Toronto Tales 1 - Cop Out (2 page)

Explosion? Now the shrapnel made sense. Nothing else did. “I don’t remember an explosion. Just getting the tip from Gustav, before I got in the car with Ben. Did the car explode?” Why wasn’t Ben telling him this? The nausea had transformed to a sharp, burning pain in his gut.

“The building your informant directed you to was rigged. We’re almost positive that one of the guys Ben put away while he was on the drug squad—guy who goes by the name of Novi, the Russian Bear— was behind the explosion. He was released on parole a couple of months ago.”

Novi. Kurt remembered stories about him—drug runner and dealer, among other things. But he could tell by Inspector Nadar’s expression that there was more to come.

“I’m sorry, Kurt. Ben didn’t make it.”

 

Dead? He sucked in a breath. Shards of memories filled with heat and noise assaulted him.

“Honey, I’m so sorry,” his mom whispered. His parents had met Ben a couple of times. Ben had been a loner, and even after three years, Kurt didn’t know a lot about his personal life, but Ben was his partner. They’d worked well together, and he’d considered them friends. The almost fifteen-year age difference hadn’t mattered in the least.

His eyes filled, and he broke the gaze with Inspector Nadar, facing his mom. She pulled a tissue from her purse and dabbed at his damp face.

Pulling in a deep breath, he directed his gaze back at his boss. “How long ago? Have you informed his family?” As far as he knew, there was only Ben’s mother. He wanted to be there; it was his responsibility.

“I did that while you were in surgery. I don’t have any details yet, but the funeral will likely be on Saturday. If you want to be there, you need to concentrate on getting well.”

“Yes, Sir.” He’d be there, no matter if he had to drag an IV stand along behind him. Later he’d worry about getting the Russian Bear behind bars.

“Good day, Mr. and Mrs. O’Donnell.” Inspector Nadar nodded sharply before he spun on his heel and left the room.

“That’s right, baby. You need to get better. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.”
His brothers and sisters boiled into the room, all appropriately sympathetic for his loss, and glad he was mostly okay. Every one of them hugged him, awkwardly to be sure, but it wouldn’t be his family if there wasn’t any hugging or kissing. One of them had to be responsible for intimidating the nursing staff, because he believed most hospital patients weren’t allowed eight visitors at a time. He truly appreciated his family, and he hoped Ben’s mother had someone to help her, if she was having a lucid day and was able to comprehend the loss she’d suffered.
“Mom, I want to go home.”

“I know, baby. The doctor wants to keep you another day, then your dad and I will take you back home with us. Erin prepared the spare room for you while we rushed right here. We’ll take good care of you.”

He’d thank his sister later. Stupid to want his mom to take care of him at this age, but the thought of going back to his sterile apartment made him want to cry more. He didn’t have a girlfriend; he didn’t have anyone he even dated regularly. But he had his big, comforting family.
T
HE
chapel was small, but already his leg protested the trip from the taxi. Ben wouldn’t care if he sat at the front or the back, so he slipped into an empty seat in the very last row. Drawing attention to himself, when he survived but Ben hadn’t, made him uncomfortable.

He should have let his parents come, but for some reason he’d wanted to do this alone. Stupid. The cane wasn’t quite enough support, not when he had to use the wrong arm. He scanned the attendees for anyone who looked like Mrs. Kaminski. He needed to pay his condolences to her, if nothing else. Most of the pews were filled with dress uniforms—very few in civilian dress.

The minister strolled out, appropriately somber, to start the ceremony. There was no casket as there had been at Granny O’Donnell’s funeral—the only other person close to him to have died. Kurt hoped the lack of casket was due to choice and not necessity, but he’d been so exhausted from his injuries he hadn’t thought to inquire about the details. The service began, but didn’t hold his attention. No minister could have anything to say to comfort Kurt. Not now.

Memories of the hours they’d spent in a department-issued car together flitted through his brain. Ben may have been reticent about his personal life, but he’d imparted years of wisdom to a green detective and Kurt had soaked it up, becoming better at his job every day because of Ben.

Two people, neither of them in uniform, were seated in the front row, but off to the far right. The entire front row was open, reserved for family that either didn’t exist or wasn’t going to arrive. From where he sat, only the woman’s profile was visible, but she was around Ben’s age. So, not Mrs. Kaminski. Who was she? He could see no physical similarities between Ben and the strange woman—it didn’t seem possible that she was family, despite her position in the family pew.

Under his gaze, she wiped at her eyes with a tissue and offered another one to the man beside her. He took it, but clenched it in his fist instead of using it. The woman moved slightly, and the man’s profile became visible. Kurt didn’t recognize either one.

The congregation rose for a hymn, blocking his view. He didn’t want to tax his leg any further by constantly standing and sitting, and he even had his mother’s blessing not to. She’d been adamant he not do anything to reinjure himself.

When the inspector stood to deliver the eulogy, a small stab of regret pierced his heart. If it wasn’t one of Ben’s friends from outside the force, it should have been him giving it. Shame made him accept the inspector’s offer to speak, and shame made him squirm in his seat while he listened, trying not dishonor his dress uniform by crying. But Nadar hadn’t spent nearly as much time with Ben as Kurt had, and his words reflected that distance. He watched the strangers in the front row, expecting one of them to rise to speak when Nadar was done. But neither of them moved, except for the woman who again blotted tears from her eyes.

Fuck. Could he have worked with Ben this long and not known he had a girlfriend? The woman could be family—maybe—but Ben had never mentioned anyone besides his mother. The woman’s hand fluttered to her face, moving a strand of dark hair behind her ear, and this time he caught sight of something he should have noticed immediately. A wedding band.

What the fuck?

Why hadn’t Ben told him? Granted, Kurt probably talked more about his personal life than his partner had wanted to hear, but Ben deflected almost all personal questions. Kurt thought them friends, but he didn’t even know Ben had been married, let alone recognize the woman he should have at least met in the three years they’d spent partnered. Hell, most of the married cops he knew hung out with their partners off the job, frequently with their wives as well. Sure, he and Ben had never done more than eat lunch together, but Ben had met his parents and all of his siblings at least once, when they’d stopped by the station.

A burning pain lanced up his arm. Looking down, Kurt realized he’d rested the cane across his lap and was squeezing the shit out of it with both hands. Fine for his right, but definitely too much activity for his still-stitched left arm. Taking a deep breath, he unclenched his fingers. He’d talk to the two strangers after the service. He had a duty as Ben’s partner, and he needed to know. As long as he could keep his bitterness contained. Why hadn’t Ben asked for a transfer if he hated Kurt so much? Because Kurt couldn’t imagine any other reason for him not to mention a wife, even an estranged one, to his partner.

He couldn’t talk to Ben’s previous partner, find out if Ed had known. Ed had died of a coronary, after which Ben got partnered up with Kurt. The ache in his heart, knowing his partner hadn’t trusted him—at all—rivaled the emptiness inside where a friend had lived. It may have been a one-sided relationship, but Kurt missed his friend. God. Why hadn’t he known? Had he been too self-absorbed, or had Ben deliberately hidden the information from him? Guilt ate through him like acid, the burning pain in his gut returning. He had to have been at fault.

The service ended abruptly, or so it seemed, since Kurt hadn’t paid attention at all. The two people slipped out a side door almost before the minister had finished speaking. Without thinking, Kurt was up and out of the chapel, hobbling as best he could around the side of the church, to try and catch up to them in the parking lot.

“Wait! Wait!”

Two dark heads swiveled toward him, the man murmuring something to the woman, who nodded.
“Thank you,” he puffed out. God, he hoped he got his strength back soon. He stood before them, and shifted his cane to his left hand so he could shake their hands at least. They were undoubtedly siblings, but the woman was several years older and had that slight puffy cast to her jawline his own sisters had displayed in early pregnancy. Ben was going to be a father? He wasn’t sure if he could find words beneath the bitter guilt drowning him.

“I’m Kurt O’Donnell. Ben’s partner.” The man gasped slightly and turned away. His sister elbowed him in the arm.
“It’s nice to meet you, Kurt. I’m Sandra. This is Davy, my brother.” She would have made an excellent witness on the stand. Her words gave him only a modicum of data that he didn’t have before.

“I’m very sorry for your loss.” Kurt took her hand and gently squeezed it. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and her face had the yellowish pallor he associated more with illness than with grief.

“I’m sorry for yours,” she replied.

He stretched his hand out to Davy, glad that Sandra at least had a brother to aid her through this, but their body language warred with his expectations. Sandra had her left arm around her brother’s waist, shoulders tilting toward him in a protective gesture. It should have been the other way around.

Davy turned red-rimmed eyes, like his sister’s, to him. But that was the only similarity.

Sandra was sad. Davy was devastated. Davy’s chocolaty eyes were filled with all the desolation in the universe. The scleras were more than bloodshot, like he’d been crying for days, and his nose was as swollen and red as his eyelids. His face had the deathly white hue of shock that Sandra’s should have had, and he didn’t appear to be focusing too well.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, Davy’s hand in his, shake forgotten. He had a sudden urge to hug Davy, but he was too busy trying to keep the shock and betrayal off his face. The world spun dizzily as all his preconceptions and conclusions vaporized, to be replaced by the new information now in his possession.

Davy’s mouth worked, but nothing came out. He dropped his gaze, but he left his hand in Kurt’s. Sandra separated them.
“We need to go now, Kurt. Thanks for introducing yourself.” She tried to smile.

They got into a car, Sandra behind the wheel.
“Wait!”
Sandra twisted around in her seat.
“What about Ben’s mom?”

“Oh, well, she wasn’t having a good day. Sunshine Manors advised against bringing her.”

Kurt stood back and let them—there was no other word for it— escape. He steadied himself on his cane while the taillights receded. Assuming Ben hadn’t lied about his mother, it was entirely possible she’d been too ill or too disoriented to attend the funeral. But Sandra had been lying. He’d been a cop too long. He knew.

Chapter Two

 

T
HAT
night, his family tried to cheer him up. His eldest sister, Erin, brought over her daughters before his mom went to the restaurant. Now that all of their children were grown, both his parents spent the majority of their time at the family-owned Finn’s Frolic, a cross between a family restaurant and a pub. Since Kurt’s surgery, his mom had been home almost constantly, with other family members either taking him to doctors’ appointments, visiting him, or taking extra shifts at Finn’s to allow mom to stay home.

He sat at the kitchen table, longing for the solitude of his sterile, joyless apartment.

“Kurt, honey, the girls wanted to see their favorite uncle. You up to playing a board game or two?” Erin kissed his cheek and set a couple bags of groceries on the kitchen counter.

“Sure, yeah, no problem.” As long as they picked something simple, he could play and still digest the information he’d received today. He scratched at a flaw in the bright yellow tablecloth. “You’re my nursemaid today?”

“Kurt!” Erin could have doubled for his mother. He blushed. They were only trying to help.

 

“I’m sorry, it’s been a difficult day.”

Erin squeaked a little, and came to hug him, long hair brushing over his forearms. If he ever grew his hair out that long, it would look exactly like hers. Out of all of their siblings, Erin was the most similar to him in appearance: auburn haired, golden skinned, and deep-blue eyed. When she stood next to him, probably anyone could tell she was his sister, like Davy and Sandra today.

“Hey, when you’re pregnant, how far along are you when you get all fat-cheeked?”

 

Erin turned and threw a dishcloth at him. “Haven’t you learned yet not to call a pregnant woman fat? After five nieces and nephews?”

Kurt tossed the cloth back at her. “I’m not calling
you
fat. No, I saw a woman at the funeral today. She had that same look on her face.” He gestured vaguely around his lower jaw. “You know, puffy. I’m sure she was pregnant, but I don’t know how far along she was.”