The Priority Unit (Maine Justice Book 1)

by Davis, Susan Page

  “You ready?”

  Harvey nodded.

  They went down the stairs. The elevator was always slower than the stairs, and the men seldom used it unless they were escorting prisoners or visitors. After Eddie started his truck and headed out of the parking garage, Harvey decided it was time to tell him.

  “My ex-brother-in-law called me a few minutes ago.”

  “That can’t be good.” Eddie glanced at him, then ahead as the light changed on Franklin Street.

  “Carrie’s dead.”

  “Oh, man.”

  Harvey opened his mouth then closed it.

  “I’m sorry, Harv.”

  Eddie had never met Carrie, but his eyes were liquid anyway. He’d been a brash, tough French kid out to prove himself five years ago, but that had changed. He was like a younger brother to Harvey now. Any event that upset Harvey’s world affected him, too. There was some comfort in that. Eddie would have called me a year ago, Harvey thought.

  “Are you okay?”

  Harvey didn’t answer right away, reaching for the honest response. “Maybe.”

  “You want to come over and eat supper with me?”

  “No.”

  Eddie stopped in front of Harvey’s building. “Call me if you want company.”

  “Thanks.”

  He got slowly out of Eddie’s truck and went up to his apartment. He sat down in the living room. It looked the same way it had the day after Carrie left, except that he had more books now, and it was dusty. He’d never gotten around to replacing most of the furniture she took with her. Bleakly he surveyed the one overflowing bookcase, the stacks of books on the floor against the walls, the three chairs, one of which held his portable TV, and the coffee table so ugly she hadn’t wanted it. He should have bought more furniture. Any normal man would have.

  He hated the knowledge that he couldn’t stand to make the smallest change in either his apartment or his life, because every tiny movement distanced him farther from Carrie and made the separation more final. Well, now it was really final.

  He picked up an empty mug from the coffee table and threw it across the room. It shattered against the woodwork with a loud, splintering crash. It didn’t make him feel any better. He’d always told Carrie it wouldn’t. He sank back into the chair and stared at the fragments. He wasn’t sure he wanted to pick them up.

  The cell phone in his jacket pocket rang. He sat still, and after eight rings it stopped. He realized his face was wet with tears, and for the first time doubted he’d be able to maintain his famous iron control.

  Could he drive to Boston in the morning with his insides churning? And what would he say when he faced Glenn and Cora Lewis? I loved her. Really, I did. And I tried to make things right. Whatever she told you, I wasn’t the bad guy.

  No, he could never say those things to her parents. Maybe not to anyone.

  He went into the bedroom and took off his jacket and hung it in the closet, then unstrapped his holster. He laid the cell phone down beside the holster on the unfinished pine dresser from the thrift shop, then his wallet and keys and the rest of his gear.

  He opened the top drawer and slowly pushed aside the regulation black socks and white handkerchiefs. The envelope was still there. He opened it and took the divorce decree out.

  Carrie M. Lewis, of Boston, Massachusetts, plaintiff, from Harvey A. Larson, of Portland, Maine. It was all there. The wedding date and place, the court and date of decree. The spaces for children to be argued over were blank. The bitterness hit him with a shocking intensity. Irreconcilable marital differences. That was all anybody got divorced for anymore. But who decided the differences were irreconcilable, anyway? Shouldn’t he have had a chance to refute that?

  He sat on the edge of the bed, then stood up again. He turned around and faced it as he would an enemy. He hated that modern maple bed. Carrie had picked it out. Why hadn’t she taken it with her? Eight years with her, then ten without her. He’d slept in it long enough. He tore the blanket and sheets and pillow off into a pile on the floor.

  The doorbell rang, and he stood there breathing fast, staring at the bedding and the divorce decree he’d let fall to the floor.

  He turned abruptly, went out to the kitchen, and looked through the peephole. Eddie stood on the landing with a McDonald’s bag in his hand. Harvey opened the door in resignation.

  “Hi, Harv, how you doing?”

  “Okay.”

  “You eat anything?”

  “No.”

  “I got Big Macs here.”

  “Come on in. Thanks, buddy. I’m really not hungry.”

  Eddie set the bag on the counter and started taking the food out: Big Macs, french fries, and a chocolate shake for himself and Coke for Harvey. He hoisted himself up on the counter.

  Harvey smiled a little. “Have a seat, Ed.”

  “Don’t mind if I do. Here, take this.” He held out a container of french fries.

  Harvey pulled himself up on the counter on the other side of the sink, and they ate the food.

  “You want to shoot some hoops?” Eddie asked.

  “Maybe.”

  “Or would you rather go down to Clark’s?”

  “What, kick back a few beers?” Harvey asked.

  “Well … that’s what we used to do when you were blue.”

  Harvey looked at him. “I’m thinking that makes about as much sense as throwing things.”

  Eddie shrugged. “When you used to get really depressed, we’d go out and get a twelve-pack.”

  “Not anymore.” It was a sudden decision, but he knew it was one he would honor. Drinking wouldn’t take away the pain. He had long since proven that. He wasn’t sure he wanted the pain to go away, anyway. He needed to feel the grief and hurt for Carrie, and then let it be over.

  “I should have been smarter than that. And I shouldn’t have taught you to do it.”

  Eddie shrugged. “Well, do something physical, then. Don’t sit here and think about it. Let’s play some ball, or go running.”

  “Okay, let’s run. But you gotta help me do something first.”

  “What?”

  “Take a bed apart.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m getting rid of it.”

  “Your bed?”

  “Yes.”

  “Harvey, I’ve seen your apartment dozens of times. Man, you’ve got no chairs. We’re sitting on the counter. Do you think this is a good time to divest yourself of furniture?”

  “Yes.” Harvey took a sip of Coke. “I can’t sleep in it any more, Eddie. It’s part of the old life.”

  “Whatever you say.”

  “I want it out of here. Tonight.”

  “Okay. Help me load it in my truck. I’ll drop it at the junk shop on Brighton Avenue in the morning.”

  They went into the bedroom and wrestled the mattress and box spring off the bed and leaned them up against the wall, then pulled the frame apart.

  Eddie sneezed. “You haven’t had this thing apart to clean it in years, have you?”

  “Was I supposed to?”

  “Spring cleaning, at least.”

  “Oh, tell me you spring clean your apartment and take all the furniture apart and dust it.”

  “No, my mother comes over and does it.”

  They carried all the pieces down to the street, where a cool breeze wandered in off the bay. They went back up for the unwieldy mattress and stopped for breath halfway down the steps.

  Mrs. Jenkins downstairs poked her head out of her doorway. “What are you doing, Mr. Larson? You boys are awfully noisy tonight.”

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Jenkins. We’re just getting rid of this bed.”

  “You don’t want it?”

  “No, my pal Ed is going to take it to the used furniture guy for me.”

  “I’ll take it,” she said. “Unless you want a lot for it. Is it all good?”

  “It’s fine. It’s just old, and I don’t like it. I’ll give it to you, Mrs. Jenkins.”

>   They carried the mattress into her living room. Her husband and son came out and helped carry the rest in.

  Harvey and Eddie ran the three miles they usually ran together on Friday mornings, followed by their Monday route. It was dark when they got back to the building, walking the last half mile.

  Harvey leaned on the hood of Eddie’s truck, gasping. “Remind me never to try to run that far again.”

  Eddie was breathing almost normally by then.

  “You gonna be okay tonight, Harv?”

  “Yeah. Thanks. Thanks for coming over.”

  “No problem. Think you can sleep on the floor? Because you can come over and sleep on my couch.”

  “No, I’ll be fine. But I don’t think I’ll run in the morning.”

  “That’s okay.”

  “Good night.” He held out his hand, and Eddie gripped it and got in the truck.

  Harvey went inside and dragged up the stairs. He got in the shower and stood there for a while, letting the hot water ease his aching muscles. Then he put on boxers and a T-shirt, spread the mattress pad out on the rug in the almost-empty bedroom and lay down with his pillow. It seemed his lifestyle was getting simpler and simpler with each item he removed from the apartment, but his life got more and more complicated.

  *****

  Harvey arrived at the funeral home on the dot of one, signed the guest book, and slipped into a chair toward the back just as the service began. His badge was pinned to his vest under the suit jacket, so it wouldn’t show, a concession to Carrie and her parents.

  He looked around and saw a few people he recognized, but most of the family was up front where he couldn’t see them clearly. The service was short and subdued, even for a funeral. No one got up and told poignant stories about Carrie.

  At the end, he got in line and braced himself for his view of the casket. It was open, and a blanket of pink roses lay over the half of the lid that covered her from the waist down, and a ribbon with “Daughter” in glittered script hung down over the edge. He hadn’t sent flowers, and he felt suddenly that he should have.

  Don’t stare too long, he warned himself. She didn’t look the way he remembered her. Older, of course, but puffier. Her eyelashes didn’t look right somehow, and her hair was in a style he’d never seen her wear. Maybe the mortician had just done a bad makeup job. It wasn’t really Carrie, at least not his Carrie from more than a decade before.

  He moved on, uneasy, following the herd into the next room. Tim Lewis clapped him on the shoulder and said quietly, “Harvey, good to see you.”

  “Hello, Tim.” Carrie’s kid brother was strangely mature. He was carrying a sober-faced toddler, and introduced his wife, Anne. He didn’t use the ex-word, just said, “Anne, this is Harvey Larson,” and Harvey knew he had already filled her in on his status.

  Carrie’s parents ignored Harvey, but he didn’t blame them, really. He was just another piece of Carrie’s unhappy life. Mrs. Lewis sobbed uncontrollably, and her husband stood beside her, shaking hands mechanically with the people who murmured their condolences.

  Carrie’s cousin Rachel accosted him with a tentative smile, and made some banal remarks: How’ve you been; it’s been a long time.

  Across the room, a tall, fortyish, dark-haired man with a mustache leaned against the wall, hands in his pants pockets, shoulders sagging.

  “That’s Carrie’s husband, Jason,” Rachel said. “Isn’t he pathetic? I told Aunt Cora he shouldn’t be here.”

  Harvey immediately felt empathy for the man, and wondered what Rachel had told Aunt Cora about himself.

  “Harvey! It’s really you!”

  He turned toward the warm voice, and smiled for the first time in days. Carrie’s grandmother approached slowly, a glint in her eyes. He moved toward her, and without hesitation she put her arms around him and kissed him soundly on the cheek.

  “I’ve missed you!”

  “Thanks, Gram.” The two had always gotten along well when Carrie and Harvey were together. He had visited Grandma Lewis often, and had always found good conversation with tea and cookies at her house. His own grandparents were long gone, and he had gladly taken Carrie’s grandmother into his heart.

  “You look just the same,” she said.

  “I do not. But you do.” Her white hair curled softly around her forehead above her glasses, and her back was still straight.

  “Well I guess neither of us is any younger. Why don’t you take me home after the graveside service?”

  “Sure, I’d like to,” he replied. “You don’t want to go to the house?”

  “Too morbid. They’ll all be squished into a hot, crowded parlor, talking about poor Carrie. You come with me, and we’ll catch up.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  She moved on to speak to out-of-town relatives, and Harvey braced himself to face Glenn and Cora Lewis. His father-in-law shook his hand and murmured, “Larson. Didn’t expect you.”

  “I’m sorry, sir,” Harvey said, sorry both that Carrie was dead and that he had come. He wondered if he had made a mistake and should have stayed in Maine.

  Cora turned away from him, leaning against her husband’s arm. “I need to sit down, Glenn.”

  Mr. Lewis threw Harvey an apologetic glance and steered his wife to a chair.

  The funeral director came to them, to send them out to the lead car of the cortege. Harvey went out to his car and waited for the procession to form. He pulled into line behind the Lincolns and Cadillacs, and they crept to the cemetery. Carrie’s mother was nearly prostrate by the time the interment service ended. Harvey kept an eye on Grandma Lewis, and placed himself beside her when the family turned away from the grave.

  “You dear boy.” She took his arm. “Where’s your car?”

  Tim appeared on her other side. “Want to ride back to the house with us, Grandma?”

  “No, I don’t,” she said tartly. “Harvey is taking me home.”

  Harvey smiled at Tim. “I’ll take care of her.” He led Grandma to his car.

  “You’ve still got the old Ford!” Her eyes sparkled.

  “Are you sure you want to be seen in it?”

  “Of course.”

  He helped her climb into the front seat and find the seat belt. When he got in, she eyed him eagerly. “What cases are you working on now, Harvey?”

  He laughed. “You name it, we’ve had it in the last six months.”

  “What’s the toughest one?”

  “Hm. We’ve had some pretty nasty things, but I guess the worst one for me was the one I couldn’t solve. A man disappeared from his office, and we couldn’t find him.”

  “Ever?”

  “Well, it’s only been a couple of months, but it does bother me. No leads.”

  He drove to her snug white house, confronting the past at every turn. More memories assailed him as they entered the unchanged kitchen. Grandma walked slowly to the sideboard and opened a tin of gingersnaps.

  “Homemade cookies,” Harvey breathed. The smell brought back a wave of memories. He took off his driving glasses and folded them into his breast pocket, bringing out his handkerchief for the tears that had stayed at bay during the funeral. Odd how something as simple as home-baked cookies could trigger them.

  “It’s all right to cry.” Grandma patted his arm. “You sit down.” She put the teakettle on and got two bone china cups and saucers with violets on them from a cupboard.

  “I’ve really missed you,” he said. “I didn’t know how much.”

  “We can still be family, Harvey.” She smiled at him and brought out teabags, sugar, and cream, not milk. She took two silver-plated spoons from a pressed glass spoon holder on the sideboard and sat down with him at the table.

  “I wish you were here just on a social call. Poor Carrie.”

  “She got married again,” said Harvey.

  “Yes. She didn’t tell you?”

  “She never told me anything.”

  “I’m sorry, Harvey. It’s been distressing. I
’m glad you came.”

  “How could I not?”

  She sighed. “Glenn and Cora are inconsolable. They lost their only daughter.” She looked at him keenly. “I wish the two of you could have worked things out.”

  “Some things just didn’t seem to be workable.”

  “I thought at one time you hoped for a family.”

  He said slowly, “I wanted it more than anything, maybe too much.” The old woman was watching him intently, and he knew suddenly that she would believe him. “We could have had a family, Gram. She just didn’t want to.”

  Grandma was silent a moment. “I’m sorry. I can’t understand why she didn’t like children.”

  The teakettle whistled, and she started to rise.

  “I’ll get it.” Harvey poured the two cups full. She handed him a linen napkin and passed the cookie tin. He swished his tea bag around in the cup and took it out, squeezing it a little on the spoon. He didn’t really want to talk about Carrie.

  Grandma said, “I’ve prayed for you a lot over the years, you know.”

  “Have you?”

  “Oh, yes. I always ask God to take care of you and to bring you to Himself.”

  He poured a little cream into his tea and stirred it. God was something he had ignored for the most part, except for an occasional bout of curiosity. The concept didn’t fit very well into his life. “Do you think God actually does that?”

  “Land, yes. It’s the only way to get to God.”

  Harvey shook his head, uncomprehending. “I don’t follow you.”

  “It’s in the Gospel of John.” She got up and moved stiffly to the sideboard where a worn, leather-covered Bible lay on a doily. She brought the book to the table and opened it in front of him, turning the pages.

  “Here, you read it. Verse 44.” Her finger rested on an underlined sentence.

  He could tell it was important to her, so he read it. “No man can come to me except the Father, who hath sent me, draw him.” Of course, she would use the old translation she’d grown up with, but the meaning was straightforward.

  “It’s Jesus talking, of course,” she said.

  “I’ve wondered about God,” he admitted. “Not a lot, but sometimes. I mean, can we know that He’s real? Or does faith just leap past that? Some people seem to have no trouble believing He’s out there, but … I don’t know, Gram.”