The Wreck (9 page)

“Thanks, Dad.”

“Give your mother a call.”

“Will do.”

“Talk to you soon.”

He ended the call as his deputy chief,
Matt Collins, came into the kitchen still in uniform.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Matt said. “I
brought those files you called about.”

“No interruption. Thanks for the files.”
Michael added them to his pile on the table. “That was Brian. Did you hear he
won?”

“It’s already on the radio. You must be
thrilled.”

“I’m thrilled
and
relieved,”
Michael admitted. “Beer?”

“Sure, I’m off duty.”

Michael opened two bottles and handed one
to Matt. “Back in the swing after your vacation?”

“Give me another day, and I will be.”

“How’s everyone in Milwaukee?”

“Good. My parents are enjoying the hell
out of retirement, and my sister’s kids are getting big. It was nice to be
home.”

“Glad you had a good time.”

“So big win for Brian, huh?”

“Yeah. He sounded really happy just now.”

“With good reason.” Matt followed Michael
to the living room. “That was quite a trial. He’ll be in hot demand after a win
like that.”

“He gets recruited all the time, but he
loves what he’s doing in New York. Plus he works for a decent guy who gives him
a lot of leeway. He’s got a good thing going there.”

“I’m glad to hear he’s happy and doing
well. He surely deserves it.”

“You know it.” Michael took a drink from
his bottle. He had never forgotten the gentle care this man had shown his son
at the darkest moment of Brian’s young life. Matt Collins was much more than a
colleague to Michael. “Anything going on?”

“Not here. Quiet shift.” Matt set his
bottle on the coffee table. “But we got word an hour ago there’s been another rape.
This time in Smithfield.”

“Son of a bitch,” Michael hissed.
“Another kid?”

“Sixteen.”

“Same M.O.?”

Matt nodded. “Tied her up and left her
stark naked in the woods. She was there all night.” His expression was grim
when he added, “He did some nasty shit to her. Another clean job, though. Not a
trace of DNA.”

“Let me guess—a popular cheerleader
type?”

“You got it.”

Michael rubbed a weary hand over his
face. “One here, one in Smithfield, one in Cranston. Without the DNA, though,
all we have is the M.O. to tie them together.”

“It’s got to be the same guy.”

“We’ve got a serial sex offender on our
hands here. Tomorrow I’ll get with the other chiefs to form a task force.”

“I’ll take the lead on behalf of
Granville, if you want,” Matt offered.

“I’d appreciate that.”

“I did some digging around on the
computer earlier. I put a few parameters into the unsolved statewide files and
got an interesting hit. Remember the young couple in Pawtucket that was
murdered about five years ago?”

“Carjacking?”

“That’s the one.”

“What about it?”

“Both were tied up and raped. No DNA. Not
a hair, not a fiber, nada.”

“How old were the victims?”

“She was nineteen, and he was twenty-one.
I called up the coverage that was in the
Providence Journal
. Before she graduated,
she was the captain of the cheerleading squad at Shea High School.”

“Jesus,” Michael whispered.

“There might be others. Do you want me to
keep digging?”

“Yeah, but keep it quiet. We don’t want
to set off a panic until we know more.”

“I agree. I’ll keep you in the loop.”

“I don’t like the feel of this.”

“Neither do I.”

Michael
left the station at noon the next day. After a brief stop at the florist, he
drove on to the cemetery and parked his town-issued sedan at the foot of the hill.
Carrying a vase of pastel tulips, he started up the hill to the large granite
stone bearing the name WESTBURY. Engraved beneath were the words “Samuel
Michael, April 5, 1978 – May 19, 1995, Beloved Son, Grandson, Brother &
Friend.” Michael crouched to tug some weeds from around the stone and placed
the tulips on the base.

Every time he came here, he was struck by
the wrongness of it all. People were right when they said parents shouldn’t
have to bury their children. It was unnatural, and the pain of it didn’t lessen
with time the way those same people said it did. Rather, you somehow learned to
live with it and to accept that it was a permanent part of you now, something
you carried like a heavy suitcase every moment of your life.

“Mom says hi,” he whispered, feeling
somewhat foolish. He didn’t really believe Sam could hear him. With all his
heart, he wanted to think it was possible, but the practical side of him didn’t
buy it. However, since he had promised Mary Ann…

“She’s at the house in Florida, but she
wanted me to tell you she loves you and she’s thinking of you—always, but this
week in particular. You would’ve liked the place in Florida, Sammy. There’s a
pool in the complex and a beach nearby. We’ll probably move down there
permanently if I ever decide to retire. We’ll see. Brian won his big trial, and
they interviewed him on TV last night. It’s pretty amazing to turn on the tube
and see your own boy talking with so much authority and expertise.” He brushed
at some dirt on the stone. “Well, I just wanted to come by and say hello, and
to let you know…” His eyes filled. “I miss you every day, and I love you.”

Standing, he stared at the stone for a
long time before he turned to leave. He was startled to find Jenny’s mother,
Jean Randall, waiting for him.

She walked over to him. “I’m sorry, Mike.
I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“You didn’t.” He kissed her cheek. “How
are you, Jean?”

Her face lifted into a sad smile. “Oh,
you know.”

“It’s always tougher this week.”

“Even after fifteen years.”

He nodded in agreement and gestured to
the paper she held in her hand. “What’ve you got there?”

“Just some trash I found on Jenny’s
grave. Honestly, I don’t know what makes people do the stuff they do in
cemeteries.”

“Why? What is it?”

She held up the piece of paper with the
words “CHEERLEADER WHORE” written in vivid red ink.

Michael’s breath got stuck in his throat,
and he worked at keeping his expression neutral. “You found that on her grave?”

“Right at the base of the stone.”

“Do you mind if I take it? I’d like to
have it worked up. We might be able to figure out where it came from.”

“I’d hate to start something over
litter.”

“I’d hate for that to go unpunished.”

She handed the paper to him. “You’re
right.”

He pinched his fingers around a corner and
took it from her. “I’ll let you know if anything comes of it.”

“How’s Mary Ann?”

“Good. She’s enjoying Florida.” Michael
forced himself to make conversation when all he wanted was to get that piece of
paper into an evidence bag and then scour the cemetery for anything else that
might be waiting to be discovered.

“Do you get down at all?”

“Every couple of weeks for two or three
days. Whenever I can.”

“Be sure to tell her I was asking for
her.”

“I’ll do that. I haven’t seen Bob at the
Lodge lately. I’ve been meaning to give him a call.”

“He’s been under the weather, so he’s
sticking closer to home these days.”

“Nothing serious, I hope.”

“Just this time of year,” she said with a
shrug. “I saw Brian on TV last night. He looks wonderful, all handsome and grown
up. You must be so proud.”

“I am. He’s done okay for himself.”

She glanced at Sam’s grave and then
quickly brought her eyes back to Michael. “I’m sure you need to get back to
work.” Squeezing his arm, she added, “Take care of yourself, Mike.”

“You, too. Tell Bob to give me a ring if
he’s up for a visit.”

“I will.”

He waited until she had walked down the
hill and crossed the street to the town common before he reached for his cell
phone. “Hey, Matt, it’s Michael. Can you meet me at the cemetery? Now?”

T
he day after the verdict, Brian went to
his office to do battle with the mess that had accumulated during the two-month
trial. He dropped into his desk chair and contemplated the towering stacks of
mail and trade publications. If he fired up his computer, he’d no doubt find
the same pile up in his e-mail in-box. He reached for the trashcan under his
desk and began weeding through the first of three foot-high piles.

Colleagues who had been out of the office
the day before poked their heads in to say congratulations.

“Thank you,” he said each time.

When he quickly filled up the trashcan,
he ventured out to find some garbage bags and made eye contact with District
Attorney Saul Stein across the wide-open space.

“Crap,” Brian muttered, hightailing it back
to his office.

Saul made a beeline for him. “What are
you doing here?”

“I’m not officially here.” Brian pointed
to his jeans and polo shirt. “No tie.”

Saul’s eyes narrowed. “I believe I was
quite explicit yesterday when I told you I didn’t want to see you for at least
two weeks.”

“Look at this disaster area. When am I
supposed to deal with it?”

“In two weeks.”

“I’m starting to get a complex. Don’t you
like me, Saul?”

“Don’t be cheeky with me, Westbury. I told
you to take a vacation. You’ve got so much time racked up that if you were to
quit, paying you for it would throw the city into receivership.”

“I’m not going to quit, but I’ll take a
vacation day to clean my office.” Brian tossed one paper after another into the
trash. “Happy?”

With a withering look for Brian, Saul
wandered over to the credenza under the window and picked up one of the three
photos Brian kept there. “Is this you?”

“Yeah, I framed a picture of myself in
case you work me so hard I forget what I look like.” Brian laughed at Saul’s
nasty scowl. “That’s my brother.”

“Oh! So you
weren’t
spawned. You
do
have a family! Why don’t you go visit him?” Saul put the photo back and turned
to Brian.

A surprising stab of pain cut through
him. That it still could hurt so much… “He’s, ah, not available right now.” In
more than eight years at the D.A.’s office, he had never told anyone he worked
with about the brother he had lost.

“What about your parents?” Saul
persisted. “Don’t they like to see your ugly mug once in a while?”

“They saw me on TV last night. They’re
good for now.”

Exasperated, Saul flopped down into the
chair in front of Brian’s desk and looped his thumbs under his blue suspenders.
“You’re pissing me off, Westbury.”

“What’re you going to do? Fire me?” When
most of the first stack had landed in the trash, Brian turned to the next one.
He set aside the cell phone bill with the bright red “OVERDUE” stamp on it and
reached for a folded, stapled yellow flyer. His heart skipped a beat when he
saw the Granville return address. He tore it open. “GHS Class of 1995
Fifteen-Year Reunion. Come home to Granville to reconnect with old friends and
remember good times!” The reunion was set for Fourth of July weekend, beginning
with a cookout at the lake. As Brian studied the flyer, he was swamped with
longing—for his hometown, for the old friends, and the good times that ended
far too abruptly.

“What’s that?” Saul asked.

Consumed by memories, Brian had forgotten
his boss was there. “Nothing.” He tossed the flyer into the pile of overdue
bills.

“All kidding aside,” Saul said, “I want
you to take some time off.” When Brian began to protest, Saul held up a hand to
stop him. “You did an outstanding job with the Gooding trial—masterful, in
fact. But you’ll be no good to the people of this city—or to me—if you don’t
take a break and recharge.”

“I’ve got nothing else I want to do.”

“That’s pathetic on so many levels I’m
not even going to list them all. You’re still a young guy, and I imagine the
women don’t find you totally repulsive. There’s got to be someone out there
dying to spend some time with the celebrated attorney who put away that scumbag
Gooding.”

“There isn’t.”

“You remind me a lot of myself when I was
your age,” Saul confessed. “I have five kids who went and grew up on me while I
was hiding out in this office.”

“I’m not hiding out.”

Saul continued as if Brian hadn’t spoken.
“I hardly ever hear from them, and my ex-wife is now married to my ex-best
friend.”