<b>“</b><b>I </b>can’t <b>tell </b>you how many times and by how many people he was asked to back off. It got to the point that he was wasting time andpany resources. He’d be here well into the night, making one calls, pestering potential witnesses. Ultimately, he got demoted after he tried to stage a raid on one of Rossetti’s businesses without bothering to obtain a warrant.”
I thought it couldn’t get worse. “Are you talking about when he sense why he was demoted so suddenly.
went from lieutenant then back down to detective?<b>” </b>That makes
He nods slowly. “I hated to see it happen. We’d been partners for years by then, and I considered him one of my closest friends, if not the closest. He was the youngest lieutenant in the department–there was no telling how far he could’ve gone. The potential was endless.” His shoulders slump. “But even I couldn’t get through to him. Nobody could. There I was, thinking the demotion might shake him out of things. Like he would finally learn his lesson, step away, and return to doing the job he was supposed to do.”
“Then your Mom….” He winces and trails off, giving me an apologetic look.
“It’s okay. I’vee to terms with it. You can say it.”
66
“Well, that’s it. You lost your mother, and he only spiraled from there. Don’t get me wrong,” he continues when <b>I </b>groan, things didn’t necessarily pick up until a few months ago. I don’t know why. He hadn’t mentioned anything in a long time. He was doing his job, working hard, and I had hope that he would be promoted again. It had been so many years, you know? But then… I’m not sure what happened. Maybe the anniversary of her death set him off again.’
Yes, the anniversary did pass a while back. Funny how I forgot, but then I was getting ready for graduation, filling out job applications and sending my resume out. I had so much on my te, not to mention a boyfriend who was getting sloppy, staying out until all hours and not even bothering to devise a decent excuse. In other words, I had a lot on my mind.
“And then I graduated,” I whisper while my heart sinks lower into my stomach. “Maybe that’s what did it, pushed him over the edge. Me getting older, graduating, and then the anniversary passing. He was lost before, and my absence only made it worse.”
“Whatever the reason, it was like he was possessed all over again. Soon after, he was onlying to work to use our resources. He wasn’t here to do a job anymore, and everybody knew it. He wasn’t even making an effort to hide it. I tried to talk to him about it, but I might as well have been talking to the wall.”
All I can do is shake my head, fear and disappointment slithering through me.
“What do you think?”
“You mean, what do I think happened to your mom?” My head bobs up and down as I brace myself. Whatever he says, I can
handle it.
It’s obvious he’s fighting to say the right thing before he shrugs. “I think y your dad is lost. When we got togetherst week, I felt like I was looking at a stranger. He was manic and so sure he had finally found the missing piece he’d been searching for. Supposedly, he found the original autopsy report that said your mother died from a gunshot wound to the head.”
It feels like all the puzzle pieces are aligning. Possibly my father was telling the truth, after all, “That’s what he told me too. Do you think it’s possible?”
‘Between you and me, kid, there isn’t a department in this country that doesn’t have at least one bad cop in it. It’s just the kind of thing he’s talking about… It’s conspiracy–level stuff, and truthfully, I can’t imagine that. I mean, what he’s describing would r than some cop take a lot of coordination–a huge cover–up. Falsifying autopsies, destroying evidence. It would be much being paid under the table.”
“How can he be so sure of it and im he found the original autopsy<b>, </b>then?”
Ken lifts a questioning brow. “He says he did–but I haven’t seen it Have
“No.” The buzzing from my phone–again–makes me want to scream. My hand trembles as I run it through my hair and hope my head doesn’t explode from all this information. “I really don’t know what to think. You’re telling me he lost his job, and somehow he’s gone all hours of the day and night. I don’t know how to help him or even what to believe. I can only imagine the
trouble he will <b>get </b>himself into trying to solve this case,”
“I know. I want to help him, too. There’s no insight to give him when he insists on pushing his conspiracy theories. My hands are tied as it is. He doesn’t have many friends around here anymore, and he made enemies of the friends he did have when he started throwing around usations of cover–ups and dirty cops.
“Oh, God, no.” Someone will need to give me a shovel to get out of the hole he’s dug. “I’m so sorry, know it isn’t my job to apologize, but I feel like I have to.”
“I understand. I’ve felt the need to apologize more than once, myself.” He stands, sighing heavily, and I also take that as my cue to stand. “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you about him losing his job. I wish I could be more helpful.”
“No, you’ve been plenty of help, believe me. Without this visit, I’d think he still has a job.” And now, I want to go through his finances to make sure he has the money to support himself and keep the house. Jesus, now I’m back to parenting my parent.
As if you ever stopped.
“Don’t, you know, tell him I told you.” He winces, looking sheepish. “I know how that sounds, but your dad can be a little over the top, and while he hasn’t been himself, he’s still a brother to me.”
“No worries, that would mean admitting I came here in the first ce, and he would lose his mind if he found that out.” Impulsively, I give him another hug, and it reminds me of everything Dad could’ve been if he hadn’t unraveled. A detective, who the others look up to, somebody who hasn’t wrecked his professional reputation.
“Take care of him, kiddo,” he murmurs, patting me on the back. “Please take care of yourself, too. Don’t get too wrapped up in this. You’ve got your own life to live.<i>” </i>He pulls back and holds me by the shoulders, his lips broadening into a smile. “And remember, no matter what, he’s always been so very proud of you.”
“Thanks.” I don’t say anything else as he shows me to the door again. I can’t speak. I can barely walk. I’m too busy concentrating on holding back tears. I have to find a way to get through to him. There has to be a way to help him get his life back on track. Otherwise, I’ll be forced to watch him slide into poverty all because he couldn’t tell fiction from reality. As I walk the long hallway, I pick up on the curious gazes of more cops. It’s not difficult to imagine them having secrets. Resenting me for being here, if they even know who I am. I wonder if it’s possible Ken could be wrong?
Could one of them have covered up what happened to my mom? I don’t know. Nheless, the more questions I unearth, the more answers Ick. A part of me also wonders if I<b>, </b>too, am beginning to unravel at the seams?