Regrets Only (26 page)

She heard a grinding noise, followed by a deafening explosion and the sound of breaking glass. The building seemed to tremble as the noise reverberated. She felt something wet and warm on her skin, a thick, viscous fluid behind her ears and on one cheek. Opening her eyes, she saw that the walls were covered with blood. Bits of skull. Pieces of brain. And they weren’t hers.

Calvin lay in a heap with his arms crossed underneath his body and her government-issued 9 mm by his side. What remained of his face was awash in red.

“O’Malley . . .” She heard a familiar voice, but from what direction the sound came she couldn’t discern. She tried to focus. Someone stood in the doorway, and now that someone was making his way toward her. “O’Malley,” she heard again. It was Jack.

She let herself collapse to the floor. She had no energy. She couldn’t speak. All she knew was that as she lay on her side hugging her knees to her chest, she was alive.

20

11:15 p.m.

L
ucy sat cross-legged in front of the cast-iron stove. She’d lit a fire and, with the door left open, she now stared at the blue flame of the Duraflame log, the only firewood the 7-Eleven sold in May. Beside her, Cyclops nibbled on the piece of kale that she dangled in front of him. Despite the warm evening and the heat generated by the flame, she shivered beneath a bundle of clothes—Venezuelan knit toe-socks, flannel pajamas, and an oversize sweater with worn leather patches on the elbows.

The CD of Andrea Bocelli’s arias concluded, and she glanced at the clock. It was nearly eleven. Archer wouldn’t be back for more than an hour. She’d appreciated that he’d been unable to come to the phone when she’d called. There was something about a dispute with a beer distributor, although she hadn’t asked for details. Leaving a message with Sapphire that she was on her way home was infinitely easier than hearing his voice, facing his question—“How are things going?”—and being unable to bring herself to answer. Fortunately, after their awkward exchange the day before, Sapphire was even more eager to end the conversation than she was, and so had promised to relay the message as soon as he was available.

The telephone rang. She wanted to disregard it, but it might be Jack, or Lieutenant Sage, or someone else from the squad, and she didn’t want to make the situation any worse than it was. She needed to be fine. The last thing she wanted was to be placed on paid leave for post-traumatic stress disorder. She shuddered, thinking again of what might have happened.

“Hello,” she said. Her voice sounded flat, disengaged.

“Lucy, this is your dad.”

For an instant she wanted to hang up. Then, if he called back, she could pretend she wasn’t home. He might think the first responder had been a wrong number. Why had he called tonight, of all nights, when she knew she wouldn’t be able to make pleasantries and small talk to get him off the phone fast enough? He was the master of investigation. She couldn’t fool him. And yet she couldn’t bring herself to confess the truth, how stupid she’d been, how close he’d come to losing a second child.

“Your partner called me. He seems like a good man. Told me what happened today. I understand I’m a very lucky father.”

She wondered how Jack had found him and how he’d then characterized the afternoon’s debacle. He was far from an alarmist, but even the barest of recitations would be shocking.

“Look, we don’t need to rehash what happened in that interrogation today. I’m thankful it was that man’s life and not yours.” His voice cracked. “Perhaps I don’t say as much as I should, or tell you as often as I think it, but I love you very much. And I’m extremely proud of you.”

She felt a burning in the back of her throat.
Don’t be,
she wanted to say. Her father had been a decorated captain, and then Commissioner, a legend in the Somerville Police Department. “I was an idiot.”

“No, Lucy,” he replied matter-of-factly. “You were human. And you know as well as I do that to be human is to have faults. Some are costlier than others, I’ll grant you that. But the important thing is that you learn from your mistakes and that you press on. Sounds trite, I know, but the best of us have had to follow that advice. Saying a couple of Hail Marys along the way wouldn’t hurt either, although don’t tell a soul I suggested that.” He chuckled.

“I don’t know how the squad can trust me or trust my judgment.”

“Harper dismissed any second-guessing of your conduct. He told me that you’d done a great job apprehending the guy, and that you’ve done nothing but a stellar job since you signed on with the Homicide Unit. Apparently your superiors agree.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“These guys have been around a long time. Your partner’s a seasoned pro. What happened today is a fluke, maybe partly due to inexperience, maybe partly due to näiveté or even carelessness, but a fluke nonetheless.”

She struggled to think of something to say. They were silent on the line, and she could hear the television set in the background. Several Christmases ago, her father had given her mother an enormous satellite dish, expanding exponentially the possibilities for home viewing. In order for them to get their money’s worth, the television seemed to hum constantly. Judging from the clapping noise, she guessed that it was a rerun of
Wheel of Fortune,
and wondered whether her mother was part of this conversation, too. Mrs. O’Malley loved game shows.

“I haven’t regretted a single day I served on the force. It has employed the best people I know—men and women both—and it’s one of the finest callings anyone can have. The danger comes with doing a noble job and doing it well. When you enrolled in the police academy after college, your mother and I were both scared as hell and proud as any two parents could possibly be. You’re our baby. We want you to be safe. We want you to be smart.”

“Neither of which I was.”

“And now you’ve learned about yourself, about interrogation strategies, about dealing with a difficult suspect, and, perhaps, about your own weaknesses. Few of us get to learn all of that and still survive to tell the tale.”

“I was thinking of Aidan,” she blurted out. “I lost my concentration because I was thinking of him. This guy, Calvin, was talking about depression, about fighting mental illness, and I got distracted. I empathized. It was as if I was listening to Aidan’s torment instead of a suspect in a murder investigation.” The words spilled from her lips, yet it felt good to admit the truth.

There was a long pause. “You’ll meet a lot of people with a lot of problems—emotional, physical—victims of abuse and abusers—those who have overcome economic or social handicaps, as well as those who have succumbed to the basest temptations. But it’s a rare day when you won’t find some aspect of an individual that isn’t sympathetic. Humans aren’t monsters. Or at least the monsters are extremely rare. The world is full of tragedy, and oftentimes the explanations for even heinous crime sound pitiful, reasonable. My point is that you’ve got to learn. If what happened today was the result of a lack of focus, you learn to focus. Training. Discipline. You’ve got what it takes. I know that. Apparently your supervisors know that, too.”

“But—”

“Just don’t quit,” he interrupted. “I know the feelings you’re having right now—we’ve all had them—but don’t run away. Whether you were a little too sure of yourself, or whether you let your guard down, it’s over. You’ve got to get a good night’s rest and start tomorrow ready to protect and defend, as they say. Hold your head up high and move on to the next witness, the next piece of evidence. You’re an O’Malley, and that heritage will serve you well when things get tougher than they should be.”

She sighed. “Thanks.” The word sounded silly, but she couldn’t think of something eloquent to say. “I appreciate the vote of confidence.”

“I’m your father, Lucy. I exposed you to this profession. I realize you didn’t ever see much choice.”

“It’s a good choice.”

He chuckled again and then fell silent. She couldn’t tell whether he wanted to say good-bye, or whether there was something else on his mind. After a short pause, he spoke again. “By the way, Lucy, we all think about Aidan every week, every day, sometimes every minute. But he would’ve hated for something to happen to you on account of him.” He lowered his voice, perhaps so as not to be heard by anyone other than her. “Aidan’s agony broke my heart. Every parent wants the best for their kids, and we didn’t help him. We couldn’t help him.”

Few can. Lucy thought again of Calvin, of his desperation at the thought of living without Dr. Reese by his side.

“Don’t give up. Don’t give in to fear or self-doubt. Don’t be ashamed of your mistakes.”

Again there was a long silence. Then Lucy heard her mother in the background. “Tell her to put slices of onion on her chest. Thick slices. Use yellow onions, not Vidalia, and certainly not red ones. It’ll soothe her nerves. And tell her to add just a touch of brandy to hot milk. Hot, though not boiling. If it curdles—”

“Will you please—” It sounded as though her father had his hand over the receiver, but the conversation came through nonetheless.

“And tell her we’re all praying for her. And tell her that her mother loves her, make sure to tell her that.”

The voice was back on the line. “Lucy, your mother wants me to tell you—”

“I heard it all,” she interrupted.

“All right then. I’ve said my piece. Now you take care.”

“Dad,” she said, just before he hung up.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks. Thanks for everything. I needed this call more than you realized.”

“Not more than I realized, Detective, but I’m glad. You’re still my little girl. And I love you.”

With that the line went dead.

21

Wednesday, May 21st 8:05 a.m
.

T
he moment Lucy pushed open the swinging door and stepped into the Homicide Unit, the applause rang out. Two rows of smiling faces, the detectives, public affairs personnel, and administrative assistants all clapped enthusiastically. Several people put their fingers in their mouths and made high-pierced whistles. Only when the noise subsided did Jack step forward from the line to shake her hand. “Am I sure glad to see you.”

She made no attempt to hide the tears of relief that streamed down her cheeks. All the dread she’d been experiencing since she’d awoken that morning washed away. Her squad and her department were willing to stand by her, and she vowed never to let them down again. “Lucky I forgot my mascara this morning,” she said, as she rubbed her eyes. “Seriously, though. Although I’m sure I’ll be teased mercilessly for my display of emotion, I can’t tell you what it means to have your encouragement. I didn’t fully appreciate until yesterday that I’ve landed myself in the best squad in the country. I’m not sure I deserve to be here, but—”

“Stop fishing for compliments, O’Malley,” Jack called out playfully.

She smiled. He’d even protected her from a public self-flagellation. “As for Harper, you’re either the best friend a cop could have or the best cop a friend could have.”

“How about both?” someone called out.

Jack waved his hand dismissively. He was obviously uncomfortable with the attention coming his way.

Janet, the administrative assistant, stepped forward and hugged her, too. “We’re all glad to see you reporting for duty.”

As the line fell out of formation, her colleagues patted her on the back or the shoulder. The distraction was over, and work beckoned.

Jack and Lucy walked together toward their desks.

“You know how careless I was,” she whispered. “I wouldn’t blame you for a moment if you want to request a change of partner.”

He stopped. Turning, she looked up into his face and tried to read his expression even as she fought back more tears.

“If you think that each and every one of us here hasn’t made a mistake or two, hasn’t misjudged a situation or ignored procedure, you’d be terribly wrong. And from where I’m sitting, I’ll take a partner from a family of cops any day of the week over someone who jumped aboard the police academy bus after watching too many
Law and Order
reruns. It’s in your blood, O’Malley, and mine, too. We’ll be just fine.” He leaned back against his desk and crossed his arms in front of him. “Now, I believe we still have a murder to solve,” he said, smiling.

“So I guess that means there’ll be no wallowing in my own self-pity and doubts?”

“Not on my shift, Detective.”

They both laughed, in part from the humor of the banter between them and in part from the recognition that they had survived intact as a team. She was thankful for the emotional release.

“What’s the news on Calvin?” Lucy asked after a moment.

Jack cleared his throat and rubbed his eyes with his knuckles. “Other than the handguns, the search of his place came up empty. There’s nothing at all to link him to Reese’s murder, and his blood type doesn’t match the sample either. He was type O.”

“What about the ECT story?”

“He was hospitalized Friday for a second course of it, but was discharged Saturday afternoon shortly before four.”

His short-term memory had been wiped out and he was back on the street.

“I told Dr. Bradley, the psychiatrist at Friends who treated Calvin, that we’d be by at ten. He’d conferred with Reese several times over Calvin’s care—and dosage or wattage or whatever it’s called in ECT jargon. He also met with Calvin before and after each treatment was administered.”

Somehow it didn’t feel right. If Calvin hadn’t harmed Reese at all, why had he reacted the way he did? Had he felt cornered and lashed out in fear? She shook her head. The what ifs, how, and why, would have to be addressed at another time. Looking back was a luxury afforded other professions, not theirs.

“Let’s head over to Ellery’s office.” He walked toward the door.

“Any news on the dinner at Le Bec-Fin?”

“Yeah. I checked with the maître d’. There were a number of reservations for three people at eight o’clock on Saturday night. When I showed him a photo of Morgan, he remembered her instantly. Told me she came for dinner with a younger woman and caused a bit of a problem.”