One Was a Soldier (47 page)

“He did say there’d been a death in the family. Remember?” Eric was trying to be helpful. Russ wanted to tell him not to bother.

“Good Lord,” Clare said. “I swear, this is the—” Her phone ringing cut her off. She snatched it out of her pocket. “Clare Fergusson here.” She paused. “What? Oh, Will, that’s wonderful! Your parents will be thrilled! Hang on.” She clapped her hand over her phone. “The MacVane brothers offered Will a job at their garage.”

“Why is he—” Russ began, but she was back on the phone. “Isn’t MacVane’s the junkyard the town uses?”

Eric nodded. “Yeah.”

“What’s Will Ellis doing over there?” He answered his own question. “Looking at the Bain woman’s wrecked car.” He pinched the bridge of his nose again. “Jesus, Eric, do you really think the kid’s going to find something you didn’t?”

Clare snapped her phone shut. “He did.” Her voice surged with triumph. “Both brake calipers on Ellen Bain’s car were sheared clean off. Sabotaged.”

*   *   *

They cleared out for Trip’s office so fast poor Roxanne didn’t have a chance to give away the house brochure. Clare sprinted for her Jeep, conveniently not hearing Russ’s shouted suggestion that she go back to the rectory.
God.
In the driveway, Russ stopped Eric before he could get into his SUV.

“Ride with me. I’ll bring you back here when we’re done.” Russ waited until they were both buckled up in his squad car before he said, “Your suspension’s up on Friday.”

“Yeah.”

“What are you doing, running around like this?”

Eric shifted in his seat. “I haven’t misrepresented myself, Chief. I’m unarmed, and I haven’t done anything but ask a few questions. I haven’t been collecting evidence.”

“That you know of.” Russ flicked on his turn signal and pulled away from the curb. “If Will Ellis and the MacVanes are right about that car, it changes everything.” Russ bit back the sour taste in his mouth. They should have found this out back in August. They should have looked deeper. He should have pressed harder. Nothing could have saved Ellen Bain, but maybe—just maybe—they could have made a difference to Tally McNabb.

“I know. I swear, Chief, if it’d been just me and Clare at the house when she got that call, I would’ve let you know right away.”

“Hmm.” Russ slowed and stopped at the intersection. “Here’s what I want to know now: Are you doing this because you got roped into it by Clare? Or have you decided you can’t work within the limits of the police department anymore?”

Eric let out a noise. “No!”

“No what?”

“No. God. I don’t know what I’d do if I couldn’t be a cop anymore.”

“You didn’t file with your union representative. I’ve been waiting to hear from somebody.”

“I didn’t want to make a thing of it.”

“You broke a man’s cheekbone and fractured his skull, Eric. It’s already a thing.”

Eric stared at him. “I can’t lose my job, Chief. You can’t take it away from me.”

God, Russ hated this. He accelerated down North Elm, fallen leaves scattering to either side of his tires. “Don’t you think it’s time to come clean about what happened in that kitchen?”

“You know what happened.”

Russ sighed. “Here’s my problem, Eric. You’ve never been anything except an asset to this department. You’re the best investigator we have, excepting maybe Lyle. I want you on the streets. I need you on the streets. But I don’t know if you’re safe.”

“It was just once!”

“Was it?” Russ looked away from the road for a second and pinned Eric with his gaze. “Was it just one incident?”

Eric dropped his head and hunched his shoulders.

“Listen to me, Eric. If you had come back from your deployment with your foot blown off, we’d make accommodations for you. If you had popped an eardrum or lost an eye, we’d make accommodations for you. It’s no different if you’ve brought back something in your head. This department is ready to stand behind you and see that you get what you need to keep being the cop I know you can be, but you have got to come straight with me.”

Eric stared out the window as they drove past a three-storied Victorian framed by tatter-leaved horse chestnuts. He mumbled something.

“What?”

“I lost it.” Eric’s voice was barely audible. “He swung at me and I lost it. I hit him. I hit him with my gun. When Knox tried to drag me off of him, I hit her, too.”

Russ pressed his lips together tightly.

“I didn’t mean to.” Eric was louder now. “I swear, I didn’t mean to. I feel like shit about it. It’s like … it’s like…” He raised his head. “Like this feeling, this mad, gets so big it squeezes everything else out. I can’t think, I can’t wait, I can’t feel anything except…” He looked at his hands flexing, releasing. “I don’t want to hurt anybody. I don’t want to lose my family. I don’t know what to do. All I’ve ever wanted to be is a husband and a dad and a good cop. What’ll I do if I can’t do that anymore? What’ll I do?”

Russ slowed as he approached the curving loop of Church Street. The sight of St. Alban’s settled him, so that his voice was even when he said, “Nobody’s talking about you not being a cop anymore, but the first thing you need to do is get some professional help.”

“I’m in counseling!”

“In addition to the veterans group. You need somebody who deals with anger management issues and who can prescribe, if necessary. Our heath plan covers—”

“Drugs? For God’s sake. I can’t be doped up on the job.”

“Lyle has high blood pressure and high cholesterol. He takes drugs for both of ’em.”

“That’s different!”

“No, Eric, it’s not.” Russ stopped at the red light on Main. “He’s getting medical treatment that enables him to show up for work every day without stroking out. You need to do the same thing. You can go through VA, or you can go through our HMO, but you’re going to do it.”

“It’ll be on my record!”

“So is inappropriate use of force. I can guarantee you if I or your Guard commander had to choose, we’d go for the Zoloft over assault and battery.”

“Oh, God.” Eric stared out the window. The downtown merchants association’s Halloween window decorations—painted ghosts and cutout black cats—almost hid the fact that two of the stores on this corner had gone out of business at the end of the summer.

“Second, you’re going out with a partner for the immediate future. I’d prefer to team you up with Knox, but obviously, that isn’t going to work, so I’ll put you with Kevin on day shift and Paul if you have to work nights.”

“Not Paul. Jesus, all the guy does is eat junk food and talk about his porn collection.”

“So you can show him what good policing looks like. Which brings me back to Knox. I’m going to have a talk with her. If she wants to press charges against you, I’m going to do it.”

Eric didn’t object to this one. He simply nodded.

“If she decides not to—and believe me, I’m going to leave it entirely up to her—then you have got to make things right with her.” Russ turned onto Morningside Drive. “Have you spoken with her since the—since you hit her?”

Eric flushed a dull red. “No. I’ve been too … I couldn’t. I couldn’t face her.”

“It’s got to be done. We’re a small force. We have to trust one another, without second-guessing, without hesitation. Something like this, between two people, starts to poison the atmosphere for all of us. Believe me, I know.” He had carried a grudge against his deputy chief for months and months a couple years back, tending his bitterness and hurt like a hothouse plant. It had taken two .357 slugs in his chest and a near-death experience to snap him out of it.

Eric breathed out. “Okay.”

“Okay.” Russ eased the cruiser over the speed bump at the entrance of the Washington County Medical Offices. He spotted Clare’s Jeep. “Bring me the name of an anger management specialist and the date for your first appointment when you come in Friday.”

“You got it. I will.”

Russ found a space close to Clare. He threw the gear into park and turned toward Eric. “Lyle’s throwing me a bachelor party Friday evening at the Full Moon in Glen Lake.” He shook his head in disbelief. “I couldn’t talk him out of it. Anyway, everybody except the night shift guys will be there. You come, too.”

“Are you sure?”

“It’ll be a good chance for you to reconnect. It might not be a bad time to talk to Knox. Less formal than at the station, and I’m sure she’ll feel safer with a bar full of people around.”

Eric dropped his head. “Okay,” he said quietly.

“In the meantime, you can help me go though Ellen Bain’s papers. It’ll take some of the stress off the others—we’re way overscheduled as it is right now. If the case is still open three days from now, you’ll take lead.”

Eric stared for a moment, as if trying to gauge Russ’s sincerity. Finally, he said, “Thanks.”

“Don’t make me regret giving you a second chance.” They got out of the squad car. Russ was halfway across the lot, headed for the squat cement building, when he realized he was alone.

“Eric?”

His sergeant held up a hand and half turned away. “Can you spare me for a minute, Chief?” His voice was clotted. “I gotta call my wife.”

Russ found Clare at the Orthopedic Associates door. “Eric’s having a moment,” he said.

She bit her lip. “Is he all right? You didn’t jump down his throat because of this, did you?”

“Yes, he is, and no, I didn’t.” He opened the door and let her precede him into the check-in area. The receptionist glanced up as they approached her. Her professional smile fell away and her eyes went wide. “Oh, my God.” She clutched at her chest. “What’s happened?”

“Nothing’s happened.” Russ realized they must look like some sort of death notification team: the cop and the minister. “I need to ask Dr. Stillman a few questions. Is he available?”

The receptionist pointed at Clare. “Then what’s she doing here?”

“Good question,” Russ said. The woman who had been sitting behind the
SCHEDULING
sign a few desks down wandered over to see what all the fuss was about.

Clare shot him a glare before giving the woman her most reassuring smile. “I’m Clare Fergusson. I know Dr. Stillman socially.”

Socially?
Clare’s reverence for confidentiality was reaching new heights.

The scheduling secretary perked up. “Clare Fergusson? You’re in the wrong building. Dr. Stillman’s scheduled your blood test at the outpatient clinic at the hospital. You don’t need a referral slip from us.”

“Blood test?” Russ frowned. “Why is Trip Stillman sending you for a blood test?”

“I’m sorry,” the scheduling secretary said. “Are you two together?”

“Ah,” Clare said. “Um.” She blinked several times. “We’re engaged.”

“You don’t need a blood test to get married in New York,” Russ snapped. “I know you don’t like doctors and hospitals, Clare, but if something’s wrong, you’ve got to
tell
me—” He faltered. He knew one reason she might need a blood test. His stomach sank. “You’re pregnant.”

“What? No! For God’s sake, I’m not pregnant.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw interested faces turning toward them in the nearby waiting room.

“We don’t do any pregnancy testing here.” The receptionist sounded worried, as if this were a failing for an orthopedist. “If you think you might be pregnant, and you’re due for X-rays, you should get confirmation first.”

“I don’t need a pregnancy test,” Clare hissed.

“Would you please page Dr. Stillman for me?” Russ said. If he could just get these women out of his and Clare’s faces for five seconds—

The scheduling clerk leaned against the counter. “Sir, engaged or no, you still don’t have the right to patient information from one of our doctors.”

“I’m here on police business,” Russ said, at the same time Clare said, “I’m not a patient. Trip is just doing me a favor.”

The receptionist put down her receiver. “He’s on his way.”

Russ wrapped a hand around Clare’s arm and dragged her to the middle of the lobby entrance, as far from the waiting patients and the staring staff members as possible. “Okay. You’re not pregnant. What’s going on?” Every other reason he could think of for a blood test was worse than pregnancy. “Are you getting screened for cancer?”

“What? Why would you think that?”

“Because your sister died of colorectal cancer.” Fear made his voice harsher than he intended. “That increases your risk of breast and ovarian cancer. And you hate seeing doctors. It would be just like you to hit up a friend for a favor if you were worried, instead of getting it checked out properly.”

“No. Oh, love, no. Honestly.”

“What is it, then?”

“Look.” She bit her lip. “I don’t want to get into it right now, but I promise you, I’m not going to die, I’m not pregnant, and I’m not—” She paused.

“Not what?”

She jerked her head. Trip Stillman was crossing the waiting room toward them. “Chief Van Alstyne.” The doctor shook his hand. “Good to see you again. My receptionist said you have some questions for me?”

Russ gave Clare a look that said,
We’re not done with this
. “Yeah. I’m afraid we’re reopening the investigation into your sister’s death. New evidence has come to light—” He broke off at the sight of Trip Stillman’s face.

“My sister?”

Russ frowned. “Ellen Bain. I was told she was your sister.” Oh, hell. If Roxanne Lunt was wrong, he was going to look a complete fool. “If there’s been some mistake—”

“Yes. Yes. Ellen.” Stillman took several shaky breaths. His skin looked waxy.

“Trip? Are you all right?” Clare glanced toward the reception desk. “Do you need help?”

“No.” He cut her off with a sharp wave. “No. My sister is dead. She died this summer in a car accident.”

“That’s what we originally thought.”
But we screwed up.
Russ gritted his teeth and went on. “Evidence has been uncovered that strongly suggests her death wasn’t accidental, and there seems to be a tenuous connection to Tally McNabb’s theft of army property.”

“Wait—what?” Stillman lost his Madame Tussaud’s look. “Tally McNabb? From my therapy group?”

“That’s right.” Russ glanced around. They were out of earshot, but well within everyone’s line of vision. “Are you sure you don’t want to move this to your office?”