Diamonds and Cole: A Cole Sage Mystery

by Micheal Maxwell

  Why is slipping into madness so amusing, Cole pondered. How close was he? Maybe he wasn’t at all if he had the presence of mind to wonder about it. Chun irritated Cole, always did.

  “Hey Chun, you want to keep it down! Some people actually work around here!” Cole shouted toward the florescent lights.

  “Gotta go, Uncle Grump is feeling grouchy again. Okay. I’ll see you later,” Chun hoarsely whispered into the phone. He never thought Cole could hear his little barbs and slurs, but Cole always did. “Having a bad day...again, Sage?” Chun said in an affected, bored tone.

  Cole ignored Chun’s sarcasm. He repeatedly hit the delete key on his keyboard and watched the cursor methodically remove the letters on the screen. There was so much more to say than just reporting the shooting. The TV news would handle all the gory details just fine. He wanted to tell the other story: the story of the old widow who, losing her cat, let slip her last thread to reality. The woman who lost her husband and couldn’t let him go.

  There were no words to explain how she pulled the trigger. None to explain how she went to a closet, and got the “nasty old gun” that had terrified her for so many years, and in one inexplicable moment, took away someone else’s husband; someone’s father, son, uncle, and friend. All the years of cookies and banana nut bread, all the little Christmas presents for the neighborhood kids, the Easter candy, the Halloween treats and graduation gifts, blown away forever. The little lady in the funny straw hat working in her beloved flower garden was gone, born anew as a murderer. A crazy killer with a shotgun, a babbling old woman led away by the police. Did she even know what she had done?

  Cole began to type. Slow at first, then with feverish intent. The story began to flow, the people came to life, and the old Cole was coming out. He began with the young hostage negotiator, father of three little boys, who had such pride in his job at being able to defuse volatile situations. He told of Paula the wife, her torment at the thought of losing the husband she loved and the unresolved disagreement of the morning. He wrote of Stan, the good neighbor, who, in trying to help, killed a cat, and nearly himself. He’s taken hostage, then becomes the hero who stopped the madness. He told of the policeman who looked beyond the tragic violence and saw a little old lady much like his own grandmother. Then Cole began to describe the loneliness of age and the frailty of the mind. He danced around the fine line between Annie as victim and murderer. He couldn’t excuse her deeds but was compelled to open a window on an explanation. On a pad next to the keyboard, he was jotting down ideas for expert witnesses, psychologists, social workers and advocates for the elderly when the phone rang.

  * * *

  “Cole, I got a weird call for you a minute ago. The person wouldn’t identify herself. I think it might be personal. Didn’t want to use a runner.”

  “Thanks, Olajean, I’ll be right up.”

  The bubble was pierced. Most of the story was completed, though. He could easily finish later. The important thing was that he had captured his feelings. That was something he hadn’t done in a long time. He felt good. Cole loved writing; he loved the zone he got into when he was on a roll. This story could make a difference. This was what he needed, and had needed for a long time. Maybe he could write again, write stuff that mattered. He pushed his chair back and hit Save. “Save”- maybe that’s what this story was all about. Maybe Cole had been saved.

  * * *

  Back up at the front desk, Olajean handed Cole a pink message. It read “Call Ellie. She needs your help. It’s URGENT!” Cole just stared at the number near the bottom of the message. The area code was right, but...it couldn’t be.

  “Ola, what did the person say, exactly?” Olajean did not answer, already preoccupied once again with her own work. “Ola!” Cole said excitedly as he reached over the desk and punched buttons until they all went dark.

  “What in hell you doin’? You lost yo’ mind!”

  “The person who called—what did they say? Please.”

  “Damn Cole, calm down. They just said that Ellie—”

  “Start at the beginning!” Cole broke in.

  “They asked for you. I told ‘em you were out. Jus’ like you told me to, ‘always take a message’ isn’t that what you said? So, they said it was urgent they get a message to you. I said, ‘Okay, what is it?’ They said that Ellie needed your help and to call that number. I asked, ‘Who should I say called?’ and they said, ‘Jus’ tell him’ and hung up.” The lights on the phone console were all blinking red. Olajean asked with exasperation, “Can I do my job now?”

  “Yeah, thanks, sorry.” Cole seemed dazed.

  “I hope so! What’s got into you, anyways?”

  Cole was already headed for the elevator before Olajean even finished her statement. He pushed the up button and waited, he pushed it again. Impatient, he turned and ran to the stairwell and started up to the third floor, reaching his desk a bit winded, and a little red-faced. He sat down in his chair and stared at the message. His heart was pounding but it wasn’t from the run up the stairs. Twenty years had passed since the last time he saw Ellie. He knew that she got married. So, why would she need his help?

  Why me? Cole wondered. He didn’t know what to do. Was it a gag? He unconsciously ran the top of the paper between his thumbs and forefingers, over and over again. Should he call? Who would play such a dirty trick? But then, he thought, who would know to play a trick like this? She must need help. “Oh God, please...” he whispered out loud.

  Cole picked up the phone, and dialed the number.

  After eight rings, a voice said, “Eastwood Manor.”

  “Hello, who do I have?” Cole asked.

  “Eastwood Manor.” The voice sounded slightly annoyed.

  “I got a message from Ellie, from this number. They said it’s urgent.”

  “Ellie who?”

  “I’m not sure of her married name. Can you check, please?” Cole tried to stay calm.

  “Just how would I do that, sir?” the voice said sarcastically.

  “Just give me your supervisor. Maybe they can be a little more helpful.” Cole felt his anger rising. “Stay calm,” he said to himself as he heard the phone click, and music start playing. Time seemed to pass slowly, until finally another voice came on the line.

  “Can I help you?”

  “Yes, may I have your name please?”

  “Certainly, sir, I’m Karen Wallace. I’m the manager on duty.”

  “Okay,” Cole took a deep breath, “I received a message to call this number. The message was from an old friend of mine named Ellie. I don’t know her last name since she married. But the message said she needed help and it was urgent.”

  “Sir, this is a convalescent hospital, we don’t do urgent care here.”

  “A what?” Cole could feel his throat constricting.

  “A convalescent hospital, you know, sort of a rest home. What was your friend’s name again?”

  “Ellie.”

  “That short for Ellen?”

  “Yes, yes that’s right.”

  “Hold on.”

  The music-on-hold played Morris Albert singing “Feelings.” Cole sat for several minutes; enough time elapsed for the song to change twice.

  “Sir?”

  “Yes, I’m here.”

  “Would that be a Mrs. Ellen Christopher?”

  “What’s her birthday?”

  “I can’t give out that information, sir.”

  “I mean how old is she?”

  “Umm, about forty-seven, forty-eight maybe. I ain’t real strong in math.”

  “Yes, that’s her; can I speak to her please?”

  “Sorry, no phone in that room, sir. S’at all you needed?”

  “No, I need to speak with her, can you get her?”

  “Sorry sir, we don’t bring patients to the front.”

  “Well, at least tell me what’s wrong with her. Why is she there?” Cole was becoming frantic.

  “Sorry, can’t give out private information
. Is that it?” Wallace wanted off the phone and she didn’t mind showing it.

  “No, I need to talk to her!”

  “You’ll have to just come over then. That’s all I can tell you.”

  “I’m in Chicago, I can’t just drive over!” Cole shouted.

  “I don’t know what to tell you, but I don’t need you yellin’ at me. I got enough to deal with around here.” Karen Wallace hung up, and the sound of the dial tone hummed in his ear.

  “What the hell kind of a place is...” Cole slammed the phone down.

  “Hey, there’s people trying to work around here. Wanna keep it down?” A singsong voice came from Chun’s cubicle.

  “How ‘bout I throw your boney ass out the window?” growled Cole.

  He heard the back of a desk chair straighten with a thud, and the sound of footsteps making their way quickly up the hall. Taking a deep breath, he slowly exhaled.

  “Relax; don’t have a stroke,” he said out loud. “One step at a time. Finish the story. It’s good, real good. See Brennan, then go to Ellie. Relax, it’s cool. Everything will be fine.” Cole laid his palms on the top of his desk and took another deep breath. He hit his mouse and the text of the story reappeared on the screen.

  About an hour and a half later, the finished story rolled out of the printer. The psychologist and advocates for the elderly were squarely behind the elimination of the death penalty, but the social worker, a Dolores Pena, said upfront that she thought anybody who would kill an unarmed policeman should “fry.” Well balanced and full of spark. Brennan should love it.

  * * *

  “Mick? You in here?” Cole peered around the doorway and into Brennan’s darkened office.

  “Over here.” A very hoarse voice croaked from across the room, “What do you want?”

  “What’s wrong with you?”

  “I don’t know, some kind of lung crud, can’t seem to shake it.”

  As Cole’s eyes adjusted to the dark room, he could see Brennan stretched out on the dark leather couch covered in a dark green blanket. It was the same one Cole brought him back from Ecuador about 15 years ago. Against the dark paneled wall, he was nearly invisible.

  “Here is the piece on the cat killer. There is a whole lot more to it than we expected, could work into a nice series.”

  “About cat killers?”

  “Haven’t you heard? The elderly lady the cat belonged to took a hostage and killed a police negotiator. The angle is she just snapped: before that she was just the little old lady on the block who made everybody cookies and stuff. Here’s the piece: Three experts giving their read on the elderly and crime and mental illness. I think we could run with this and make quite a good feature series. Maybe even—”

  “Hey, hey, hey, I’m not dead yet. Who the hell made you editor?” Brennan cut in.

  “I guess I’m a little excited about this thing.”

  “Jeez, I guess,” Brennan croaked and coughed a loose phlegmy rasp. “Well something’s lit a fire under you. You’re right, sounds like something. Good angle. We need a strong feature piece for Sunday. Work something up and—”

  This time Cole broke in, “That’s great, but I need a favor.” He paused and took a deep breath. “Do you remember Ellie, my...” Cole hesitated.

  “Of course, the one that got away. How could I forget? You almost—”

  “She needs my help.”

  “After 20 whatever years, you kiddin’ me?”

  “I got a message today. She’s in a convalescent home. They won’t tell me what’s wrong with her, and I couldn’t talk to her, something about no phone in the room. I need some time. I need to go see her.”

  “Who called?” Brennan struggled to sit up.

  “Wouldn’t give Olajean their name, just a number. It was a woman though. I need a week. I have lots of vacation time, sick leave, whatever you want to charge it to. But I’m going tonight.”

  “You know Cole, this doesn’t mean—”

  “I know, I know, but she must be in pretty bad trouble to call me for help, don’t you think?”

  “Hell, I’d have to be.” Cole couldn’t see the concerned look on his old friend’s face.

  “Funny,” Cole said.

  “Take whatever you need. But don’t get your hopes up about this. I know it’s not my place, but time changes stuff, ya know? Who knows what you’re gonna find.”

  “I’ve considered that. I almost didn’t return the call. She needs somebody; she called me, that means something. I’ve got to know, Mick.”

  “All right. You’re probably right. No, you are right. Go, you need to go; this is a book that needs an ending.” Brennan threw off his blanket, stood and walked to face Cole. “I know things haven’t been going your way. Maybe I’m partially to blame.” Cole tried to speak. “No, don’t interrupt, this needs said. I don’t have many years, hell, the way I’m feeling I don’t have many days left. I’ve always thought a lot of you. I should have given you more, I don’t know, encouragement. I’m just not made that way. My idea of help is a good swift kick in the ass, ya know? You’re about the only friend I have left. I’m a tired old drunk who needs to retire and is afraid to. Lauren out there is what keeps this place running, keeps me running too. You know she has me eating vitamins? What I’m trying to say don’t wind up like me, and that’s where you’re heading, bitter and alone. If you’ve got a chance with her again, take it. But if it isn’t anything, I mean with her, let it go. Let it go, Cole.”

  “Thanks, Mick.” Cole turned and made his way to the elevator.

  Brennan watched Cole’s retreating form. Then he turned on the lights, lit a cigarette, and collapsed into his chair. Picking up Cole’s printout, he started to read.

  FOUR

  Cole booked a seat on the 11:45 from O’Hare to LAX. He slept fitfully and ate nothing on the flight. Arriving in L.A., he rented a car, bought a cup of coffee, and embarked on the four-hour drive home. Home: a place you’re from, not a place you live. The picture on a Christmas card, the letter from parents, the call from an old friend. There is a saying that you can never go home again. For Cole it had been twenty years. His parents had moved to a small town on the north coast, he never received invitations to high school reunions, and Ellie was all he ever cared about anyway.

  Ellie...Not a moment went by that he didn’t long for her. Didn’t fantasize what his life would be like had he not lost her. What if they had been together? What if he had got her back? These thoughts and a million others had filled his days and restless nights. Countless miles of travel, millions of words written, and yet he had no peace. Now, he was a short drive from seeing her. A wave of apprehension swept over him.

  Seldom had Cole felt fear. He had always charged into situations headlong. Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead! Adrenaline usually carried him most of the way and after the dust settled, he would look back and feel a sense of wonder in either his bravery or stupidity at what he had just done. This, however, was different. He was truly, deeply afraid. Afraid of what he would find, afraid of a problem he couldn’t face. Afraid of seeing Ellie’s disappointment at what he had become, who he was. Most of all he was afraid for the reality of what life was about to hand him.

  The confinement of the heavily populated L.A. basin finally gave way to rolling hills, farms, and orchards. As Cole reached the city limits of “Haley,” he saw few things he remembered. A six-lane freeway that bisected the city had replaced the Business District exit of the old highway. There were exit signs for roads, avenues, and parkways he had never heard of. Jolting up from the skyline that used to boast a six-story retirement center as the city’s tallest building was a 14-story monolith that was marked by a blazing red star with a yellow tail bearing the city’s name in letters nearly a story high.

  Cole took the exit that said Civic Center and pulled onto McAlister Avenue, the first name he recognized. McAlister was the main artery of the city, so Cole finally felt he knew where he was. He spotted the McAlister Plaza as he drove a
long. Once the heart of all the city’s shopping, now it seemed small and insignificant among the large stand-alone mega stores.

  As he sat waiting for a traffic light to change, he could almost see the signs of the stores that used to front The Plaza: Trains & Planes Hobby Shop, Hilton Floral, Tots to Teens, and the biggest locally owned department store in town, Doolan’s. These old stores held a regal place in Cole’s memory. All were gone now, replaced by national chains that fronted the center.

  Cole remembered the thrill of going to Doolan’s as a boy to shop for back-to-school clothes when, in desperation, his mother took him there to buy a coat because the selection of J.C. Penney’s was picked over with nothing left in his size. Cole remembered hoping it would last forever; he never had such a coat and swore he would guard it with his life. Sometimes he would leave the house in just a heavy sweater on a cold, stormy day without his mother seeing, just to save his wonderful coat from The Plaza, for days he needed to look his best.

  The light changed and Cole crossed a six-lane thoroughfare he had never seen before. Where was the irrigation canal that had bordered The Plaza? Where was the bridge? Cole marveled at all the changes and realized that time had gone on even in his hometown.

  He spotted a phone booth in a Burger King parking lot and pulled in. As he got out of the car, he realized that the Burger King was built on the very spot where the trampoline park used to be.

  Cole and his cousins had spent countless hours bouncing the summer nights away on the trampolines that covered the park. He tried to recall what the cost had been back then. Fifty cents an hour was his first thought, but he wasn’t sure. He didn’t hear any trouble, however, remembering the cost of the cold frosty mug of A&W root beer that always finished the evening: 35 cents. The A&W had been right next door, only a few feet from the gate of The Bounce. Now there was a Kragen Auto Parts store.