Burying Ben (16 page)

“Not here, Lu
p
e, not in fr
o
nt of the children.”

He is a
m
i
niature version of
Ben,
s
m
aller, sparer and bro
w
ner, but with Ben
’
s s
a
m
e eyes and thick eyebrows.

“Co
m
e to our house.
W
e need to talk to you. It is very i
m
portant.”

She writes their address on a paper napkin and stuffs it in
m
y
hand, without waiting for a reply. Gary was right. This is a bad idea. But before I have a chance to think about
how to gently refuse their invitation, they are on
their feet, packing up.

“Excuse us, please,” Mr. Go
m
ez says,
l
ooking at his wife. “We need to go now, Lupe. It
’
s getting late. The children
have
school
to
m
orrow.”

On our way ho
m
e Frank asks
m
e about the Go
m
e
zes. I tell him as
m
uch of Ben
’
s story as I ethically can. The lightness and anony
m
ity of
the afternoon, when we w
e
re free of our work
m
antles, evaporates with every word.

I talk. He listens. The
m
ore he
listens, the more I talk.

I’m
trying to i
m
press him,
a
lthough I’m
not sure why.

I tell him
I’m conducting a psychological autopsy. That’s exactly what I’m
doing, although it hadn’t occur
r
ed to
m
e until I h
e
ar
m
yself
say the words.

A s
m
all
f
rown creases Frank’s forehead. A psychological autopsy is not s
o
m
ething
m
ost
people encou
n
t
e
r in t
h
eir everyday
w
ork.

The hills to the west of us are turning f
r
om
green to a dusty gold, a shade darker than the
m
oon.

“So they weren
’
t really yo
u
r friends?
You
m
ade that up,” he says, not looking at me. “This wasn
’
t really a date, was it?
You were working and you needed an escort. I didn’t know psychologists worked undercover.”

He doesn
’
t
give
m
e ti
m
e to answer. “Let
m
e tell you how that
m
a
kes
m
e feel, Doctor. Like a fool. There I was, showing you around, blubbering over the firewor
k
s, introducing you to my friends. If you had told
m
e what your agenda was, I cou
l
d have gotten right down to business. Not bothered with all that other stuff.”

He pulls up in front of
m
y
t
ownhouse.

“I wasn
’
t deliberately trying to
m
i
s
l
ead you. I had a great ti
m
e. Really. I did. I guess I just needed a reason to call you and ask you out.”

Our reflections look back at us from
the darkened car windows as though we are double dating ourselves. “
W
ant to co
m
e in for coffee or a glass of wine?”

“No thanks,” he says. “To
m
orrow
’
s a
work day.”

Chapter Ei
g
hteen

I’m
at the Monday
m
orning staff
m
eeting lis
t
ening to Baxter talk about the budget when my cell phone rings. It
’
s Eddie, demanding that
I co
m
e to the report writing roo
m
, code 3, on the double. Baxter looks irritated at
m
y being called away by so
m
e unknown e
m
ergency.

As soon as I walk in, Eddie sits
m
e down in front of a co
m
puter.
“
W
hat do you know about this?”

It’s an e
m
ail from
the records cle
r
k: “To: Officer Rimbauer: Re Officer Ma
n
uelo Ochoa’s request for a background check on
Benja
m
in Gom
e
z. We don’t have a case nu
m
ber. Is this an open case?
Please advise.”

“
Mañana
,” he yells over his shoulder, “Leave the frigging report and get your skinny butt over here.”
He turns to
m
e. “I shoulda been out of here hours ago. Lyndley’s in training, I get to baby sit the newbies.”

“Yes Sir
?
” Manny is standing at Eddie’s desk, he looks worried.

“Did you run a background on Ben Go
m
ez
?
”

“Yes, sir.”

“
W
hat the fuck were you looking for
?
”

“I’m
sorry.”

“That’s not an answer. What were you looking for
?
” Three newer rookies skitter out of the report writing room
and down the hall toward their lockers.

“I wanted to know
m
ore about B
e
n. That’s all.
H
e was
m
y friend.”

“Bull shit. Did she tell you to do this
?
”

“No. It was
m
y idea. I didn’t
m
ean any h
a
r
m
.“

“Don’t lie to
m
e,
pendejo
. Your ass is
on the line. A cop who lies isn’t worth shit.”

Manny looks at his feet. “I’m
sorry, Sir. I’ll take any discipline you want to give
m
e.”

Eddie co
m
e
s out of his seat with such force that his chair careens across the room and bangs into the wall. A fr
a
m
ed copy of t
h
e depart
m
ent
’
s
m
ission state
m
ent falls to the floor, cracking the glass. “I don’t need per
m
ission to discipline you, you arrogant little prick. You’re on probation. Unauthorized use
of the co
m
puter is a big no-no.
W
hat has she been telling you?
Do you think I had s
o
m
ething to do with Go
m
ez eating his gun?”

“No, Sir.” He looks from Eddie to
m
e,
m
e to Eddie, as though he
’
s afraid to take his eyes off either one of us. “Is the Doctor in trouble
?
”

“Fuck the chivalry, asshole. Take care of yourself. From
now on, if you have to talk to the good doctor, you give na
m
e, rank
a
nd serial number. That’s it. Nothing else. Understand? Now get the hell o
u
t of here.”

Manny turns in a tight circle and walks out of the room
with slow, precise steps
like
so
m
eone
m
arching to his execution.

“Is he in trouble
?
”

“Of course he’s in trouble.”

“How
m
uch
trouble
?
”

“I don’t know and none of your business.”

“I didn’t ask him
to do this. Believe
m
e.”

“If you said it was raining, I’d go outside
and check. I don’t know why you got a jones for
m
e
, Doc, but I’m telling you right no
w
, call o
f
f
the campaign to n
a
il my ass to t
h
e wall and leave the rookie alone.”

I take the elevator back to
m
ahogany row,
hoping
m
y hands aren’t shaking so
m
uch anyone will notice. I open the door
to
the staff room. It’s e
m
pty, the
m
eeting
’
s over and everyone
’
s gone to lunch. Just the word
m
akes my sto
m
ach growl. I need to eat and I really want to hear what Fran
started to tell
m
e about Eddie. It’s been
m
ore than two weeks since we talked.

Fran ushers
m
e to a table in the
b
ac
k
.
W
hen she delivers
m
y salad, she sits down, clearly exhausted. There
’
s a new
m
a
n behind the counter.

“That
’
s Bruce. He started yesterday working lunches. I think he
’
s going to be okay. I just had to hire ano
t
her person. I spend more ti
m
e helping Tony and Sheldon than they do helping
m
e. How
’
s your salad?”

“Delicious. Enough for two.”

“So, what’s on your
m
i
nd?”

“You never had a chance to finish
w
hat you were saying about Eddie. About what changed him.”

She takes a sip of coffee. “He
’
s not in any trouble, is he?”

“No. It just see
m
ed like you had so
m
e
thing
m
ore you wanted to say.”

“I’m
no psychiatrist, but between you and
m
e, I think he never got over his wife. I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, but they
w
ere high school sweethearts. Me and B.G. were at the wedding. She was a bea
u
tiful girl. Two years
m
arried, she’s hooked on God knows what and so out of her mind that she can’t stop, even when she got pregnant. They lost the baby. A little while later she got
A
I
DS and died. Thank God she didn’t pass it to Eddie. He
’
s been marr
i
ed twice since. Rebound
m
arria
g
es. They don’t last.”

F
r
an stares into her cup, a slight
iridescent sheen reflects the florescent lights overhead. “The reason I wanted to tell you this, Doc, is that
I want you to look after hi
m
. I can feed him and be his friend. But he needs
m
ore than that. He needs professional help.”

“I don’t think Eddie thinks too hig
h
ly of professional help.”

It’s the understate
m
ent of the year.

“He
’
s bitter. He spent a fortune on d
e
tox centers, psychiatrist
s
, you na
m
e
i
t
. None of it helped. He’s wrong. I know grief. When B.G. w
a
s killed, I
w
anted to die too. I had friends, I had fa
m
ily, I had
m
y Chur
c
h. I had Eddie. They all helped, God bless the
m
, but they wanted so bad for
m
e to feel bett
e
r th
a
t a
f
ter a while I started pretending just so they
’
d feel better.
I went to a grief counselor. She let
m
e wail and
weep until I got sick of listening to
m
yself. I
don’t think Eddie’s ever shed
a tear. Men are different. He just shut down. Puts on a happy face when he co
m
es in here, but he’s killing hi
m
self with the eating and drinking. Work’s the only thing
he has going for hi
m
. The
only thing he
’
s ever had g
o
ing for hi
m
. When I heard that rookie com
m
itted suici
d
e” – she crosses herself – “and Eddie told
m
e he was the rook
i
e
’
s FTO, I got scared. I thought he
m
i
ght get fired becau
s
e of it. He’s a dead
m
an if he can
’
t work.”

“
W
hat did Eddie say about the suicide?”

“Made a joke. Like he always does. W
e
nt on a bender. I
’
m
g
l
ad the depart
m
ent hired you. He needs looking after. They all do.”

I go back to my office. There are now five
m
en
in
m
y life: one is dead, one is in trouble, and the rest are angry with
m
e. I sit at
m
y desk and take out a yell
o
w legal pad. At the top of the page I write
‘
psychological autopsy’.
I haven
’
t a clue how to proceed. My only preparation is having read Mark’s chapter on psychological autopsies in the first book he wrote about police psychology. The book he ask
e
d
m
e, still a graduate student, to help edit and then dedicated to
m
e for
m
y
inv
a
luable assistance and pro
m
ising future.

I start by listing na
m
es and annotating t
h
e
m
. I fe
e
l
better seeing
m
y gnarled thoughts organized into tidy lines and colu
m
ns. Ben Go
m
ez is first. He is the root of the
m
atter. I
m
a
ke a note next to his na
m
e: “Wh
a
t/who drove him over the edge?
Keep it from happening again!” I add a second excla
m
ation
m
ark.

Eddie Ri
m
b
auer is next. Beside his na
m
e I write, “Could be displacing unresolved issues of grief and anger onto Ben and
m
e.”