Don't Call Me Hero (19 page)

He laughed out roughly. “Trying not to go stir crazy.”

“How’s Claire?” I almost didn’t want to ask in case I was stepping into a bear trap. The phone rattled with a giant exhale, and I sucked in my own breath.

“She’s pregnant.”

“Holy shit, man!”

“Yeah, I know.” He chuckled at my reaction. “And we recently found out we’re having a boy.”

“That’s awesome, Pense. Congratulations.”

“Thanks. Anyway.” He fell silent. “I just wanted to call. They tell me it’s good for me.”

“I’m glad you did,” I said. “It was good to hear your voice.”

“Yours too, Cass.”

“Give my love to Claire.”

“Sure thing, buddy.”

I ended the call and hung my head.

+ + +

Afghanistan, 2012

My mouth is dry and dirty. I can never drink enough water to sate my thirst, and my lips are perpetually cracked from the blistering sun. You don’t get tan out here—you get dirty sand lines—residue caked on your skin that penetrates your exposed pores so deeply it takes multiple showers to wash away the final traces of desert. If you thought beach sand got wedged in all the worst spots, you haven’t experienced anything.

The sun is hot on my face—too hot. There’s been no reprieve from this unforgiving, unrelenting heat for days. I don’t know how long we’ve been here; I’ve lost track of the time.

I have to sleep on my stomach because my back is on fire. My deodorant stopped working weeks ago, but I’ve gotten used to my own stench. It’s nothing compared to the rancid perfume of rotting flesh. I stare at the sky and the unmoving clouds until I’m forced to blink. Small birds jet across the sky, and the sounds of real jets echo off in the distance, taunting me. Even if they flew directly over us, they’d never hear our cries for help.

Pensacola has shrapnel in his gut, and is leg has been torn apart by a dirty bomb. It could have been worse though; everyone else in the unit is FUBAR. I periodically squeeze his injured leg even though I know it’s going to hurt like hell. His screams confirm he’s still alive.

“When’s the bird getting here?” he asks.

“The foxtrot is out. We’ll have to wait and pray.”

I touch the just-in-case-letter folded in my chest pocket just beneath my flack jacket. I decided to write it after experiencing my first death of a Marine during my first tour, and since then I’ve carried it around kind of as a good luck charm. The tone in the letter is light, joking almost. In it I tell my dad to use the life insurance money to buy that boat he’s always wanted.

I don’t cry. Crying means I’ve given up on myself.

+ + +

My phone jangled loudly, shaking me from my dream.

“Hello?” I hoped that it wasn’t obvious from my voice that I’d been sleeping on duty. “Embarrass Police,” I remembered to add.

“Cassidy?”

It took me a moment to recognize the voice. It was Julia, but she sounded upset.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s my mother. She’s wandered off. My father can’t find her.”

“Where are you?” I asked.

“At their house.”

“I’ll be right there.” I hung up without waiting for her response. I turned the key in the ignition, and the police car roared to life.

All the lights were on at Mayor Desjardin’s house when I arrived. Julia’s black Mercedes was parked out front. The house was situated on a little hill with a steep set of concrete stairs carved into the earth. I bounded up the stairs and rang the doorbell. Julia answered the door, not her father.

She looked like she’d been roused from sleep as I had. I couldn’t help but give her a visual once over. Instead of her usual power suit she wore black capri yoga pants and a half-zip running jacket. It was the least formal I’d ever seen her. Even her underwear was fancier than her current outfit. It made me want to draw her in for a hug. I wanted to whisper into her hair that I’d find her mom—that everything was going to be okay. I could see her wrestling with her own impulses as well, and it made me feel a little better.

She took a step backwards. “Please come in, Detective.”

Mayor Desjardin’s home was far less lavish than Julia’s, but compared to the majority of houses I’d been in, it was still a mansion. She brought me through a formal sitting room and into a dining area where the Mayor was sitting. A glass decanter of an amber liquid was on the polished wood table, and he clutched a well glass in one hand.

He lifted his head when we walked in. “Detective Miller,” he greeted. “Thank you for coming so soon.”

I nodded in response although I was privately pleased that he’d remembered my rank.

It was a little surreal to be standing in a room with both Julia and her father. I’d never had a proper girlfriend before, so I’d never met anyone’s parents under that context. Julia wasn’t my girlfriend though, and the circumstances for this meeting were completely professional.

“When did you notice your wife was missing, sir?” I jumped right into the reason I was there for. It would do no good wasting time, exchanging pleasantries.

“I woke up around 1:00 a.m. to use the bathroom. When I came back to bed, I noticed she was gone. I don’t know if she left when I was in the restroom or if it happened earlier in the night and I hadn’t noticed.”

It was nearly 3:00 a.m.

“I called for her, but when she didn’t respond, I searched the house. That’s when I noticed the front door was open.”

“Are any vehicles missing?” I asked.

“No.” He shook his head. “The cars are all here, thank God.”

I nodded, taking in all this information. The timetable was vague, but as long as she’d remained on foot, our radius where she could have gone was minimal.

“I’ll call Sergeant Addams, and we’ll do a sweep of the immediate area and then work our way out until we find her.”

“Is that really necessary?” Mr. Desjardin asked.

“Do you want to find your wife?” My voice came out a little too sharply.

“Of course, Detective,” he snapped back. “I just don’t know if it’s necessary to call Sergeant Addams at this hour.”

I ignored the Mayor and pulled up David’s number on my phone. He picked up after three long rings.

“David, it’s Cassidy. Mrs. Desjardin . . .” I covered the phone with my hand. “What’s your mother’s first name?”

Julia blinked once. I could tell this was surreal to her as well. “Olivia.”

I returned to the phone call. “Olivia Desjardin is missing.”

David’s response was appropriately eloquent: “Shit.”

“Yeah. She’s on foot, but she’s been gone about two hours, so the perimeter’s getting wider by the minute.”

“I’ll take town north of the river and you take south?” he proposed.

“Sounds good. Call me if you find anything.”

“Will do.”

I hung up the phone. “David and I will split up town,” I addressed Julia and her father. “I’ll call when we find something.”

“I want to come with,” Julia asserted.

I hesitated. It probably wasn’t a good idea, especially with our shared background. But I knew she wouldn’t take no for an answer.

“Sure. You can ride with me,” I reluctantly agreed. “Four eyes are better than two.”

The Mayor looked uneasy. “Should I ride with Sergeant Addams?”

“No. You should stay here incase your wife returns,” I directed. “Someone should be here just in case.”

He nodded his acquiescence.

“Stay close to the phone, Mr. Desjardin. Call the non-emergency number direct if your wife comes home. We’ll let you know as soon as we’ve got something on our end.”

I drove slowly down the residential areas surrounding the Desjardin house and used the high beams to cut through the black night. Julia was understandably silent in the car. Only the occasional crackle of the in-car police radio penetrated our silence.

“Has this ever happened before?” I asked. I wasn’t filling an uncomfortable silence I told myself. I was doing my job.

“No. Not that my father’s told me, at least.”

“Why didn’t he call the police right away?” Too much time had passed between him noticing his wife’s absence and me receiving Julia’s call. The longer we waited, the less likely it was that we’d find Mrs. Desjardin.

“He thought he could find her on his own. He’s arrogant and proud.” She frowned. “It runs in the family.”

I didn’t say anything in response.

We continued to drive. I thought I’d found something a few times, but each turned out to be a stay cat or a raccoon.

“Are you close with your parents?” she asked me as we continued to slowly drive up and down the streets of Embarrass.

“As close as a person who spent a decade abroad can be,” I shrugged. “I don’t see much of them, but I try to call whenever I remember to.”

“What do they do?”

“They’re both retired now, but my mom was a piano teacher and my dad was a utility man for my hometown.”

“No cops?”

“Nope.”

“Somehow I pictured you coming from a long line of police officers.”

“I kind of chose it as default,” I admitted. “I didn’t know what else to do with my life after the military. I figured I was a pretty good shot, so I might as well try out the police academy.” I turned the question on her. “Did you always want to be a city prosecutor?”

“It’s not really the kind of occupation little girls dream about,” she replied.

“I imagine not too many little girls dream about being a cop either.”

Julia raked her fingers through her hair. She didn’t look at me; she continued to stare out the passenger side window. “I started off majoring in Classical Studies. I loved Greek and Roman mythology. But my father told me the shortest book ever written was Job Opportunities for Classical Studies Majors, so I switched to Law.”

I squinted beyond the illumination of my headlights. I didn’t want her to think I’d grown bored with our conversation, but a black pickup truck with oversized wheels was parked on the side of the road. Even in the dark I could see the red, orange, and yellow flames on the hood and doors. The words “Cowboy Up” had been painted on the tailgate.

“What is that monstrosity?” I wondered aloud.

“I believe that would belong to your partner in crime,” Julia said.

“David?”

The man in question climbed out of the vehicle and jogged in my direction. I rolled down the driver’s side window of the squad car.

“Hey,” he said, sounding a little out of breath.

“Dude, what’s up with your truck?” I couldn’t help asking.

He looked back at the vehicle and beamed with visible pride. “She’s a beauty, isn’t she?”

“She’s something alright,” I mumbled.

He spotted Julia in the passenger seat. “Hi, Julia.”

“Hello, David. Thank you for helping with the search.” Her tone was stiff and formal, but I knew the words she spoke were true.

“Find anything yet?” I asked.

He shook his head. “No. Nothing so far. I think we should broaden the search. I’ll keep moving farther east if you wanna look west out to the river.”

I flicked my eyes in Julia’s direction. She was chewing on the inside of her cheek. “You really think she could have gotten that far?” It was dark and overcast that night. If Olivia Desjardin had traveled as far as the river, we might not find her until it was too late. It had rained steadily over the past few weeks, causing the moderately tame waterway to move with more aggression. I didn’t want to think about what might happen if she wandered down by the river’s edge.

David shrugged. “I don’t know. But maybe you should go straight out to the river just in case.”

I nodded in agreement.

“Oh, I also wanted to give you this.” He passed me a thick manila folder. “The paperwork from the State came back.”

“What kind of numbers are we looking at?” I asked.

“At least fifteen million dollars over the past ten years.”

“Jesus,” I marveled.

“I know. Can I leave this with you to add to the master list?”

“Sure thing. I’ll take a look at it in the morning.”

“Sounds good.” He exhaled deeply; it was cold that night, and I could just make out the steam of his breath. “I’ll give your cell a call if I find anything.” He gave Julia a jerky wave of goodbye before jogging back to his truck.

“What was that about?” Julia asked as I pulled the car out of park.

“It’s nothing. It’s just a case David and I have been working on.”

“It doesn’t sound like nothing. I haven’t seen Cowboy that excited since high school homecoming.”

“I really shouldn’t talk about an on-going investigation.”

Julia quirked an eyebrow. “Not even with me? We’re supposed to be on the same side. I’ve given you council before,
and
I’m the one who got those charges against David dropped . . . unless you’ve forgotten already.”