Burying Ben (26 page)

He
turns around, his eyes unnaturally bright and glossy. “There ought to be a
statute of li
m
itations on whining. Daddy beat you up when you were a kid?
You get five years to be an irresponsible jerk and then forget it, it’s over. The wife leaves you f
o
r a syri
n
ge full of her
o
in?
Kills your baby and then gets sick and dies?
Ten years tops and then you have to quit b
l
a
m
ing all the crap in your life on her. After a while you have to shove
the shit that happens to you out of your
m
i
nd and move on. You have to get tough
w
ith yourself before you can be tough on anyone else.”

I think of my father, his useless ar
m
,
h
i
s conspiracy theories. How he wo
r
e his broken life like a badge of honor, the brilliant student leader, clerking in a print shop for thi
r
ty ye
a
rs, clin
g
ing with pathological certainty to his own s
a
d story in the belief that he was a hero.

“Maybe I
’
m
just looking for so
m
eone else to bla
m
e,” I say. “One of
m
y colleagues thinks that
’
s what I’m
doing. So does Baxter.”

Eddie walks back to
m
e and leans on the table, his big hands nearly cover the surface. “Listen to
m
e, Doc. On the one hand, you should stick to what
y
ou know, whack jobs and whiners. On the other, I
’
m
going to tell you what I tell
my rookies. Follow your gut. Never listen to anyone else – especially the police chief. He don’t know jack. If he does anything, it has to be spelled out in the general orders and blessed by the fucking Pope. Frankly, I think you could use a shrink
of your own, but if
your gut tells you that you need to stick your nose into this, then
that’s what you should do.
Do what’s right, not what’s going to get you a letter of commend
a
tion.”

He looks at his watch. “And another thing before I go. Don’t go near Patcher by yourself. The sheriff in Sierra and him
are buddies. Ben al
m
ost went to work there, but they turned him down at the last
m
inute. Patcher
’
s doing his own little investigation.
He knows I
’
ve been sniffing around and his back is up. Don’t try any of your shrink voodoo on hi
m
. He’s a cruel son-of-a-bitch. He’ll have you for dinner.”

“He
’
s alrea
d
y started on the appetizers. He’s suing
m
e.”

“You’re getting off light. He’s capable of a lot worse.”

We walk together to the
f
ront door.
H
i
s e
y
es dart through
m
y
l
i
ving room
and into the kitchen. “Your place sure looks empty to
m
e. Is there something else
y
ou should be telling
m
e
?
”

“Yes.” I put my hand on his ar
m
. “I’m
r
eally sorry I tried to
hit you over the head with a ten pound weight.”

He laughs, steps
towards
m
e as though he’s going give
m
e a hug and then stops, giving
m
e a cocky salute instead.

“No apology needed, little lady.
W
h
en a
m
an co
m
es into your bedroo
m uninvited,
he’s up to no good. Next ti
m
e, if there is a next t
i
m
e, don’t hesitate and for godsakes, don’t
m
i
ss.”

Chapter Twenty Eight

Fran l
e
ts
m
e
work the li
g
hter
d
inner
s
hi
f
t. I
t
e
ll h
e
r it’s not the
m
oney I’m
after. I need so
m
ething to do, so
m
e
t
hing else to think
about except Ben, Frank and the end of my career.

I’m
hopelessly clu
m
sy and unteac
h
a
b
le. She puts
m
e
behind the cash re
g
i
ster with a warning not to
m
o
ve. I don
’
t do well at
m
aking change either. At the end of the evening, she invites
m
e to eat din
n
er there every night for free, but asks
m
e to please find so
m
ething else to do with
m
y ti
m
e.

That night I dream
about Ben. I
’
ve had t
h
is dream or ones like it before. He is calling
m
e, his dise
m
bodied voice blowing across a deserted
landscape ringed with low mountains. I crawl up a scree-covered slope, trying to get to him. As soon as I near the top, I slide down, scraping
m
y ar
m
s
a
nd hands
until they bleed. I do
this again and again. The sound of
m
y own whi
m
pering wakes
m
e.

Early
m
orning air from
a partially open window cools
m
y cheeks. I switch on the light ne
x
t to
m
y bed and rec
o
rd the frag
m
en
t
ed i
m
ages of
m
y drea
m
ed inco
m
petence in a notebo
o
k. For years,
I kept a
d
ream
journal but stopped because Mark used to deride dream
interpretation as one step re
m
o
ved from
horoscope reading. It is only since Ben
’
s death that I have started
m
aking entries again, trying to capture, in the few
seconds before they disappear into wakefulness, the ca
m
ouf
l
aged and coded contents of these nightti
m
e journeys.
A
nd then I try to extract the essence
of the drea
m
, drawing it out like a delicate fila
m
ent and writing it down.

This
m
o
rning
’
s
m
essage
is
clear.
Do not lose Ben twice.

A car rolls by and the morning newspaper
hits t
h
e sidewalk with a so
f
t thwack that repeats all the way down to the end of the cul de sac, rousing a few high pitched barks from
t
he neighborhood dogs, all of whom
are purse sized because c
o
ndo
m
i
nium association rules don
’
t allow for any pets that weigh
m
ore than 15 pounds. There is a thin light in the sky, enough to keep
m
e
a
w
ake. I pull on a pair of sweatp
a
nts, a baggy t-shirt and
f
lip-
f
lo
p
s and head
o
ut to t
h
e cu
r
b
f
or the newspaper. There is a dark blue SUV parked across the street two houses down. My heart begins racing. I turn back toward
m
y house and stop. I am
safer outside in full v
i
ew of two early rising neighbors who are backing out of their driveways heading for work. I pick up the paper, wave at
m
y i
m
aginary friends and begin to read with
feigned concentration.

W
hen I look up, Belle Patcher is walking across the road
w
ith h
e
r funny little hobble.

“I
hope
I
didn
’
t
frighten you.”

There are dark circles around her eyes and hollows in her chee
k
s. She is wearing a green-collared jersey and baggy
white pants. The shirt hangs
loosely, and I can see deep creases around and under her neck.

“May I co
m
e
in?
I have so
m
ething
i
m
portant to tell you. About Ben.”

I’m
not sure I want her in
m
y house. On the other hand, I’ve known in
m
y gut that she’s been hiding so
m
ething, and I’m curious why she
’
s finally decided to talk to
m
e. Curiosity and intuition are good traits to have if you’re a therapist or a cop. She starts down the path as though I
’
ve already said
y
es.
I shove past her to the open door and direct her into the kitchen. She sits at the cou
n
ter, her legs
ba
rely reac
h
i
n
g the lower rung of the stool, chirping about what a nice house this is.
Could she just have a look around?

“No, you
m
ay not. April isn
’
t here and I don
’
t know where she is.”

I pour myself a cup of coff
e
e and don
’
t offer her any.

“
W
hat are you doing here, Mrs. Patcher?
W
hy h
a
ve you suddenly changed your
m
i
nd and decided to talk to
m
e?
Aren
’
t you still afraid of your husband?”

“He doesn’t know I’m
h
e
re. He’ll check the odo
m
eter,
but I don’t care. I’ll j
u
st tell him
I went shopping at the big
m
all in Freeston.”

“
W
hat do you want?”

“I found an address in t
h
e car. In
m
y
husband
’
s handwriting. I took a gue
s
s that it was yours. We don’t know too
m
any people who live in Kenilworth.”

“So?”

“I was worried that he ca
m
e here and forced you to tell him
where April is. Did you?
Did you tell him
where April is
?
”

“I haven
’
t talked to yo
u
r husband since that day at
your house. So
m
eone broke in here and trashed everything. I presu
m
e it w
a
s hi
m
. That
’
s probably why he has
m
y address in his car.”

She looks around. “He can be violent. Believe me, I know.”

She relaxes now, lowers her voice and
l
eans in. She is half-s
m
iling, her cheeks rouged with the pleasure of sharing a
c
onfidence, wo
m
an to wo
m
an. “One ti
m
e he pushed
m
e down the stairs becau
s
e
h
e was
m
ad at April when
she wouldn’t listen to him. He bla
m
es it on his job. Says it
m
akes him
over protective. See?
That
’
s why I don
’
t want him
to know where April is. He
m
i
ght hurt her.”

I want to sit down, but I don
’
t want to collude with the fiction t
h
at t
h
is is a
s
ocial call between frien
d
s.

“
W
here is she, Dr. Meyerhoff?
Tell
m
e, please. I
’
ll do whatever you ask.”

“I told you, I don’t know where she is. I brought her ho
m
e with
m
e for that one night. I went out the next
m
orning to buy s
o
m
e food.
W
hen I got back, she was gone. She left a note, but she didn’t say where she was going.”

“He drives them
all away –
m
y fa
m
ily,
m
y friends, and now April.” She settles her elbows on the counter, getting ready, I
s
uppose, to tell
m
e the long sad story of her li
f
e.

“You said you wanted to tell
m
e so
m
ething about Ben, Mrs. Patcher.
W
hat is it?
I haven
’
t got all day.”

Her eyebrows shoot up in surprise, as though she had expected
m
e to be so engrossed in the dra
m
a of her
life that I would have forgott
e
n that she had bargained her way into
m
y
house with a pro
m
ise to tell
m
e something i
m
portant about Ben.

“This is what I couldn’t tell you before, only now I
don’t care. Ben
w
as a nice boy and Vinnie tried to break hi
m
. We knew that he flunked out of FTO, that he didn’t just resign. Vinnie threatened to force April to leave him. I p
l
eaded with Vinnie to let Ben go back to his old job.
W
ho c
a
res where he works?
But Vinnie wou
l
dn’t listen. Ben had to be a cop or else. That’s why Ben killed
h
i
m
sel
f
.”

She sits b
a
ck, l
o
oking im
m
e
nsely pleas
e
d with hers
e
l
f for having defied the Gods to deliver
a secret of monu
m
ental i
m
portance.

“That
’
s it?
T
hat
’
s what you had to tell
m
e that was so i
m
portant that you were lying in wait for
m
e at the crack of dawn?
Y
ou
n
eed to leave.
Now.”