by B. E. Scully
But Jax answered with another story. “When I was a kid, my brother found a juvenile hawk beneath a tree in our backyard. It had an injured wing, and my brother took it into the house. He put it in a box in the washroom and fed and took care of it for three days. It sat there pretty tame and quiet—you know, it was hurt and completely terrified. But then its wing must have healed up, because on day four, my brother opened the washroom door and out came the hawk in one big gust. It flapped all over the house and then perched high up on a ceiling beam, panting and glaring down at us with these fierce yellow eyes. Our parents weren’t home, and since I was the oldest, it was up to me to get that hawk out of the house before it destroyed everything in it. Even if it didn’t mean to, it would destroy everything, because it wasn’t a domestic animal. It was never meant to be kept cooped up inside.
“What I’m trying to say is, it was the exact same thing with a person like Morris. We never lived together until after we got married—never even spent the night together except for that one time, when I got pregnant. And so that first morning waking up next to him after we were married, it was exactly like that hawk—like a wild, untamed creature from the outside ending up inside, where it didn’t belong. And now I had to deal with it.”
“And how did you deal with it, Jax?”
Jax closed her eyes and sighed, leaning back into the cushions the way her son had done the day before. “The thing with the hawk was that the harder I tried to get it out of the house—to set it free like it wanted, to return it to where it belonged—the more crazed and angry it got. After a while, I couldn’t have gotten it out no matter what I did. It was too out of control. So I just opened the door and left it alone. Eventually, it found its own way out. It just realized where the open air was and took off. We never saw it again after that.”
“And is that how you got Morris out of the house? Just let the door open and he took off on his own, never to be seen again?”
Jax shook her head. “I don’t know why I went home with Morris that first night. He was way older than me and not even close to the type I usually go for. He’d been working a shooting that happened at a restaurant where I worked, and out of the blue he just asked me to go out for drinks. I don’t think he expected to sleep with me right away any more than I had plans to sleep with him, ever, but it just happened. He didn’t even ask me about birth control.” She shook her head and laughed. “Didn’t even ask, can you imagine? And since I’d been raised in one of those families that think knowledge about things like birth control just comes to a person out of the clear blue sky, I wasn’t using any. Twenty years old and I wasn’t even sure how to get birth control pills, can you imagine? I know that makes me sound like some kind of ignorant hick, and maybe I was, but that’s how it was for me and all of the girls I went to school with.
“I’d always gotten lucky before, but my luck ran out with Morris. One time and I ended up pregnant. I thought about getting an abortion, but Morris seemed so strong and capable—so successful, and everyone admired him so much. My mom thought the baby was the best thing that ever happened to me, and if it’s because she wanted more than anything for me to marry a man like Morris, then she was right—I could see even then that if it hadn’t been for the pregnancy, Morris would never in a million years have married someone like me, from a family of poor farmers without a dime to our name.
“But the baby was a different story. ‘A man takes care of his family, a man owns up to his mistakes and takes responsibility for them.’ That’s how it was. That’s why he married me—to own up to his ‘mistake.’ I guess I was too stupid to realize that all the security and comfort in the world aren’t worth living life as someone else’s mistake.”
“So he wasn’t a good father to Ted?”
“Oh, he was a fantastic father to Ted! He loved that kid more than anything, and he even tried to be a good husband to me. But he just couldn’t keep the demons at bay. Never for very long, anyway.”
“What demons were those, Jax?”
“He never hit me or Ted, if that’s what you mean. But some people don’t hit with fists. They hit with things maybe even worse, because they don’t leave bruises. They hit with words. They hit with rotten little put-downs and sabotage so subtle you’re not even sure it’s happening until it’s too late. You know, for years after Morris disappeared, I heard on and on about what a great man he was. And it was true, in a lot of ways. He was a great man. But those people praising him to high heaven didn’t see the other Morris, the private Morris when the mask came off.”
“And something behind the mask was enough to get him killed?”
Jax opened her eyes and smiled again, but it was curled with bitterness. “It’s like that stupid story about him punching out some cop for saying something racist. That’s only because it was about another cop—being a cop made anyone a superior person in Morris’s mind. A black man who became a cop had risen up, had joined the blue brotherhood. But minorities who hadn’t ‘learned the right way’—well, that was a different story altogether.”
“So Morris was a racist?”
Jax frowned. “That’s too simple a way to look at it. Any person who didn’t live up to Morris’s exact standards was an inferior person, and not many people of any color or background lived up to those, believe me. So most people either needed to be raised up—not to Morris’s level, understand, because not many human beings were capable of that—but at least be raised up to so-called ‘decent-person’ standards or be dealt with accordingly. And in Morris’s world, anyone who didn’t win the game the way men like Morris win the game—those people deserved no mercy.”
“You mentioned the blue ‘brotherhood,’” Cassie said. “Where did women fall in Morris’s hierarchy of people?”
Jax snorted. “Where do you think? I mean, have you ever met a person who was bigoted against just one group of people?”
Before Cassie could answer, Jax stood up and started pacing the small room. “But you know what? One thing I swore to myself long ago was that I would never let myself get so cynical and bitter that it was the only thing left. Even before Morris disappeared, I never wanted to become that kind of person. It was like the one victory I could always win—to not become the kind of person people like Morris turn people into. Does that make any sense?”
Cassie nodded. “It makes perfect sense. It’s a promise that every cop makes at one time or another. And most of us fail to keep it, although the ones who want to stay sane keep trying.”
Jax returned Cassie’s nod. “I fail to keep it, too, about every day. But I keep trying, too.”
It seemed as good a time as any for Shirdon to hit hard and direct. “Jax, before your husband disappeared, a detective named Mickey Klein was murdered by an informant—”
“J.J. Wroe. I know all this. I went over it at least a million times with at least a million different cops.”
“Okay, but at the time, Lieutenant Mickelson said—”
“He said he didn’t know a thing about any of it,” Jax cut in again. “Morris kept his informants very close. Very private. That’s how he worked. So Mickelson didn’t know anything about his dealings with J.J. Wroe, and he doesn’t know anything now. No one does, and I don’t know what you and your partner think you’ve found out, but believe me, that’s not going to change unless some big new piece of evidence turns up.”
“Like bones that have stayed buried too long?”
Jax stopped pacing and turned to look at Detective Shirdon. The two women stared at each other across the suddenly airless space of living room.
Then Cassie stood up at the same time Jax said, “I have to get to work, I’m late already.”
Cassie walked over to the shelf of pictures again. “You haven’t told Ted the truth about his father, have you? That he wasn’t quite the man people thought he was?”
Jax came over and stood next to Cassie. She picked up one of the many pictures of her husband and then put it back without looking at it. “How coul
d I? He was only five years old when his father disappeared. He’s grown up his whole life idolizing his dad. As far as Ted is concerned, Morris was a legend and a hero. And he died a hero’s death.”
She gave Cassie a searching look, as if to make sure she understood. “If Ted thinks his father is wrong, then everything he thinks his father stood for is wrong, too. What does it do to a young person to learn everything he’s ever believed, the most important things he’ll ever believe, not just about his father, but about the world, about himself—what does it do to him if he learns it’s all a lie?”
When Cassie didn’t answer, Jax said, “I can’t bring my husband back, and I can’t change the man he was. Or the man he eventually became, when the demons took over completely. But I can protect my son from those same demons. They might have killed my husband, and they’ll follow me for the rest of my life. That’s my fight now, but I’m be damned if they’re going to get my kid.” She looked Cassie straight in the eye and said, “I’ll die before I let them get my kid, too.”
Cassie didn’t doubt her for a second.
* * *
At the station, Shirdon found Martinez at a table piled high with boxes and files amid a wasteland of forgotten cups of cold coffee and half-eaten sandwiches.
“So much for the technological age,” Martinez grumbled. “Remember when they actually had us convinced that in a few short years we’d be ‘paper-free’? So far, all paper-free means is that we now do everything twice. The work doubles, the paycheck stays the same. And speaking of paychecks, where’ve you been all morning? You crapped out on drinks and then left me stuck here in cardboard box hell to go it alone?”
“I went back to see Jackie Falten,” Cassie said. “I don’t know why. Impulse, I guess. But I did make some progress, including getting to call her ‘Jax,’ like her friends do.”
“I knew it!” Martinez said. “I got the feeling she might not care much for the testosterone set, even though I didn’t want to whip out the gender card too fast.”
“Considering her marriage to Morris Falten, I’m not sure I blame her for going a bit sour on the joys of mating. It seems as if the knight’s shining armor had a few dents.”
“It always does,” Martinez said. “And I’ve pretty much been finding out the same thing. I hate to say it, but disappearing under suspicious circumstances and then being declared dead might have been the only thing that allowed Morris Falten to end up such a hero. If this guy would have kept going, he either would have ended up in prison or in the White House.”
“Dirty?” Shirdon asked.
Martinez picked up a Styrofoam coffee cup, gave it a sniff, and set it back down. “Not dirty enough to get caught, but who knows what was catching up with him. He’s got the whole tell-tale string of signs—suspicious witnesses, coerced confessions, shaky evidence. Even when I was back in uniform there were rumbles around the station about some of Falten’s so-called ‘methods.’ But he was smart. You have to dig hard to start seeing the patterns, and even then, nothing ever stuck. That poor bastard Klein seemed to be the only one who saw the chinks. Or the only one who wanted to see them.”
“Someone else had to see them, though,” Shirdon said.
“Right. Especially his own partner.”
“You think Mickelson was dirty, too?”
“I don’t know,” Martinez said. “But you want to know what I’ve been thinking about, oh, for at least the past half hour? I’ve been thinking about hazelnuts.”
“Hazelnuts.”
“That’s right, hazelnuts. And I’ll tell you why, because there is a reason other than that I’m losing my mind. Which is probably true, but not the reason. I’m thinking about hazelnuts because a few months ago, one of Jen’s aunts—not a close one, which is why we didn’t even see this coming—but one of her aunts died. She didn’t have any children, and she left her property to Jen. A big old chunk of gorgeous land right beside a river in the complete middle of nowhere. It used to be an old hazelnut farm back when the aunt’s husband was still alive to help run it, and all of the trees are still there. It would take a ton of work and money to get it in running order, but I swear, Cass, me and Jen have talked about it. Ever since…ever since she was attacked that time, it hasn’t been the same. Then all this bullshit started with the vigilante killings and cops shooting people every other day and the news media going crazy. I’ll tell you, Cass, I can’t remember anything in the last twenty years being this bad. Everything we do is being scrutinized and second-guessed.”
Martinez paused and then added what Shirdon had been reluctant to say. “And then this goddamn Sherry Stratton case. And you want to know the lousiest part about the whole thing? I’ve known Jim Needham for years. He’s a little on the slick side, but I’ve always thought of him as an honest prosecutor. Now, I’m lying awake at night wondering if he’s setting me up for a fall. Who’s to say after I do what he wants—after I testify at the hearing and make sure Sherry Stratton stays in jail, or at least that her case isn’t dismissed—after that happens, who’s to say he doesn’t turn around and say I’m the one who covered up my visit with the ex-boyfriend? Who’s to say he doesn’t drop the whole thing right in my lap, and me here going along with it just like the damn fool he pegged me for from the first?”
“So you’ve decided to…” Shirdon groped for a better way to say it and then gave up. “You’ve decided to cover up what the boyfriend said about the picture? About it not being Sherry Stratton?”
“I can’t seem to decide anything lately, that’s part of the problem!” Martinez roared. “But it doesn’t exactly make me feel confident about lying or, at the very least, being less than honest about that damn picture when I’m not even sure if the man in charge around here is on the level or as dirty as his ‘hero’ ex-partner seems to have been.” Martinez shook his head. “It’s a goddamn mess, Cass, and I’m beginning to wonder what the hell this job is even about any more.”
Shirdon slid into a chair next to her partner and picked at a relatively intact chicken sandwich. “I wish I could argue with you, Monte, but I can’t. I’ve been wondering the same thing lately. I think all of us are these days.”
“And then there’s the whole ‘blue brotherhood’ thing—brothers in blue. Don’t challenge another officer, don’t testify against him, lie if you have to, and never, ever rat out a brother. The code existed long before I was an officer, and I don’t see it going away any time soon.”
“Yep,” Shirdon nodded, considering that phrase for the second time that day. “The brotherhood isn’t always so easy for a sister, either.”
“I hear you. And that’s all a part of it. We all know about the casual racism, the sexist remarks and the bullshit. Whenever cops like us are around, it’s always a ‘joke,’ always done in ‘fun.’ I don’t have to tell you how many times I’ve been told to ‘lighten up, it’s just part of the culture, man, part of the brotherhood!’ I don’t have to tell you because you’ve heard the same thing just as many times. Probably more. And sometimes it is just a joke. But sometimes it’s not, at least not to the people being ‘joked’ about. Sometimes it’s the farthest thing from a joke, and so are the consequences for the human beings who also aren’t a goddamn joke. And damn if it doesn’t get exhausting after a while trying to figure out the difference. Sometimes I wonder, Cass—when did we get so suspicious of everyone, not just the bad guys, but even ordinary citizens just trying to go about their business? When did we start treating everyone like criminals, even the people we’re supposed to be protecting?”
“Maybe the same time they started treating us that way.”
“Okay, sure, the chicken and the egg, which came first? But we’re the ones with the power, Cass. We’re the ones with the weapons and the military grade body armor and the so-called self-policing system that’s supposed to nail dirty cops like Morris Falten, not make him into a goddamn hero.”
“We don’t know for sure how dirty he was.”
“And that’s just i
t—we never will. Just like how many other dirty cops we’ll never know for sure about, let alone prove anything.”
Cassie shook her head but said nothing. She wished at least one of those coffee cups wasn’t cold. It had been one hell of a morning so far, and now her partner was talking about retiring early to grow hazelnuts. But as usual, Monte read her mind and steered it away from the rocks.
“Hey, it’s not like we’ve got the house up for sale or anything yet. I’m as determined to see this thing with Falten through as you are. I’m just not sure where else to go, at least with the paper trail. You think Jackie Falten knows more about her husband’s disappearance then she’s letting on?”
“I do,” Cassie said. “In fact, I’m sure of it. But it’s the same old story—proving it is another thing altogether.”
“Right. Same old story. I think what we really need to do at this point is find Sean Packard. We need to find the Hound and dig up the Bone Man once and for all.”
“‘Before putting spade to earth, contemporary treasure hunters would do well to consider what they may really be digging up.’”
“What?”
“Something in a book I’ve been reading,” Cassie said. “A history book, as a matter of fact.”
“Well, I for one am more than ready for some answers, whatever or whoever I have to dig up to get them. But not without some real food in me,” Martinez said. “I’m starved, and that sad-looking excuse for a sandwich you’re picking apart isn’t going to change that.”
“Agreed. Add in some fresh cups of coffee, and my shovel will be ready.”
But Cassie’s phone rang before she could make a case for the new noodle place on Fifth Street. She was surprised to hear Lieutenant Mickelson on the other end.
He didn’t waste any time on small talk. “I need you and Martinez to meet me in the parking lot of the supermarket on Main and Adler. I’m in a department issue sedan, a black one, in the back corner by the recycling bins. There’s…there will be someone with me. Someone sitting in the back seat.”
