked toward the idling car. “Thank guys! Keep looking,” Chin shouted over his shoulder.

  “Close, but no…”

  “Get ready for a lot of that.” Chin opened the door of his car. “If she hangs around the Palace of Fine Arts, what do you say we scour that area?”

  “Works for me,” Cole responded.

  For the next two hours they worked a grid of Franklin on the east, Divisadero on the west. Lombard on the north and Turk on the south. Up and back, side to side, down alleys and up side streets, mile after mile. They stopped once for coffee and once for a bathroom break and to stretch their legs.

  The excitement of the search gave way to the monotony of block after block of empty streets, neighborhood traffic, street people, and lost tourists. Chin deflected calls, and reassigned his departments manpower to cover a variety of calls.

  “So, how do you like being the head man?” Cole inquired after a lengthy call.

  “Temporary. Just until they transfer somebody in.”

  “Why not you?”

  “Combination of politics and the fact I said I didn’t want the job.”

  “Really?”

  “I liked what I did. I don’t want to be anybody’s boss. I want to work my cases and go home, it’s worked real well for this long, why shake things up?” Chin signaled and turned another corner. “Getting dizzy yet?

  “Not yet.”

  The radio squawked and screeched. “Possible sighting on FJS.”

  “Location?”

  There was a long pause. “South of Market on 5th.” After a short pause: “ID doesn’t match. False alarm.”

  “Alright, no problem. Thanks for the alert.”

  “Roger that.”

  As daylight began to fade, Chin turned onto Hyde and headed for the Embarcadero. “I tell you what: let’s end the day at least with some pretty scenery. Let’s sweep the Embarcadero, then I’ll take you back.”

  “Sounds good. You can just drop me at home. That way you can get home without a bunch of backtracking.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah. Let’s do that.”

  After cruising the Embarcadero north and south, they called it a day.

  “I really appreciate your letting me be part of this. I think I would have gone nuts otherwise.”

  “That I can understand. You up for more tomorrow? More of the same, I mean. I may not be able to dedicate the whole day, but as long as I can we’ll run support and back up for any and all leads. You in?”

  “That would be great.”

  “OK see you at nine.”

  Cole watched the cruiser disappear into the violet hues of last vestiges of day. At his front porch Cole turned and sat down. The air was cool and the breeze of nightfall blew his pant legs.

  The day had drained Cole. His spirits were lower than he had faced in a long time. Now, alone and sitting quietly, the street motionless in front of him, his mind ached in sorrow, his body ached from lack of movement. He wanted to sleep, close his eyes and pray it would all be a dream when he awoke.

  The reality was that it wasn’t a dream. The days to come would be filled with the excitement of marriage, Stanford, and all the changes that will come with it. The move will be dulled with the pain of losing Hanna, the capture and trial of Lindsey, and the emptiness of life without his buddy, his helper, confidant, “partner in crime”, aide-de-camp and dear, dear, friend.

  Cole had no more tears, just a dull aching in his heart.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Cole, we are going to have to stop for something to eat. It’s nearly one. I’ve only had the cup of coffee I grabbed when I left the house,” Chin said as they turned onto Post from Webster Street. It was the first time either spoke in nearly an hour.

  “Yeah, no problem. I probably need something, too.”

  “Here we go. How about New Korea House? There is a spot right in front.”

  “Sure, that’s fine.”

  Once seated, Chin sighed deeply. Cole rubbed his face and took a sip of water.

  “I have to tell you something. You might not like it.” Chin placed his radio on the side of the table.

  “That wouldn’t be new.”

  “Funny. We may be just spinning our wheels. That kid could be anywhere. San Francisco may seem like a small city geographically, but it is a huge haystack to look for a needle. This kid is street smart and has roamed this city for years. She has places she’s probably spent the night, hid out, and where she’s just another street kid.”

  “I have been thinking the same thing. You think we should give up?” Cole asked.

  “I’m not saying that. I’m saying it is going to take a hell of a lucky break to find her. The entire force has her picture and description. Every patrolman, beat cop, and safety volunteer has their eyes peeled for her. We will catch her. I just don’t want you thinking we’ll just roll up on her.”

  “I know that. But as long as you’re willing, and don’t get another call, I’d sure rather be out looking than sitting at my desk. Is that stupid?”

  “Not at all. I’d feel the same way. But,” Chin paused, and reflected a moment before addressing the real issue bothering him, “don’t you need some time alone, or with Kelly to process, grieve, and really get your head around your loss?”

  “I keep thinking all this started with my interest in Lindsey’s writing. There were signs, then Hanna cried out for help, I told her to bail on keeping Lindsey, she thought she was making headway…then poor Jake.”

  “He has taken three days off. But I know, without a doubt, he is doing the same thing we are.”

  The friends fell back into silence. They ordered and sat quietly waiting for their food. The radio, though turned down, squelched. Occasionally, Chin would catch something and turn the radio up. He wouldn’t comment, just turn the volume back down.

  “You know, you are one of my oldest friends here in the city.” Cole said, breaking the silence. “We have been through some crazy stuff together.”

  “And some great lunches.” Leonard Chin interjected reaching for the Kim Chee.

  “And great lunches. I’ve been meaning to tell you something and the time just hasn’t been right. I’m leaving the paper.”

  Chin stopped his next bite half way to his mouth. “I beg your pardon.”

  “I’ve been offered a teaching position at Stanford. Teaching writing, and journalism.”

  “When would you start?” Chin was clearly surprised.

  “Summer session. In about three months.”

  “Wow. That is something.”

  “A lot has led to my decision. The new editor, well, I already told you about him. Now, it seems like Stanford would give me a clean break. Now with Hanna gone…” Cole’s words faded as he took a spoonful of soup. “The offer came from out of the blue. But, you know, I think it might have been God’s way of preparing me for Hanna’s death.”

  “Really? You believe that?” Chin asked a bit mystified.

  “I believe God has a plan for our lives. His ways are not our ways, but the master plan in hindsight always has meaning.”

  “We believe that what happens to one is a consequence of the choices we’ve made as well as events in the world over which one has no control—voluntary versus involuntary. In Buddhism,” Chin went on, “we believe that it may take several lifetimes for our choices to catch up to us. Many events in our lives can change our destinies. For some, their lives are changed because of a certain person or event—any one of whic
h can bring very different change to your destiny.”

  “Karma,” Cole responded.

  “If you wish. That is what we call it, but it has been so trivialized by people with little understanding.”

  “Enlightenment.” Cole said.

  “Are you sure you’re not a Buddhist?” Chin laughed.

  “Who can tell?”

  The radio squawked again. Chin turned up the volume quickly this time.

  “Lt. Chin. We may have spotted your girl,” the voice sputtered through the crackle.

  “Identify, what is your 20?” Chin asked.

  “Tomlinson, Bridge security, Golden Gate.” The voice reasoned.

  “This is Chin, Salem, are you 10-8?” Chin rolled his eyes and said to Cole, “I knew he was out there.”

  “I heard. En route.” Jake Salem’s voice came through loud and clear.

  “Rendezvous at the Bridge Security Office. Jake, wait for us. Understood?”

  “Roger that.”

  “What’s your 20?”

  “Ten minutes out.”

  “10-4.

  “Let’s roll.” Chin threw a twenty on the table and rushed for the door.

  Cole was sprinting several steps behind Chin, and the car was already running when Cole got in. Chin turned on the lights and siren and shot away from the curb. In less than ten minutes they were at the Bridge office.

  “Who’s Tomlinson?” Chin shouted as they ran through the doors into the building.

  “Here, sir!”

  Chin and Cole were guided through the security door and into the control room. In front of them were at least twenty monitors, showing various vantage points on the bridge. In the center was a large monitor screen.

  “Bring up twelve,” Tomlinson said.

  The large monitor went from black to a shot of a girl on the rail of the bridge.

  “That’s her,” Cole said excitedly.

  “What the hell is she doing?”

  From the angle of the camera, Lindsey could be seen throwing something over the rail.

  “Watch,” Cole said. “She’s wadding up paper. She’s tearing out pages of her notebook. I have to get out there.”

  “She a jump risk?” Tomlinson asked.

  “Could be,” Chin replied. “Depends on who approaches her.” Chin and Cole locked eyes. “Do you think she’d jump, Cole?”

  “Dear God, I hope not.”

  “Are you up for this?”

  “I hope so.”

  “Not good enough. I can’t have civilians…” Tomlinson bristled.

  Chin cut Tomlinson off: “She doesn’t know me. I’ll position to the north of her.”

  “Where are we?” Jake Salem entered the room.

  “It’s her,” Cole said.

  “What’s the plan?”

  “Cole will take her in. I’m going to pass and position just to her left.”

  “And me?” Jake pleaded.

  “Go with Cole. Support, back-up—you make the collar.”

  “Sage, you good with that?” Chin asked.

  “I don’t know. What do you think, Jake? Can you allow me to deal with her?”

  “You think she’ll jump?” Jake asked.

  “It hadn’t entered my mind. Now, I’m not so sure.” Cole looked back at the large televised image of Lindsey standing at the rail. “Let see what we can do.”

  “We’ll be back,” Chin said turning for the door.

  Chin changed his sport coat for a red 49er’s sweatshirt he kept in his trunk. The three men crossed at the toll booth and began the nearly mile walk to the center span where Lindsey stood. Traffic on the Golden Gate was brisk and heavy. Bicyclers and pedestrians share the east side of the Bridge’s only walkway. Cole thought of the many times he rode the bridge heading for Kelly’s Sausalito houseboat.

  One hundred yards from the center of the bridge, Chin broke away.

  “Good luck. See you on the other side.” Chin quickened his pace.

  “Have you thought of what you’re going to say to her?” Jake asked as soon as they could see Lindsey.

  “To tell you the truth, I’ve been praying so hard, I haven’t given it a thought.”

  “Let’s hope He’s listening.”

  “Oh, He’s listening all right, but I can’t help thinking what Garth Brooks said.”

  “There’s a real theologian,” Jake said nervously. “What’d he say?”

  “Some of God’s greatest gifts are unanswered prayers.”

  At that moment, Lindsey turned and saw Cole, then Jake.

  “She’s spotted us,” Jake said softly.

  “Yep.”

  The two men continued toward the girl.

  “Stay here,” Cole cautioned.

  Jake stopped and Cole proceeded. He could see now that Lindsey’s backpack sat open at her feet. In her hand was one of her notebooks. Cole was now less than twenty feet away.

  “Don’t come any closer!” Lindsey yelled into the wind.

  “OK.” Cole called back. “What are you doing?”

  “Cleaning house!”

  “Your notebooks? Why?” Cole said inching forward.

  “It’s all over now. I don’t need them. Where I’m going I can’t keep them.”

  “That’s not true. Please don’t tear any more up. They are wonderful. They are part of your soul.”

  “I have no soul, or haven’t you read your own paper?”

  “Do you want to talk about what you’ve done?”

  “What? You want to interview me?” Lindsey’s anger reared its head.

  “No, no, nothing like that.” Cole was now about fifteen feet away.”

  “I hate people who complain. They have nothing to complain about.” Lindsey tore out several more pages from the notebook she held, wadded them up, and threw them over the rail.

  “Please don’t rip out any more,” Cole pleaded. “You killed Hanna because she complained?”

  “She was going to send me away. Throw me away, just like my mother did.”

  “She thought the academy was a wonderful chance for you.”

  “No, she didn’t. She just wanted me gone. I could see it in her eyes. She made a mistake, and she knew it.”

  “The others?”

  “The guy in the park wanted sex. That was self-defense. The women all sniveled about how awful their lives were. Same with the drunk at the movies.”

  “And Claire?”

  “I did her for your girlfriend.”

  “Kelly? But why?”

  “I was sitting outside your door when she told you about the Lesbo hitting on her. I was there. I could hear you. Too much for you to handle?”

  Cole stood staring at Lindsey. He couldn’t think of what to say next, where to take the conversation.

  “You’re OK, though” Lindsey admitted. “You kind of understand me. Here’s one for your story. You can’t help but write this story. It’s too good. I know, I wrote about it this morning already.” Lindsey tossed the whole notebook over the rail. “My mom used to loan me out, rent me…for money, you know. When I was ten she sold me to this guy who made movies of me. I bled for three days. I ruined his big movie, his big break, so he threw me back. He wanted his money back! Funny huh? He tears me open and he wants money. Of course, the money was long gone. He beat the shit out of my mom. How’s that for your story?”

  “Lindsey, let’s go get you some help. I understand your anger now, really I do. Please don’t do anything foolish.”

  “You mean turn myself in! Hell, no! I want to stay here where I can see my city. Smell the air. I figured out after Hanna, the only way I can become immortal isn’t by writing; it is by becoming a legend. I can see it now. Headline: ‘Eight Ice Pick Murders – Killer Jumps from Golden Gate’!”

  I must distract her, Cole thought. He could see Leonard Chin over Lindsey’s shoulder approaching slowly, twenty yards away.

  “Why an ice pick?” Cole blurted out.

  “Don’t get any closer! You don’t think I
feel you getting closer!”

  “OK, OK.”

  “That’s better! The ice pick idea? I read about it in the library. A killer for the mob in Chicago used an ice pick. I thought that was cool, frigid in fact. Besides, they’re easy to steal.”

  Chin was now trotting toward Lindsey. Cole glanced at him. Lindsey turned and made eye contact. She grabbed her backpack and tossed it over the rail! In a smooth, graceful move her long legs projected her up to the rail, a graceful balance beam.

  “Lindsey! No!” Jake screamed as he reached Cole.

  Cole stood motionless as the girl weaved back and forth, flailing her arms out for balance.

  “Write a good story!” Lindsey cried as she disappeared over the side of the Golden Gate Bridge.

  Cole turned away. Jake and Leonard Chin ran to the rail and gazed down at the water. A cluster of colorful notebooks floated on the waves. There was no sign of the girl. After few moments there was a brief splotch of white water and a couple seconds after that, a muffled splash.

  “We need search and rescue! Jumper mid-span,” Chin called into the radio.

  “Roger. On their way.” A voice on the other end of the radio replied.

  Cole stood with his hands on his knees, looking down at the pavement.

  “You did all you could, Cole. She knew what she was going to do before we got here.” Jake put his hand on Cole’s shoulder. “Let’s go.”

  “That’s it? We walk away?” Cole asked.

  “Justice is duly served. I’m glad she dead. Jail was too good for her. I hope she rots in hell.” Jake turned and walked back the way he came.

  Cole stood and faced Leonard Chin. “So?”

  “So…a mentally unstable kid, who murdered eight people, took a nose dive off the bridge. Given her mental state she would have spent several years in a psych unit somewhere and they would eventually let her go. Hey, she saved us all a lot of trouble.”

  “That’s how you really feel?” Cole asked.

  “No. That’s the cleaned up, sensitive version for my buddy who just lost his wonderful friend and protégée, Hanna Day, murdered by the piece of shit that just went over the rail. You don’t want to hear what I really feel.” Chin walked around Cole and started for the toll booth and security office.

  Cole watched the tourists gathering at the rail. They talked, shouted, pointed down to the water, took pictures. He refused to look. Overhead, he heard the beating blades of the search helicopter. Below, the roar of the approaching rescue boats titillated the crowd even further.