Reckless

by Susan Kiernan-Lewis

  “That is such bull,” Kazmaroff said heatedly. “You hated me from the start.”

  “Hate is a pretty strong word.”

  “And what did I ever do to you? I remind you of a frat brother who stole your girl back in college?”

  Burton stood holding his jacket and shook his head. “Just saying crap like that is reason enough. I can’t explain it. Not even going to try.”

  “You know what? You are gonna try. You think just by being an ass wipe you can get away with this crap.”

  “What the hell you talking about? You said you were happy to be rid of me.”

  “Yeah, well, I want closure first.”

  “Oh, give me a break. Do you need to change your tampon first?”

  Kazmaroff ignored him and held up a hand. “You and me—one night—and two bottles of Wild Turkey.”

  “This is exactly the kind of asinine crap that drives me crazy about you. If we’re parting ways, what difference does it make?”

  “It makes a difference to me.”

  “Why? Because you can’t stand knowing there’s one person in this world who doesn’t like you?”

  “That’s right, Jack. Bingo. You nailed it. So is it a deal? You come out with me tonight and I’ll go straight to Maxwell and beg him to transfer you. One guys-night-out and you never have to swap theories or chase down leads or follow up clues with me ever again.”

  “One night for an eternity of freedom from your self-absorbed yammering? I’m in.”

  “I have a dinner date first but I should be done around ten. I’ll meet you at Johnny’s Hideaway at ten-thirty.”

  “Won’t that put a dent in your after-dinner plans?”

  “Thanks for the concern but I have it covered. We’re talking an all-nighter here, Jack. One that I fully expect will turn us from department adversaries into benign non-enemies. Might even make you change your mind about the transfer.”

  “I can’t believe I’m bothering to do this.”

  “Could be the start of something beautiful.”

  Kazmaroff left the office, and somehow Burton felt a bit of the burden he’d carried all morning go with him. Was it just the idea that he’d finally be able to transfer out of the department, and into a new partnership with someone else, or was Kazmaroff himself partly the reason for the lift in his mood? Was it possible the guy might be bearable if Burton weren’t under the gun to be with him day after day? Maybe the things that drove him crazy about him during their daily round wouldn’t be noticeable if they no longer shared a daily round?

  For the first time since he began working with the man, Burton realized Kaz hadn’t pissed him off too bad this morning. In fact, he’d been as close to likable as Burton ever remembered him being.

  While that might not be enough for a long-term partnership it would probably work just fine for an all-night boozer with the guy.

  Feeling more optimistic about his career than he had in a long time, Burton worked the rest of the day clearing up paperwork on his most recent case with Kazmaroff—and possibly his last—and went upstairs to Personnel to surrender his badge, and his weapon to the APD Discipline Authority before heading home to catch an early dinner and a nap before meeting Kazmaroff at Johnny’s. No sense opening himself up to endless jabs of ridicule by falling asleep or yawning before they ended their boys night out. He turned off the bedroom light and set his smart phone to ring at nine.

  He had no idea how long he’d been asleep when the phone on his nightstand vibrated. It wasn’t the alarm, though, someone was calling. He snatched it up and peered into the screen. It was Maxwell.

  “What’s up, sir?”

  “You in bed? It’s not nine o’clock yet.”

  “I was napping,” Burton said, sitting up and rubbing his face. “Is it a case?”

  “Get in here,” Maxwell said. “It’s Kazmaroff. His sister found him in his apartment an hour ago.”

  “Found him? What do you mean found—”

  “His body, Jack. She found his dead body. Just get in here. Now.” The line disconnected. Jack sat staring at the phone in his hand until his eyes strayed to the chair in the room where he’d laid out his corduroy slacks and blazer for the evening at Johnny’s.

  3

  “He wasn’t answering his phone.”

  “And that’s why you went to his apartment?”

  Mia nodded and rubbed her bare arms as if to warm them. As if she would ever feel warm again. “It wasn’t like him to stand me up. I thought maybe he’d fallen asleep.”

  “What time was he supposed to pick you up?”

  “Seven.”

  “And what time did you drive over to his apartment?”

  “Eight.”

  “And you let yourself in with your key when he didn’t answer the door?”

  Mia nodded again, forcing herself to remember the feeling of standing on Dave’s doorstep, her ankle throbbing as she leaned on her crutch. She knew he was there. She knew it standing at the door. It was when she touched the doorknob…

  She hadn’t been surprised to find all the lights on in his place when she entered. Dave was careful about turning his lights off when he wasn’t home. But of course she knew he was home.

  No, it wasn’t the lights being on that had set her hair on end and made her start to shake.

  That had happened the moment she touched the doorknob.

  “Miss Kazmaroff?”

  Mia dragged her attention back to the detective sitting in her mother’s living room. He was a black man with a kind face. She didn’t know many of Dave’s workmates. She’d heard him complain about Burton, of course, but had only seen him a scant few times—a company picnic, a funeral for a fallen brother…Her eyes shifted to the man’s jacket pocket as if expecting to see a name tag.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. She heard a noise coming from one of the bedrooms. Her mother was looking for photos for the memorial video. Jess was strong. She’d leave her tears for stolen private moments.

  “I was asking if you’d been in contact with your brother earlier today.”

  She took a long breath. Dear God. Was the day not over yet? Was it really still just today? Today where she put on her best skirt over her walking cast, where she drew eyeliner on for the first time in a month? Was it really the same day she’d waited in this living room for her brother to show before snatching up the car keys and heading out to his place?

  “I got a text from him,” she said, her stomach roiling at the memory that he’d been alive then. “You’ve got my phone.” She looked at the detective. Had she met him before? If they already knew Dave texted her this afternoon, why was he asking her? Were they really so clueless they thought she was a suspect?

  As if reading her mind, the detective tucked his notepad away in his breast pocket. “I can have someone drop it back to you tomorrow,” he said, standing up. “Meanwhile I’m very sorry for your loss.”

  “Your loss, too,” she said.

  He hesitated. “Yes, of course,” he said. “Everybody loved Dave. It’s a terrible loss for the department.”

  Except everybody didn’t love Dave, Mia thought. She knew at least one person who definitely didn’t love him.

  Burton stepped over the shards of a broken vase and into the bedroom. He’d never been in Kazmaroff’s condo. No reason why he would. He wasn’t surprised to see it looked like a Pottery Barn showroom.

  Guess I can’t give the poor bastard a break even after he’s dead, he thought. The medical examiner, Karen Sanders, knelt next to the bed where Kazmaroff’s nude body was. She looked up and nodded as Burton entered the room.

  Two techs were dusting and photographing the room. Burton could hear the low buzz of conversation out in the hallway as neighbors were being questioned. He caught a glimpse of Maxwell in the adjoining bathroom and found a kernel of irritation growing in his gut.

  Why isn’t he leaving it to the techs to process? Idiot probably isn’t even wearing gloves.

  “No signs of foul
play,” the ME said into the small recorder clipped to her lab coat.

  Burton went to the bed, hating himself for looking, knowing it was his job to do exactly that. He wasn’t prepared for the feeling—like a punch in the solar plexus—when he looked down at Kazmaroff, the man he couldn’t wait to get rid of, the man who pushed his buttons like nobody else could—to realize a sudden, shuddering sense of loss. He put a hand out to steady himself against the wall.

  “You okay, Jack?” Karen hadn’t looked in his direction but she was attuned enough to him, to her environment, to know when something was wrong.

  “When?” he asked gruffly. “When did he die?”

  “Looks like three to four hours,” she said.

  That put time of death right around seven o’clock. When was his dinner engagement? And with whom?

  “Could it be an overdose?”

  “Won’t know until the tox screen,” Karen said, standing up and stripping off her gloves. She nodded to one of the medical techs who leaned over the bed and rolled the body toward him. Jack cringed and looked away. “But it looks natural at this point. I’ll know more tomorrow after the autopsy.”

  “Natural? He was thirty-five years old.”

  “Maybe he had a bad heart.”

  “Yeah, maybe.”

  “Or an allergy to something.”

  “But you don’t think it’s suspicious?”

  Karen was packing up her medical bag. She was a few years older than he but she’d kept her looks. A head of cropped, curly hair, freckles and a slight overbite gave her a youthful air. Burton thought Karen would always pretty much qualify for the description “cute,” no matter what her age. They’d fallen into bed once right after his divorce. Neither of them ever referred to the incident again so Burton assumed they both agreed it had been a mistake.

  “Isn’t that your job?” She smiled when she said it but her face showed an unusual weariness across her features.

  “That you, Burton?” Maxwell barked as he filled the doorway between the bedroom and the bathroom.

  Burton watched the techs wrap Kazmaroff’s body and prepare the gurney next to the bed. “Yeah, it’s me,” he said.

  “Happy day for you.”

  Burton jerked his head up to look into his deputy chief’s eyes.

  “Dave’s bad luck just turned into a whole new career opportunity for you,” Maxwell said, jerking his latex gloves off with a series of quick snaps.

  “Screw you, Maxwell.”

  “I’m not sure I heard you, Burton,” Maxwell said, a look of astonishment on his face as he slowly approached the detective. “But I think I heard enough to make it stick in an Internal Affairs investigation. Better yet, Peterson!” One of the med techs turned to look at him. “You hear what Burton said to me?”

  The tech looked at Burton and back at Maxwell in confusion.

  “I’ll make it easy for you, Maxwell,” Burton said. “I said go screw yourself.”

  “You got some kind of career death wish, Burton?”

  “And I’ll make it easy on IA, too.” Burton turned to follow behind the gurney as the techs carried Kazmaroff’s body out of the apartment. “I quit.”

  Maxwell stepped forward to cut Burton off. “Under the circumstances, I’ll assume you’re distraught,” he said, his eyes boring holes into Burton’s. “So I’m gonna ignore it this time.”

  Burton’s breath was caught so tight in his chest he didn’t think he could speak for lack of oxygen. “What am I even doing here? I’m suspended, remember? If it is murder, you got nobody in homicide can find their ass with both hands.”

  “Which is why you’re here, Jack.”

  Burton scanned Kazmaroff’s bedroom. Was it murder? Did Dave just die naturally? Why was he naked? Why was there nothing on his bedside table? No glass, no pills, just a cellphone—now in a plastic bag.

  He edged past Maxwell on his way out of the apartment. “If it’s ruled suspicious,” he said over his shoulder, “I’ll stay long enough to work the case.”

  “Damn right, you will, Detective,” Maxwell yelled after him. “I’m talking to you, Burton. You owe the man that much. You hear me?”

  Burton heard him. All the way down the hall and into the elevator that would take him to the street and out into the world where he could breathe again. Somehow he still heard him.

  The funeral was attended by every detective in Major Crimes. David Kazmaroff was laid to rest on a sunny but cold day in late October. Mia stood next to her mother, both holding on to each other in a brave alliance against the chill and the pain of their loss. Mia didn’t know which of them was trembling more. She locked her knees so as not to be the one to bring them both down in an undignified tangle of legs and pumps.

  Her mother had been so businesslike for the week since Dave’s death; arranging the funeral, putting together the memorial video of Dave as a toddler, Dave as an Eagle Scout, Dave as a new police recruit, doing all the painful, necessary tasks. She organized the influx of casseroles and cakes, giving most of them away to the Atlanta Food Bank and the homeless shelters.

  Mia looked across the open grave as the coffin was lowered into it and saw the city’s finest lined up in a final salute to her brother. The deputy chief stood front and center in full blue regalia, flanked on both sides by the detectives who had worked with Dave. They were all in uniform, their hats pulled low over their faces, obscuring their eyes as they watched the proceedings. She looked to see which one was Burton. He hadn’t come to give his condolences but that hadn’t surprised her.

  Deputy Chief Maxwell visited the house that morning to explain how the funeral would be managed, the route through Midtown to Oakland Cemetery, and to say they had concluded the case and labeled it death by natural causes.

  Mia scanned the line of detectives standing at attention before her now.

  Death by natural causes.

  Just thinking of it made her heart pound in her throat with impotence and fury.

  My brother didn’t just take his clothes off and lay down and die one afternoon.

  Her mother shook Mia’s arm and she realized she’d been squeezing Jess’s hand. She took a breath and focused on Dave. This was his day. His final day. Her eyes blurred with tears.

  Goodbye, Dave. I love you and I promise I’ll find out who did this.

  Within minutes, he was gone and the crowd started to break up. They’ve paid their respects, she thought. They’re ready to enjoy whatever’s left of a beautiful autumn day.

  Mia jammed her crutches under her arms and swiveled away from her mother toward the exiting detectives.

  “Excuse me, Deputy Chief Maxwell!” she called out. She heard her mother’s gasp behind her.

  Maxwell looked at her as she hobbled toward him on her crutches but his face was unreadable. She was surprised to see the rest of the detectives remained to stand by him.

  They take care of their own, she thought. All except for Dave, of course.

  “Deputy Chief,” she said, trying to catch her breath as she positioned herself in front of him.

  “Miss Kazmaroff,” he said. Now that she was close enough, she could see that Keith, Dave’s best friend, stood to the deputy chief’s immediate left along with the black guy who’d questioned her after she discovered Dave’s body. To his right was a tall, broad-shouldered guy whom she pegged as Burton. She went straight to him and jabbed him in the chest with her index finger, making him take a step back in surprise.

  “Why are you even here? Getting ready to dance on his grave?”

  Burton opened his mouth to speak but Mia turned back to Maxwell who was motioning his men to leave. “Death by natural causes is bull,” Mia said to him. “I was there. I felt it!”

  “Mia! Stop this now.” Her mother’s voice came to her strident and shrill.

  “I’m so sorry for your loss,” Maxwell said to Mia. “It’s been a difficult week for all of us and especially Dave’s loved ones.”

  Suddenly, Mia turned and grabbed Burto
n by the arm, knocking her crutch to the ground in the process. He held her elbow to keep her from falling and she placed both hands on his chest.

  “Mia!” her mother called. “Come away from there this minute!”

  The rush of guilt and sadness that shot through her fingertips from where she touched him sent shock waves up her arms. She couldn’t let go and she couldn’t bear the sensation another moment.

  “It was you,” she said, looking into Burton’s eyes, just before the sky darkened and swirled into a maelstrom of nausea and silence.

  4

  Jess sat in the passenger’s side of the Toyota Highlander with her hands in her lap. The sun was sagging in the sky over the horizon. From where Jess sat, she could see the long sweep of the pastures all around her, the horizon a long wavy line of scrub brush and Georgia pine.

  Today is the day I buried my son.

  The words crept up her throat and grabbed her, pinching into her so she couldn’t swallow. She knew not to close her eyes. Eliminating one sensory outlet only intensified all the others.

  One in particular.

  She gripped her hands together, feeling the bones of her fingers as fragile as chicken bones.

  The only thing she didn’t react to by touch was herself. She’d have to ask Mia if it was the same for her. Keeping her hands to herself meant they weren’t picking up feelings and stories from every single inanimate object in her immediate surroundings. Once again, she forced herself to stare out at the fields of the horse farm.

  She didn’t blame Mia for the outbreak at the funeral. She was angry and frustrated. Their beautiful boy was taken from them and his so-called friends and colleagues, the ones he should have counted on to take care of him, had just walked away. She heard them as they left the funeral, without the sense or propriety to quell their laughter and loud voices for long enough to get out of earshot. And what were they doing today, I wonder? With the rest of a beautiful autumn afternoon off with pay?