Chapter Nine

Deeprose pulled up her email and noticed one from her father. Deeprose bit her lips.

Every time Ah try somethin’ new, he thinks Ah’m doin’ the wrong thing. Always judgin’. Always criticizin’. Ah can imagine what’s in that email - either Ah should come on home and find a husband or take that local P.D. job and take care of him.

Retired Colonel Deeprose was her only family now. Her mother passed on when she was a teenager, and she had no brothers or sisters. His long absences were hard on her. When her mother got sick, she took care of her and then buried her. Her relationship with her father became strained after that. His life was a lonely one. She knew he wanted her to come back home, but she just couldn’t do it. Deeprose wanted to live before she died.

In her apartment way up in the sky, she stared out at the busy streets below. On the other side of the glass pane was adventure. She placed her hand on the glass and felt a reverberation. Life was teeming outside the glass. Inside, she was torn up by her father’s reaction to leaving home. She recalled breaking the news of her F.B.I. application to her father over dinner at his favorite restaurant, the Rattlesnake Saloon. He was deeply disappointed. “If you’d stayed in the military you would have had a stellar career. Now, you’ll have to start all over again. Right from the bottom.”

Maybe he was unaware of the power he had over her, but she didn’t think so. He’d use any weapon at his disposal to win a war.

Shoot! Ah have one life to live, an’ Ah’m gonna live it!

Dear Daddy.

I’m happy here, and I’m taking a bite out of the Big Apple. I’ve been told by my superior that my interviewing technique is on point. I can’t discuss my cases any further, but rest assured your little girl will always get her man.

Love,
Shania

Her duty done, her thoughts wandered back to the museum investigation. She had an odd feeling about the acting curator. His hasty retreat when they met seemed odd to her, but then again, he was new; maybe he was just busy and didn’t want to get involved. She also thought about the man whose hazy face they’d captured on the museum video camera. She rose from her chair with renewed confidence and, after a moment of reflection, decided to put Jill Seacrest’s lab skills to the test.

***

Alison felt confused and a little hungover, but her mind would not let her rest. The excitement and hope she’d felt at the Collective was gone. The new day was just another reminder that her life was over. As the morning wore on, she spiraled down into a deep depression. By mid-afternoon, all she wanted to do was turn off her brain. That meant only one thing to Alison – moonshine in a mason jar. The thought of getting it broke through her usual lethargy, so she got herself together and set out for the bus. Her liquor store was in a mall in Old Bridge. It was the only one that carried her brand, Everclear.

Alison caught the N.J. Transit’s number 68 bus as it passed by her building. One other person got in after her. He followed her as she pushed her way through a crowd of teens and dropped into the only seat left. He stood up with everyone else, hanging onto a horizontal rail high over the passengers’ heads. Had she noticed him staring at her, she would have recognized him from the meeting, but Alison, who was used to being invisible, never bothered to notice what went on around her.

She pressed her cheek against the window to soak up the last warm rays of the afternoon. The passenger standing over her whistled as he breathed. Normally, she would have found it annoying, but today it was comfortably familiar. She couldn’t recall where she heard it, but she knew she had.

The driver announced their arrival at the Mid-State Mall. The store was empty except for the cashier. Alison forced a small smile.

“Credit or debit?” he asked.

“Credit. Definitely credit.” She slid her card into the machine to pay.

Outside again, she made her way back to the bus stop. Someone tapped her on the shoulder from behind. She pivoted, gripping the bag containing the heavy glass mason jar. “Who are you? Don’t come near me!”

Taking a step closer rather than backing away, a young man who couldn’t have been older than twenty-five, spoke to her in an insultingly familiar tone. “I want to talk to you, Alison. I saw you at the Collective. And the night after that.”

“I didn’t see you there or anywhere else. How do you know my name? What do you want?”

He grabbed the bag out of her hand and hurled it toward the pavement.

She heard the glass break. “Are you crazy?! Don’t come near me!”

My liquor!

He took another step closer. “Lower your voice, Alison, or you’ll attract attention, and a murderess can’t afford to call attention to herself.”

She heard that same whistling noise as he spoke.

I know I heard him whistle like that on the bus, but where did I hear that sound before today? Oh, God! At the Collective. He’s not lying; he was really there.

Alison looked around frantically and opened her mouth to yell, but his hand shot out and gripped her entire lower face with it. With his other arm, he pulled her in close as if they were a couple. People flowed around them towards the bus stop, showing no interest in them at all. “See that? No one cares. Go ahead and scream your head off if you want the cops so bad. While you’re at it, I can fill them in on your trip out to Florio’s place.”

His hand was still over her mouth, but she looked scared now.

“That’s better. Now, let’s get this straight; I saw you at the meeting. I followed you to home and to the scene of the crime the next night. I saw you go in and come back out. That’s right, honey. It was all over the news. One word from me places you at the scene. I bet the cops are panting for a lead.”

Things were unraveling at lightning speed. Alison kicked him in the shin. Hard.

“Owwwwwwww!!”

Alison made a dash for the bus stop where she knew she’d be safe among the crowd, but that didn’t stop him. Michael pursued her right into the middle of the crowd milling around, grabbed her wrist and squeezed. When she finally stopped struggling, he dragged her around the side of a building and forced her to her knees.

“You’re hurting me! Let me go!”

“Not happening.”

Michael pulled her up by the hair. It hurt terribly, but she didn’t cry or look him in the eye. Only someone who’d suffered a lifetime of abuse could have taken punishment like that without flinching. He liked inflicting pain; she could tell.

He let her go, but there was clearly no getting away. She tried another approach. “All right, I give up. What do you want?”

A menacing smile spread across his face as it dawned on her that he must have done a murder too if he was at the rally. “I want you to help me get my hands on their stash.”

He wants me to help steal that drug!

Michael shoved her up against the wall.

She seethed. “You must have done a murder, too. You’ll get caught! And why pick on me? Why me?”

Michael had her by the shoulders. His legs were spread apart so she couldn’t kick him again. She jerked her head to the left and right, but there was no avoiding him. His mouth came crashing down on hers in an assault that split her lip. He gave her a final shove and stood back. “That was just as bad as I knew it would be.”

They both stood there, angry and out of breath. Alison’s lip was swelling and bloody. Warm blood and salty tears dripped off her face onto the sidewalk.

In surreal silence and a calm like the eye of a storm, she put her hand in his, and they headed for the number 68, together. His raw brutality was strangely erotic to Alison, who’d been taught that those who cared for you beat you.

***

Carter hoped to join Jill for a late dinner, but she was stuck at the lab and didn’t expect to get home until late at night. He’d been looking forward to a quiet dinner with her all day and was disappointed.

Fischetti’s attitude and strange behavior put him on his guard. He didn’t want to burden Deeprose with his misgivings, but he knew she wasn’t fooled into thinking everything was fine. At home, he avoided talking shop. He knew Jill and his new rookie started off on the wrong foot, and the friction between Seacrest and her supervisor at the lab was already reaching the boiling point.

Carter needed to relax and empty his mind because there was something about this that just didn’t feel right. He could smell it in the air. Something was circling above him like a vulture over a dead carcass. Carter admitted he felt vulnerable and resentful because Fischetti was holding out on him.

Maybe we should just pack up and get out of here.

He gave his cell phone a verbal command. “Address. Phone. Buddhist temple. Closest to Federal Plaza, N.Y.”

***

The Temple of Heavenly Grace on Canal Street greeted Carter with a splash of red and gold. Its awnings were lined with scripture the agent could not decipher, but he knew it was probably a message of peace and welcome.

The statue of a gigantic lion was just inside, near the altar. It seemed out of place to him.

Perhaps it represents my inner roar.

Carter smiled at the thought. He brushed past the statue to take a white candle from a nearby table. It was meant to serve as a tool for defeating inner turmoil. Gazing steadily at the flame, he peeled away a layer of confusion and conflict that was clouding his vision and made an attempt to identify and understand the issues before letting them go.

Carter came away knowing there was only one issue he had any power over - his and Jill’s relationship with Agent Deeprose. He decided to ask Seacrest to make more of an effort to get to know her. He felt she needed a friend as much as a mentor. He’d have to try harder too.

Carter told himself the same thing he always did when faced with something he didn’t understand.

I’ll file it away under ‘New Case, New Life’ for now and take a look at it later. Maybe it’ll make more sense then.

Carter thought himself the master of emotion and turmoil, but the truth was that he was spectacularly unable to cope with either. At some point, his mental filing cabinet was going to get too crowded. At that point, he was going to have to come to terms with a lifetime of putting off until tomorrow what he should have examined yesterday.

Settled in a taxi and on his way home, his attention was drawn to a small T.V. screen above the windshield. A crowd of people were fighting over a hot, new toy at F.A.O. Shwartz. The news clip zoomed in on a policewoman separating two men who’d become violent over the last video game on a shelf. Her partner cuffed them both from behind. The driver glanced at Carter in his rearview mirror. Jabbing a finger at the screen he said dryly, “I see the peace and serenity of the Christmas season has hit New York particularly early this season. What a surprise.”