Post by mlm828 on Mar 12, 2006 22:54:18 GMT -5
Episode 19: “You Can’t Go Home Again”
Day One
Scene One
Lt. Gary Fisk called from his office door, “Karen, Jim, my office, please.”
When the two detectives were standing in front of his desk, he told them, “I just got off the phone with your old boss, Jim – Jack McConnell at the 2-5. They’ve got a DOA that may be related to one of your old cases. He asked if you could work it with them.”
“What case?”
“Jack said it was Richie Milner. Do you remember that one?”
Jim nodded. “Yeah, I do. A kid, 15 or 16, a runaway. They found him under the Triborough Bridge. We never really got anywhere with it. So what’s the new case?”
“DOA is Richie’s little sister, Kimmie.”
“Damn,” Jim muttered under his breath. Karen felt a little sick – she always hated it, when it was a kid, and based on the look on his face, Jim felt the same.
“I told Jack Russo and Selway could cover things here for a couple of days, unless the gangbangers decide to start going after each other again. Get going, and keep me informed. I want you back here as soon as possible.”
“Yes, sir,” Jim and Karen replied in unison.
As she drove uptown, Karen glanced over at Jim, wondering what was bothering him about this return to his old squad. He hadn’t said anything, but the set of his jaw told her he was tense. She decided to break the ice. “So who will we be working with when we get there?” she asked.
Jim shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m not sure the same guys I worked with are still there. It’s been almost two years, and we didn’t really keep in touch after I got shot.”
“Oh.” Karen fell silent, realizing what Jim had just told her. His squad, the guys who should have stuck by him, had abandoned him when he was shot and lost his sight. What kind of cop, what kind of friend, would do that? She hadn’t even met the guys, and she despised them already.
Scene Two
Lt. Jack McConnell came out of his office when he heard a chorus of “Hey, Jimmy!” He resolutely ignored the sinking feeling in his stomach that kicked in when he saw Jim in dark glasses, following an attractive young woman and holding the handle of his guide dog’s harness. He went to greet them. “Welcome back, Jimmy. This must be your partner, Detective Bettancourt?”
“Thanks, lieutenant,” Jim replied, extending his hand. After McConnell shook his hand, Jim turned toward his partner. “Karen Bettancourt, Lieutenant Jack McConnell.”
“Welcome to the 2-5,” McConnell said. “If there’s anything I can do for you while you’re here, just let me know.”
“Thanks, lieutenant.”
Jim spoke up. “Who else is here from the old squad?”
“We’re all here, Jimmy,” said a tall black man of about fifty, with salt-and-pepper hair and weary eyes.
“Coop?”
“Yeah.”
Turning to Karen, Jim made the introduction. “Harrison Cooper, known as ‘Coop’.”
“Karen Bettancourt,” Karen replied coolly.
One by one, the other detectives in the squad introduced themselves. The sandy-haired man about Jim’s age, a little shorter and stockier than Jim, was Mitch Kozlowski. Jorge “Junior” Morales, dark-haired, wiry and energetic, was the youngest of the group. When they introduced themselves, Karen responded to each of them with a curt nod. The three 25th Precinct detectives exchanged glances, puzzled by Karen’s chilly manner.
“Where’s Kev?” Jim asked, referring to Kevin Thomas, the fourth member of the squad.
“Boss sent him for IT training, so he can investigate all the high-tech crimes we get around here,” Mitch told him, sarcastically.
Coop stared at Jim throughout the introductions. Finally, unable to contain himself, he enveloped Jim in a bear hug. “Damn, man, it’s good to see you. . . .” He looked embarrassed as he released Jim from the hug. “Sorry, bad choice of words.”
“Don’t sweat it. It’s good to see you, too.”
Mitch and Junior glanced at each other. Then Mitch spoke up, ending the awkward silence. “Uh – so, Jimmy, what’s the dog’s name?”
“Hank.”
“Hank – okay. So – is he, like, a Seeing Eye dog?”
Karen answered instead of Jim. “No, he’s a drug-sniffing dog, what do you think?”
Coop, Mitch and Junior exchanged questioning looks. Then Junior asked, in a forced, hearty voice, “So, Jimmy, are they treating you good downtown?”
“Yeah,” Jim replied, “It’s been good.”
“That’s good,” Junior said. He fell silent for a moment, then continued. “But they shoulda sent you back here – you know, where you belong. They shouldn’t’ve made you start all over in a new squad like that. That’s not right.”
Jim shrugged, but before he could answer, McConnell interrupted. “Jimmy, Bettancourt, come into my office for a minute.”
Jim ordered Hank to stay and turned to follow McConnell. He took a step, then stopped, looking lost. “Karen?” he asked. Damn, Karen thought, I should have anticipated this. She was so used to the confident way Jim moved around the squad room at the 8th Precinct, it hadn’t occurred to her that he wouldn’t know his way around a squad room where he’d worked before. But that was when he could see, you idiot, she reminded herself. Silently berating herself for making him ask for help in front of his old squad, Karen moved to Jim’s side, murmuring, “Sorry.”
“Not a problem,” he answered softly as he took her arm. “I don’t remember the old place as well as I thought I did.”
As she guided Jim to McConnell’s office, Karen glanced at Coop, seated at his desk to her right. He was staring at Jim with a mixture of sadness and pity.
When Karen and Jim were seated in his office, McConnell turned to Karen. “So, Bettancourt, who’d you piss off, that you got partnered up with this guy?”
Karen played along with the lieutenant’s joke. “I wish I knew – I’ve been asking myself the same question for the past eight months.”
With the preliminaries out of the way, McConnell briefed them about the case. “Kimmie Milner, 15 years old, was last seen leaving her school on Staten Island yesterday afternoon. Her dad had been in D.C. on a case – he’s a lawyer, you remember – ” Jim nodded. “. . . since day before yesterday, and she was staying with her aunt and uncle – the dad’s brother and his wife. They live on Staten Island, too, about a half mile from her school. She never showed up at their house yesterday afternoon. She was found around six this morning under the Triborough Bridge, near where her brother Richie was found two and a half years ago. It looks like she was killed somewhere else and dumped there.”
“That’s different from Richie,” Jim pointed out, “he was killed under the bridge, where he was found. What about Kimmie’s cause of death?”
“Looks like that’s the same as Richie – blunt force trauma to the head. We haven’t found what he used, though, and we’re still waiting on the autopsy results.”
“Do you have a timeline yet?”
“School got out at three o’clock yesterday afternoon,” McConnell related. “No one knows where she was after that. The last person who saw her was one of her friends, Amy Nicholas. They were leaving together, then Amy remembered she’d left something in her last classroom and went back inside. When she came back out, Kimmie was gone. Staten Island couldn’t find anyone who saw her after that. Her aunt, Linda Milner, got home from work around six. When she realized Kimmie wasn’t there and apparently hadn’t been there since school let out, she started making calls, looking for her. Don Milner, Kimmie’s uncle, got home from work around seven. He made some more calls, then went out looking for her. They reported her missing around 8:30.”
“Where do you want us to start?” Jim asked.
“Since Richie was your case,” McConnell told him, “I thought you could start there, try to find some connection to Kimmie’s murder. Two kids in the same family being murdered is no coincidence. I’ve pulled the murder book on Richie and made copies of the reports we have on Kimmie so far.” He paused, looking embarrassed. “Uh – how are you going to read them?”
“No problem. I scan the reports into my computer, and it reads them back to me.”
“Slick,” McConnell commented. “Ain’t technology great?”
“Yeah,” Jim agreed. “When it works.”
“Well, get started, and let me know when you’re up to speed. You can use the desks next to Coop’s.”
Karen took Jim to one of the desks, and he started setting up his laptop and scanner. Coop looked on intently for several minutes, while Jim located the proper ports and connections by touch. “Hey, Jimmy,” he finally said, “can I give you a hand with that?”
“I’ve got it, thanks.”
“No, really, I’d be glad to help out.”
“I can handle it, okay?” Jim told him, sounding annoyed. Karen rolled her eyes and gave Coop a warning look, but he persisted.
“I’m just trying to help. . . .”
Jim sighed inwardly. “If I need your help, I’ll ask for it. All right?”
“Whatever you say.”
Scene Three
After a couple of hours listening to the computer-generated voice read back his old reports, Jim needed a break. Using his cane to navigate across the crowded squad room, he made his way to the locker room for a cup of coffee. Coop watched him, then followed. He found Jim at the coffee maker. Coop looked on silently as Jim carefully ran his hands over the coffee maker to find the coffee pot, then poured a cup of coffee, hooking a finger over the rim of the cup so he would know when it was full.
“Hey, Jimmy,” he said, “so that’s how you do that.”
Startled, Jim put the coffee pot down, hard. “Don’t do that.”
“What?”
“Sneak up on me like that,” Jim explained.
“Sorry,” Coop said sheepishly. “I guess I have a lot to learn.”
“Not really,” Jim told him matter-of-factly. “It’s mostly common sense. Just don’t sneak up on me, and don’t rearrange the furniture, and we’re good.”
“Okay.” Coop looked at Jim. He had taken off his dark glasses while working at his desk, and Coop noticed the way his eyes were directed slightly down and to one side, not looking at anything. Suddenly it was too much for him, and he blurted out, “Shit, Jimmy, this sucks.”
Jim seemed to look directly at him, then snapped, “I’m blind, Coop. Get over it.” He gripped his cane, then turned away and walked out of the locker room.
As Jim returned to his desk, McConnell stuck his head out of his office door. “Jimmy, Karen,” he called, “Mr. Milner is on his way in. You want to talk to him first?”
“Sure.”
Jim was leaning against the edge of the table in the interview room when Karen escorted Richard Milner into the room, fifteen minutes later. Milner did a double-take when he saw Jim. “Detective Dunbar,” he said, “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
Jim turned toward him. “I’m working downtown now, but they asked me to help out because I worked Richie’s case. You’ve met my partner, Detective Bettancourt?”
“Yes,” Milner replied. He paused for a moment, then continued, “I just want to say how shocked and saddened I was when I heard what happened to you. . . .”
“I’m very sorry for your loss,” Jim told him.
“I can’t believe it’s happening again. You know, this is the same room where we talked two and a half years ago, after Richie. . . .” Milner buried his face in his hands, overcome by grief.
After giving Milner a few moments to compose himself, Karen spoke up. “I’m sure this is the last thing you want to do now, but can you think of anyone who would want to do this to both Richie and Kimmie?”
“No, no – they were just kids. Why would anyone want to do this? Oh, God, they’re all gone now – Ellen, Richie, Kimmie. . . .Why is this happening?” Milner couldn’t continue.
Karen told him, “We’ll give you a minute.”
He nodded his understanding as Karen and Jim left the room. Outside, Karen asked, “What does he mean, ‘they’re all gone’? Who is ‘Ellen’?”
“Ellen was his wife. She died of a heart attack about three years ago. Richie found her when he came home from school.”
“Omigod,” Karen murmured.
“According to his dad, Richie started spiraling downward after that. Milner said he seemed like a different kid. Milner got him into counseling, but it didn’t help. He finally ran away from home, a couple of weeks before he was killed.”
Karen shook her head sorrowfully. “Poor kid.”
“Yeah,” Jim agreed. “You think he’s ready for us to go back in?”
Karen stepped into the observation room and looked through the one-way glass. “I think so.”
As they walked into the room, Milner looked up. “Are you okay to continue?” Karen asked.
“I – think so.”
“You know we have to ask this. . . ,” Karen began.
“Ask me anything,” Milner told her.
“We’ve been told you were in D.C. yesterday, but can anyone confirm that?”
Milner swallowed. “I was in a deposition with my client and four other lawyers all day. After that, I had dinner with the client. I didn’t get back to the hotel until around 10. There was a message from my brother. I’d had my cell phone off during the deposition, and I forgot to turn it back on . . . .” He broke off, hanging his head. “Damn.”
“When did you get back?” Karen asked, trying to keep Milner focused.
“Around two in the morning. After I talked to Don, I went straight to the airport and caught the first flight I could get.”
Jim reached out, found the table, and sat next to Milner. “How was Kimmie handling everything? It couldn’t have been easy for her.”
“She was doing surprisingly well,” Milner replied. “Kids are resilient, you know. I got her into counseling right away, which really helped. . . .”
“Did you notice any changes in her behavior recently?” Jim asked.
“Now that you mention it. . . .it’s probably not important, but she was kind of clingy before I left on this last trip. She didn’t want me to go. Oh, God, why did I go?” Milner buried his face in his hands again.
Using the code they’d developed, Karen tapped the back of Jim’s wrist twice to ask him if they were done with the interview. Jim nodded slightly and told Milner, “I think we’re done for now, Mr. Milner. Thank you for coming in. We’ll keep in touch.”
Mitch and Junior came out of the observation room at the same time Jim and Karen left the interview room. Karen walked past them without a glance and headed down the hall.
When they were back at their desks, Mitch turned to Jim, “Hey, Jimmy, what’s with your partner?”
“What do you mean?” Jim asked.
“She doesn’t seem to like us,” Mitch explained.
Jim shrugged. “I have no idea. She hasn’t said anything to me.”
Junior looked up from his computer. “Hey Jimmy, I was wondering, you know they partnered you up with a real babe, don’t you?”
Before Jim could respond, Mitch chimed in, “Yeah, she is hot, man.”
Jim knew this conversation was coming, sooner or later. He adopted a quizzical expression. “Really?” he asked.
“C’mon, Jimmy, no one ever told you?” Junior asked.
“Jeez, Junior, he’s pulling your leg,” Mitch told him. “Right, Jimmy?”
“Yeah,” Jim admitted. “I know.”
“It must suck, that you can’t see her,” Junior observed, “but at least it gives you an excuse to get touchy-feely, know what I mean?”
Jim shook his head in resignation.
“So, Jimmy, are you two, you know – ?” Mitch asked.
Jim raised his left hand. “I’m a married man, remember?”
“That never stopped you before,” Junior reminded him.
Anxious to steer the conversation in another direction, Jim told him, “Look, she’s my partner – a good one. I’m not about to fuck that up.”
“But she’s not married, right?” Junior persisted. “I didn’t see a ring.”
“No, she’s not,” Jim confirmed.
“You really think she’d give you the time of day?” Mitch asked skeptically.
“A guy can always hope,” Junior declared.
Scene Four
“Jimmy? Are you home?” Christie called as she walked in the door.
“Over here.”
She looked toward the living room, where Jim was sitting on the couch, still in his work clothes, distractedly scratching Hank’s ears. He looked drained. Christie hurried over to the couch and sat next to him, putting her hand on his shoulder.
“You look exhausted. Rough day?”
“You could say that,” he agreed.
“I think you need to tell me about it.”
He took a deep breath. “The lieutenant sent Karen and me to the 2-5. They have a case that’s probably related to an old case I worked while I was there.”
Christie rubbed his neck, feeling the tension there. She knew how difficult it could be when Jim met up with people he’d known before losing his sight. Seeing his old squad mates wouldn’t be easy. “So how’d it go?” she prompted him.
Jim sighed. “You remember Coop?”
“Yes, of course.” Christie remembered him well. Next to Terry, Coop had been Jim’s best friend in his old squad.
“Why can’t he just get over it? It’s been almost two years, for crissake.”
“You know, Jimmy, Coop’s always been kind of a mother hen. And he’s an emotional guy. Maybe he just needs to spend some time with you, to see that you’re okay. He never really had a chance to deal with it.”
“I guess,” Jim replied doubtfully, resting his chin on his hands.
Christie looked at him thoughtfully. “You’ve had plenty of experience with people who don’t know how to deal with the blindness. What’s so different about this?”
“I don’t know.” Jim pondered the question for a moment. “I thought maybe they’d be able to see past it, you know? I mean, I worked with these guys every day for three years. They know me.”
“But to them, the blindness makes all the difference,” Christie pointed out. “That’s all they can see right now.”
“I guess.”
“They’ll be able to see past it – just give them time. But . . . you know, Jimmy, maybe they don’t know you anymore, not really. And I don’t mean because you’re blind.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yes,” Christie replied firmly. “You’re not the same guy they knew. For one thing, the guy who worked at the 2-5 would not have been sitting here, talking to me.”
She squeezed his shoulder and gave him a kiss, then went to the bedroom to change. When she returned a few minutes later, Jim was still sitting on the couch, thinking. She asked, tentatively, “Jimmy?”
“Yeah.”
“Where were you?”
“Just – thinking.”
She laughed. “I know. Let’s have some dinner. After that, I think I can find a way to take your mind off your old squad.”
“Sounds good to me.” Smiling to himself, Jim followed his wife into the kitchen.
Day One
Scene One
Lt. Gary Fisk called from his office door, “Karen, Jim, my office, please.”
When the two detectives were standing in front of his desk, he told them, “I just got off the phone with your old boss, Jim – Jack McConnell at the 2-5. They’ve got a DOA that may be related to one of your old cases. He asked if you could work it with them.”
“What case?”
“Jack said it was Richie Milner. Do you remember that one?”
Jim nodded. “Yeah, I do. A kid, 15 or 16, a runaway. They found him under the Triborough Bridge. We never really got anywhere with it. So what’s the new case?”
“DOA is Richie’s little sister, Kimmie.”
“Damn,” Jim muttered under his breath. Karen felt a little sick – she always hated it, when it was a kid, and based on the look on his face, Jim felt the same.
“I told Jack Russo and Selway could cover things here for a couple of days, unless the gangbangers decide to start going after each other again. Get going, and keep me informed. I want you back here as soon as possible.”
“Yes, sir,” Jim and Karen replied in unison.
As she drove uptown, Karen glanced over at Jim, wondering what was bothering him about this return to his old squad. He hadn’t said anything, but the set of his jaw told her he was tense. She decided to break the ice. “So who will we be working with when we get there?” she asked.
Jim shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m not sure the same guys I worked with are still there. It’s been almost two years, and we didn’t really keep in touch after I got shot.”
“Oh.” Karen fell silent, realizing what Jim had just told her. His squad, the guys who should have stuck by him, had abandoned him when he was shot and lost his sight. What kind of cop, what kind of friend, would do that? She hadn’t even met the guys, and she despised them already.
Scene Two
Lt. Jack McConnell came out of his office when he heard a chorus of “Hey, Jimmy!” He resolutely ignored the sinking feeling in his stomach that kicked in when he saw Jim in dark glasses, following an attractive young woman and holding the handle of his guide dog’s harness. He went to greet them. “Welcome back, Jimmy. This must be your partner, Detective Bettancourt?”
“Thanks, lieutenant,” Jim replied, extending his hand. After McConnell shook his hand, Jim turned toward his partner. “Karen Bettancourt, Lieutenant Jack McConnell.”
“Welcome to the 2-5,” McConnell said. “If there’s anything I can do for you while you’re here, just let me know.”
“Thanks, lieutenant.”
Jim spoke up. “Who else is here from the old squad?”
“We’re all here, Jimmy,” said a tall black man of about fifty, with salt-and-pepper hair and weary eyes.
“Coop?”
“Yeah.”
Turning to Karen, Jim made the introduction. “Harrison Cooper, known as ‘Coop’.”
“Karen Bettancourt,” Karen replied coolly.
One by one, the other detectives in the squad introduced themselves. The sandy-haired man about Jim’s age, a little shorter and stockier than Jim, was Mitch Kozlowski. Jorge “Junior” Morales, dark-haired, wiry and energetic, was the youngest of the group. When they introduced themselves, Karen responded to each of them with a curt nod. The three 25th Precinct detectives exchanged glances, puzzled by Karen’s chilly manner.
“Where’s Kev?” Jim asked, referring to Kevin Thomas, the fourth member of the squad.
“Boss sent him for IT training, so he can investigate all the high-tech crimes we get around here,” Mitch told him, sarcastically.
Coop stared at Jim throughout the introductions. Finally, unable to contain himself, he enveloped Jim in a bear hug. “Damn, man, it’s good to see you. . . .” He looked embarrassed as he released Jim from the hug. “Sorry, bad choice of words.”
“Don’t sweat it. It’s good to see you, too.”
Mitch and Junior glanced at each other. Then Mitch spoke up, ending the awkward silence. “Uh – so, Jimmy, what’s the dog’s name?”
“Hank.”
“Hank – okay. So – is he, like, a Seeing Eye dog?”
Karen answered instead of Jim. “No, he’s a drug-sniffing dog, what do you think?”
Coop, Mitch and Junior exchanged questioning looks. Then Junior asked, in a forced, hearty voice, “So, Jimmy, are they treating you good downtown?”
“Yeah,” Jim replied, “It’s been good.”
“That’s good,” Junior said. He fell silent for a moment, then continued. “But they shoulda sent you back here – you know, where you belong. They shouldn’t’ve made you start all over in a new squad like that. That’s not right.”
Jim shrugged, but before he could answer, McConnell interrupted. “Jimmy, Bettancourt, come into my office for a minute.”
Jim ordered Hank to stay and turned to follow McConnell. He took a step, then stopped, looking lost. “Karen?” he asked. Damn, Karen thought, I should have anticipated this. She was so used to the confident way Jim moved around the squad room at the 8th Precinct, it hadn’t occurred to her that he wouldn’t know his way around a squad room where he’d worked before. But that was when he could see, you idiot, she reminded herself. Silently berating herself for making him ask for help in front of his old squad, Karen moved to Jim’s side, murmuring, “Sorry.”
“Not a problem,” he answered softly as he took her arm. “I don’t remember the old place as well as I thought I did.”
As she guided Jim to McConnell’s office, Karen glanced at Coop, seated at his desk to her right. He was staring at Jim with a mixture of sadness and pity.
When Karen and Jim were seated in his office, McConnell turned to Karen. “So, Bettancourt, who’d you piss off, that you got partnered up with this guy?”
Karen played along with the lieutenant’s joke. “I wish I knew – I’ve been asking myself the same question for the past eight months.”
With the preliminaries out of the way, McConnell briefed them about the case. “Kimmie Milner, 15 years old, was last seen leaving her school on Staten Island yesterday afternoon. Her dad had been in D.C. on a case – he’s a lawyer, you remember – ” Jim nodded. “. . . since day before yesterday, and she was staying with her aunt and uncle – the dad’s brother and his wife. They live on Staten Island, too, about a half mile from her school. She never showed up at their house yesterday afternoon. She was found around six this morning under the Triborough Bridge, near where her brother Richie was found two and a half years ago. It looks like she was killed somewhere else and dumped there.”
“That’s different from Richie,” Jim pointed out, “he was killed under the bridge, where he was found. What about Kimmie’s cause of death?”
“Looks like that’s the same as Richie – blunt force trauma to the head. We haven’t found what he used, though, and we’re still waiting on the autopsy results.”
“Do you have a timeline yet?”
“School got out at three o’clock yesterday afternoon,” McConnell related. “No one knows where she was after that. The last person who saw her was one of her friends, Amy Nicholas. They were leaving together, then Amy remembered she’d left something in her last classroom and went back inside. When she came back out, Kimmie was gone. Staten Island couldn’t find anyone who saw her after that. Her aunt, Linda Milner, got home from work around six. When she realized Kimmie wasn’t there and apparently hadn’t been there since school let out, she started making calls, looking for her. Don Milner, Kimmie’s uncle, got home from work around seven. He made some more calls, then went out looking for her. They reported her missing around 8:30.”
“Where do you want us to start?” Jim asked.
“Since Richie was your case,” McConnell told him, “I thought you could start there, try to find some connection to Kimmie’s murder. Two kids in the same family being murdered is no coincidence. I’ve pulled the murder book on Richie and made copies of the reports we have on Kimmie so far.” He paused, looking embarrassed. “Uh – how are you going to read them?”
“No problem. I scan the reports into my computer, and it reads them back to me.”
“Slick,” McConnell commented. “Ain’t technology great?”
“Yeah,” Jim agreed. “When it works.”
“Well, get started, and let me know when you’re up to speed. You can use the desks next to Coop’s.”
Karen took Jim to one of the desks, and he started setting up his laptop and scanner. Coop looked on intently for several minutes, while Jim located the proper ports and connections by touch. “Hey, Jimmy,” he finally said, “can I give you a hand with that?”
“I’ve got it, thanks.”
“No, really, I’d be glad to help out.”
“I can handle it, okay?” Jim told him, sounding annoyed. Karen rolled her eyes and gave Coop a warning look, but he persisted.
“I’m just trying to help. . . .”
Jim sighed inwardly. “If I need your help, I’ll ask for it. All right?”
“Whatever you say.”
Scene Three
After a couple of hours listening to the computer-generated voice read back his old reports, Jim needed a break. Using his cane to navigate across the crowded squad room, he made his way to the locker room for a cup of coffee. Coop watched him, then followed. He found Jim at the coffee maker. Coop looked on silently as Jim carefully ran his hands over the coffee maker to find the coffee pot, then poured a cup of coffee, hooking a finger over the rim of the cup so he would know when it was full.
“Hey, Jimmy,” he said, “so that’s how you do that.”
Startled, Jim put the coffee pot down, hard. “Don’t do that.”
“What?”
“Sneak up on me like that,” Jim explained.
“Sorry,” Coop said sheepishly. “I guess I have a lot to learn.”
“Not really,” Jim told him matter-of-factly. “It’s mostly common sense. Just don’t sneak up on me, and don’t rearrange the furniture, and we’re good.”
“Okay.” Coop looked at Jim. He had taken off his dark glasses while working at his desk, and Coop noticed the way his eyes were directed slightly down and to one side, not looking at anything. Suddenly it was too much for him, and he blurted out, “Shit, Jimmy, this sucks.”
Jim seemed to look directly at him, then snapped, “I’m blind, Coop. Get over it.” He gripped his cane, then turned away and walked out of the locker room.
As Jim returned to his desk, McConnell stuck his head out of his office door. “Jimmy, Karen,” he called, “Mr. Milner is on his way in. You want to talk to him first?”
“Sure.”
Jim was leaning against the edge of the table in the interview room when Karen escorted Richard Milner into the room, fifteen minutes later. Milner did a double-take when he saw Jim. “Detective Dunbar,” he said, “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
Jim turned toward him. “I’m working downtown now, but they asked me to help out because I worked Richie’s case. You’ve met my partner, Detective Bettancourt?”
“Yes,” Milner replied. He paused for a moment, then continued, “I just want to say how shocked and saddened I was when I heard what happened to you. . . .”
“I’m very sorry for your loss,” Jim told him.
“I can’t believe it’s happening again. You know, this is the same room where we talked two and a half years ago, after Richie. . . .” Milner buried his face in his hands, overcome by grief.
After giving Milner a few moments to compose himself, Karen spoke up. “I’m sure this is the last thing you want to do now, but can you think of anyone who would want to do this to both Richie and Kimmie?”
“No, no – they were just kids. Why would anyone want to do this? Oh, God, they’re all gone now – Ellen, Richie, Kimmie. . . .Why is this happening?” Milner couldn’t continue.
Karen told him, “We’ll give you a minute.”
He nodded his understanding as Karen and Jim left the room. Outside, Karen asked, “What does he mean, ‘they’re all gone’? Who is ‘Ellen’?”
“Ellen was his wife. She died of a heart attack about three years ago. Richie found her when he came home from school.”
“Omigod,” Karen murmured.
“According to his dad, Richie started spiraling downward after that. Milner said he seemed like a different kid. Milner got him into counseling, but it didn’t help. He finally ran away from home, a couple of weeks before he was killed.”
Karen shook her head sorrowfully. “Poor kid.”
“Yeah,” Jim agreed. “You think he’s ready for us to go back in?”
Karen stepped into the observation room and looked through the one-way glass. “I think so.”
As they walked into the room, Milner looked up. “Are you okay to continue?” Karen asked.
“I – think so.”
“You know we have to ask this. . . ,” Karen began.
“Ask me anything,” Milner told her.
“We’ve been told you were in D.C. yesterday, but can anyone confirm that?”
Milner swallowed. “I was in a deposition with my client and four other lawyers all day. After that, I had dinner with the client. I didn’t get back to the hotel until around 10. There was a message from my brother. I’d had my cell phone off during the deposition, and I forgot to turn it back on . . . .” He broke off, hanging his head. “Damn.”
“When did you get back?” Karen asked, trying to keep Milner focused.
“Around two in the morning. After I talked to Don, I went straight to the airport and caught the first flight I could get.”
Jim reached out, found the table, and sat next to Milner. “How was Kimmie handling everything? It couldn’t have been easy for her.”
“She was doing surprisingly well,” Milner replied. “Kids are resilient, you know. I got her into counseling right away, which really helped. . . .”
“Did you notice any changes in her behavior recently?” Jim asked.
“Now that you mention it. . . .it’s probably not important, but she was kind of clingy before I left on this last trip. She didn’t want me to go. Oh, God, why did I go?” Milner buried his face in his hands again.
Using the code they’d developed, Karen tapped the back of Jim’s wrist twice to ask him if they were done with the interview. Jim nodded slightly and told Milner, “I think we’re done for now, Mr. Milner. Thank you for coming in. We’ll keep in touch.”
Mitch and Junior came out of the observation room at the same time Jim and Karen left the interview room. Karen walked past them without a glance and headed down the hall.
When they were back at their desks, Mitch turned to Jim, “Hey, Jimmy, what’s with your partner?”
“What do you mean?” Jim asked.
“She doesn’t seem to like us,” Mitch explained.
Jim shrugged. “I have no idea. She hasn’t said anything to me.”
Junior looked up from his computer. “Hey Jimmy, I was wondering, you know they partnered you up with a real babe, don’t you?”
Before Jim could respond, Mitch chimed in, “Yeah, she is hot, man.”
Jim knew this conversation was coming, sooner or later. He adopted a quizzical expression. “Really?” he asked.
“C’mon, Jimmy, no one ever told you?” Junior asked.
“Jeez, Junior, he’s pulling your leg,” Mitch told him. “Right, Jimmy?”
“Yeah,” Jim admitted. “I know.”
“It must suck, that you can’t see her,” Junior observed, “but at least it gives you an excuse to get touchy-feely, know what I mean?”
Jim shook his head in resignation.
“So, Jimmy, are you two, you know – ?” Mitch asked.
Jim raised his left hand. “I’m a married man, remember?”
“That never stopped you before,” Junior reminded him.
Anxious to steer the conversation in another direction, Jim told him, “Look, she’s my partner – a good one. I’m not about to fuck that up.”
“But she’s not married, right?” Junior persisted. “I didn’t see a ring.”
“No, she’s not,” Jim confirmed.
“You really think she’d give you the time of day?” Mitch asked skeptically.
“A guy can always hope,” Junior declared.
Scene Four
“Jimmy? Are you home?” Christie called as she walked in the door.
“Over here.”
She looked toward the living room, where Jim was sitting on the couch, still in his work clothes, distractedly scratching Hank’s ears. He looked drained. Christie hurried over to the couch and sat next to him, putting her hand on his shoulder.
“You look exhausted. Rough day?”
“You could say that,” he agreed.
“I think you need to tell me about it.”
He took a deep breath. “The lieutenant sent Karen and me to the 2-5. They have a case that’s probably related to an old case I worked while I was there.”
Christie rubbed his neck, feeling the tension there. She knew how difficult it could be when Jim met up with people he’d known before losing his sight. Seeing his old squad mates wouldn’t be easy. “So how’d it go?” she prompted him.
Jim sighed. “You remember Coop?”
“Yes, of course.” Christie remembered him well. Next to Terry, Coop had been Jim’s best friend in his old squad.
“Why can’t he just get over it? It’s been almost two years, for crissake.”
“You know, Jimmy, Coop’s always been kind of a mother hen. And he’s an emotional guy. Maybe he just needs to spend some time with you, to see that you’re okay. He never really had a chance to deal with it.”
“I guess,” Jim replied doubtfully, resting his chin on his hands.
Christie looked at him thoughtfully. “You’ve had plenty of experience with people who don’t know how to deal with the blindness. What’s so different about this?”
“I don’t know.” Jim pondered the question for a moment. “I thought maybe they’d be able to see past it, you know? I mean, I worked with these guys every day for three years. They know me.”
“But to them, the blindness makes all the difference,” Christie pointed out. “That’s all they can see right now.”
“I guess.”
“They’ll be able to see past it – just give them time. But . . . you know, Jimmy, maybe they don’t know you anymore, not really. And I don’t mean because you’re blind.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yes,” Christie replied firmly. “You’re not the same guy they knew. For one thing, the guy who worked at the 2-5 would not have been sitting here, talking to me.”
She squeezed his shoulder and gave him a kiss, then went to the bedroom to change. When she returned a few minutes later, Jim was still sitting on the couch, thinking. She asked, tentatively, “Jimmy?”
“Yeah.”
“Where were you?”
“Just – thinking.”
She laughed. “I know. Let’s have some dinner. After that, I think I can find a way to take your mind off your old squad.”
“Sounds good to me.” Smiling to himself, Jim followed his wife into the kitchen.