Eve of Redemption (4 page)

O
fficer Dave Martinez pulled his police car into the deserted parking lot. Long-neglected asphalt crunched beneath the tires. The emptiness of the place saddened him. Not long ago, families enjoyed the park, young people slipped in to be romantic, and many simply reveled in the beauty of the outdoors. The downcast and homeless were about the only ones who frequented the parks anymore. Heck, it was rare to see people outside at all. The 4D virtual reality games, along with synthetic drugs that enhanced pseudo-reality, kept most kids, and a lot of adults, locked away with their fantasies.

With a sigh, Martinez turned off the engine and opened the car door. Humid air washed over him. He unfolded his six-foot-five frame from the car and stretched. San Diego never used to have this kind of humidity. It wasn’t even 8 a.m., and he was already sweating, another sign the weather was getting weirder every year. Another thing no one really cared about anymore. They used to blame cars and the pollution they spewed for the changing weather, but it had been a decade since soaring gas prices had brought the country almost to a halt. People still drove, of course, but the days of driving anywhere and everywhere were long over. Another reason to stay home and live in fantasyland.

Martinez strolled to the edge of the parking lot and admired the view out over I-8 and Mission Valley. From this distance, he could almost pretend he was looking at the San Diego of his childhood.

The sound of laughter drew his attention. The only laughter he could remember hearing around here was the drunken kind, and not even that at this time of morning. He hitched up his belt, ensuring his weapon was easily accessible, and walked quietly across the lot. When he reached the edge of the asphalt, he paused—listening. New sounds, still laughter, but now mixed with thuds and grunts of pain. For some, the ability to experience practically any lifelike fantasy in the privacy of their own homes had grown boring. Eventually they came outside, where the line between fantasy and reality was razor thin. The real junkies thrived on crossing that line. Martinez hurried along the short dirt path to the top of the stone steps that led down to what had once been a picnic area. He saw people in the clearing below, huddled around something. Two of them were kicking whatever it was.

“What’re you doing down there?” Martinez called. He had long ago learned to keep his voice calm but authoritative. Recognizing the ink of the South Side Creepers, he moved his hand closer to his weapon. The Creepers were not one of the more violent gangs, not outside the games anyway, but they could be trouble nonetheless.

A kid looked up at him. “Cop,” he said to his friends. His tone carried no urgency or even concern. The rest of them stopped what they were doing and turned toward Martinez. One of the two who had been kicking the helpless form that now lay still between them looked up at Martinez with a big smile, as though greeting an old friend.

“What’s up, cop?” the kid said. “We were pretty much finished with this.” He gave the victim another kick before turning and strolling off into the trees lining the canyon, his friends following close behind.

Martinez doubted they would have left at all if not for his size. His biceps, shoulders, and chest stretched the material of his uniform to the very limits. Martinez’s fists clenched as their laughter faded. He considered going after them, but a moan from the wretch they had been beating on drew him to the higher priority. Besides, one cop going off by himself into the canyon after four Creepers was plain stupid. And David Martinez was not stupid.

Martinez radioed for backup and an ambulance before kneeling beside the injured man who lay face down on the ground. He was covered in dirt, but his clothes looked in too good of shape for him to be one of the local homeless. He smelled too clean as well. Probably some guy from the neighborhood wandered into the park and got himself mugged.

“Great, just great. What am I supposed to do with you?”

Martinez gave the man a once-over. He saw no external injuries, but with the man’s face in the dirt, it was impossible to tell how much damage there might be. He considered his options and decided it would probably be best to risk further damage and roll the guy over than to be overly cautious and not move him. If those punks had stabbed him, his lifeblood could be soaking the ground beneath him while Martinez sat here waiting for the paramedics.

The decision made, Martinez gently rolled the victim over. He spread the man’s coat open and checked him for obvious damage. There was blood on his shirt, but it appeared to have dripped from his face and not from any undiscovered injury. Martinez took a good look at the man. He looked familiar, but his face was already swelling from the beating he had taken.
Definitely not one of the local street people
.

The victim groaned. Martinez did a quick frisk of the man’s trouser pockets in search of some form of identification, but they were empty. A similar search of his jacket pockets revealed nothing more, but when he pulled open the coat, he saw the top of something peeking from within an inside pocket. He carefully pulled it out and saw it was a photograph, bent and well-worn, of a man, woman, and girl of middle-school age. They were a nice-looking family, casually dressed and happy. He looked closer at the face of the man in the picture. Martinez knew these people. He gazed back down at the man on the ground, who was slowly regaining consciousness. “John Burke?”

Martinez had worked the disappearances four years ago when he was still a detective. Six teenagers and three adults had vanished from a church youth meeting. John Burke’s wife and daughter had been among those missing. The common theory was that they had been part of a wacko religious cult that had taken the kids off to some jungle somewhere. Martinez had never bought into that theory, especially considering the other strange aspects of the case, but politics and anti-religion bias had pushed it into the realm of the unimportant. Soon after, those same politics had demoted him from detective back to patrolman.

Martinez heard the sirens approaching in the distance, but paid no attention. Could this poor soul really be John Burke? He realized the man had one eye open and was gazing up at him. The other appeared to be swollen shut. “Just lay still,” Martinez said. “An ambulance is on the way.”

The man tried to speak, failed, licked his lips, and tried again. “Don’t…don’t need…ambulance.”

Martinez stifled a smile. Wasn’t that always the case? The ones who needed the ambulance never wanted it, and the ones who didn’t thought they were dying. “You may not think so, but from my vantage point you are in serious need of some medical attention.” He looked up to see a police car pull to the curb. The ambulance arrived right behind it. Both had emergency lights flashing, but their sirens had quieted.

A young patrol officer sauntered over as the medics hurried to get their gear. “What you got, Martinez?”

Martinez gave the newcomer a quick glance. Brad Hastings was a good cop, if a bit cocky. “Creepers beat this guy unconscious. Took off when they saw me.”

“Can’t say I blame them. I want to take off when I see you.” Hastings laughed at his own joke before looking down at the man on the ground. “Man, what a mess. Dude should have known better than to take a solo stroll through the park. Got what he deserved, I’d say.”

Martinez felt his anger begin to boil. “Have some respect. This guy’s been through a lot.”

“Yeah? So?”

Martinez’s desire to throttle the young officer was interrupted by the paramedics who moved to inspect Burke. After giving them a quick rendition of what had happened, he stood and gave them room to work. Taking a deep breath, he turned to the other officer. “Look, Hastings, that guy lost his wife and kid. Used to come by the precinct almost every day to see if we had any new information. Cut the guy some slack?”

Hastings managed a sheepish look. “Sorry, man, but look at the guy. What a waste.” Martinez did look. Burke was sitting up and seemed to be allowing the paramedics to take care of him. Even now, knowing who this man was, it was nearly impossible to see the robust, athletic John Burke he had known in years past. Now it looked like a strong wind would pick him up and carry him away.
What happened to you?

“Nothing for you here, Hastings. Might as well take off.”

“Yeah, okay,” Hastings said. “You coming?”

Martinez thought about it a moment, then shook his head. “I’ll hang here awhile.” Burke had been adamant about not going with the ambulance, and Martinez felt he should wait around. Maybe he could convince the guy to do what was best for him.

Hastings shrugged and took a few steps toward his car before turning back. “Look, Martinez, that guy isn’t who he was. Don’t let him get under your skin.” Then, seeing the look his comment brought to his comrade’s face, Hastings turned and retreated to his car.

Martinez sighed. People just didn’t respect human dignity anymore.
God, what is this country coming to?

He hung around until the paramedics had done all they could on the scene. They tried to get Burke to go with them to the hospital, but he refused. Burke was on his feet, swaying as if trying to decide which way to fall. Both of his eyes were black and purple, the left swollen almost shut. Martinez stepped over to the group. “Let me talk to him a minute.” As the paramedics packed up their equipment, Martinez moved closer to the injured man. “Mr. Burke,” he said in what he hoped was a soothing tone. Burke flinched at the sound of his name. Martinez held out the picture he had taken from Burke’s pocket earlier. The man reached out and grabbed it.

“Where’d you get this?” Burke mumbled through swollen lips, his one open eye lit with suspicion.

“Found it in your pocket,” Martinez said.

Burke stared at the picture a moment before slipping it back into his coat.

“You really should go with them,” Martinez said. “You’re not in good shape.” He watched as Burke slowly shook his head before taking a couple of shambling steps. “You’re in no shape to walk. Let them take you in for a quick once-over. Then you can give me a report about what happened.”

For a moment Burke just stood there, staring at his feet. Finally he said in a voice barely above a whisper, “No report. Just leave me alone.”

Martinez said nothing, just waited to see what would happen next. Burke remained quiet, as if unsure himself what he planned to do. He looked up at Martinez with his one good eye. “I didn’t think you’d remember me.”

Martinez smiled. “Didn’t until I saw that picture of you with your family.”

Burke dropped his gaze, and Martinez wondered if he might have said the wrong thing. “Yeah, my family.” Burke sagged in the baggy trench coat. Martinez took a chance, reached out, and put one hand on his shoulder. He was amazed at just how small and fragile that shoulder felt in his grasp.

“Look, I know things have been tough for you since the disappearances, but…”

Burke’s head snapped up. Anger radiated from his good eye. He shoved Martinez’s hand from his shoulder with surprising strength. “What would you know about it?” he spat. “You didn’t even care. No one cared.” He turned his back, and Martinez could see his shoulders shake as raw emotion took over.

Martinez struggled for what to do next.
God help me. Show me what to do.
“Any place I can take you? Where you staying?” Burke just shook his head. “How ‘bout I take you to my place, give you a chance to rest and clean up a bit? Trinny wouldn’t mind a bit.”

“I don’t need your charity,” Burke said. “I’m not the person you knew. You don’t know me at all anymore.” Though his voice was still hoarse and cracked, Martinez detected a touch of the man’s old spirit.

“You’re right, I don’t. Never really did, but that doesn’t mean I never cared.”

“Just forget you saw me,” Burke said. “Nothing is any different now than it was before. You have your life. I have mine. Just leave it at that.”

“Can’t leave it at that. This morning when I got up the biggest thing I had to think about was that Trinny was ticked that I was working on Sunday. Things are different now. Seeing you again, like this, knowing what you went through. Can’t just walk away.”

Burke turned back toward him, looking much like a prizefighter who had come up on the short end of a bout. “Admit it, Officer Martinez. You haven’t given me the slightest thought since you were pulled from the case. You haven’t wondered. You haven’t cared. Now you come along wanting to make things better. Well guess what? You can’t make it better. You can’t help me, and I don’t want you to try.”

Martinez opened his mouth to say more and then thought better of it. He knew this was not the way to handle the situation. “If that’s the way you want it. You’re right. Life goes on, and we forget about those who aren’t in our lives anymore. I’m sorry about that.” He rubbed a hand over his smooth head and sighed. “Nothing seems right anymore.”

Martinez sensed Burke felt the same way, though probably not for the same reasons. “It’s not much of an excuse, but we just don’t have time to think about much beyond surviving another day.”

For a moment John Burke stood there, then shrugged himself deeper into his coat, buried his hands in his pockets, and limped away.