Gone at Zero Hundred 00:00 (4 page)

There was a commotion with the camera; then a
male reporter stepped in front of it and started to speak. “What started as a
simple arrest here in Sutter Beach has turned deadly. Channel 12 News regrets
to inform you, Anna McSwain, of McSwain Investigations, has been fatally shot
by an unidentified shooter…”

  Carter shot up from where he was, as if
just realized the entire thing was filmed. “Give me that god-damn camera. She
has a daughter for Christ-sakes.”

Then, the screen went blank.

***

Back inside Sutter Beach Café, my eyes were wide.
I was in a state of shock, too horrified to move. “No, no no…!” I screamed,
over and over again, not understanding or comprehending what the hell just
happened.

Jaden and Cody were both at my side with their
arms around me, holding me up and giving me support. Everyone in the café was
staring. The mouths of the cheerleaders were open wide. I could feel the weight
of everyone’s pity. My body started to shake uncontrollably. I waited and
watched, willing the reporter to come back on and admit there had been a
mistake. But he didn’t, and reality hit me in the gut with a powerful force.

I just saw my mom murdered.

My mom was dead!

THE NEXT several hours were a blur. I have no
idea how I got home. I guess Jaden and Cody were responsible for that. I sat in
a stunned stupor as uniformed officers and higher ups within the Sutter Beach
Police Department, dropped by the firehouse to offer their assistance.
Detective Carter informed me they would take care of all the arrangements. A
friend to law enforcement had been struck down, so they wanted me to know I
didn’t have to worry about anything. My mind was in such a fog, all I could do
was nod in agreement. I had no idea what to do, anyway.

Then, there was all the food. Well-wishers came
out in droves and dropped off casseroles and meat platters. Since my mom’s
murder was televised on Channel 12 news, word quickly spread throughout the
state that an investigator and single mother, had been slain. I was bombarded
with emails and phone calls from people I didn’t even know. There were some
negative and threatening emails, as well. There were a few cops who were not
too happy about my mom’s accusations toward Marty Cole, a police officer. Cops
usually stick together. Carter told me just to ignore them, and took them into
his possession as part of the investigation. He said he wouldn’t have been able
to get a warrant, if the evidence my mom collected wasn’t solid. Of course, the
reporters were also hounding me. They wanted to hear from the daughter of the
slain woman.

Like hell.

Jaden and Cody stayed by my side until it was
time for them to receive their diplomas. They tried to convince me to go,
reminding me that life had to go on, but I couldn’t. What was the point? My mom
had always joked that the whole purpose of the graduation ceremony was so she
could publicly rejoice in the fact that I made it through the four years of
education - I was a lousy student. With her gone, it felt meaningless. I didn’t
deserve to graduate. All I kept thinking about was; I didn’t get a chance to
apologize for my obnoxious behavior that morning. My mom’s last moments with
me, I was a royal pain in the ass. How could I live with myself after that?

As the next few days passed, my thoughts only
worsened. I stayed in my mom’s bedroom, looking through the pictures on the
wall, and just trying to stay close to her. The smell of her perfume and the
lavender scent on her pillow gave me comfort, and made me think she was still
around, if only in spirit. I knew that sounded weird, but it was all I had.

I couldn’t drag myself out of the house to go to
the Wake. When it was time for the funeral, Detective Carter demanded I go with
him. He assumed I was planning on skipping that, too.

“You have to,” he said. “You have no choice. Even
if I have to get Jaden and Cody to help me drag you there, you’re going!”

“Why?” I whined for the umpteenth time. “What’s
the point?” In my mind, I was afraid if I went to the wake and funeral, it
would only confirm what I didn’t want to face, that she really was gone - she
was never coming back.

Carter sat down in front of me. “Do it for your
mom, Syd! Please. You’ll never forgive yourself if you don’t go.”

After I saw the pleading look in his eyes, I
merely nodded, but kept my face a mask. Because of that, those around me were
starting to worry. They were afraid I was holding my emotions inside. That I
was a ticking bomb, and I would explode later. I heard some of them talking
about me in hushed tones.

“Is she going to be alright?” A woman asked
Carter. “She seems so despondent.”

“She’s so angry,” another one of them said.

“She hasn’t shed any tears, yet,” said another.

Of course I was angry.

Hello!

My mother was murdered!

And worse, a reporter trying to get his name recognized,
filmed the entire thing. Now, I couldn’t turn on the TV for fear of seeing the
stupid clip repeated over and over, again. The media doesn’t tell you the whole
story, either. That my mom spent two years of her life working around the clock
to uncover the evidence for the police to make the arrest. They only showed the
parts that would get higher ratings, the violence, and the fact that it was a
police officer who was arrested. There was nothing but speculation about who
the shooter could be. One reporter even tried to suggest it could have been her
fault. The fact that her face was constantly on the news for a matter that
should have been handled by law enforcement, and not a private investigator,
could have pissed off a few disgruntled officers. Well, that would be the
media’s fault, not my mom’s. She didn’t ask to be on the news.

Yes. I was angry. I was afraid if I allowed one
tear to fall, a dozen more would follow, and I wouldn’t be able to stop. I had
to hold it together. I couldn’t bear to show my emotions in front of all those
people. Tears are so
personal
. But, no matter how hard I tried, the day
finally came when I couldn’t keep my emotions in check.

At the church, I sat stoically through all the
speeches from people who worked with her, relaying what a wonderful person she
was. I even got through the three-pages that I wrote without falling apart, or
becoming a babbling idiot. I’m sure that’s because the video showing all the
pictures of the two of us through the years, was playing behind me, where I
couldn’t see it. Cody put it together from old photos and videos my mom had
lying around. It was when we left the service to transport the coffin to the
cemetery, that’s when I lost it.

There had to be well over a thousand residents,
police and fire personnel in full dress uniform, military members and Sutter
Beach city workers, who were lined up along the two-mile-stretch of Sailor’s
Way, all the way to the location where she would be laid to rest. There were
signs everywhere offering words of support.

We will miss you, Anna McSwain
.

Anna McSwain, Sutter Beach owes you a debt of
gratitude
.

You will always be remembered for your dedicated
service to this community
.

My mom was a hero in their eyes. While I was busy
whining and complaining about the time she was spending away from home, she was
investigating some bad individuals who were siphoning off the pension funds of
employees. That was when the tears began to fall, and I knew right then that
life as I knew it before that fateful day, was never going to be the same.

FEW WEEKS
LATER

McSwain &
Beck

THE
DAYS turned into weeks since I lost my mom, but I still felt the gut-wrenching
pain, as if it just happened. Probably would for a long time - maybe forever,
or at least until I saw her again. There was so much left unsaid between us.
Losing her the way I did, I was forced to see the world we lived in, was not a
bed of roses. She warned me. Any innocence I might have had - which was pretty
small to begin with, was gone. I will never forget the last words we said to
each other.

“Sometimes life sucks.”

“Sometimes it does.”

Carter put together a task force for
a full-scale investigation looking for the shooter. They had the slugs, but not
the gun itself. A CSI tech did a reconstruction of the crime, and narrowed down
a possible location of the shooter. Then, officers combed the area. Divers
searched the local ponds and beaches. No luck. There was no evidence left
behind. The shooter knew how to cover his tracks. The task force suspected the
shooter was involved with the pension fund scam, somehow, so they rifled
through all the files in the cabinets. Carter said the investigation would
continue until the perpetrator was caught. But, all I heard was, the shooter
was still at large.

Then, a guy who called himself, J.C.,
pulled up to the firehouse on a juiced up Harley Davidson claiming to be her
attorney. I met up with him outside when I heard the sound of the exhaust. He
took off his skull and bones helmet, and followed me into the firehouse wearing
a leather vest and a pair of chaps. I thought he looked more like a member of
the
Sons of Anarchy,
and found myself wondering if he wore his get up
when he faced a judge in court.

“As I said on the phone,” he started
as he followed me inside. “I was hired by your mother to take care of her
personal affairs.” He glanced around the firehouse with admiration; then
offered a handshake to Jaden and Cody who were there for support.

In the old days, the fire trucks sat
in the bay just inside the firehouse garage doors. Now, it was where my mom set
up the office. There was a desk with chairs, a wall of filing cabinets, and a
mechanical bull-riding machine. Yes, you read that right, a bull-riding
machine. One thing my mom and I did like to do together; was check out the
local flea markets. You could find the coolest things. My mom said the
mechanical bull was better than a treadmill any day. A couple minutes a day and
you were sure to wind up with six-pack abs. She bought it and I was hooked.

To the right, there was a locker room
cluttered with old turnout gear, fire boots and helmets that were left over
from volunteer firemen. A small dispatch office with an alarm box sat just
inside the front door, and a set of stairs led to the second floor - the living
quarters.

J.C. pulled a stack of papers out of
a leather satchel; then we all sat around the desk. For the next hour, he read
through the contents of my mom’s will, and informed me of my financial
responsibilities from now on. He also confirmed something I knew, but had never
seen the physical proof - until now. My mom received a cashier’s check from an
‘unknown individual’ on the first of every month. He said the checks would
continue until I turned twenty-one. I knew they were from my father, but I
still couldn’t understand why his identity was such a big secret. Listening to
J.C. ramble on and on about my new responsibilities, I wanted to crawl into
bed, pull the covers over my head and dream it all away, but that wasn’t an
option. I had to grow up, and fast.

With J.C.’s help, Jaden, Cody and I
read through everything - all the things my mom usually handled. Things I took
for granted. She wasn’t kidding. There were a lot of bills. J.C. called the leasing
company and convinced them to take the Tahoe back, so I didn’t have to worry
about that monthly payment. But, they said there was still a fee that needed to
be paid for turning in the car before the end of the contract. It’s not
personal, just business, they said. In response, J.C. had some interesting
words for them. When he threatened a lawsuit with media coverage they finally
waived the fee. I guess they knew the media would paint them as
a giant
bully corporation
, who was harassing a young woman who just lost her
mother.

Then, the subject of the firehouse
came up - a conversation I was dreading. J.C. suggested I put it up for sale,
and get myself a small apartment. I thought about it, but just couldn’t do it.
My mom loved the firehouse, and so did I. When he realized I wasn’t going to
budge, he said we could use the monthly check to pay the mortgage each month.
That helped - a lot - but there were still taxes and funds to keep it running.
Gas, food, and all the things she reminded me of, also had to be covered. The
monthly check from the ‘unknown individual’ wouldn’t cover it all.

“Bottom line,” J.C. said as he
stuffed the papers back into the satchel; and put his motorcycle helmet on.
“You’ll be fine for a while. Your mom had a few clients that paid her well, but
you’ll need to have something viable in the future. The retainers that were
recently paid will have to be returned, unless the cases are completed.” With
that, he was out the door. Seconds later, the sound of the exhaust drifted off
into the sunset.