Big Sick Heart: A Detectives Seagate and Miner Mystery (11 page)

“I’m greatly relieved, I must say. Margaret
Hagerty has worked tirelessly on behalf of Soul Savers for many years, and I
would feel terrible if I thought anything I said had given you the impression—a
wholly unfounded impression—that her motivations were anything other than
completely selfless.”

Ryan came up to my desk, and he stood there,
unsure whether I wanted him to sit down. I motioned for him to sit and hit the
Speaker button.

“No, no, I didn’t read you as saying that at all.
If I could, though, I’d like to get back to that question you were just about
to answer, about whether you think the Board would look positively on her
becoming president.”

“Yes, of course. I would imagine—again, I cannot
speak for anyone other than myself—that the Board members, with one possible
exception, would look on Margaret’s candidacy with pleasure and relief.”

“Who would that possible exception be, if you
don’t mind me asking?”

“No, there have been several items in the local
media about a split on the Board. I hesitate to even call it a split. It is
certainly nothing that would rise to the level of a schism. The Board member I
refer to is Timothy Sanders, the founder of Soul Savers.”

“What should I know about Mr. Sanders?”

“Mr. Sanders, who is, incidentally, the only other
Roman Catholic on the Board, founded Soul Savers some fifteen years ago. He
envisioned it as a charitable organization built on the principles of family
and respect for the life of the individual. His positions reflected, fairly
closely, those of the Church.”

“Help me understand what you’re saying,
Archbishop. How did his views come in conflict with those of the rest of the
Board, or of Arlen Hagerty?”

“I would say the conflict was more a question of
means than of ends. Mr. Sanders wished Soul Savers to remain a fairly small
charitable organization in Colorado Springs, ministering primarily to young
women at times of crisis. His focus was always on protecting the lives of the
unborn by helping these young women find families that wished to adopt their
babies.”

“And what was Mr. Hagerty’s focus?”

“Mr. Hagerty always took a keen interest in young
women.” I shot Ryan a look. He gave me the abbreviated closed-fist jab, which
my ex taught me was the universal male gesture for sex. “However,” the
Archbishop said, “Arlen saw that Soul Savers could become a much larger
organization that could branch out into other family-values issues. But he
thought the organization could grow only if it took a more public stance in the
civic arena. The stem-cell debates, for instance, were the idea of Arlen
Hagerty, and of Margaret, of course.

“Timothy Sanders thought the debates cheapened
Soul Savers, turning it into—I believe his phrase was a ‘sideshow act.’ He
warned that the organization was on a slippery slope, that it was in danger of
becoming a political organization that would be swallowed up by the greater
Christian conservative movement and lose its identity. He objected, for
instance, when he learned the Hagertys were distributing get-out-the-vote
pamphlets and voter-registration forms at the debates.”

“I take it Timothy Sanders lost the battle?”

“I’m afraid he did. When he presented an ultimatum
to the Board—we must stop the debates and return to our original mission or he
would step down as president—the Board called his bluff and installed Arlen. I
might add that my election as chairman of the Board was probably a sop to
Timothy. As a highly visible member of the Roman Catholic Church who was
originally appointed to the Board primarily, I suspect, to enhance its
ecumenicalism, I certainly did not expect to assume its leadership. But then I
was elected to chair the Board, and Timothy was appointed a life member, in
honor of his accomplishments.”

“Does Timothy Sanders still live in Colorado
Springs?”

“No, he moved back to this home town of Waco,
Texas, I believe, when he resigned as president.”

“Let me ask you one more question about Margaret
Hagerty, if you don’t mind. I realize you’ve been very generous with your time,
Archbishop. Do you know whether she was aware her husband was critically ill?”

“Heavens, no, I had no idea he was ill. What was
his illness?”

“He had heart disease. It had progressed quite
far.”

“I had no idea.”

“And one more question, Archbishop. Do you
recognize the names Jonathan Ahern or Connie de Marco?”

“Jonathan Ahern is the fellow who debates—debated,
I should say—Arlen. I never met the man, although I had heard Arlen was quite
fond of him. And the other person—Connie, you said?—I haven’t heard of her.”

“Archbishop, I’ll let you go now. Let me express
again how grateful I am for being so generous with your time.”

“My pleasure, Detective Seagate. I hope you can
apprehend whoever committed this terrible crime.”

“We’re sure going to do everything we can. If you
can think of anything you’d like to add, please call this number.”

“I certainly will, Detective. Godspeed.”

“Yes, Archbishop, you, too,” I said, cringing at
my signoff as I hung up. Well, at least I didn’t say, “Right back at ya.”

“Okay, Karen,” Ryan said, his hands clasped behind
his head, “what did you learn, except that Arlen Hagerty took a keen interest
in young women.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I think that’s something we can
all agree on. The Archbishop describes Margaret as smart and ambitious, but he
was horrified at the thought I was considering her a suspect.”

“So you told him she isn’t.”

“Sure, why not? No reason not to.”

Ryan said, “Did you get the impression he was
pointing to her and just pretending to be horrified?”

“No, not at all. I think he was being completely
straight with me.”

“Well, we need to track down this Timothy
Sanders.”

“Absolutely,” I said.

“But we haven’t gotten any closer to ruling out
Margaret as a suspect.”

“Not until we can find out she knew he was gonna
die anyway.”

“I don’t know,” Ryan said. “That would make it
less likely she would kill him, but it doesn’t rule it out.”

“Yeah, you’re right. People can flip out and do
stupid things. Still, it’d be good to know whether Margaret knew Arlen was
circling the drain. I think that sounds like a nice project for you.” I looked
at my watch. “I’m gonna head on home, Ryan.”

“Okay, see you tomorrow,” he said.

I was walking out when I heard someone call my
name from the break room. I looked over. It was Matt, a uniform.

“Detective Seagate, got a second?” he said. Since
our one-night stand almost two years ago, I had tried to avoid him. One of the
ten or twelve things I had learned from that mistake is, you don’t ever want to
get involved with someone you work with.

“Hey,” I said.

“Say, Detective—”

“Just use my name, okay?”

“Yeah, sure, Karen,” he said. “I hear you and Ryan
caught the security for the stem-cell guy.”

“That’s right.”

“That didn’t go down too good, did it?” He was
wearing a smirk.

“You mean him getting killed?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Where you going with this? You got something
you’re tying to say?”

“No, nothing. It just seems the security didn’t
work out that good, know what I mean?”

“Yeah, Matt, everyone always knows what you mean.”

“Hey, no need for an attitude,” he said, palms up,
forcing a little laugh.

“He was in his hotel room, where someone killed
him. How’re we supposed to prevent that?”

“Yeah, you’re right. Of course, if you’d been
there with him …”

I shook my head in disgust. “I’m just wondering,
Matt. Are you disappointed you turned out so incredibly stupid, or you okay
with it?”

“You didn’t think I was stupid that night at the
club—or in your bedroom.”

“Yeah, I did,” I said, walking out of the break
room. Truth was, I couldn’t recollect anything he said, ever. He might have
been speaking Greek the night we were together. I did remember his beautiful
grey eyes and his smile, like a little boy’s, and the way he looked that
morning, asleep on my bed. I didn’t spend a lot of time thinking about Matt.

In fact, I never thought about him—unless he threw
it in my face. Now, reviewing my decisions that night, I wondered whether I was
so taken with him I didn’t see what an idiot he was, or if I had him figured
out all along and just didn’t care. I wasn’t feeling real good about either of
those explanations. One thing for sure: with the two of us working in the same
building, I was never going to put that one night behind me. I turned to face
him. “You’re an asshole.”

*  *  *

I was exhausted when I
picked up the phone and hit the On button. I do a lot of stupid things these
days, but I don’t think I’m basically a stupid person, if that distinction
makes any sense. But I was sure I was calling him too much. I turned the phone
off and put it back on the table. Screw it. I picked it up a second time, hit
On again, and punched his speed dial.

“Hello?”

Shit, it was the girlfriend. “Angela, this is
Karen. Is Tommy in?” This girl’s been around over five months, which could be a
record for Bruce. His strategy, although he would never admit it, probably
never even recognize it, was to make up for the time we were married. Thirteen
years, at maybe three or four women per year. Forty-five, give or take, is a
lot of women. And while he was going through them, the clock kept ticking,
dozens more girls turning eighteen every day. He would never catch up.

“Let me see if I can get him.” Angela called out
Tommy’s name. Her voice was clear and strong, unconcerned. Living in the
father’s house, getting a call from the mother—she didn’t find it
uncomfortable. Why should she? If anyone was out of line, it was me, not her.

I heard the tiny tap as Angela placed the phone on
the table. It sounded like soft wood, probably the pine end table near the
front door. Angela was humming something cheery as she sailed off to do the
next thing.

A moment later Tommy picked up the phone. “Hello?”

“Hi, honey, how are you?”

“Oh, hi, Mom. Shitty, thanks, and you?”

“Hey, watch your language. Cursing on the phone is
a federal offense, asshole.”

“Yeah, I know, and you’re a cop.”

“That’s right. And I can bust you anytime I want.”

“Is something wrong?”

“No, sweetie, I just wanted to talk to you, see
what’s going on.”

“Nothing’s going on. Like I told you yesterday,
and the day before that.” The words struck me like a fist. The one thing I
feared most was happening: he was pulling back. I knew I was trying too hard to
stay in his life, to show him how much I loved him, to help him stay on top of
things. But I wasn’t doing it smart enough. I was screwing it up, just as I had
the divorce and the custody.

When Bruce left, I’d fallen apart. We hadn’t been
close for a while, and I had concluded Bruce was a cold, self-centered jerk who
mostly wanted to be left alone to play with his stupid fishing rods. His idea
of a great day was to trailer the aluminum boat to the lake and sit there for
five or six hours, staring at the fishing line, making sure it didn’t twitch,
taking a break every now and then to piss beer into the water.

When he couldn’t go out in the boat and sit there
for hours doing nothing, he would turn on the TV and watch some other idiot sit
in a boat, doing nothing. My God, at least when you watch golf on TV you’re
pretty sure someone’s gonna take a swing at the ball every once in a while, not
just stand there for an hour staring at the grass.

But Bruce was an attentive husband every third
night. Hey, I need it, he would say, and I couldn’t tell whether he was too
stupid to know how that made me feel or just didn’t give a shit. Which of
course made it worse when he left. If he had been half as good a man as he was
when we got married, that would have been one thing. People can grow apart.
Marriages can get parched and die. Still, when an enormous waste of space like
Bruce decides to move on, it’s hard seeing that as a compliment.

The custody arrangement was routine. Tommy stayed
with me, and Bruce picked him up on weekends. This was when that thing happened
with Matt. Two days later, the chief called me into his office and told me I
was transferred to the night shift. I said I couldn’t do that, because of my
son. He told me it was night shift or I was gone. He couldn’t have me “fucking
the uniforms”—he was always something of a poet.

I was furious. I said why don’t you move Matt? The
chief said I was the one who slept with him. As a detective, I should have
known better. I still wonder whether Matt slept with me just for bragging
rights or to help the chief get rid of me.

So I went to Bruce for help. Kind of a mistake. He
blew up at me, saying I was whoring around in front of Tommy. He told me it was
my problem; there wasn’t anything he could do. But that next week he thought of
something: he went to the judge who handled the divorce and got custody.
Bruce’s mother, Eileen, who lived in town, said she was willing to fill in
after school at Bruce’s house.

“Well, come on,” I said to Tommy on the phone.
“There’s gotta be something going on in that pathetic teenage hell you call a
life. I mean, you do wake up, right? And go to school, don’t you? Something’s
gotta happen.” No response. I counted one, two, three. “Listen, pal, you give
me two sentences in a row right now or I’m coming over, and you know I’m gonna
make you brush your damn teeth, which you hate doing.”

“All right, all right.”

“Okay, now we’re gonna talk, like two advanced
primates.”

“Great.”

“So, the basketball camp ended, right? How was
that?”

“Yeah, the basketball camp ended. I almost forgot
about that. We had our big awards thing at the pizza place.”