Dear Crossing (33 page)

“It’s not that,” Ray said.

It took no time for Woody to figure it out. “Gail?”

“In part.” The biggest part, Ray admitted to himself. “I need to get my head on straight. Putting some distance between us for a while might be what she and I both need.”

“Then what?”

“That’s what I need to figure out.”

“What about your kids?”

“We talked it over. We’ll work something out. It’s not like I’m moving to the moon. The drive is barely long enough to put a cramp in my ass.”

Woody’s brow creased. “Where are you going?”

“Minneapolis. Waverly’s been after me to join the force there.”

“I guess that doesn’t surprise me. Minneapolis is more your style. Widmer’s too tame for you. Usually anyway.” They both laughed. “So, you’re willing to start all over again—to walk a beat? Direct traffic?”

“I would if I had to.”

The tilt of Woody’s head begged an answer to an unspoken question.

“Roth demoted Waverly’s partner,” Ray explained. “Schaefer’s back in uniform. I’m taking his place.”

Woody’s arms fell limp at his sides. “Roth’s making you a homicide detective?” He seemed to recognize the incredulity in his tone and stammered, “Don’t get me wrong. I think it’s a good fit, but is that normal procedure?”

Ray shook his head. “Basically, I’m being leap-frogged over a lot of cops in the precinct who wanted a shot at that opening—deserving cops. Dick Waverly pushed Roth to give it to me. Pushed him hard.”

“So what’s the deal? Does he have that much clout?”

“Not clout, just cojones. He convinced Roth that the two of us can wrap up Paul Davis’s alleged suicide investigation faster than anyone else because of the background information we already gathered during his wife’s murder case.”

“Wait a second.
Alleged
suicide?”

“Waverly’s got serious doubts. I haven’t even seen the evidence yet and I don’t buy it.”

“I’ll be damned,” Woody said. “I wondered about that, too.”

An awkward pause followed as Ray tried to find a way to express himself. “I’m grateful I had a chance to work with your father,” he said, “I respected him as a police chief and admired him for the kind of man he was.” He looked Woody in the eye. “More and more, I see him in you.”

A subtle smile replaced the shock on Woody’s face. “Then why not stay?”

Ray laughed. “That’s the last thing I expected to hear from you.”

“You can be a huge pain in the ass, Ray, but”—Woody held his thumb and index finger a quarter-inch apart—“I’m this close to getting used to it.” He flashed a smile at Ray. “I need good cops on this force. I wish you’d stick around.”

“Thanks. I appreciate that, but I can’t.”

“When do you plan to leave?”

“As soon as possible. Roth’s sticking his neck out a mile on this; Waverly wants me there before he has a change of heart.”

When Ray emerged from Woody’s office ten minutes later, Irene wrapped her arms around him and left a scarlet lipstick print on his cheek. “I’m going to miss you, Ray.”

He smiled down at her. “Have you been listening outside the door again?”

“Damn straight. How else am I supposed to keep up with what’s going on around here?” She rubbed a thumb over his cheek, creating a red smudge.

“I’ll miss you, too,” he said, “but I’m not leaving for another week, Irene. You can blot your lipstick on my other cheek then.”

A week later, she did.

He’d made a point of saying a personal goodbye to each man on the small force, Wilke, Cooper, Rodgers and the rest. Ray stopped by to see Woody last. He shook his hand and held on for an extra moment. “Thanks for everything. I do mean
everything
.”

“You’re welcome back anytime, Ray. Keep that in mind.”

He paused before crossing the threshold. “I will…Chief.”

One member of the department was left. Ray pulled into the Good Shepherd cemetery, went to

Neil’s grave and said a silent prayer. A cool breeze whispered through the pine-scented air as he tugged his jacket collar higher and laid his hand gently on the headstone. “Later, Neil.”

There was only one stop left: the Cape Cod on the corner of Birch and Howard. He kept it short for the kids’ sake as well as his and Gail’s. Not a major production, he told himself. Keep it simple—not a farewell to the troops.

There had been tears as the girls goodbye, but fewer than he feared. In Gail’s eyes, he saw none, and wished it were otherwise.

Mile after mile he felt as though he were retracing the trail of blood that led him from Widmer to Minneapolis—Valerie Davis’s blood. The chain of events following her death left Nick Vincent and Dana Danforth fallen by the wayside. Ray withheld Paul Davis from the list of casualties springing from Katie Springfield’s actions. Davis didn’t belong on that list. Something else was involved. Ray was convinced of it.

As the skyline of Minneapolis loomed ahead, Ray drew a deep breath. He told himself he wasn’t leaving his family behind; he was going on ahead of them. He and Gail had built their marriage on a foundation as solid as granite. Ray could still feel it beneath his feet. Until it was ground to dust, hope still existed.

But, for now, he had a job to do.

About the Author

Marjorie Swift Doering enjoys writing in various genres. Currently, her focus is the completion of her third murder mystery in the “Ray Schiller” series. In 2005 her first one-act play was produced and performed by Darknight Theatrical Productions in Chicago, Illinois. Omega Publications, in 2009, published a number of her short stories in an anthology titled
Mosaic, A Collection of Short Stories
. In 2010, another of her short stories was published in
Red Cedar
, The University of Wisconsin�Barron County’s journal of arts and literature.

Marjorie and her husband, Denny, live in Northwestern Wisconsin with their Springer, Casey, and their three crazy, but lovable cats, Freddy, Dickens and JoJo.