What the River Knows (26 page)

He headed back toward his apartment. As the sun dropped, a slight breeze picked up, cooling him as he ran at a more sensible pace toward the home that no longer felt like home. The voices began again, and he sped up.

****

The mallard hen stood on the shore near Charlotte, quacking and shaking her head. “I don’t have any bread,” Charlotte whispered. “I didn’t plan to visit with you this evening.” She heard pounding footfalls on the path and waited until the runner was well past her before she looked up to confirm it was Handsy headed south. “Later, duckies.” Charlotte climbed the river bank to the path and hurried back to her car. She’d skip her walk tonight. And find another place to walk from now on. She couldn’t risk starting a conversation with that cop.

****

Scott tried to force his mind onto police work as he ran, hoping it would drown out the self-accusations he kept hearing. He didn’t recall any of the vehicles in the parking lot being on any stolen or watch lists. Still, something he had seen there nagged at him. There was something he needed to remember from that parking lot. He shook his head. Maybe the beers had been too much. He needed to watch that they didn’t become a habit.

Chapter 56

A month later, on a September day that promised to be a scorcher, Scott hustled to his desk at 8:07, Sonic Drive-Thru coffee cup still hot against his hand.

“Oversleep again, rookie?” Bates looked up from his computer monitor. He, too, had a fast food cup on his desk—Dunkin’ Donuts. He reached for it and made a face. “Stuff tastes like crap when it gets cold.”

Scott set down the cup with a little more force than he intended. “Not exactly.” He flipped the switch on his computer. “Put on a load of laundry after I got up, and then it got unbalanced, so I had to move stuff around and turn it off before I left.” He grinned at Bates. “It’ll be okay sitting all day, but I sure hope we don’t get called out on something that keeps us all night.”

“Well, Rica could always finish it when she gets home.”

With Bates watching him, Scott knew he needed to confess, but just shrugged. “We get any of the warrants for that stuff from the break-ins?”

“Not yet. Chief thought it might be later today.”

“Good.” Scott sat and faced his monitor, his back to Bates.

Just then, a uniformed deputy strode through the door to their office. “Hey, Roger,” Bates called out. “Those our warrants for the theft ring?”

Scott looked up, the coffee suddenly acid burning in his stomach. “No, Del.” The deputy stopped before Scott’s desk. “Sorry, Scott, but I have to do this.” He handed the folded paper to Scott. “You know what it is, don’t you?”

Scott nodded, his throat too dry to speak. He glanced at the paper to confirm what he already knew: Rica had served him with divorce papers. She hadn’t even had the kindness to allow them to be served by mail, had forced a fellow officer to embarrass them both. “Thanks, Rog.”

“Sorry, man.” The deputy shot a look at Bates, then turned and left the room.

Scott sat staring down at the papers, reading the words that told him his hopes that Rica would cool down and come back were gone. He felt Bates’ hand on his shoulder. He sat, silent, wishing he could turn to stone, then he wouldn’t hurt anymore, wouldn’t have to face Bates’ questions, wouldn’t have to go through the court hearings, the settlement process.

“Let’s go get a cup of coffee, Scott.”

Numb, Scott got up and followed Bates without question, without a word being spoken until they had two hot cups in their hands from the McDonald’s six blocks from the station. Bates drove to the park at the south end of town, pulled into the shade, and parked. “Ok, Scott. Are you ready to talk?”

Scott sipped his coffee. All he tasted was heat. Outside, in the park, a few yellow leaves dropped from the elm tree above them, victim of too little water this summer and an early turn of cool fall nights just a week after Labor Day. “Not really.”

“Officially, you have to, you know.”

Scott shrugged. “I know.” He ran his thumb around the lid of the cup, pressed the flap a little more firmly in its slot. “I just kept thinking she would get over it and come home.”

“How long has she been gone?”

Scott mentally added the last forty-eight hours to the tally he had kept since she walked out. “Six weeks, five days and—” He checked the dash clock. “Ten hours.” He looked out the window again. “More or less.”

“Damn, Scott.” Bates took a long swallow of coffee. “I knew you guys had had some ups and downs lately, but I never suspected it was that bad.” Scott could feel his partner watching him, but he couldn’t look away from the squirrel frantically burying a nut thirty feet from where they were parked. “I should have figured something was bothering you when I noticed you were losing some weight, but I just thought it was the Enfield case.” He paused. “I’m sorry, Scott.”

The squirrel dashed off to find another nut to bury. Scott remained silent; having told Bates, he had now done half his duty. All that remained was telling the chief and then sitting through the required counseling sessions with a Department-paid shrink. “Maybe when I’m done with the shrink, they’ll leave me alone to focus on the job.” It was all he had left.

“Don’t focus so much on the job that you don’t do the work it takes to get over this.”

Scott shook his head. “There’s no getting over this.” He sighed. “I never dated much before I met Rica. Once I met her, I knew she was the one.”

“Scott,” Bates began, then hesitated. “I know it feels like the end of life as you know it right now. And it is the end of life as it was for you, but it isn’t the end of everything.” He shifted in his seat. “Ellen and I have served as marriage mentors in our church for years. We’ve counseled with couples that ended their marriages and others who worked it out, and still others who were working hard on making a second marriage work. Believe me when I tell you that you will survive this, and when you have another relationship—”

“I don’t think—”

“Just hear me out, Scott. I said when, not if, you have another relationship, it can be stronger and healthier than what you had with Rica.”

Scott stayed silent. Rica was all he ever wanted. Rica and children with her.

“Or, if the divorce takes long enough and you both do some counseling, you could end up back together, much better than before.”

“You really think so? I could win her back?” Bates’ words represented the first tangible hope Scott had felt in a long time.

Bates stared at him a long time. “I don’t want to raise any false hopes, Scott, because it doesn’t happen often. You would both have a lot of changing to do.” He waited. “Wasn’t she a little…temperamental?”

Scott shrugged. “Only when I was stupid, like I forgot an important occasion or was late.”

“That happens with our line of work, Scott. A mate has to be a bit forgiving.”

“Rica was forgiving.” Scott looked out the window again. The squirrel was back, and down the curve of parkway, Scott could see another one, also digging furiously. He’d bet this was gonna be a rough winter.

“Don’t be too hard on yourself, Scott. It takes two giving 110% each to make a marriage work. One person can’t hold it together alone.”

“We were both trying. We did counseling, I tried hard to change, to be neater, to be better at letting her know when I wouldn’t be home on time.”

Bates’ voice grew gentle. “What was Rica trying to change?”

Scott stared at Bates. Finally, a light began to come on. “Me?”

“That’s what it sounds like from where I sit,” Bates said. “There is always another side to the story, but it seems like she wanted you to do all the changing.”

Scott shrugged again. “Maybe I just didn’t see it very clearly.”

“Or maybe you did.” Bates sighed. “Man, I am so sorry you have to be going through this.”

Silence fell as they sipped their coffee. Scott finished his first. “Guess we’d better get back to the station so I can tell the chief and only get half my ass chewed off for not telling him before the papers came.”

Bates put the car in reverse. “You’ll be lucky if that’s all you get.”

****

“You knew the regulations, Aylward,” the chief thundered in his best Clint Eastwood-style whisper. “I’m giving you administrative suspension for the rest of the week, and you had damn well better arrange your first visit with our contracted counselor before this week is over.”

“But, sir, it’s hard to get in to the counselor—” Scott began.

“I don’t care if it’s impossible, Aylward. Just do it.”

Scott took a deep breath. Even though it was Tuesday, it sure felt like a Monday. “Yes, sir.” Scott retreated from the chief’s office and went to his desk to pick up his notes on the Delia Enfield case. He might be suspended, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t work on his own.

Bates looked up as he sat down at his desk. “How did it go?”

Scott picked up his notebook. “Suspended till next Monday.”

“Geez.” Bates hit a key on the computer and leaned back. “I didn’t expect him to be that mad.”

“Well, he was.” Scott found the file on his computer and printed out the two pages of notes he had entered.

“You want to come over for supper tonight?” Bates got up from his desk. “Meatloaf, I think, but it’ll be good.”

Scott looked at his partner. Bates was trying to be helpful, as always. “Not yet, Del, but thanks for the offer.” He folded the pages of notes and stuck them in his notebook.

“Don’t wait too long, rookie. Looks like you’re starving to death on your own cooking.”

Scott shook his head. “Just been running more to try to stop thinking.” And not even bothering to eat most of the time.

Bates nodded toward the notebook. “Don’t spend all of your suspension working. Get some rest and eat.”

“I will.” Scott turned toward the door. “Thanks, Del.”

Chapter 57

At his apartment, Scott opened the notebook on the kitchen table and unfolded the two pages of notes he had printed, trying to flatten them out again. He scanned the notes quickly, then suddenly turned toward the bedroom to grab his old high school annual. Returning to the kitchen, he opened the fridge to see what it might offer up for lunch. Moldy bread, a wizened apple, sour milk, a third of a bag of baby carrots, a jar of mayonnaise, one dill pickle spear remaining in a jar of juice, and a half-empty twelve-pack of Bud Light. He knew the cabinet beside the sink contained a few cans of soup. Maybe he’d heat a can of soup later. Right now, he grabbed the baby carrots and a Bud, twisting off the lid. He put the bottle to his lips and took a long pull.

Swinging his leg over his chair, he opened the annual and looked at the faces now involved in this case. Delia—Margaret then—so serious and studious, at least to most of the world. Brandi, Goth then, now the all-American girl. Kyle, such a slender, delicate boy. The photos didn’t reveal much detail, but now he did remember that Kyle had unusual colored eyes. What would a police sketch artist call them? Pale hazel? The girls had always giggled about how unfair it was that a boy had such pretty eyes. And long eyelashes. Scott picked up the bottle again.

He looked at his notes. There was a phone number from the school in Nevada that had requested Kyle’s transcript. Setting down the beer, he dialed the number.

“Mustang High School,” came the crisp answer.

“Hello, I’m a detective from Kansas, Scott Aylward with City Police Department. I’m trying to find a student who may have attended your school twelve to fourteen years ago.”

He heard a hesitation in the voice. “Just a moment, please. I’ll connect you with the principal.”

A voice much softer than he expected came on the line next. “Helen Quinn, Principal. May I help you?”

He repeated his request.

“And how do you think we can help in your search?”

“His records at Homedale High, in Kansas, indicated that your school had requested a transcript. I’m trying to find out if he actually transferred there.”

“I’m sorry, Detective, but I’m afraid you would need a warrant for us to release that information.”

“Thank you for speaking with me, Principal Quinn. I’ll see if I can get the paperwork.” He hung up and sat there with the phone in his hand. As long as it took to get the subpoena for Homedale High, there was no way in hell he’d get a warrant for a school in Nevada, unless he turned up some connection. By all accounts, Kyle and Delia had been best friends. Unlikely he would bear a grudge against her and materialize out of nowhere to kill her. The slight boy he had been, he wouldn’t have had the strength to make the slash that had killed Delia. Unless the boy had turned around and become a championship body builder. Yet this loose end nagged at him. His gaze fell on the business card for the city-contracted shrink. He supposed he could call and make his appointment while he still held the phone. Or not.

But he wasn’t under house arrest. He could leave the apartment. He could go to Debbie’s Diner for lunch; their chicken was the best he’d ever tasted. Or close. Abruptly, he stood, set the beer in the sink and headed for the door.

Debbie met him at his usual booth by the window at the far end. “Iced tea?” When he nodded, she spun toward the kitchen and returned before he had time to finish reading the menu.

“Special today?” he asked.

“Old fashioned hot roast beef sandwich and mixed veggies.” She smiled at him. “Just like I’ll bet your momma used to make.”

A flicker of guilt told Scott he should probably call his mom; hadn’t talked to her in a couple of months, maybe more. “She did make good ones. I’ll have that.”

Minutes later, Scott saw Al walk through the door. He waited, hoping Al would see him and join him. Al scanned the room as he walked toward the first row of tables. He smiled when he saw Scott.

“What brings you to Homedale today, Scott?” Al slipped into the booth without asking permission.

“Day off.” Al’s presence across the table from him comforted him.

Al sat watching him, as Debbie set a cup of coffee and a glass of water in front of him. “Coming here for lunch was the best way you could think of to spend a day off?”