Michael was sitting at Gerry's desk, but by the time he'd finished with those few words, he had moved and gathered her up in his arms. She was sitting in his lap, cradled like a child. For the life of her, she couldn't remember when she had ever been cared for in this way. They sat like that, her head on his shoulder, his arms wrapped loosely around her for a very long time. He smelled so nice. Like Michael. Like a friend. His fingers combed through her hair now and again and when she sighed, he sighed with her.
''Do you want to stay here tonight? I'll stay with you,'' he finally said.
''I don't know.'' She shook her head against his chest.
There was a huge hole in the middle of her that everything had fallen into, and no matter how hard she reached, she couldn't find the strength to make a decision. She clutched her hands tighter, realizing that she was still holding the paper she'd picked up from Gerry's desk. She opened her fist. Michael took it.
''What's this?''
''A list. I found it on his desk. It's got everyone's name on it.''
Michael looked. ''Tysco. Lionel. Richard. Carl. Money. Money. Money.'' Michael chuckled. ''Gerry had a one track mind.'' He crumpled the paper and held her tighter. She reached half heartedly for it. It was probably important. ''It's nothing tonight. Now come with me.'' He kissed her forehead. She shook her head. ''Yes. Come with me.''
''I don't want to leave him.''
''He isn't here any more, Kathleen.''
''Yes he is,'' she whispered. Tears streamed down her face, falling onto the hands that were once again balled and fisted against Michael's chest. Michael dropped the paper to the floor and set her there after it. She didn't move while he closed the windows and locked the doors. When he came back he had her purse and that same purposeful look he'd had when she'd first encountered him at Tysco. Kathleen didn't think that odd, nor was she upset that there were no tears and no wailing. It was Michael's way and she knew that his heart had broken in just as many pieces as hers.
Wrapping his arm around her shoulders, he walked her out of the little study where Gerry had planned his defense for Louise and, more than likely, thought of Kathleen. It didn't escape her notice that Michael had closed the door to Gerry's bedroom. She nuzzled into him, all the thank you she was capable of giving at the moment.
Looking up as he led her to the front door, Kathleen realized he was right. Gerry was gone. He handed her out the door and turned to lock it behind them. That was when he allowed himself a private moment. That was when his eyes filled with tears. In his heart he raised a glass to his friend Gerry O'Doul, and then took Kathleen Cotter to his boat where he let her know that she was as precious to him as she had ever been to Gerry O'Doul.
Richard Jacobsen sat in a carved chair that he had rescued from the vestibule of a soon-to-be-demolished church in Wales. It was old, made when men were not so large. It suited him well. He sat in the dark, his hands folded in his lap like a bishop. He considered the new twist to the story that had gone from a footnote in the script of life to an intriguing drama in its own right. He tried to pinpoint the moment when insult had been added to injury, when people had stopped doing his bidding and acted independently with such disastrous results. It wasn't hard to figure it out. What he couldn't understand was why he'd been unable to stop the snowball once it had started to roll. That had never happened to him before. But then, love had never blinded him before. He often looked at that picture in his private dressing room at the office and thought of the ways he would tell her how love had blinded him, what love meant to him. It meant little to her, but to him it meant everything. He kept those thoughts to himself.
Sighing, he stood up and let his gaze linger on his sleeping, exhausted companion. It had been a long road, an unusual experience, and rather exciting. But now it was over. The fires had been put out - not the way he would have done it - but put out nonetheless. There were, of course, loose ends to tie up. He wished there was someone else to do it. Since there wasn't, he left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.
In the hall the early morning light was coming through the huge round window that looked over the grand staircase in his impressive home. He barely noticed the shadow patterns he usually found so artistically pleasing. Downstairs, the housekeeper was beginning his breakfast. He wasn't very hungry. He seldom was but he was a creature of certain habits. She was the one who taught him the value of that. At the end of the hall he settled himself in his library - a huge, exquisitely decorated room - and dialed a number from memory.
''Carl,'' he said, ''I have some news. Gerry O'Doul died last night.''
The conversation was exactly as he expected. Carl didn't seem the least bit surprised. He, at least, had been surprised. When their talk was done, Richard Jacobsen looked up the next number. He dialed it. The phone rang. No one answered. A machine clicked on.
''Kathleen, this is Richard Jacobsen. I just wanted you to know that we will expect you to take some time off given what happened last night. I want you to know how sorry -'' Richard's voice cracked. That amazed him. He put two fingers to his eyes and finished up. ''How sorry I am to hear about the passing of Gerry O'Doul.''
His lips on her lips woke her. His body, naked, against her body brought her to consciousness. Kathleen Cotter experienced sensations that were as foreign to her as anything she'd ever known. Long, luxurious minutes ticked slowly by. With each languid trail of his lips, each hungry nip of his teeth, there was an explosion of sensation that ran the length of her body and embedded its memory so deep in her mind it could never be discarded. It filled up her head so there was no space for the sadness and pain she had felt the night before. He made remembering impossible - for a moment.
Kathleen reached for Michael. She held him. She touched him. They rolled together across the small bed and back again, instinctively knowing when the only place left to go was the floor. Each floating with the essence of the other, they were both heavy with desire. The ocean rocked them and the curve of the small cabin kept the sounds of their lovemaking private; as private as the conversation that followed when they lay in one another's arms.
In the end Kathleen's head was cradled on Michael's arm, his free hand was cupped around her bare shoulder. She wished they could stay that way forever, forgetting everything - everything - else in the world. She would not put a name to that everything and she wouldn't let him either. Thankfully he said, ''You slept well.''
''That happens when you're worn out,'' Kathleen kissed his chest. He smelled like sex. Better yet, he smelled like love. ''I guess you're a morning and night guy.''
''Kathleen, I can't tell you -''
''Shhh, not yet,'' she pushed herself up and put her lips over his, pushing hard and harder still until Michael had no choice but to kiss her back. He parted her lips. There was no question he had wanted her for a very long time. But he wouldn't let her run away from what she had to face. It wasn't his style. It never had been. He held her back. Kathleen's eyes were closed, her lips were parted, begging him to make love to her again so that they could just skip over the next days and months until she could open her eyes and look past her loss.
Gently Michael lowered her and kissed her lips and both cheeks. Then he pushed her away and sat up. She had no choice but to do the same in the narrow bed. Tired, she made no effort to cover herself. Michael threw his legs over the side of the bed, gave her arm a squeeze as he retrieved his shirt. Carefully he dressed her in it, putting it on and rolling up the sleeves and buttoning the shirt before sitting down beside her on the bunk.
''I missed.'' He pointed to the button between her breasts. The shirt was askew. Kathleen looked down and fingered the little white button.
''It's all right.'' She pushed on it but couldn't manage to get it through the hole. She pushed harder, fumbling with the fabric until she grunted in frustration and pain and her hands beat on the mattress that had so recently cushioned their lovemaking. ''Damn. Damn, Michael.''
Kathleen threw herself against the wall, just
to the right of a porthole. Her face was as pale as a foggy morning, the sea outside was as blue as Gerry O'Doul's eyes. Michael concentrated on her. He pulled the sheet around him and sat parallel to her, his back against the wall, the porthole between them. He looked through the window on the other side of the cabin while he spoke.
''It's going to be a rough day. A rough couple of weeks, actually.''
''I don't know if I can face it.'' Kathleen was quiet, still picking at the offending button but no longer trying to rectify the problem. ''I didn't have this trouble with my parents. I just took care of things. I thought I could always just take care of things. Why do you think it's so different now?''
''Because you loved Gerry like a father and he treated you like a daughter.''
''No he didn't. My father stayed.''
''Gerry let you grow. Staying doesn't really mean a damn thing, Kathleen. I think I realized that last night when I was driving over to get you.'' Michael picked at the blanket and put that across his lap too. ''Gerry never stagnated, you know? He stuck to his guns, sure. He never stopped moving forward. It was a lesson I wish I'd learned years ago.''
''What do you mean?''
''I guess he showed me that I wasn't being a hero by staying at Tysco. It's harder to move and look for a way to do what you were meant to do. That old man had it all over me. He had it all over you too.'' Kathleen hung her head. Finally, Michael urged her on. ''Admitting it would help, Kathleen.'' He reached for her hand. She let him take it, and then she squeezed to make sure his wasn't going to disappear. ''I'm not going anywhere, babe.''
''I think I would fall apart if you did, Michael. And I do admit it. I thought I wanted to hurt him and now he's dead. I didn't really want to hurt him. Not really.'' She raised his hand to her lips and confessed. ''It was stupid, stupid, stupid. I just wanted him to see that I'd waited and he was the one who had failed me. He hadn't. He hadn't. Michael he gave me everything that really mattered. He gave me love, and advice, and hope. He gave me a chance. He wasn't wrong. My parents were, and I was. When I became an adult I could have picked up that phone, couldn't I?''
Michael nodded. ''And when I stopped being effective at Tysco, I could have walked out but I didn't. I was going to, though, when you guys didn't need me anymore. I wanted to sit and have a cigar with Gerry and tell him all the new things I was going to do.''
''And now?''
''Now, we stick together. We finish what we started with Louise and Sara. Then we find out what it is we're supposed to do together. Think you're up for it?''
Kathleen sniffed and raised her eyes. It felt as if she could never drain all of her tears. They swam to the surface when she looked at Michael.
''Yeah. I can do that. I can, Michael.''
''Good.'' They came together in one of those moments - no commercial moment this- but their very own. They kissed like lovers who've known each other forever and still loved. They clasped hands. Michael let them sit in silence for a moment and then said. ''I think I found out what was upsetting Lionel.''
Kathleen nodded. She stood up, shed his shirt and went to shower. It was time to work.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Gerry O'Doul would have loved his funeral. The press was there. Not in force, not the way it had been after the Road Warrior case, but two reporters and a photographer stood on the edge of the crowd that had gathered to pay their respects. The reporters were jotting their notes, writing the names that would mean something to the general public - a nostalgic piece. There was the comic who'd become famous insulting people in the fifties, now kindergartner's were crueler. There was the song and dance man who'd made a transition to television with a family sitcom. He was better singing and dancing. There was a talk show host whose radio show was syndicated and a sprinkling of lesser mainstream personalities that might make the PEOPLE page of 'Where Are They Now?' They were all at Gerry O'Doul's funeral along with those the general public wouldn't know from Adam. Kathleen Cotter and Michael Crawford thought those were the people more than worthy of note.
Richard Jacobsen had murmured the proper condolences but Kathleen felt a distance from him, as if he no longer found her interesting. She put such a dramatic change of heart down to the daze of her own grief. There were five or six others from Shay, Sylvester & Harrington including Craig Nelson, lead counsel on the environmental case on which Kathleen toiled. She appreciated the show of force from her employer; she just wasn't sure why it was necessary. There hadn't been a personal bonding with her colleagues. Kathleen had not burst upon their scene like a bright professional light. Few, she was sure, had known Gerry. They were too young. They had, no doubt, come out of respect for Richard. If he felt it was important to see Gerry O'Doul off, then it must be important. There were businessmen, most of whom Kathleen didn't know. But Michael knew at least one - Mr. Grossman. From Tysco.
There were women who introduced themselves and shook Kathleen's hand. She smiled and murmured pleasantries as they each claimed to be Gerry O'Doul's one true love at some point in his life. Through their tears, each lamented that it hadn't worked out. Henrietta came, walking with a cane, Bo still by her side.
There were no children standing on the green grass, afraid to step on headstones in case the long dead reached for them out of the ground. Kathleen thought that was sad. No nieces, nephews, grandchildren. Just her. She would have to do. She hoped he'd look down from heaven when he got his angel wings and see just how much she grieved for him.
''Kathleen?'' Marlene Wong touched her arm. Kathleen smiled. The woman gave her a tight lipped grimace that was close to a smile. Marlene was sad, too. ''Nice service.''
''Gerry would have liked Father Fallon's speech. I can see why they were great friends. Both of them knew how to lay it on thick.''
Marlene chuckled and slipped on a pair of sunglasses. They were big and pink and made her look like a bright eyed bug. She glanced around. People still stood about talking, slowly breaking up and heading to their cars. Kathleen followed her gaze. There wouldn't be many at the reception. Those in business would head back to it; those who had none would be the ones at the buffet table.
''I heard you went over to Shay,'' Marlene noted, somehow managing to get Kathleen moving. The two women walked slowly away from the grave site. ''Gerry told me when he called last week.''
''Yeah. It's different.''
''More lucrative?''
''Much,'' Kathleen assured her.
''Good. If you're going to be in a morgue you might as well make some good bucks.'' Kathleen kept walking, staring at the black toes of her shoes as they came into view with each slow step. She remained silent, waiting for Marlene to lead the conversation. She didn't have to wait long. ''Look, I don't know if it means anything anymore, but Gerry was after me to find out exactly who called for Dr. G on that Booker thing.''
''Did you find out?''
Marlene shook her head. ''Nope, and that's what I wanted to talk to Gerry about. I had gotten pretty far just running around the grapevine. I knew it was an attorney but the more I looked into it the more the grapevine closed down. The fact that it seems to be a big dark secret is something that's totally weird on its own and that's what I wanted to tell him about. I did check our logs. We got the call from the LAPD dispatching us at four-thirty-three in the A.M. The van rolled and everything was normal. Doctor Wipling was on duty; he signed the body, tagged and logged it. No big thing. Booker took his place in line. I finally got to talk to Wipling about it - he'd been on vacation - and he had his nose out of joint. Dr. G took over without any explanation. He showed up at eight and actually pirated the examining room where Wipling was just starting on another subject. He had Booker rolled in, ticked off to high heaven about having to dirty his hands, did a slap dash job on the body then instructed for it to be released. It was over in a couple of hours. Booker should have been with us about three days before anyone even looked at him if he was going through the process the way he should.''
''Dr. Greischmidt never said
why it was so important to him?''
Marlene shook his head, ''Last time he was out was for that model's murder. He likes the limelight. But if Gerry is to be believed, Booker was nobody.''
''Believe it. There was no reason for special treatment.''
''Well, it's not much, but it sure is suspicious behavior. The closest Wipling got to an explanation was that someone Dr. G thinks is pretty nifty in the private sector pulled in a favor. Maybe whoever is handling the estate wanted the body to disappear so they could probate fast?''
Kathleen shook her head, ''I can't imagine Tony Maglio showing that kind of interest. I'm not sure he'd have that kind of connection even if he did.''
''I suppose you might be able to ask the good doctor G directly. What've you got to loose? Who knows what the connection is. I'm sorry, wish it was more.''
''I'll think about it, Marlene. Thank you very much.'' Kathleen took her hand, knowing Greischmidt wouldn't give her the time of day. Marlene nodded and offered a few more words of condolence.
''You know, Kathleen, I did the autopsy on Gerry. He didn't suffer. I thought you'd want to know. It was quick.''
''Thanks.''
Marlene shook Kathleen's hand. ''If you're going to stick around this area, keep my number. Don't know what I'll ever be able to do while you're at Shay, but at least you can say you've got someone inside the coroner.''
Kathleen nodded and Marlene left. Richard was waiting.
''Kathleen, it was a lovely service.'' He called out the compliment before he actually took her hand. He was smiling now. Funny that a funeral service should make him seem almost lighthearted. Maybe it was just being outdoors. Maybe it was Father Fallon. Maybe it was the fact she wasn't going to be in for a few days. ''I want you to know I meant what I said about time off. A leave of absence isn't unheard of in situations like this. Close up Gerry's office. I can suggest a few private practitioners who might be able to take up a few of his clients. Or, perhaps, you'd like to sell the practice. Just let me know, Kathleen. Whatever you need, take as long as you like.''
Character Witness Page 27
