by Blake Banner
“On Macomb Mountain? Yeah, I was there. That was weird, man. It was…” He laughed. “That was fucked up.”
“In what way, exactly?”
He put two massive fists on the desk in front of him and seemed to study them. “It was a long time ago, but it seems like yesterday. We’d all seen the lights, on the system Don had rigged up. They were there, you know what I’m saying? You couldn’t argue with that. We all saw them. Then they went away and we sat around the fire for a couple of hours. One by one, the guys started getting sleepy and going off into their tents, till it’s just me and Don, Jasmine, Jane, and Danny and maybe one or two others. And all of a sudden, Jane just kind of lies down and she starts shaking, and her breathing is going crazy. And then she starts talking, man, but in a voice that is not like her own. And it says how she and Danny are kind of chosen to spread the word, and Don is like the rock on which they will build their temple or something, and the rest of us were going to create new paths. I don’t remember the words exactly.” He paused, nodding, “But then she comes out with this. And I felt myself go cold inside, you know what I’m saying to you? It was like cold terror went right through me. She says that Jasmine and Danny have to go down this track, it’s like half a mile long, through this forest which is like a jungle, at two o’clock in the morning, to a clearing down there. On their own. And in that clearing they are going to have a close encounter. I’m not kidding. I was shitting myself. I was thinking, please, God, don’t let them call me. Please don’t let them call me.”
Dehan was watching him like a cat watching a mouse. “So what happened?”
“I guess Don was feeling like me, and he says no way, man. Danny can go if he wants to, but there is no way Jasmine is going. He was crazy about her back then. He doted on her every move. You know what I’m saying? She was the love of his life. And he said, no way.”
I scratched my chin. “How did she feel about that?”
“To be honest? I think she was kind of relieved. And I think it meant a lot to her that he didn’t let her go. But for him…” He shook his head. “For him it was a catastrophe. It destroyed him as a man.”
Dehan frowned at him. “Yeah? Why?”
I said, “In what way did it destroy him, Mr. Estevez?”
He studied Dehan’s face a moment, then he studied mine. “Because he blamed himself for what happened next. He never forgave himself. I liked Don, you know? He was not just a friend, he was my mentor, my guide. He was like the father figure I never had at home.” He gestured at the dojo around him. “This? This is all thanks to him. Today I am off the streets, believing in myself, teaching other kids that they have other options than crime, because of Don Kirkpatrick. But, man, over the last twenty years I have seen him slowly go to pieces, one week at a time, one month at a time. And all because he blames himself for what happened to Danny.”
Dehan flopped back in her chair with her face screwed up like an incredulous fist. “He believes that Danny was punished by aliens for not going to the glade?”
He smiled at her and there was something almost condescending in his expression. “You can laugh, Detective, but that is what Don believes, and I think he’s right. How else can you explain what happened on Sunday night? Or Saturday? Who knows when it happened? Who knows what happened Saturday, right?”
I raised a hand. “Slow down. Let me get a handle on this. You are telling me that up until Sunday, June 7th, 1998, Donald Kirkpatrick was a loving, doting husband…”
Paul was shaking his head. “Not just that, man. He was a different person. He was positive, outgoing, respectful…”
“And all of this changed that weekend.”
He nodded. “Not overnight. But in the following weeks. He blamed himself for Danny’s death. He tortured himself. We talked about it many times, and he cannot get past the question, ‘What if I had let them go?’ What if he had let Jasmine and Danny go to that glade? Would Danny be alive today? And every time, I ask him, but what if they had both been killed? Wouldn’t you be even more responsible?” He shrugged, spread his hands, and shook his head. “I think he did the right thing. I think he did what any man would have done. I know for sure I would not have let my wife go to that glade, alone, to encounter a fucking alien spacecraft! No way, man!”
I sat and absently scratched my head for a while. I heard Dehan ask, “Going back to something you said earlier. You said it might have happened on Saturday. But Saturday you were all at a party…”
He made a face. “Not really. We were all pretty freaked out by what happened Friday night, and the party broke up pretty early. Most of us left before Danny, and as far as we were concerned, he went home. So to be honest with you, none of us has any idea where he was from Saturday night until Monday morning. At some point, for some reason, he decided to go to Soundview Park. But having said that, if you have read any accounts of abduction cases, people can be gone for a day or more, and then suddenly turn up some random place. You know what I’m saying to you? So, you know, maybe he was taken on his way home, they did whatever to him, and then put him down in the park and—bam, zapped him. I don’t know what to tell you.”
I repeated, half to myself, “Nobody knows where he was from Saturday night till Monday morning… What time did he leave the party?”
He thought about it for a moment. “You’d have to ask Don. I left maybe four or five in the evening, at the latest.”
I turned and stared at Dehan. She stared back at me.
He watched us a moment and said, “You heard about the lights, right? The lights over the park?”
I nodded. “Did you see them?”
“Yeah, I did. I lived on Randall at that time. A friend called me. He knew I was into all that stuff. I went out and I saw it. Somebody got a film. I know. Did you know that? It was in the papers and on TV. Don contacted them and got a copy. You should talk to him and get him to show you.”
“I’ll do that.”
Outside the office we could hear people arriving and going into the dressing rooms, the soft murmur of voices and occasional laughter. He glanced at the clock and smiled at us apologetically. “I’m not involved in that stuff much anymore. I stay in touch with Don and he, well…” He shook his head again. “He can’t seem to let it go. I tell him he should realize how lucky he is with his wife. She adores him, if only he could see it, and he doesn’t treat her right, the way he should. I tell him, ‘Let go the past, man. See what you have in the present!’ But all he can see is that night, and Danny’s death. He loved Danny, you know? We all did. You couldn’t help but love him.”
He shrugged and spread his hands. “I’m sorry, Detectives, that’s all I can tell you, and as you can see, my students are here. If there is nothing else…?”
We stood and left him to his class. Outside, the shadows were growing long in the late afternoon sun. We crossed the road at a slow run, I unlocked the door to the Jag, and stopped, leaning on the roof, staring across at Dehan. I could see myself duplicated in the lenses of her sunglasses, staring back at myself across the vast, warped ocean of burgundy.
I gave a small laugh. “I confess to you, Dehan, right now, I am at a loss to explain this. I can’t even begin to put together a theory.”
She heaved a very big sigh and pulled open the door. “I know.”
She climbed in and I climbed in after her. The doors slammed and I said, “Steak, Dehan. This calls for steak, and wine. Maybe that will restore our perspective.”
I fired up the beast and we took off toward the shopping mall.
SEVEN
Maria, the desk sergeant, leered at us across the sergeant’s desk.
“Morning, you two. The inspector wants to see you in his office.” Dehan made for the stairs without answering. Maria winked at me. “You been on holiday again?”
I smiled with dead eyes. “Special ops in Iraq.”
“Bit of bang bang in the sand dunes, huh?”
I ignored her and climbed the stairs in silence. Dehan banged
on the inspector’s door and entered with a face like a summons.
He was his usual, cordial, urbane self, only more so. “Detectives, good morning. Please, come in and sit down. Coffee?”
Dehan didn’t say anything, so I answered for both of us and said, “No, thank you, sir.”
We sat. He sat. And we all looked at each other in silence. Finally, he said, “So, what cold case are we on at the moment?”
“Danny Brown, twenty years ago, Soundview Park…”
He nodded like he knew the case, but his narrowed eyes said he didn’t.
“The body was incinerated, but the feet and the head were not…”
“Oh, yes, the UFO case. Very challenging. And this is what has kept you away since Thursday. We are now at…” He peered at his calendar like he didn’t know what day it was. “…Tuesday.”
I smiled and scratched my head. “Yes, sir. Well, we had the weekend free, but Friday and Monday we were…”
He made a humorous face that was not unkind and suggested, “In the field.”
I sighed and nodded. “Yes, sir. In the field.”
“Like federal agents.”
He seemed to expect a response but Dehan was closed up like a sulking clam. I said, “An unusual series of coincidences, sir, that conspired…” I trailed off. He watched me a moment, still smiling, then turned his bland smile on Dehan.
“You are uncharacteristically quiet this morning, Carmen.”
After a moment, she said, “Yes, sir.”
He sighed and looked down at his blotter. “I make it a matter of personal policy to stay out of the private lives of my detectives, and officers generally, really. I trust all of you, and you two more than most.” He looked up. “As far as I am concerned, you have proved yourselves beyond question, and often gone beyond the call of duty.”
Dehan was frowning, like she was expecting a trap.
I said, “Thank you, sir.”
He sat back. “I am always here for my officers, but personally, I don’t care what goes on in your private lives…” He held up one finger. “With one, major caveat: As long as you don’t bring it to work with you. As long as it does not interfere with your work, or interfere with the quality of your investigation.” He frowned down at his hands and nodded repeatedly, as though they were secretly saying something interesting to him. “I think I have made myself clear and I need say no more.”
Dehan swallowed and I took a deep breath. “Perfectly clear, sir.”
We stood and as Dehan stepped out of the office ahead of me, the inspector called me back.
“Oh, John…”
I stopped and turned. “Yes, sir?”
“We have interrogation rooms, you know.” He smiled. “You might try conducting some of your interviews there, occasionally. And, John, I don’t quite know how to say this. Let me be blunt. It has come as no surprise to anybody. We’ve all known for a long time. And we are all very happy for you. There will be some teasing, of course, so try to make sure Carmen weathers it with good humor.”
I gave him my best lopsided smile and nodded. “Thank you, sir.”
Dehan was waiting for me on the stairs.
“What was that?”
“What was what?”
“Why’d he call you back?”
I turned to face her. I stepped in close, held her shoulders and smiled at her. “He told me it has come as no surprise to anybody. They all knew long before we did. Everybody is very happy for us and they wish us well. There will be some good-natured razzing, but we should take it in good part. Now, let’s get back to work. We have a murder to solve.”
She nodded and we went down to the detectives room. Mo was at his desk leering at us as we approached. Dehan dropped into her chair and he called over, “Hey, where you been all weekend…?”
He was about to go on, but I replied in a loud voice that just about everybody could hear, “I responded to an emergency call.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? Who from…?”
Again I cut him short. “Your wife.” I dropped into my chair and smiled at him. A few other detectives were looking over and grinning. “She said she hadn’t got laid in ten years and she was about to have an aneurism. Luckily I got to her in time. It took me all weekend to fix the problem, though.”
His face turned crimson.
“Any more questions, Mo? No?” I pointed at the work on his desk. “How about trying to make an arrest this semester?”
There was some suppressed chuckling around the room. I turned back to my own desk and picked up the phone. Dehan was typing furiously at her laptop, but I could see her shoulder shaking silently.
The phone rang a couple of times and a pretty voice answered.
“Hello?”
“Good morning, is this Jane Harrison?”
“Speaking.”
“This is Detective John Stone of the NYPD. We run a cold case unit and we are looking into the homicide of Danny Brown…”
“Danny? My goodness… That was twenty years ago, at least!”
“It was almost exactly twenty years ago. I was wondering if you could spare us some time to answer a few questions.”
“Of course, but I’m not sure I can tell you anything useful. I imagine you’re at the 43rd?”
I told her we were and she said, “OK, you’re in luck. I have the day off. I work in TV production at NBC and my timetable is pretty erratic. I can be there in less than half an hour.”
I thanked her and hung up.
Dehan spoke without looking at me. “I’ve been trying to find the footage of the lights. No luck so far. Most of the local papers carried articles on it, but the most comprehensive one was in the Fortean Times.” She shook her head. “I can’t see that any of them has anything more than we know already.”
I flopped back and stared at her. “And we know practically nothing.”
She nodded, met my eye, crossed her arms, and leaned back, mirroring my movement, and began to speak. “They all drove up to the mountain. They saw lights in the sky on his scanner. Jasmine went into a trance and said she and Danny should go to the glade.” She wagged a finger at me. “That’s a turning point. Donald says no. They return to Donald’s house. We don’t know when exactly, but presumably some time in the morning. But by six in the evening, everybody’s had enough and instead of the party they had planned, they all go home—and this is the second turning point. Because now Danny disappears. How far is it from Don’s house to Danny’s? Less than a mile. He could walk it in a quarter of an hour or twenty minutes max. But somewhere between Pugsley Avenue and Lacombe, Danny vanishes off the face of the Earth and is gone for somewhere between twenty-four and thirty-six hours.”
I studied her in silence for a while, then added, “And during that time he is incinerated and dismembered. We don’t know how.”
“Incinerated, dismembered, and placed carefully, leaving no tracks.”
“For no reason.”
“What?”
I shook my head, then shrugged and spread my hands. “What’s the motive? Nobody made an insurance killing on him, nobody inherited anything of value, nobody got rich from his death. He was single, everybody liked him… What was the motive?”
Dehan sighed and rubbed her face. “It’s not hard,” she said at last. “It’s not hard to see how Don Kirkpatrick and Detective Ochoa wound up concluding what they did. The parallel is there. We go over to Africa and we slaughter elephants, buffalo, lions—and we do it without motive. We do it for fun. So what they are proposing is that other beings come to Earth and do the same thing.”
I grinned. “You becoming a believer, Scully?”
“Take a hike. I’m saying it’s easy to see why somebody would come to that conclusion.”
I screwed up my face.
She arched an eyebrow. “What? Now you are the skeptic?”
“Thing is, Dehan, even if you do accept the extraterrestrial hypothesis, there are questions that have no satisfactory answer.”
> “Like?”
“Like why didn’t they kill Donald? Why didn’t they kill Jasmine? Paul, Jane, Dixon and all the others? Danny was the only one who was actually keen to go to the glade. But he’s the one who gets killed.”
She thought about it. “OK, I’m not saying I buy this, but we’re exploring the idea, right?”
“Right.”
“So they said that Don was the rock on which they were going to build. So maybe they wanted him for that.”
“So are they simply hunters or have they a mission here?” I shook my head. “It lacks consistency. Even if they wanted to preserve Don and Jasmine for some reason, why only kill one of them? And why wait till he’s back in the Bronx? Why not kill him out in the mountains? If they are hunters, they could have had a field day out there in the forest.”
“Maybe they were not hunters. Maybe they were scientists conducting a sociological experiment that went wrong. Maybe he was taken up, and they were beaming him down to a discreet location near his home, and the transporter went wrong. That would be more consistent.”
I smiled at her for a moment. She picked up a pencil, stared at it and threw it on the desk. “Listen to me. Next thing, I’m going to be wearing a tinfoil hat.”
“Eliminate the impossible, Watson, and whatever is left, however improbable…”
“Not helpful.”
“Perhaps. But let’s be careful about what we eliminate as impossible, when it might simply be highly improbable.”
“What are you talking about? Are you switching the tables on me?”
The phone buzzed. I picked it up.
“Stone.”
“Detective Stone, you have a Jane Harrison here to see you.”
“OK, thanks.” I hung up. “That was fast. She’s here. You want to take her up? I’ll get coffee.”
Ten minutes later, I pushed through the door holding three paper cups of coffee-like substance precariously in my hands. Jane Harrison was in her early forties, but looked younger. She was well-dressed in an expensive mulberry suit and had an expensive haircut to go with it.
I set down the coffee and smiled at her as I sat. “It’s coffee, Jane, but not as we know it.”
