by Chaz McGee
“I need your help,” Calvano said.
“Now who’s acting weird?” She tossed her empty can into the trash.
“I mean it.” He sounded downright human. What had happened to the Adrian Calvano I loathed so well?
“What is it?” Maggie asked.
“I’ve been shut out,” he told her. “They’re not letting me get near the investigation. That license plate bullshit was just bullshit. It got us nowhere. Now they’re going through all the poor bastards on that KinderWatch list of pervs, pulling in anyone remotely local on the list, especially if they resemble that dude Martin claims he saw in the park. Even I know it’s not getting us anywhere.”
“I doubt there’s much else they can do,” Maggie said sympathetically. “I wish I could help, but I’m the only one around here who gives a crap about Fiona Harker’s death. Well, me and Gonzales.”
“Gonzales hates me,” Calvano declared suddenly, his voice sounding younger. God help me, I felt a flash of sympathy toward the cocky bastard. I realized that maybe he wasn’t kissing ass to get ahead; maybe he’d been trying to simply get attention from Gonzales. I wondered what Calvano’s father had been like. I knew what it was like to have a father who was too busy to give a crap about you.
“Gonzales doesn’t hate you,” Maggie said, sorting the evidence from Fiona Harker’s locker in preparation for sending it to the lab for processing. “He’s just covering his ass. You know how he is. If we get nowhere—and chances are good at this point that we are never going to find Tyler Matthews—then he wants to make sure the feds take the rap for it, not him or the department.”
“I could help,” Calvano said stubbornly. “I’m not an idiot.”
Maggie looked startled. “I never said you were.”
“I look like an idiot, of course,” he conceded. “I did go off the deep end a little about Martin, but, you know, I just wanted to find Tyler Matthews, and that Martin guy seems way too involved with a bunch of little kids he doesn’t even know. There has to be something I can do. I know this town. I’m a local. I can do things the feds can’t do.”
Maggie recognized something in his voice and sympathized. She’d been shut out a lot when she first joined the force, by people like me. Or, rather, like I’d been. “How can I help?” she asked.
“What would you do?” he said. “Just tell me what you’d do. You’re the best detective we have on the force.”
Maggie looked at him, flabbergasted. “What?”
“Oh, come on,” he said, annoyed. “You know you are. That’s why you’re Gonzales’s favorite.”
“I thought it was because we were sleeping together,” she said sarcastically.
Calvano waved a hand. “That’s bullshit. And I tell people so when they say that, which isn’t very often around me. They learn. You’re his pet because you’re better than the rest of us slobs. Yeah, you don’t have a life. But you’re smarter. And you got a knack. So, tell me: what would you do?”
Maggie sat back, considering it. “You said they’re looking at a list of suspects from the sex offenders’ registry and from the KinderWatch list?” she asked.
Calvano nodded. “There’s a lot of overlap.”
“Are they cross-checking to see who on those lists inserted themselves into the investigation?”
Calvano nodded again. “That’s the first thing the feds told us to do.”
“No one came up?” Maggie asked.
“Not yet,” Calvano said.
“But are they checking the volunteers?” she asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you’re checking the list of people KinderWatch is tracking, right? But is anyone looking into the volunteers for KinderWatch, beyond Robert Michael Martin?”
Calvano sat up straighter. “I don’t think so.”
“How better to insert yourself into any investigation that might take place?” she explained. “You were right to suspect Martin, it’s just you focused on him and him alone too quickly. If I were one of those creeps, I’d want to know how close I was to being caught. What better way than to be a part of the group that’s trying to catch you? I mean, think about it. That colonel guy says he does a routine background check. But I bet you anything he doesn’t take the basic first step and verify that his volunteers are who they say they are. All you would need is someone’s name, someone you know who has a clean record, and maybe a driver’s license number, and you’re probably taken at your word when you volunteer.”
“Yeah,” Calvano said eagerly. I felt it again: that need to please, just like poor Robert Michael Martin. He leaned forward. “How do I follow up on that, though, without getting shut out again?”
“Christ, Adrian. Do I have to tell you everything?” She was joking, though. I could tell she was thrilled that Calvano had come to her and treated her like one of the guys.
“Just tell me what you would do,” he said. “You know I get . . .” He hesitated.
“Get what?” she asked.
“Too wrapped up in it to think like you. Too pissed off at the guy I think did it.” Translation: even Adrian Calvano knew his ego got in the way.
“I’d go back to Martin,” Maggie said. “Ask him about the other KinderWatch volunteers. He’d know who was a little off better than the colonel would. They’d act differently around the colonel, he’s the boss. If you want to know what they are really like, ask one of their peers. Ask Martin.”
“That dude is not going to talk to me,” Calvano said. “He hates me.”
Well, yeah, I thought. Who doesn’t hate you? But then I felt mean—a least Calvano was trying. I hadn’t tried for years by the time I died.
“Of course he hates you,” Maggie said. “You zeroed in on him and no one else. The guy wants to be a hero. The guy probably wants to be a cop. You treated him like shit. I wouldn’t want to help you either.”
“Come with me to talk to him,” Calvano asked. He was practically begging. I was starting to enjoy the show.
“I’m working on a case here,” Maggie reminded him.
“You said yourself that you had nothing. Just come with me. It’ll take half an hour.”
She rolled her eyes, but the chance to be included was too tempting for her. “Only if his lawyer is there, Adrian. They’ll crucify us if he’s not.”
“Whatever. Just come with me and, you know, set a friendly tone. Bat your eyelashes at him or something.”
Okay, so Calvano wasn’t going to be totally redeemed in a day. Neither was I, apparently, so that was something else we had in common.
“Let me get this stuff to the lab first.” Maggie accepted Calvano’s help in placing the items from Fiona Harker’s locker into plastic evidence bags. I was amused at the timid way Calvano assisted her, like a little boy trying to please his mother. But I was touched, too. A man humbled is a man who can learn from his mistakes. I knew that from personal experience.
“Call Martin’s lawyer now,” she reminded him. “Let’s talk to him at home, far from this mess. Make sure you explain why we’re heading over, that we just want his help and that he is in no way a suspect. That’s the only way Martin is going to override his lawyer’s advice not to talk. If he thinks we can’t move forward without him, he’ll help.”
“We can’t move forward without him,” Calvano admitted.
“Just let him know that.”
Calvano nodded agreeably. Had Maggie finally found a partner who wasn’t a total disaster? Gonzales had been smart to put them together.
Maggie packed the items back into the grocery bag, this time every object neatly bagged and labeled, then headed out into the hallway. Of course, I followed. If you had the choice between listening to Calvano bumble through a phone call or watching Maggie walk through the halls, you’d have followed her, too.
She had her head down, thinking of the interview with Martin to come, and when she rounded the corner in the deserted hallway, she nearly crashed into Christian Fletcher. She jumped back, start
led, and stared at him. His doctor’s coat and hands were covered in blood.
How the hell had he gotten past the desk sergeant and the media looking like that?
“I lost three of them,” Fletcher said, sounding shell-shocked. I noticed a waterproof jacket folded over one arm. He had come straight from the hospital, throwing it on over his bloody clothes, desperate to get to Maggie. That’s how his bloody clothes had escaped attention from others.
“What?” Maggie asked, her hand inching toward her gun.
“I lost three of the crash victims,” he said hollowly. Gone was the confident saver of lives. Christian Fletcher looked, and felt, like a crash victim himself. “I saw you over by the elevator when they first came in. Two families. Three kids. One of the fathers is dead now, a mother, too, and one of the kids. God took one of each.”
“I’m not sure how much God had to do with it,” Maggie said slowly.
Fletcher looked down at himself, as if noticing the blood for the first time. He quickly unfolded his jacket and put it back on. “I’m so sorry. I came right from the hospital.” He looked up at Maggie with such naked need that even my envious heart ached for him. “I had nowhere else to go. I didn’t have anyone else to talk to.”
I could feel the confusion in Maggie. She was horrified: by the blood, by the deaths he had reported, by the raw need he was projecting on her. But she was filled with compassion, too, and she understood his need.
“Tell me what happened,” she suggested gently.
“One of the drivers swerved to avoid a cat that ran into the road,” he said. “He lost control and crossed the center line and hit another car head-on. He died and the mother in the other car died and one of the children, too. She was only three years old.”
“I’m so sorry,” Maggie said. “I’m so, so sorry. I know you did everything you could. I saw you.”
“They made me leave,” he said abruptly, slumping against the wall.
“What do you mean?”
“I’d been on for almost forty-eight hours straight, so they made me leave. Admin double checks all deaths. They acted like it was my fault those people died. That maybe I missed something when I treated them.”
“No,” Maggie said firmly. “I watched you working. You were amazing. I saw the other staff members there. They were looking to you. If you hadn’t been there, no one would have been saved. I’ve never seen anything like it.” A flame of jealousy licked at my heart. “They’ll tell whoever signs off on the deaths that you weren’t to blame. Surely you lose people in the emergency room all the time?”
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “We do. Just usually not so many at one time and I’m so tired and I can’t get Fiona off my mind.”
Maggie looked around, whether for backup or to see if they were being overheard I could not tell. I knew she did not want to bring Fletcher back into the squad room. When he saw Calvano, he’d shut right down. Calvano had that effect on other men.
“What do you mean about Fiona?” Maggie asked him quietly. He was sitting on the floor by then, his legs stretched out in front of him. She knelt by his side, her hand still resting on her gun, just in case, and spoke very gently to him. “What do you mean, you can’t stop thinking about Fiona?” she asked him.
“I had coffee with her a week ago,” he said in a distant voice. “The ER was slow and she asked if I wanted to take a break and I was hungry so we went upstairs. She was asking me all these questions about marriage and love and what it had been like to lose it all.” He looked up at Maggie. “I guess word had gotten out about me and my wife, and she wanted to know if I was okay, if she could help in any way.” He saw the look on Maggie’s face. “She wasn’t coming on to me,” he said in a rush. “She made that very clear. She just wanted to be my friend.” He ran a hand through his hair and seemed close to tears. “She got me talking, she was the first one I felt comfortable talking to about it, and I told her all about my marriage ending, how Serena had just announced it was over and I’d had no say.” He was quiet. “I’m not sure I ever had a say in anything. It hurt. I told Fiona that. I told her how much it hurt and she looked so sad for me. She was a good person.” He looked up at Maggie, eyes bright with tears. “She was a good person and she didn’t deserve to die that way and I can’t stop thinking about it.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about this earlier?” Maggie asked, fighting hard to keep her voice neutral.
He looked miserable. “I didn’t want to talk about my wife or my marriage to you. I wasn’t trying to hide anything. I just didn’t want to have to talk about it to you.” There was that naked need in his face again. I wondered if all of his strength went into fighting for his patients, leaving nothing left over to protect himself. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I just didn’t know who else to talk to about it or where to go. That little girl was only three and now she’s dead. She can’t have weighed more than thirty pounds. I could lift her as easily as a doll.”
“What’s going on?” Calvano’s belligerent voice killed the mood instantly. But I was relieved he was there. Fletcher seemed so close to the edge.
Calvano towered over them both, looking pretty damn competent in his tailored suit and Italian shoes. I had to admit it—Gonzales was right. Calvano had his uses.
“It’s okay,” Maggie said. “I’ve got it. He’s a background witness in the Harker case. He worked with her at the hospital.”
Calvano was not mollified. “Is that blood on his hands?” he asked, staring down at Fletcher. The doctor had ducked his head, hiding his face from Calvano, and placed his hands over the top of his head, as if to protect himself.
“He’s a doctor in the emergency room,” Maggie explained, getting annoyed at Calvano, which was not a good sign. Fletcher had showed up like a crazy person, covered with blood, and she liked the guy even more for it?
“They don’t have sinks in the emergency room?” Calvano asked, his voice still challenging.
“Give it a rest, Adrian,” Maggie ordered him. “I’ll be with you in a moment.”
“Actually, I think I’ll wait with you,” Calvano decided. He sank down against the wall and slid to a seating position beside the doctor. “How’s it going, dude?” he asked.
Fletcher looked over at Calvano and then abruptly stood. “I’ve got to go get some sleep,” he told Maggie.
“Don’t forget to shower,” Calvano called from the floor.
“I’m sorry I bothered you,” Fletcher told Maggie. “I shouldn’t have come.”
“I’m glad you came,” Maggie said. “I need to know more about your coffee with Fiona Harker. What she might have said about her life.”
“I’m off for the next twenty-four hours,” he said miserably. He was a man lost without his work. “Let me catch up on my sleep and I’ll call you in the morning.”
I just bet he would.
He stuck his bloodstained hands in his pockets and walked down the hallway, shoulders hunched, looking miserable.
“You’re an asshole,” Maggie told Calvano as she hoisted him to his feet.
“Yeah, but I’m your asshole,” he pointed out cheerfully. He gallantly took the grocery bag from her. “Carry your books to school?”
She rolled her eyes.
“Watch out for that guy,” Calvano warned her. “He’s got the hots for you.”
“That poor man doesn’t have the hots for anyone,” Maggie said. “He’s clinically depressed.”
“He may be depressed,” Calvano conceded. “But he still has the hots for you. Now, what do you say we both get some sleep and meet in the morning? Martin says he’ll see us then.”
That Calvano was starting to grow on me.
Chapter 20
Robert Michael Martin was waiting for Calvano and Maggie on his front porch early the next morning, looking anxious and eager to please. His hair was still damp from the shower and he wore a clean shirt with his baggy jeans. His slick lawyer was nowhere in sight, but Noni Bates sat on the porch swing near him, an eni
gmatic smile on her face. I caught a whiff of fatigue from her and realized that she might be older than I thought. For the first time, I acknowledged that perhaps the simplicity of her life had not only made her serene nature possible, it might have been all she could manage with what little energy she had. Trying to keep Robert Michael Martin out of trouble was taking its toll on my elderly Aphrodite.
“Where’s your lawyer?” Maggie asked before she’d even reached the top step.
“He couldn’t be here,” Martin explained. “He’s out of town for the weekend. He sent Mrs. Bates instead.”
“He needs to be here,” Maggie said firmly. Calvano looked a bit panicked at that, like maybe he was going to pee in his tailored pants.
“It’s okay,” Noni said calmly. “I am perfectly capable of looking out for him. I will insist you keep to your word and ask him only about other volunteers.”
“Deal,” Calvano interrupted, unwilling to risk losing the interview.
Maggie looked annoyed, but walked through the front door when Martin opened it after suggesting they go into the living room. I saw why he was so anxious to install his guests there. He was playing at being the host. The room was cleaner than it had been a few days ago, so either the cops searching it had done Martin a favor, or he was getting used to the idea of actually having people in his house and had decided to clear out the pizza cartons and empty beer bottles. There was even a vase of flowers on the coffee table, a touch I suspected had been suggested by Noni.
“Would anyone like lemonade?” Noni asked. “I’ve made some fresh, and Robert has prepared Italian wedding cookies.”
“Sweet,” Calvano declared as he folded himself into the overstuffed couch. I hoped he didn’t expect to be welcomed with such open arms by all the people he interviewed using Maggie’s nonthreatening technique.
“That would be lovely,” Maggie said. She sat in an armchair across from Martin and put him at ease with small talk about the restaurant where he worked. It had been a neighborhood institution for decades and, in fact, Maggie’s parents had had their first date there. By the time Noni arrived with refreshments, they were all the best of friends, even Calvano, who managed to remain on Martin’s good side by saying absolutely nothing. But Noni moved more slowly than she usually did when she brought in the lemonade and cookies, and I found myself annoyed at Martin for just sitting there—he was a grown man and he should not be letting that lovely old lady wait on him hand and foot. He needed to stand up, dust himself off, quit being such a mamma’s boy, and be a man. He was going to wear her out if he kept it up.
