AFTER THE WEEKEND, dealing with Ralph, then Monday’s meeting with Carney, Abby found herself with nothing pressing to do but walk Bandit. She’d left a message over the weekend with Dr. Collins’s answering service that she was home and was hoping for an appointment. They’d asked her if she had an emergency and she’d told them no. They advised that Dr. Collins was involved in a crisis and would call as soon as he was able. So far, she hadn’t heard anything.
Abby thought about Luke and Woody’s investigation and remembered Luke had a meeting with the tipster. The investigator in her felt a little pang of jealousy. That could be a good lead and she would have loved to be asking the questions. Once she and Bandit returned from the walk, she decided she’d try the doctor again. She called and was told Dr. Collins was almost free and would call her back as soon as he was able.
She wanted to return to work and had already spoken to Bill about their caseload. They discussed their double murder case; Carla Boston claimed temporary insanity. Bill still insisted Abby take her time.
“You handled things for a while without a partner. I can do the same until you’re 100 percent sure about what you want.”
At this point Abby wasn’t 100 percent sure about anything but that the opportunity to try to help Molly was appealing. Her thoughts drifted to the girl often. Abby had looked up PTSD, or post-traumatic stress disorder, and realized it might even be applied to her, if she hadn’t gotten past the turmoil over shooting Clayton Joiner. It was a disorder that affected some people after they saw or lived through a dangerous event. Even though Molly’s event had happened ten years ago, it still affected her.
Abby ached to help the girl. Luke had e-mailed her a summary of the case, and she knew that Molly had faith, but right now it was fractured, something Abby could relate to. She reread the summary and had just finished when the psychologist returned her call.
“I’m doing much better,” she told him in answer to his first question. “Going home helped me put things into perspective.”
“Glad to hear it. Are you ready to discuss returning to work?”
“Yes, I am.”
“It may not be right away, but I’ll do my best. I’ll need to set up an appointment to meet with you, and this week is full. Make an appointment for first thing next week. I’ll give Lieutenant Jacoby an update and explain the scheduling. Is that fair?”
“Fair. Can I ask you an unrelated question?”
“Sure, I have a minute.”
Abby told him about Molly and her desire to help since she believed that they both struggled with the same thing.
“Abby, it’s laudable that you want to help, but you’re not a mental health professional.”
“I know that, but I am a detective. I’d like to help with the crime, see if we can solve the case and give the girl closure. That might be a big step forward for her, to see the rapist caught.”
“Yes, but giving the girl false hope when the crime might never be solved would not be a good thing. Do your thing, investigate, but encourage the girl to find her validation in the here and now, the people who love and support her. Agreed?”
“Totally,” Abby said, understanding and feeling an odd connection to the girl who’d been through such a tough event.
Collins rang off after she set up the appointment for the following Tuesday. She doubted Molly’s case could be solved in a week, but at least she’d be able to talk to her and maybe help in a small way. She was on a firm foundation again, felt confident. Jacoby might even call and talk to her, and she’d tell him what she told the psychologist. She was ready to go back to homicide and be an advocate for those who could no longer speak for themselves. She also wanted to head out to the Antelope Valley and see if she could help a hurting girl.
She picked up the phone again to call Woody. Though she’d only heard about the girl through Luke and Woody, she felt she knew her.
Bad guys need to be caught.
The phone rang before she punched in Woody’s number.
“Detective Hart, please.” The voice was formal, clear.
“This is she.”
“One moment please.”
Abby realized that had been someone’s secretary and she was being transferred. After a click, a deep baritone voice came over the phone.
“Detective Hart? This is Marcus Freeman. I represent Althea Joiner.”
Abby’s heart caught in her throat. How did this man get her phone number? She knew very well who he was. He wanted her fired. He was threatening to sue her for violating Clayton Joiner’s civil rights, for wrongful death, and she forgot what else.
“This is Detective Hart. I’m not sure we should be speaking.”
“I’ve cleared this conversation with the chief of police. I have a request from my client.”
He paused, and Abby wondered if he was waiting for her response, but after a couple of seconds he went on. “Mrs. Joiner would like to meet with you. She has something she’d like to say and a few questions to ask you.”
“Uh, I don’t know what to say. . . .”
“I know this is irregular. It was not my suggestion. It’s not a trap or a ploy; it is my client’s wish, and I’m obligated to relay my client’s wishes.”
Abby got the distinct impression he wanted her to tell him to pound sand. And that was her first impulse. But she was too curious to pop off with the first thought that crossed her mind.
“Can I ask what she wants to talk to me about?”
“I’m not at liberty to say. I will say that the meeting is to be just the two of you. Are you familiar with Grounds Café on Spring Street?”
“Yes, I know the place.”
“Mrs. Joiner would like to meet you there tomorrow morning.”
“That’s quick.”
“Yes, it is. Shall I tell her you decline?”
This guy did not want the meeting to take place. I must be obstinate, Abby thought, because just knowing he doesn’t want me to meet with Althea makes me want to be there. Before the shooting, Abby had liked Althea and thought that they had connected on one level. Althea had trusted her to find her daughter’s killer, had even prayed with Abby and Bill a couple of times. A tinge of guilt bit Abby’s gut as the shooting flashed in her mind, and she heard Althea’s accusations.
I want to talk to her as well, she thought.
“Detective Hart?” Freeman sounded impatient.
“No, you can tell her I’ll be there. What time?”
Althea’s lawyer’s request wasn’t the only surprise of the day. Uncle Simon phoned that night as well.
Abby was prepared for the collect call. California prison inmates could not be phoned; they could only make collect calls. She’d expected her uncle would be contacting her once he knew that she submitted her visitation application. She accepted the charges. After a couple of clicks, she heard his voice.
“Hello?”
“Hello, Uncle Simon?”
“Yeah, wow! I’m so glad you agreed to talk to me and that you want to visit.”
Abby swallowed. “I think we probably have a lot to talk about.”
“You’re right; we do. I’m not sure how long your approval will take, but I turned in the form. I’m so looking forward to your visit. You are all the blood family I have left.”
He explained to her how visiting worked. She could walk in on a Saturday or Sunday or set up an appointment online.
“I’ll let you know as soon as I know. I have a few minutes. How are you? I read about the stuff going on in your life.”
“I’m okay. I —” For a second she fumbled, not sure what to say to a man she’d never met.
He read her mind. “Kinda funny talking to someone you don’t know. You’ve probably only seen me in decades-old photographs.”
Abby laughed. “That’s true. From those, you looked a little like my dad.”
“A little, but he was always better-looking. I lost my hair by the time I was thirty. Buck’s hair was always thick and full. We corresponded for a time before he died, you know.”
“No, I didn’t know.” This was a surprise to Abby. She’d always been told her father disowned his brother.
“Yeah, he kept it quiet because his partner didn’t want any connection to a convict to overshadow the restaurant. I guess I can understand that.” There was some noise and clanging in the background.
Abby wanted to ask him more questions, but he asked her to hold on for a minute.
“I have to go,” he said when he returned. “I’ll call again, maybe read you some of your dad’s letters if you’d like.”
“Yeah, I would like that. I really would.”
“Okay, good-bye, Abby. It’s really great to talk to you.”
The call ended and Abby stared at the phone for a minute. Letters from her dad, his actual writing. She didn’t know what to say, but the knowledge that such things existed made her feel warm and hopeful.