Mourn the Living

by Henry Perez

  “It’s a stick figure. You know, like in the kids’ game Hangman.”

  He rotated the napkin and slid it toward Chapa.

  “Aw, somebody lost the game.” Carmen was back with their food. “Let me guess, the word was ‘big tippers,’” she said, smiling as she carefully placed the food in front of them, waited, apparently for some sort of response, then seemed to get the message and left.

  “He leaves this somewhere in the vicinity of the body.”

  “Not on the body itself?” Chapa asked and took a bite of his Philly cheesesteak with provolone and extra onions.

  “No. It’s drawn on a sidewalk or carved into a wooden bench twenty feet away.”

  “Could be coincidence.”

  “It’s not.”

  “So what makes you think he’s here, in this area?”

  “There have been a couple of murders in the past year—”

  From under the table, Chapa’s phone started playing “Daydream Believer.”

  “I’m sorry, let me turn this off,” he said, reaching for the phone in his left pants pocket, then randomly pushing buttons until the music stopped. “But why this area? Why the western suburbs instead of Chicago?”

  “I believe he came here for a reason. This isn’t some common criminal, not the sort of guy anyone could easily pick out. I believe he’s been a successful businessman of one sort or another, perhaps even a community leader, everywhere he’s lived.”

  “So you’re saying this killer is nomadic.”

  “Exactly.”

  “That could make him very difficult to track.”

  Clarkson nodded. “Could be he has a history here,” he said.

  Chapa’s phone emitted a short and happy chime, indicating that he had received a message. It seemed to throw Clarkson off-stride for a moment, but then he continued.

  “Or maybe he thought it might be easier to establish himself in an area like this. You live here, Chapa, how much do you know about Oakton’s business and political leaders?”

  “You tell me what you know.”

  “This town has seen a lot of turnover since the new mayor moved in and got rid of the old establishment.”

  Chapa followed enough of it to know that Jessica Breen, a successful attorney, had been elected mayor in a landslide six years ago, then re-elected by an even wider margin. She was sharp, hardworking, and popular, and many folks believed the city was heading in the right direction.

  “Think about this, Alex, Oakton’s Chamber of Commerce board has twenty members, twelve of whom weren’t around here five years ago. The Business Council, that meeting you were at, twelve members, eight are relatively new. And it goes on and on.”

  “So that’s where Jim came into it.”

  “He knew who the players were, old and new. But there was more to it than that. He was supposed to meet me the night he died, but he never made it. There was something that he wanted to show me.”

  “Maybe it had something to do with the new network that seems to be in charge now.”

  “Could be, sure. I think I might have a contact, someone in the middle of it all, who’s willing to cooperate. I’m hoping to meet with them in the next couple of days.”

  Chapa took one last bite of his half-eaten sandwich. His appetite was gone. He thought about the piece of paper Warren gave him, wondered if it was meant for Clarkson, but decided to keep that to himself for the time being.

  “So you’ve been chasing this guy halfway across the country?”

  Clarkson looked off toward the large, bright windows that lined the front of the restaurant. “Yes, and I was close to getting him, once.”

  Carmen came over and refilled their cups.

  “Tell me, Alex, what do you know about Dr. Walter Bendix?”

  “Why, is he a suspect?”

  “Oh no, fifteen, twenty years too old, I think. It just seems like all roads lead either to or through him.”

  Chapa was about to ask whether Dr. Bendix was Clarkson’s contact, when he felt the buzz against his leg before he heard the chiming.

  “I’m sorry, that’s a text message, probably from my daughter.”

  Clarkson nodded and downed a long sip of coffee. Chapa flipped the phone open and checked the number. It wasn’t Nikki’s. The message came from Joseph Andrews, and though it was very brief, Chapa read it three times before he could finally manage to look away.

  Martin Clarkson isn’t who or what he says he is. Be careful.

  Chapter 33

  Joseph Andrews didn’t answer his phone, but the message he’d left for Chapa contained a fair amount of information. Andrews explained that Martin Clarkson was a former FBI agent, though it wasn’t clear whether he’d quit or had been thrown out of the Bureau. There was some concern about his mental stability after he began obsessing over a case that did not officially exist.

  “He has no authority or jurisdiction, and he probably shouldn’t be carrying a gun,” Andrews had said in a voice that sounded a little less steady than usual.

  Chapa tried calling Andrews twice more from his office, then gave up and went to work on the two stories—the one he’d set out to write that morning about a business council meeting and the one Warren Chakowski’s desperate and foolish actions forced him to write.

  He was almost done with the first story when Zach knocked on the door before letting himself in.

  “It’s a zip code,” Zach said, pointing to the number at the bottom of the yellow note page. “93106 is a zip code for Santa Barbara, California.”

  “What makes you think it’s a zip code?”

  “At first I thought it was a password of some sort, you know, for his computer.”

  “Maybe it is.”

  “Have you come across any files that require a password?”

  “No, not yet.”

  “Well, keep it in mind, in case you do, but I tried looking it up online, I tried everything I could think of, and got that hit for Santa Barbara.”

  “What about the ND in front of the number?”

  “Maybe the initials of someone who lives there, or a business? Don’t know.”

  His mind still wound around the story he’d been working on, Chapa decided not to try and make any sense of this right now.

  “Thank you, Zach. Now I need you to build a list of local movers and shakers—male, under fifty—and see if any of them have a connection to Santa Barbara, or even California. Maybe they went to college there, who knows, could be anything or nothing.”

  The young man’s shoulders sank just a little.

  “You can do this, and it may turn out to be something big.” Chapa didn’t actually believe that last part, but it never hurts to make someone who’s helping you feel good about what they’re doing.

  Zach nodded, almost smiled, then turned and started to leave Chapa’s office.

  “You know, Zach, a good journalist goes where the story takes him—wherever it takes him.”

  The young man stopped in the doorway.

  “What if the leads and the story go in opposite directions, or no direction at all?”

  “Sometimes you’ve got to make an educated guess. I’ve found that my guesses got better over time.”

  “And hunches?”

  “Those get better too,” Chapa said, and got back to work.

  It was just after six when Chapa filed his second story, which meant he was already late for dinner. He thought about calling Erin to tell her, but knew that after months of missed meals, cold food, and canceled dates, she’d come to expect this.

  Still, that didn’t make things right in Chapa’s mind. He felt bad about it, and not just this time because Nikki was waiting too, but every time. He phoned Erin on his way across the parking lot and began to give her an explanation which she, as always, assured him wasn’t necessary.

  Chapter 34

  Chapa heard the oven’s timer go off just as he walked in the door, twenty-five minutes late. The warm smell of Erin’s cooking filled his senses as
Nikki came running at him an instant later, her smiling face flush with excitement. She wrapped her arms around him and squeezed.

  Erin stuck her head out into the hallway. She’d hastily drawn her chestnut hair back into something resembling a bun, though a few renegade strands dangled freely by her left ear.

  She mouthed the word lasagna, then smiled, so casually, as though she had no idea how much that smile meant to him.

  Perfect.

  It wasn’t the sort of thought Chapa typically allowed himself. But this was so close to what he’d long ago imagined his life would be. The complete package.

  He could hear the sound of Mike racing a loud and fast car on a computer-generated track, coming from a room in the back of the house. Erin flashed an open palm to let him know dinner would be ready in five minutes, then called to Mike, telling him to finish his race and turn the game off.

  Ten minutes later they were sitting down to dinner, with Chapa at the head of the table, Erin’s gentle eyes looking at him from the other end. The kids sat along the sides, and jockeyed back and forth in a contest to tell him everything that had gone on that day.

  Mike’s dad had left shortly after his birth, and remained out of the child’s life. So in the months he’d been with Erin, Chapa had inadvertently become something of a stand-in. It was a role he did not take lightly.

  Erin had made it clear to Chapa that she wouldn’t have wanted her son’s father to stick around, anyhow.

  “I want someone to stay in my life because that’s where they want to be. I don’t want them to feel they’re doing it for me or Mike.”

  She was giving without being needy. Chapa was reminded of this as he watched her talk to Nikki in a way that erased boundaries and barriers. He marveled at the genuine sense of friendship that seemed to be emerging between the two of them.

  Chapa allowed himself a moment to dwell on the image of what a life with Erin and Mike could be. A life that Nikki might better fit into. Here was the family he’d always wanted. The one he had lacked growing up without a father. Home for dinner. Spending time with the ones he loved. In bed at a decent hour.

  But as quickly and easily as those thoughts had drifted into Chapa’s mind, they were chased out by harsh truths. After this week was over, he would have no idea how long it would be before he could again spend some quality time with Nikki. He had an ex-wife who sometimes behaved as though her sole reason for being was to make his life difficult. And he was barely clinging to his job in an industry that was grasping to hold on to its dwindling vitality.

  Even if he could work out some of those issues, there was still the one that followed him around and routinely found its way into Chapa’s relationship with Erin, even when it had no business there. Chapa’s life had been marked by a series of professional successes, and one great personal failure. And Chapa knew that until he could find a way to move beyond the wreckage of his marriage, he would not be able to fully invest in a future with Erin. That had not happened yet, and he hoped it would before her patience ran out.

  Once dinner was finished, they shooed the children off to the playroom and began cleaning up. After Chapa had carried the last of the dirty dishes to the sink, he cornered Erin.

  “We need to stop meeting like this in your kitchen.”

  “You’re right, c’mon,” Erin said and clutched Chapa by the wrist.

  She led him out into the hall, pressing a finger to his lips when he started to ask what they were doing. Peering down in the direction of the family room, then toward the front door, Erin turned back to Chapa and smiled.

  “Coast is clear, let’s go.”

  “Where?”

  Erin tiptoed down the hall and into her bedroom with Chapa in tow, still holding his wrist. She led him inside the dimly lit room, and slapped at his hand when he reached for the light switch.

  “Did you miss me today?” she asked, erasing the space between their bodies.

  “You have no idea,” Chapa said, and held her close.

  “Umm, yes I do.”

  She smiled, and in the glow of a night-light, Chapa saw a look of surrender and unguarded passion in her eyes that made him want to never leave her side. He kissed Erin’s smooth neck, and felt her body respond, pressing even closer to his than before.

  They kissed in a way that was at once both passionate and full of affection, holding back nothing. When Chapa finally pulled away from her soft mouth, he was instantly captured by Erin’s tender eyes. They told him everything and offered so much more.

  He could hear the children laughing in the other room. Chapa was desperate to throw this beautiful woman on her bed and spend the rest of the night and much of the next day making love to her in every way she wanted, and maybe even inventing a few new ones. And though that couldn’t happen tonight, the combination of elements seemed right, perfect.

  Passion and love and security and the sense of family were one at that moment. For the first time since he could remember, Chapa felt at peace.

  As he searched Erin’s face, he understood that she was waiting for something. Something he had struggled to say, though he’d felt it since their third or fourth date. Knew it long before they’d slept together.

  He’d imagined this moment, though not that it would happen tonight. But when the moment came and Chapa finally spoke the words he knew Erin had been waiting to hear, they didn’t come out like Rhett Butler wooing Scarlett O’Hara, or something out of a scene between Bogie and Bacall, or any other classic romantic couple, and it wasn’t anything like what Chapa had intended.

  When that small parcel of time arrived, the kind of memory that couples recount for their grown children, grandchildren, and eventually anyone who will listen, Chapa looked deep into Erin’s eyes and unwittingly channeled David Cassidy.

  “I think I love you.”

  She withdrew a little, smiled, and Chapa knew he’d blown it.

  “You mean you’re not sure? The jury is still out?”

  “No, of course not.” He tightened his arms around her and tried to ignore the voices rushing down the hall. “That did not come out the way—”

  There was the sound of a small hand knocking at the bedroom door.

  “Daddy, you have a call. Your phone has been playing that music, twice.”

  “I took it out of your coat pocket the second time,” Mike jumped in. “But Nikki made me put it down on the table.”

  “Because it’s none of your business,” Nikki responded, as Erin opened the door, looked at her son, and nodded in agreement. “I looked to see who it was, Daddy, and it said Chicago Record. Maybe it has something to do with that house that blew up.”

  “What house blew up?” Mike seemed concerned. “Do houses blow up just like that?”

  “No, Mike, no they don’t,” Chapa said, squatting down to the boy’s eye level. “Houses are very safe.”

  Nikki was tugging at his shirt.

  “C’mon, I bet it’s something important.”

  Not as important as some other things, Chapa thought.

  Instead of what might’ve been and almost was, Chapa would have to settle for Erin’s soft touch on his shoulder and her slight giggle as the children led him out of the room, his eyes on her the whole time. She looked back at him and grinned. It was a broad, sweet smile, and Chapa knew she meant all of it. But the moment was gone.

  Chapter 35

  “Why did Mommy dump you?” Nikki asked as they sat on the couch and watched their fourth straight episode of SpongeBob SquarePants, one of the few children’s shows that Chapa not only tolerated, but actually liked.

  “That’s not quite how it happened, sweetie. It was more of a mutual thing. We sort of dumped each other.”

  The call from the Record had turned out to be of little purpose or significance. Just Maya, probably on Sullivan’s direction, again reminding him of what he was supposed to do tomorrow.

  Nikki had just about fallen asleep when Chapa pulled into his driveway. He’d thought about driving around
the block a few times and giving her a chance to nod off entirely, but the truth was that he wanted to have a few minutes with Nikki before her day ended.

  She was sitting with her legs crossed in front of her. A large cardboard bucket of microwave popcorn by her side.

  “Why did you guys get married in the first place, then?”

  SpongeBob and his squirrel friend were karate chopping one another all over town, and Chapa would’ve preferred to focus on that bit of silliness. But he had known these questions were coming, and even looked forward to answering them. Though he now wished he’d been better prepared.

  Chapa opted for the high road, while at the same time wondering if Carla had any idea of what the high road was.

  “I loved your mother very much, and we were happy for a time. We were happiest when you were born. But we reached a point in our lives where we were changing, still working to try and figure out who we were. Once we did, your mother and I discovered that we weren’t right for each other.”

  “That’s kind of sad in a way.”

  Chapa nodded, his eyes fixed on the TV screen though he was no longer paying any attention to the cartoon.

  “In a way, I suppose.”

  “Why does she hate you so much?”

  She asked it as casually as a child might ask for a mid-afternoon snack or to play outside on a lazy summer day. Chapa muted the TV, and turned to face her.

  “I think there’s a part of your mom that wishes I would’ve been able to make her happy. But I wasn’t.”

  Nikki offered a grin that was lined with pain, and Chapa slid over and draped an arm around her narrow shoulders.

  “You two are never going to be together again, are you?”

  “No. But we’ll always be with you. Even when we’re apart.”

  “And what about Erin? I like her a lot.”

  Chapa took the popcorn bucket off her lap, set it down on a coffee table alongside unread magazines and empty CD cases, and helped Nikki to her feet.