“Matt, it’s Harold. I think we need to talk. When’s a good time?” The voice on the other end of the phone line belongs to Mayor Swenson. Good old Harold. Short, sweet, and to the point – that’s Harold. And it’s obvious from his tone that something is bothering the hell out of him.
“What’s the problem, Harold? Did Walker give you another parking ticket?” I know I shouldn’t do it, but I just love twisting the knife just a little bit. Besides, he’s a big boy; he’ll get over it. Judging by the growing silence on the other end of the line, it’s obvious he’s decided not to dignify my parking ticket remark. “Now is just fine, Harold. What’s up?”
“Some of the boys on the council have been bugging me about the Cathy’s Creek thing, and I thought you might bring me up to date on what’s happening with the investigation.”
“First of all, Harold, it wasn’t a thing; it was a girl—a teenage girl. And, she was murdered. Don’t think for a second that I’m not aware of that fact. But, to be perfectly honest, Mayor, there’s not too much to report.”
“Well, you must have…something? Am I right, Chief?” (touché). “After all, it’s been…what...three weeks?”
“Yeah, so what?” I say. “It took over twenty years to catch Gary Ridgway.”
“Okay, I’ll bite. Who the hell is Gary Ridgway?”
“The Green River Killer? Oh, never mind. Look, Harold. Tell the boys that we’re doing the best we can. These types of things take time. In case you’ve forgotten, it was me who found it—the body, I mean. I want to catch the son of a bitch as much as anybody, okay?”
“Okay, okay. Don’t go getting all high and mighty. I’m on your side. It’s just that—”
“It’s an election year?”
“That was cold,” says Harold.
“Sorry. Couldn’t help it. Anyway, tell ‘em whatever you want, Harold. I’m doing the best I can. Something will break. It always does.”
Harold chuckles. “Yeah, well let’s hope it doesn’t take twenty years—for both our sakes.”
“So long, Harold.”
“Yeah. So long, Matt. And keep me posted.”
I’ve already hung up the phone.
“I swear to God, Val; you’d think these guys were running a Fortune 500 company. Bottom line. That’s all they care about—the bottom line.”
Val and I are sitting in the kitchen, sipping our after-dinner coffee. I’ve just finished relating my conversation with Mayor Swenson, and I’m blowing off steam. Thank God, Val’s a good listener, because I haven’t finished yet.
“I mean, it’s not like I’ve got a task force at my disposal. I’ve got two ‘country bumpkin’ police officers…all right, they’re not country bumpkins, but they’re not the NYPD’s finest, either. But, still—”
“Matt, Matt,” says Val. “Calm down. You’ll give yourself a stroke.” She rubs her hand slowly up and down my back. It’s like magic. Instantly, the tension melts away. It’s always been this way. Whenever I get myself worked up into a lather, she can calm me with a touch. I’m a lucky man.
“You can’t blame these people, Matt,” she says. “They might not show it, but they’re just as concerned as you are. They’ve got daughters, girls just like the one you found. Just because this is a small town, doesn’t mean people automatically feel safe.”
“That’s my point,” I say. “It’s my job to make them feel safe. What the hell am I doing, if I can’t do that?”
“Doing the best you can?” says Val.
I look at my wife and see the concern in her eyes. She’s the best friend I’ve ever had. And, she’s right. I know she is—but it doesn’t make it any easier.
“If they only knew,” I sigh.
“They know. Believe me.”
“You think so?”
“I know so.”
“Val, I don’t think I’ve ever felt so helpless. This girl. Nobody’s looking for her. It’s as if she was born, grew up, and died, all without anyone knowing.”
“Well, someone does. She was real, Matt. Eventually, somebody will come looking.” Then, it’s as if Val hears a voice. “Have you talked to Chris?”
“Not in a while. Why?”
“Well…maybe he’s got some ideas. I don’t know. It couldn’t hurt.”
“You’re right,” I say to Val, “maybe I’ll give him a call. It won’t be the first time he’s bailed me out.”
“Good,” she says. “Besides, if nothing else, he can give you a fresh perspective. After all, he’s the ‘big city’ cop now. You’re just a…what was it you called Walker and Dawley? A country bumpkin?”
“Screw you,” I laugh.
“Sounds good to me.”
I feel a little funny calling Chris; maybe guilty is the more appropriate word. It’s been more than two years since we worked together. When I first moved to Roscoe, we’d talk once a week; then, it was more like once a month. I realize now that it’s been nearly six months since our last conversation. It’s not that I haven’t wanted to call him; it’s just that there hasn’t been much time. Headquarters tells me he’s working four-to-midnight, but they’ll have him call me when he breaks for coffee. Twenty minutes later, the phone jingles. I pick it up on the first ring.
“Hello?”
“Whatta ya say, stranger?”
“Not much, Chris.” It’s good to hear his voice. “Aw, who am I kidding? I’ve got my ass in a sling—again!”
“Why? What did you do now?”
“Nothing. It’s what I haven’t done.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I’m not doing my job.”
“I can’t believe that. You? Mr. Dependability. What’s really going on?”
I tell him the story about the girl. How it’s been three weeks without anything whatsoever happening. How I don’t know what to do, and how frustrated I am. He doesn’t say a word. He’s smart. Always was. Finally, but only after I’ve finished spewing the details of the case and my lack of progress, he speaks.
“Well, first of all, you’ve got to stop blaming yourself. The only thing you did wrong was to find the body. Other than that, you’ve done everything by the book.”
“And I’ve got nothing to show for it.”
“Sometimes that’s just the way it goes.”
Yeah? Well, that’s just not good enough.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?” asks Chris.
“I can’t think of anything, really. I guess I just needed to hear you tell me that I was doing everything I could.”
“Well, you are.”
“So, what do I do next?” I ask.
Chris laughs. “What do I look like? Columbo? How the hell do I know?”
“Thanks—for nothing!”
“Don’t mention it,” says Chris. Then, his voice grows serious. “All kidding aside. If you need me to run a search—anything—just give me a call. I’ll make it happen.”
“Yeah, well. It’s just that I really want to solve this one. This prick messed up my favorite fishing hole. Can’t let him get away with that, now; can I?”
“Guess not,” says Chris. I detect a slight air of detachment in his voice. “Well. it’s good to hear from you, Matt.”
“Same here. We’ll have to get together. Maybe Fourth of July. You, Rita, me, and Val. Just like old times.” I know it probably won’t happen, but I say it anyway.
“You got it,” he replies, unconvincingly.
The whole conversation suddenly reminds me of those I used to have with my ex-wife.
“Take care, Chris.”
“Good night, Matt.”