Virgil’s world seemed to rapidly speed up and then slow down. During the first few days after Richard Yellen’s arrest the regional media as far away as Chicago ran articles on the “super cop” who first broke the Mad Dog case and then followed it up by unmasking a serial killer.
Peter Fineman organized a press conference only slightly less theatrical than a three-ring circus at which Mayor Grantham simultaneously praised Quinn’s “brilliant and dedicated police work” while also reminding everyone that it was his idea to “borrow” Quinn from the Marshals’ Service to save the citizens of Detroit from the criminals who might otherwise have overwhelmed the city.
Virgil tried to stay in the background and say as little as possible, but that wasn’t enough to uphold his reputation with the members of the Detroit PD who now almost universally viewed him as a grandstander and a glory hog. The two exceptions were Stan Kudlacik who knew how instrumental Quinn had been in catching the Mad Dog Gang and Denny Ivers who, because of Quinn, had shared the credit for Yellen’s arrest.
For five days after Yellen’s confession it seemed that everyone wanted to hear about Virgil Quinn and then, almost magically, they didn’t, and his life quickly descended into tedium and anonymity.
On the Mayor’s orders the PD directed Quinn to take a paid vacation until Election Day, though he hadn’t spent enough time on the job to actually accrue any paid vacation time at all. It didn’t matter. Officially no one cared because the vacation kept Quinn out of the public eye until after the polls closed.
Buoyed by the positive press and backed up by his flexible political beliefs, Charlie Grantham was re-elected with 54% of the vote. Once his second term was secure, the Mayor didn’t care what Quinn did as long as he stayed out of the papers. Since the Felony Fugitive Squad still needed a commander and since Quinn’s main expertise was in catching fugitives he was put back in command until his term of exile from the Marshals’ Service officially expired.
It was against this background of quiet normalcy that on a Monday evening in early December Virgil Quinn returned to his furnished apartment, ate a Popeyes’ Bonafide Spicy Chicken Combo while watching the TV news, then settled down in front of his computer.
The original sixty-seven names were now down to thirty-four, though he wasn’t completely confident that half a dozen of the ones he had deleted might not possibly still be Helen in disguise. As best he could, Virgil had reordered the list from most to least likely, but that was based more on guesswork and gut intuition than on reasoned choices. Most of the names didn’t have photos to go with them and those that did bore the anonymous, blank expressions of police mug shots.
At a little after eight Virgil groaned and admitted a truth that he had been struggling to avoid – that he would have to see each candidate in person in order to be able to reliably identify his fugitive ex-wife. Maybe he could knock out a few women if he could convince somebody in local law enforcement to stop by their homes or their jobs and take a cell-phone video of the prospect. The problem with that, even if he could convince some LEO to do it, was that if one of them was Helen and she saw a cop photographing her she would run again.
Virgil was halfway through reorganizing the candidates by geographical location and planning a travel itinerary when his cell began to beep. An anonymous silhouette with the caption “Stanley Kudlacik” filled the screen.
“Stan, what’s up?”
“I need a favor,” Kudlacik said in a half-embarrassed voice.
“What is it?”
“My daughter, Melanie, she just started high school this year and her civics class–”
“Government, dad,” a girl’s voice called out from the background.
“OK, government class, is doing a . . . thing about how the government works–”
“How government interacts with the media,” the girl corrected him.
“Do you want me to do this or not?”
“I’m just trying to help.”
“Sorry, Virgil,” Kudlacik said a moment later. “As I was saying, the class is about how the media affects the government or how the government affects the media, something like that. Anyway, the kids are supposed to pick someone in the government or the media to come to class and give a little talk and answer questions. I agreed to do it, even though I think reporters are a bunch of morons who don’t give a damn about the truth–”
“Dad!”
“–but, I just got a call from the D.A. They finished jury selection early in the Esposito case and I’ve got to be in court tomorrow. The class is at ten tomorrow morning at Eastside High. Is there any way you could cover for me?”
Virgil took half a second to run over his calendar for the following morning – a progress meeting with the teams on their open cases, reviewing the list of apprehension requests from the Department and the Parole Office, checking the overtime, vacation and sick-leave requests against his budget allocation through the end of the year. What fun.
“Well, it’ll be tough, but I guess I can re-arrange a few things,” Virgil said, trying to sound unhappy.
“That’s great. I owe you big time.”
“Yes, you do. Text me all the details. Is there any particular topic or points I’ll need to cover?”
“Melanie, tell Lieutenant Quinn what he’s supposed to talk about.”
There was a moment’s silence then a young girl’s voice came on the line.
“Hello? Mr. Quinn? I’m Melanie Kudlacik. My teacher wants us to discuss how the media influences the government and how the government influences the media, so if you could talk about how the news people affect how you do your job or how you use the media to catch people, that would be great.”
“Sure, I can do that. How long do you want me to talk?”
“Not long. Maybe ten minutes and then answer some questions. Will that be OK?”
“That will be fine. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Virgil hung up and wondered if he should make some notes, then decided to just wing it. A minute later he was back to reorganizing his list.
“. . . and that’s how the media sometimes helps us catch the people we’re looking for,” Virgil said, flashing a polite smile. He thought his little talk was what they wanted, but judging from the bored expressions everyone was wearing, somewhere along the way he had gone wrong. “Are there any questions?”
Instantly, a boy in the second row raised his hand. Virgil pointed at him.
“What happened to the lawyer who helped that killer guy get away?”
“What?”
“In the YouTube video you called out that lawyer who tried to help a killer get away. I was wondering if anything ever happened to him, the lawyer, for doing that.”
“You saw that video?”
“We all saw it,” the boy said proudly, glancing around the room. “So, what happened to the lawyer?”
“Nothing,” Virgil said. “Nothing at all.”
“That’s not right. Shouldn’t they have disbarred him or something?”
“That’s not how it works,” Virgil said, then turned away. “Any other questions?”
The boy sitting next to the first questioner raised his hand but didn’t wait for Virgil to call on him. “Were you the one who shot the Mad Dog guy?” he blurted out.
What does that have to do with the Media and the Government? Virgil wanted to ask, but he noticed the kids’ rapt attention and knew that ignoring the question was not going to go down well.
“I didn’t shoot him,” Virgil answered. He was about to say that Stan Kudlacik had shot Kyle Neddick when he noticed Melanie’s worried face. “The fugitive pointed his gun at another detective who was chasing him and that detective had to shoot in order to save his own life. Next question?” Virgil said quickly.
“How many guys have you shot?” another boy called out from the back row.
“Everybody,” the teacher, a skinny young man wearing a button-down collar shirt and jeans, broke in, “this is not a class on how to shoot people. Let’s keep our questions relevant to the Marshal’s job of hunting down fugitives and criminals. And the media.”
“Shooting guys is part of arresting them, isn’t it?” the boy shot back.
“Hopefully not,” the teacher said. “Any other questions?”
A girl at the end of the front row raised her hand. She had brown hair and an expressive face, and for an instant Virgil thought, This could be Nicole, except that now Nicole would be six years older than this young woman. Virgil took a breath and waved for the girl to speak.
“Have you ever had someone you were looking for who you couldn’t find?”
“Yes,” Virgil said, his voice suddenly tight. Why did she have to look so much like Nicole?
“Was it a murderer or terrorist, somebody really bad?”
“No,” Virgil said, hoping she would stop talking. But she didn’t.
“Who was it?” she asked, her face expectant, her eyes alight.
Quinn pressed his lips together, but the words, “My daughter,” slipped out almost against his will.
“Your daughter? What happened to her?” the girl asked. Virgil wanted to look away but he couldn’t take his eyes off her startled, worried face.
“Her mother stole her,” Virgil said before his voice gave out. The children stared back at him, their faces confused. He tried to look away but couldn’t, and somehow it all spilled out. “I’ve looked for her everywhere,” he said, not talking to them anymore, really only speaking to himself, “but I can’t find her. It’s been nine years, but no matter what I do, no matter how hard I look. . . .” He raised his hands in wordless defeat. “I don’t know where to look anymore. She’s just gone.”
For three or four seconds his vision seemed to blur then someone coughed and a chair scraped. Suddenly, everything snapped back into focus and he found himself looking at a roomful of nervous kids.
“I’m sorry,” he said, embarrassed, “that’s . . . it’s a personal . . . thing. Sorry.”
A heartbeat later the teacher stood and hurried to the front of the room.
“Everyone, let’s thank Marshal Quinn for speaking to us today. . . . Marshal,” he said, turning and limply shaking Virgil’s hand, “thank you.”
“My pleasure,” Virgil said and felt every pair of eyes follow him as he walked out the door.
By lunch time one of the boys in the back row had edited the video of Quinn’s talk down to four minutes. He thought about the title for a little while, trying to figure out what words would get the most hits. He decided that “hero” and “kids” might do the trick. Just before afternoon class he posted it on YouTube under the heading, “Hero Marshal Virgil Quinn Talks To Kids.”