Forever Haunt

by Adam Carpenter

  “It was late night and your father had gone to the deli—the one where he was eventually shot. A simple coffee run, nothing more. So I was just walking the streets, waiting for him. I heard a sound coming from inside that small playground on 47th Street. The gates were locked, no one was supposed to be there after dark. I shined my light, where I found Cassie, sitting on one of the park benches, a small bottle of vodka in her hand. She’d either climbed over the fence, or maybe she hid when the caretaker locked up for the night. I coaxed her over. She was laughing, but her cheeks were streaked with tears.

  “Joey hadn’t returned yet, so I took it upon myself to try and rescue her. She was cagey, trying to taunt me, saying there was no way I could get to her through the locked gate. But then her eyes glazed over, and she gave me a smile I could only describe as…tortured. Like a demon had taken over inside her. She suddenly scaled the fence—not her first time, I can assure you. She came toward me and put her arms around me. She began to kiss me. I pulled back, of course. I was nearly three times her age, she was young, sick…”

  “Did she say anything?” Jimmy asked.

  “She said, ‘Wouldn’t it shock them all to have a black man fuck me?’”

  Jimmy got up from the bench, walked toward the edge of the promenade and watched the languid waters of the East River. What secrets did those waters hold? How many bodies had been found swirling beneath them, how many lives destroyed? Were the waterways any different from the dark streets of the city? Bodies were everywhere, some living, some dead, some somewhere in between, going through the motions. Damaged by their worlds. That was Cassie. Was it Ralphie, too, forever altered by however his scene with the troubled girl played out? And how did something that happened fifteen years ago affect Joseph McSwain, and now, his son.

  Leaning against the iron railing, facing Ralphie, Jimmy tried to find the right words. Any words. None came to him. He continued to listen, with a growing sense of wishing he’d not gone down this path. There was no turning back, the branches behind him tangled, impenetrable. His feet metaphorically caught in their roots.

  “Finally Joey appeared,” Ralphie said, a knob of emotion caught in his throat. It sounded like regret. “Cassie changed back to playing the innocent girl, like she’d just flipped a switch. The vodka bottle was tossed into the park, her arms lay at her side. She claimed she’d just needed some fresh air. Both of us walked her home, just down the street, only a few buildings.” Ralphie paused, his eyes darkening, as though he’d just stepped back in time and was reliving the moment all over. “At the stoop, she stopped and turned. She looked at me and with something dark in her eyes, she laughed. She said, ‘Daddy will kill you for what you did to me.’”

  “But nothing happened,” Jimmy said, “you never touched her…”

  “The word of a young girl or that of an older man—a black one, at that. Her father was not my immediate superior, but we worked the same precinct. There was no way he would allow his daughter to be shamed.”

  “Only if she said something. Sounded like she was just…taunting you.”

  “Oh, Jimmy, she was seeking revenge. On her own family. She was beyond help.”

  “So she came out and said you abused her?”

  Ralphie shifted on the wooden bench. He looked pained, uncomfortable. “Jimmy, I think it’s time I went home. Guess I’m more tired than I care to admit to. Would you escort me home?

  Jimmy nodded. “Of course. Do you need a doctor? I could bring you back to the hospital…”

  “Enough with the doctors. I just need my bed.”

  Jimmy felt conflicted. He wanted the end of the story. Felt after all these years he deserved it. But at what cost to his friend? His father’s partner? But at the same time, he was afraid of what he would learn from this long held secret. He wondered why he was only learning all this now. Ralphie knew more than anyone how determined Jimmy was to solve the murder of Officer Joseph McSwain. If the tragic story of Cassie Dean was a part of it, he wasn’t seeing it. It was only opening up more questions. Answers seemed to be in short supply.

  But Ralphie was the priority now.

  Jimmy helped him up from the bench, all while a strong wind came off the river. Ralphie seemed wobbly now, more so than when they had left Lou Limerick’s. The man was tired, drained from the day, his health issues, but perhaps more so by the unburdening he’d done. Except that he hadn’t delivered the final punch in this knockout of a story. Jimmy held his tongue as they walked out of the park, and emerged back onto Joralemon Street, only two blocks from the place Ralphie called home. It wasn’t until they were at the front entrance that Jimmy felt the need to speak again. To ask one last question before he let the man rest.

  “Ralphie, what part of this story are you leaving out?”

  “You’re going to have to ask your mother about that.”

  “My mother? What does she have to do with…” But Jimmy’s mouth closed, and he realized that the pieces were all in front of him, and he’d just found that last one, as though it had dropped onto the floor, evading completion. He thought of Mickey’s awful accusation, the hatred between the McSwains and Dean families, the tragedy that was Cassie, and the evasiveness he sensed from his mother the other night.

  “Dad took the fall, didn’t he?”

  Ralphie paused, his hand on the doorknob to his home. Like all he wanted to do was close the door behind him. Put this story behind him. Finally, he put a shaky hand up to Jimmy’s cheek, held it with a touch as paternal as any Jimmy had felt in fifteen years. “Don’t let anyone tell you any different, your father was a hero. The finest man I ever knew. Then, or now.” He paused as a faint smile hit him. “You’ve been like a son to me, Jimmy McSwain. I was honored to always be there for you.”

  “Ralphie, why are you talking like that? You’re here. You’re still here.”

  “My boy. Not for long. The stroke was just the opening gambit.” Without missing a beat, he said, “They found cancer. Pancreatic. You go fast.”

  It was a bitter blow Jimmy hadn’t been expecting. He steeled himself against the railing as the man before him allowed a rare tear.

  “Ralphie, why did you check out of the hospital then? You need treatment…”

  “No, Jimmy, I don’t. It’s okay, I’ve lived. I’ve seen darkness, yes, but I’ve seen light. One day, perhaps soon, I will see that stronger light, the white light. If life is a series of mysteries, I’m going to get the answer to the biggest one of all. Don’t be sad, and don’t be frightened for me. You have been one of the greatest pleasures of my life, Jimmy McSwain. You kept me breathing longer than I could ever have imagined.”

  Jimmy wanted to stay. For as long as necessary.

  “Go, Jimmy. It’s okay.”

  “Ralphie, I will see you again. Soon.”

  He nodded. “Talk to your mother. You will learn a truth only she can tell. It was never mine to reveal, and I hope you’ll understand that, and perhaps, one day, forgive us both. Loyalty is an often-forgotten trait in people these days. I just want you to know, my loyalty was to my heart, to my friends, and to my family. And you, Maggie, the NYPD, heck, even the many young men and women who served me all those beers over the years. You have all enriched me. When I die, I’ll die happy, content. Guilt-free.”

  Jimmy sought words and finally said, “I have no words right now. Nothing means anything to me right now.”

  “That’s because you feel so much. Perhaps too much. Solve this case once and for all, Jimmy, you’re so close. And then, as a promise to me, find peace. Find love and hold onto it.” He paused, and allowed himself a wicked smile that Jimmy knew he would remember forever. “Even if it’s with a cop.”

  The men smiled at each other. They held hands. They let time stop for a moment.

  Finally, Ralphie pulled away, his body shivering. It had started to snow.

  Chapter Eleven

  The world seemed blacker than normal tonight, dotted only with white falling flakes. Monet as a negative. Th
is wasn’t a painting, though, but impressionism of a different kind. This was life in motion, complete with complex brush strokes.

  Jimmy’s day progressed as fast as the subway did, pushing forward from station to station, his destination known but what he might find upon arrival unknown.

  He had departed Brooklyn, his talk with Ralphie ever-present and swirling inside his mind. The old man had revealed so much of the past, about his dying future. Jimmy knew his next step should be to talk to his mother, but given how reluctant she had been the other night to tell Jimmy the final truth, he decided to wait for the right moment. Besides, she was at work. And he was still in the outer boroughs and thinking about other cases. Rather than return to Manhattan, he went from Brooklyn to Queens, the near-forgotten G train taking its sweet time to get him from one to the other. It gave him time to compartmentalize his thoughts.

  He would regroup with Ralphie soon enough. Try and convince him to not just give up.

  For now, he switched gears as the train rattled along, taking him closer to Rego Park, where he wanted to check in with Dahlia Luke. He could tell her his suspicions about the pawn broker, Decca, find out if she had ever heard the name. Perhaps she had learned something more about her husband’s nocturnal activities, specifically the night he’d been shot. Officer Denson Luke deserved to be a father, filling his children’s lives, not a hole in the ground. Such thoughts motivated him, his concentration as easily transferred as the one to the R train at busy Queen’s Plaza. It would be another dozen or so stops before his destination. He settled in, one among a mass of commuters returning home from their jobs in the city. The time was five-thirty, rush hour.

  What to do after his chat with Dahlia, though. The Ramirez case had been a series of starts and stops and frustrations. Jimmy, unsure of how to proceed next, hoped to use the time back to the city to figure out the approach he and Ranuel should take with Mr. Wu-Tin. Was his uncertainty the reason he was concentrating on the Luke case, and what it might mean in connection to Mickey, to Decca, and to the Blue Death symbol? He knew he had so many clues, it was just a matter of tying them together and wrapping up a solution with a nice bow. Perhaps, at last, he would have the ultimate solution. An end to the Forever Haunt.

  “63rd Street, Rego Park,” he heard the subway conductor announce.

  The doors opened and Jimmy jumped off the train as quickly as he’d dismissed his reverie. He made his way up the stairs and into the cold, dark night of late February. He cleared his mind of everything but the task ahead of him as he walked toward the Luke home. Snowflakes fell on his head, melted off his leather jacket. People were out and about; it was dinner time and many of the restaurants were doing brisk business. To Jimmy, who spent the bulk of his life in his own neighborhood, it was interesting to see that nothing much altered the human condition. You lived where you lived, dined, shopped, slept, felt joy and heartbreak. Only the street names changed. Not the desire to be happy.

  Wasn’t that what he was trying to do here? Ensure happiness for everyone?

  For Dahlia and her children.

  For Carmen, Ranuel and Sonny.

  For himself?

  He retracted his steps from last week, easily finding the Luke home. By now the snow had dropped a decent coating on the sidewalk. Passing pedestrians had matted the snow, homeowners had shoveled already. Which is why the fact there had been no activity at the Luke house stood out. Not a footprint to be found on the front steps, as though only floating ghosts lived here. Jimmy stood before the small-framed structure, examining it for additional clues. No lights were on inside or out. No sign of activity. The snow had begun to fall only two hours ago. It was possible Dahlia had gone out and simply hadn’t returned home yet. Except his intuition spoke to something else. Simple didn’t apply here.

  He walked up the steps of the porch. Approached the door. He peered in, cupping his hand against the glass of the front door. He heard nothing, saw nothing. Just furniture, rooms devoid of activity. He had the sense the house had been this way for more than just the duration of the falling snow. Truth, if he had to admit it, Dahlia Luke was gone.

  Jimmy spun around, standing under the protective covering of the porch. Thinking.

  Thinking why anyone involved with this case was either killed, or they disappeared.

  He thought of his earlier suspicion: someone was cleaning up matters. Erasing past crimes.

  “Something I can help you with?”

  Jimmy heard the voice behind him, and he spun toward the sound. At the attached house next door stood a man, as dark as Dahlia, with similar features. Tall, six foot three at least, with a bulky frame. An intimidating force, for sure. Jimmy remembered Dahlia had said her brother lived next door. This had to be him. Jimmy took a step forward.

  “I was looking for Dahlia. Mrs. Luke.”

  “Can I ask why she’s any of your business?”

  “You must be her brother,” Jimmy said.

  “I’ll ask the questions. What do you want with her?”

  “I spoke with her last week. About her husband. I had questions. I hoped to give her some answers. Some peace.”

  “So, you’re that detective?”

  “Jimmy McSwain. I mean only good for her. Her husband’s death, it’s part of a larger case I’m involved in.”

  “Don’t care about your ‘larger’ case. Neither does Dahlia. It’s over.”

  Jimmy’s eyes blinked to the point he noticed it. “What’s over?”

  “She’s moved on. Time to restart her life, her kids needed it.”

  “So, she’s…gone?”

  “Mr. McSwain, I suggest you just forget whatever connection you thought you found. None of this is important. You can’t change what happened to my brother-in-law. My sister, she needs to find happiness again. She needs to concentrate on raising her kids. She couldn’t do it here. Too many memories.”

  “I can understand that,” Jimmy said. “But, it’s just so sudden. She said nothing about it to me last week.”

  “That’s because none of this is your business. Like I said.”

  Jimmy had to think fast. This guy, whatever his name, wasn’t giving up any info other than the fact that Dahlia Luke had skipped town. Was it her brother’s idea, or that of someone who had other interests in mind? Was Dahlia yet another victim of this conspiracy? Was she just Seetha Assan all over again, shipped off to keep her quiet?

  “Just tell me one thing: is she safe?”

  “I took care of it myself. She’s fine. Her children are fine.”

  “Did you ever hear of a man named Bobby Decca?”

  The man’s face scrunched into suspicion. “I don’t like your questions.”

  “Which means you have heard of him.”

  “Goodbye, Mr. McSwain.” The man turned, headed back toward his front door.

  “Wait. I didn’t catch you name.”

  “That’s because I didn’t throw it.”

  At least the man had a sense of humor. Which meant he was human. Perhaps Jimmy could exploit that. “If you really cared about your sister, you’d listen to me. She could still be in danger. Whoever killed Denson is still out there, and he’s trying to clean up his mess. Dahlia knows what Denson was up to—the fact he was on the take, stealing evidence, reselling it…or in one case, keeping it for himself. That diamond bracelet Dahlia has. It could very well be her death sentence.”

  That stopped him. He turned. His eyes zeroed in on Jimmy. Jimmy wondered if he’d gone too far. Pushed too much. He’d done that before. Too often, which led to trouble. The man came to the edge of the railing that separated the two porches.

  “Don’t worry about Dahlia, or that damned bracelet. It’s gone.”

  “Gone where?”

  “I sold it for her. She wanted no part of it once she knew the truth of where it came from.”

  Jimmy saw where this was going. “You sold it to Bobby Decca. When?”

  “Last Saturday.”

  Jimmy nodded. “And he was
killed Sunday night.”

  “Goodbye, Mr. McSwain. My family has had enough of the police, of questions. You ever lose someone important to you? It changes you. You want to move forward but somehow, life has other plans for you. Dahlia had barely slept since she got word of Denson’s killing. Her house just wasn’t inhabitable for her anymore. It’s an awful thing, losing someone you love.”

  Jimmy said nothing. The words stung. He stepped away, back down the stoop.

  He turned while the snow fell on him, saw the man still standing there.

  “I’m sorry for your loss. I wish Dahlia the best. I hope she stays safe. And even without her help, I’ll find out what really happened. To her husband, to Decca, and to a man I called Dad.” Jimmy wished he could avoid saying what came out next. “So yeah, I know from loss. My father’s death is what started me down this whole messy path. Too many bodies, too many crimes. It ends, and it ends soon.”

  That’s when the man stepped down, approaching Jimmy on the sidewalk. He extended his hand while the snow fell on bare hands.

  “I’m Tiki. Tiki Relling. I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “And I thank you for your honesty, Tiki. Truth has to win.”

  “Dahlia told me you meant well. Sorry if I was suspicious.”

  “Nothing I wouldn’t have done. Please give her my best.”

  Jimmy turned down the street, a mixture of emotions running through him. Too much was happening, once again, and he needed to streamline his thoughts; hell, his cases. As he walked back along snow-coated sidewalks toward the busy Queens Boulevard thoroughfare, he felt his cell phone buzz in his pocket. He took it out and looked at the text message: CAN YOU MEET ME AT PADDY’S NOW? It was from Mallory. He texted back. IN QUEENS. GIVE ME THIRTY MINUTES OR SO. And then he scampered down into the subway stairs, wondering what the latest was with his sister. Last he’d seen her, she’d gotten plastered because her boyfriend dumped her in favor of a cushy job post in London. But this time, at least she was the one asking him to their uncle’s pub, not their uncle calling in reinforcements. Something had changed with her. Even though one could not read emotion in a text, he felt it was good news.