by B. E. Scully
Martinez had been right about the cat but wrong about the Hound’s possessions. After Shirdon had filed about ten reams of paperwork and cleared it with the higher ups, she’d been allowed to take possession of the cardboard box. The Hound’s sister had not only agreed, but seemed relieved that her brother’s things had found a willing home. The cat was even easier—only a few forms to fill out and the little guy had come home with Shirdon the very same day.
“Okay, okay, I get the message,” Shirdon told Scruff, who was now pacing back and forth in front of his food bowl with his tail straight in the air like an exclamation point. Since Shirdon was still catching up on the astonishing amount of supplies a small cat needed, Scruff’s food and water dishes were actually plastic storage containers, but Scruff didn’t seem to mind.
At first, the Hound’s cardboard box had sat untouched in a corner of the living room. Shirdon felt strange going through someone else’s private things—especially someone who had died the way the Hound had, and right in front of her. But no stranger to strangeness, Shirdon had eventually begun to explore the contents. The meaning and importance of most of the items were known only to the Hound, but Shirdon was surprised at the number of informative articles and interesting keepsakes he had amassed through the years. In one frayed, stained envelope, she found an unused ticket from the Denver Pop Festival of 1969—the Jimi Hendrix Experience’s last public performance.
Shirdon had wondered if it was creepy or morbid, hanging onto a box of mementos from a dead person she hadn’t really known in life. But it didn’t feel creepy or morbid, and Scruff agreed—every night, the cat completely ignored the plush leopard-print bed Shirdon had bought and instead curled up right in the middle of her first owner’s beloved possessions and purred himself to sleep.
Remembering the dead, Shirdon had learned, doesn’t mean being held hostage by them.
Shirdon scooped Scruff’s staggeringly foul smelling food into the dish and gave him fresh water. After devouring his meal, the cat jumped onto his favorite spot on the window ledge and began monitoring the street below. But he soon had an intruder right on his doorstep—three soft knocks sent Scruff scrambling to the safety of his cardboard box. When Shirdon opened the door, she saw perhaps the last person in the world she’d expected to see: Jackie “Jax” Falten.
“I hope you don’t mind,” Jax said, twisting her hands nervously in front of her. “Someone came in the building just as I got here, so I didn’t buzz to come up…I should have called or something instead of just dropping in, but… I got your address online. I mean, I didn’t stalk you down or anything…”
She looked ready to turn around and leave, so Shirdon opened the door wider and gestured her in. “No, no problem. Come on in. You can hang your coat here in the hall. Hope you don’t mind the cat.”
“No, I love cats. Haven’t had one in years, though. Morris never liked them—said they were hell on the local bird population, which was true, but…I’ve always loved them. What’s its name?”
“Scruff,” Shirdon said, measuring her next words. “We found him with Sean Packard’s things—the Hound, as the press still prefers to call him.”
Even though Shirdon had deposited herself on the living room couch, Jax stayed standing.
As soon as the crime scene had been secured and the bodies removed, Mickelson had told Shirdon and Martinez that he was going straight to Jax Falten’s house. He’d said he wanted her and her son to hear the whole story from him before she heard anything from the media. Shirdon could understand that, but she suspected there were reasons less obvious than wanting to protect his old partner’s family. After eleven years, Mickelson hadn’t been so obsessed with finding out the truth about Morris Falten for the sake of truth alone. And if he hadn’t been protecting his own role in Falten’s disappearance, then Mickelson was protecting someone else’s—someone who had fallen for Morris Falten’s corrosive brand of charisma even harder than he had.
“Did you know the Hound, Ms. Falten?” Shirdon asked.
“Jax. Call me Jax.”
So the familiarity still stood. “Did you know Sean Packard, Jax?”
Jax shook her head vigorously. “I swear to god, I’d never heard that name in my life.”
“What about J.J Wroe, the informant who was found dead in an alleyway with Mickey Klein? I’m sure you remember Klein—he and your husband hated each other.”
“Of course I remember Klein.” She took a deep breath and let it out in a rush. “In fact, Klein’s death is what made me realize something had to give.”
Shirdon waited.
Jax started speaking rapidly, as if she’d prepared what she wanted to say ahead of time. “I used to listen to Morris talking on the phone sometimes when he didn’t know I was listening. Not like he would have minded much even if he did know—he didn’t think I cared anything about his work other than the awards and paychecks he brought home. He thought I wasn’t interested, or wouldn’t understand half of what he did for a living anyway. But that wasn’t true. I paid attention to everything, he just didn’t know it.
“I knew he was plotting something against Mickey Klein. Morris had it out for Klein for years. Then when Klein busted J.J. Wroe in connection to some murder charge, Morris got scared. Thought Wroe was going to give him up, was going to let loose all of the things they’d been up to through the years. When both men turned up dead in that alleyway, I knew Morris was somehow responsible. And just like always, he thought he would get away with it. But he was going too far. It was just a matter of time before everything unraveled.
“And you know what? I didn’t really even care about J.J. Wroe or even Mickey Klein. I guess that makes me a bad person, but what I really cared about was my son. My family. I didn’t want a scandal to ruin us, to ruin our lives. I didn’t want Ted to know that his father, the man he worshipped, was dirty.
“And you know what else? A part of me didn’t want Morris to go down like that, either, despite everything. A part of me still wanted to believe in his world—a world of honorable men who knew what to do and weren’t afraid to do it, even if sometimes they had to break the rules in the process. Men who could take care of everything and keep the world safe—keep me and Ted safe. It was the world I’d grown up in, and I knew it wasn’t as simple as that. But men like Morris make it seem that way. And maybe people like me want to believe it enough that we stop seeing the way things are versus the way we wish they were.”
“How did you know where Morris was going to be that afternoon, Jax?”
Jax shook her head and looked down at her hands. “We had a fight about what had happened to Klein. I was scared—scared of him getting caught, scared for Ted. For myself. I told him the dirty tricks had to stop. I told him he could end up in prison. And if he would have sworn right then and there to clean up his act and go straight, I probably wouldn’t have said another word about it. I guess that makes me about as bad a person as he’d become, huh?”
Shirdon gave her a hard-won smile. “I’ve been learning lately that we’re all bad people sometimes. The trick is to not stay that way so long it becomes permanent. But Morris didn’t swear to go straight, did he?”
“No. And that’s when I really messed up. I just kept getting more and more scared, realizing he wasn’t going to stop. I’d always liked Dan Mickelson. He’s a good man, you know. A good cop. He just got caught up in the Great Morris Falten legend like the rest of us. I’m not making excuses, but I guess you already know all that—about Dan and Morris. Dan looked the other way, but he’s not dirty. And he always looked out for me and Teddy. So when Morris wouldn’t listen, I messed up. I told him that if he didn’t go straight, I would tell Dan everything I knew about J.J. Wroe and Mickey Klein. It wasn’t like I knew anything solid—I don’t even know if I would have gone to Dan or if it was just a threat. But something had to give.”
“But saying that just made Morris even angrier.”
“Morris didn’t really get angry, at least not to l
et it show. But you know what he said? He gave me that awful grin of his and said, ‘Looks as if my partner and my wife have formed a secret partnership of their own.’”
She shook her head. “Of course me and Dan had to be sleeping together! Why else would Dan care one way or another what I thought? So Morris starts going through this whole thing about, ‘Oh, well that makes sense now, all those nights you were out late, all that time talking on the phone, all those so-called long walks by lake’—as if I’d been having this big affair with Dan Mickelson right under his nose. That just shows how little he knew me, to think even if I was having an affair, that it’d be with Dan Mickelson.”
Shirdon thought about the picture of Jax and the dark-haired lady who had come to help out raising Teddy and then nodded for Jax to go on.
“Anyway, I knew right then and there that I would never convince Morris to do the right thing—he was beyond even knowing what the right thing was any more. Then he said, ‘I’m going for a bike ride,’ which is what he always did when he wanted to think—to plan. That’s when I knew it would never end. He wouldn’t stop until he’d ruined himself and who knows how many other lives. It even flashed through my mind that he might arrange for Dan to end up dead in an alleyway, too, just like Mickey Klein.
“I watched Morris walk out the door that day and I didn’t know what to do. Should I turn my own husband in to the same police force that thought he was a hero? Who would even believe me, and what proof did I have of what crime? I had nothing. And I knew that if I ever turned against him, Morris would find a way to ruin me, to make sure I never got custody of Ted. He was smart and powerful and ruthless enough to do it. Either that, or I’d end up in some alleyway, too.
“So I followed him. I let him load his stupid bike onto his car and then I got in my own car and I followed him. I didn’t even have to be obvious—I pretty much knew where he was going once he headed out of town. He and Dan used to ride that one steep path out in the mountains all the time. It was one of their favorites because it was so challenging. I’d even gone with Morris once, back when we were first married and I still thought we’d do things together, like a normal couple.
“When he turned into the parking area, I kept going. I drove until I thought enough time had passed, then I turned around and went back. A part of me was hoping Morris’s car would be gone, but it was still there. Even so, if there would have been even one other car there, I would have gone home and done I don’t know what next. But it was March and the rainy season was still in full swing. There wasn’t another soul in sight.
“I hiked up the high mountain path I knew Morris had taken, chose a spot, and waited. Sure enough, after about a half hour, there comes Morris tearing down the pathway. You can bet he was surprised when he saw me standing there.” Jax was far away now, back on a fog and fern covered mountain trail eleven years ago. “He stopped, got off his bike, and said, ‘What the hell are you doing here?’ I didn’t even answer him. You might not believe me, but when I followed him into the mountains, I didn’t have a plan. I didn’t have a weapon or anything. I don’t even know if I actually thought I would kill him or harm him or what. To this day, I don’t have any idea of what I thought I was going to do.
“But there he was, straddling his bike right on the edge of this steep embankment. Maybe I’m lying to myself about not knowing—I must have chosen to wait in that spot for some reason, with that cliff side right there. Anyway, I went up to him and pushed him as hard as I could. I still hadn’t said even one word. For a split second before he went over, I saw his face—total astonishment. He didn’t even get the chance to cry out, just went head over heels down the embankment, bike and all.
“Once he hit the ground, I could tell he was hurt bad. His one leg was turned at this awful angle, and blood was coming from his head in different places. He was moaning down there—moaning and trying to get up. And you know what I did, when I saw my husband, the father of my child, lying helpless and in terrible pain at the bottom of a ravine, with night coming on and no one knowing where he was?
“I turned around and ran. I ran all the way back down the trail, and if you’re still thinking this was all innocent panic, wait for the next part—I saw Morris’s car sitting there and realized I had to get rid of it. So I drove home, took the city bus up the mountain to the farthest stop I dared, then hiked the fastest my legs would take me up the lower trail that parallels the highway. I hiked back to where Morris had parked, praying the whole time someone else hadn’t shown up. But no one had.
“I drove my husband’s car home, parked it in the garage, and waited for my son to come home from school. I made dinner, and when he came home, I asked him how his day had been and we ate our eggplant parmesan—that’s what I made that night, eggplant parmesan—and then I did the dishes and watched T.V. and went to bed. I even convinced myself that Morris was just working a case, just not coming home for the night like plenty of times before.
“The next day, the police chief stopped by personally to tell me Morris hadn’t come into work that morning. He said not to worry—Morris had been working on a few big cases that no doubt explained his absence. I told him it wasn’t unusual for Morris not to come home, sometimes for days at a time, when he was deep into a case. I told him I didn’t know where my husband might be, didn’t know anything about anything—all of which was believable, because Morris always treated me like I was stupid anyway.
“So I sat there and listened to the police chief the same way I sat listening to all of the detectives and reporters and streams of people who came to talk to me after they realized Morris wasn’t coming back from wherever he’d gone. I even did a press conference, pleading on T.V. for anyone who knew about my husband’s disappearance to please come forward, to please let his family know.
“At first, I kept expecting the cops to come for me—a neighbor had seen Morris putting his bike in the car, had seen him leave with me following. Or maybe the bus driver would remember me, or someone had seen the cars in the parking area and connected it to Morris.
“But months went by, and nothing happened. Then I kept expecting Morris to show up at the house, looking for revenge. For years, I expected that. I used to dream about it. After a while, I was sure he was dead, but even then, what if someone found him? A hiker or a dog running loose or a forest ranger… I figured his death would be considered accidental, but somehow I knew—I don’t know why, and I don’t expect anyone to believe this now, after the fact—but I knew if his body ever turned up, I would tell what happened. It was bad enough keeping the charade up for so long, but once they found the body, I couldn’t have done it.
“But they never did. Years went by, and then more years, and after a while I just figured he was gone. Really and truly gone. But he never really was. Every time there was an unexpected knock on the door, my heart would clench up so bad I thought I was going to faint. It was always there, around every corner, waiting for me. And now the body finally has turned up. So maybe that’s why I’m telling you. Still not the same thing as going down to the station and confessing the whole thing on record, though, is it?”
Shirdon shook her head. “No, it isn’t. Did Dan Mickelson know what happened?”
“I never told him, but I think he knew just the same. Not exactly what happened, of course. No details. But I think he knew Morris was dead, and that I had something to do with it. Or that I at least knew something about it. Who knows, maybe Dan even had something to do with the cops never showing up at my door.
“Whatever the case, when he came to tell me they’d found Morris’s body, I hadn’t spoken to Dan in years. But he never asked me one question about it, and I didn’t volunteer anything, either. I think Dan figured as long as he doesn’t know, he doesn’t have to do anything about it. It was the same way he dealt with Morris. That’s why when Sean Packard turned up saying my husband was back in town and wanted to kill him, Dan tried to make the whole thing go away.”
“But the Hound wasn’t
going away this time,” Shirdon said.
“No. I think Dan blamed himself, too—as if he’d said something to Morris sooner or refused to go along with him, things might have turned out different. That turned into guilt toward me and Ted—if it was too late to help his partner, he could at least make sure his child grew up okay.” Jax shook her head. “Funny how Morris is the one who gets to remain a hero—my fear that he’d eventually get caught out and destroy Ted’s life is what started this whole thing in the first place. Then it became the fear of Ted finding out the truth about how and why his father had disappeared. But the way it’s turned out, Ted will never know his father wasn’t the man he thought he was.”
“No, he won’t. But maybe it’s time he did start understanding that his dad was just a human being like the rest of us.”
“Maybe. Did you watch the press conference this afternoon?”
“Can’t say I did.”
“Dan stepped down as head of homicide.”
“A part of me is surprised to hear that, but another part isn’t. All of me is sorry, though. Dan’s a good cop. He would have made a fine chief of police.”
“Maybe there’s just too much there for him. Too many things that got dug up with those bones.”
“Funny, I was just thinking the same thing earlier.”
Jax gave her own hard-won smile. “In a way, Dan was the sacrifice made to an angry city demanding some kind of blood.”
“And Sean Packard, too, only his blood was literal.”
“At least now maybe people can begin to heal.”
“Too bad they always need someone else’s blood to help them do it. Maybe they should try washing their own hands first. Jax, did you know the Hound was at the bottom of that embankment that day?”
Jax looked directly at Shirdon for the first time since she’d arrived. “No. I think you know that I have no reason to lie about anything at this point. In fact, if you want to get in the car and drive me right down to the station to confess, I will. Ted is old enough now to face whatever happens to me. Both sets of grandparents have been helping me raise him for years now. As far as I’m concerned, it’s done. Whatever happens, I’m ready.”
