Burying Ben (20 page)

“Nothing, no note, nothing. It’s like he never knew us.”

Mr. Go
m
ez’ face dar
k
ens with anger. “Do you know how we found out about the funeral?
W
e read it in the ne
w
spaper.
W
e didn’t even know his wife was pregnant until we saw her at the
chapel. You’re the first person from
the depart
m
ent to talk to us, and Benja
m
i
n has been dead two
m
o
nths.”

“I don’t care about that, R
a
m
on.
W
h
at I want to know is why?
He is the only link to our daughter. Now we have nothing.”

She covers her face with the handkerchief. Mr. Go
m
ez’
eyes well alo
n
g with hers.

“
W
hat about Benja
m
in
’
s baby?” I ask. Mrs. Gomez stiffens, her lips co
m
p
ressing into a hard line.

“I don
’
t want to talk ab
o
ut that baby.
That girl t
o
ok Benja
m
i
n from
us. She will take the baby too.” A burble of giggles erup
t
s behind the closed door to the f
a
m
ily room. “I have enough grandbabies. There is no
m
ore room in
m
y heart.”

“You don
’
t
m
ean that, Lupe. Benjamin
’
s child is our blood.”

“Half our blood. It will be like Benja
m
in all over again, a child, half-ours, half a stranger. I
’
m too old,
m
y heart is too hard.”

Mr. Go
m
ez starts to say so
m
ething. She stops hi
m
, raising her hand in the air, the
flat of her palm
facing outward, her eyes narrowed to pinpoints of obsidian. “
Basta
, R
a
m
on.
Basta
.”

Her anger wells.
W
e sit, shaken, cautious, looking over our shoulders. The balance bet
w
een us tilts.

“It’s getting late. I should go. I don’t want to i
m
pose on you any further. I appreciate the ti
m
e you’ve given
m
e. I can’t
i
m
agine how painful it is for you to relive all these
m
emories.”

Mrs. Go
m
ez
grabs
m
y wrist and holds fast. Her slender fingers cla
m
ping down on my arm
unt
i
l
m
y fingertips feel fuzzy from
the lack of blood. “
W
hy?
W
hy did he kill hi
m
self? You are the psychologist.
T
ell
m
e.”

“I don
’
t know.”

“If you don
’
t know, who does
?
”

“I don
’
t know that either. That
’
s what I
’
m
trying to find out.”

“
W
hen you do, you will tell us
?
”

“I will
.
”

“Pro
m
i
se?”

“I can
’
t guarantee—”

“Pro
m
i
se me. Swear it, in the na
m
e of our
Lord Jesus.”

A
n
d because it
’
s the only way she
’
ll release
m
y arm, I do.

Chapter Twenty Two

Once again I’m up with the sun, replaying
m
y pro
m
ise to Mrs. Go
m
ez, a pro
m
ise I wonder if I can deliver. It is already
m
uggy and war
m
. I drive to headquarters for a
m
eeting with the communications supervisor to plan a stress
m
anage
m
ent workshop for her staff. The communications center is hou
s
ed in a poorly lit windowless room
in the base
m
ent of police
h
ead
q
uart
e
rs. The
arc
h
ite
c
ts who built this building
b
a
c
k in the 1950s believed that, in the event of a nuclear attack, the base
m
ent wou
l
d be protected from
nuclear fallout and the dispatchers could
continue to work. Aft
e
r t
h
e collapse of the World Trade Center, the idea see
m
s quaint, if not laughable.

An
e
m
pty aquariu
m
, its sides blotted with
dried algae, sits on top of a row of
m
etal lockers near the front door, the brainc
h
ild of so
m
eone who thought that looking at fish would tru
m
p the almost steady influx of
m
i
sery that co
m
e
s in over the 911 lines.

The room
hu
m
s like a
b
eehive as t
h
e dispatchers
m
ove between stations, talking to each
o
t
her or to callers, tet
h
ered to the
i
r con
s
oles by expandable wires
that allow them to
m
ove but not lea
v
e the roo
m
. The glow from
the circle of flat screen
m
onitors that corral t
h
e
m
turn their faces brackish.

The supervisor
’
s shapeless girth spills over the sides of her chair. She extends her hand to
m
e. She has lo
n
g, painted fingernails a
n
d graceful fingers that l
o
ok as though they belong on so
m
eone else’s body. We
m
ove
to the conference room
for privacy. In one hand, she carries a notepad, in the other a
m
a
mmoth tumbler of soda with a long bent straw th
a
t c
u
rls i
n
to
her mouth like an oral IV bag.

She
flicks on the light. The room
is bare except for a fake wood table and upho
l
stered office chairs. She selects a chair without arms. Her na
m
e
is Raylene.

”In this business, Doc, you’re either sworn or you’re sworn at, and we’re the sworn at.”
S
he looks at
m
e to see if I get the joke. “The cops think we have it easy
‘
cause we stay calm on the air. They should only know.”

She lists the stresses – screa
m
ing parents with choking babies in
their
ar
m
s,
the
suicidal
ca
l
ler who shoots hi
m
self while tal
k
ing to t
h
e dispatcher,
and chil
d
ren calling for help beca
us
e Mommy isn
’
t
m
oving after Daddy hit her. Nu
m
ber one on her list of pet p
e
eves are police officers who fail to call in their loc
a
ti
o
ns.

As though on cue, Eddie opens the door to the conference room and gestures for
m
e
to
co
m
e
out.

“I’m
in the
m
i
ddle of so
m
ething, can’t this wait
?
”

“If it could, I wouldn’t be here wou
l
d I?
Sorry
R
ay, but the shrink has an e
m
ergency of her own. If I was you, I’d reschedule. She’s not co
m
i
ng back soon.”

“
W
hat’s going on
?
” I ask him
out in the hall.

“Can’t you fucking hear hi
m
?
”

“
W
ho
?
”

“Patcher. He’s in the Chief’s office
screa
m
ing his bloody head off. Se
e
m
s
like you paid his wife a little unauthorized visit. He
w
ants you arrested and he wants Baxter to fire
m
y ass for helping you.”

“That
’
s why I didn
’
t tell you. To keep you out of trouble.”

“Didn’t work. The chief had so
m
eone look at
m
y co
m
puter. I did a search for Patcher
’
s ho
m
e address. They think I was the one who gave you the go-ahead.”

“Oh, for Heaven’s sa
k
e.
I’ll straig
ht
en it o
u
t.”

He raises both hands. “
D
on’t try to help
m
e. You’ll only
m
a
ke things worse.”

I can hear
P
atcher yelling as we get off the e
l
evator. A
m
o
m
e
nt later he stor
m
s out of the chief’s office, his face florid, little
gl
obules of
spit dotting his lips. Baxter is rig
h
t be
hi
nd hi
m
.
When
Patcher
s
ees
m
e, he stops.

“You
m
eddling bitch, you had no right to c
o
m
e into
m
y home and inti
m
idate
m
y wife.
W
hat are you doing, R
i
m
bauer?
Boning the good doctor in exchange for
m
y addres
s
?”

I can feel Ed
d
i
e brace behind
m
e, I
hear the soft slap of his hand against the leather of his gun belt.

“I did not enter your house, Mr. Patcher,”
I say. “Never set foot inside. Your wife agreed to speak to
m
e on her own volition.”

“My wife has no volition. She’s a sick wo
m
an, under a doct
o
r’s care, on anti-depressants. You lured her out of the house
and forced her to drive while under the influence.”

He is breathing hard and sweat
i
ng.
S
t
ains cascade down the sides of his shirt al
m
ost to his belt. He leans forward, plac
i
ng his hands on his knees as though he
’
s going to be sick to his sto
m
ach.

“Vinnie,”
B
axter
p
leads.
“Co
m
e back into
m
y office. You’re in no shape to drive. You look like you’re going to have a heart attack. Let
m
e call the
m
edics. We’ll work so
m
ething out. I’ll take care of things, don’t
worry.” He grasps Patcher by the shoulders until
h
e straightens up a
n
d guides him down the hall, one
ha
nd at his
b
a
c
k.

I look around. Cops are everywhere, st
a
nding silently in doorways and behind the water fountain, drawn by the com
m
o
t
ion, ready to
take action. Baxter stops at the door to his office, his hand still on Vinnie Patcher’s
back.

“I have things under control. Thanks everyone.
Y
ou can stand down.” He looks to
E
ddie. “Officer R
i
m
bauer. Escort the doctor out of the building. Now.”

“I am
in the
m
iddle of a
m
eeting,” I say.

“I don’t care if you’re in the
m
i
ddle of giving the Ser
m
on on
t
he Mount. Until you hear from
me personally, you’re on ad
m
i
nistrative leave.
W
ith no pay. Rimbauer, confiscate her security key and report
back to
m
e.
W
e need to talk.”

Eddie is silent during the long wait for the ancient elevator a
n
d the walk to
m
y car.

“What does he think I’m
going to do?
Bomb the plac
e
?” I look at
E
ddie out of the corner of my eye. “He’ll get over it. Give him
a day. I
put
h
im and you in a tough p
o
sition by going to see Mrs. Patcher. I apologize. It was stupid.”

“Spare
m
e the fucking hindsight,
w
i
ll you
?
”

“Baxter’s scared of a law suit and more bad publicity.
W
h
e
n people are scared they lash out.”

“Explaining
so
m
ething
doesn’t
fix
it.
You
’
ve just been canned, and I’m
about to be.”

“Canned?
I’m on ad
m
i
nistrative
l
eave. It’s not the sa
m
e thing.”

“It is in
m
y book.”

“I really hope I haven
’
t done you any da
m
age. I thought we were getting along bett
e
r.”

“Yeah?
W
e
l
l friends don’t let friends bullshit the
m
selves.” He opens the door to my car. “I hope this baby’s paid for Doc. You’re out of work.”