Red Leaves

  ‘Where the hell have you been? We’ve arrested Conni Tobias.’

  ‘So I’ve heard.’

  ‘Goddammit! Where were you? Silas and Artell wanted you to go with them and Ray.’

  ‘Why? They seem to have managed fine by themselves.’

  ‘O’Malley, don’t be a wiseass. You were heading this investigation. They needed your help.’

  ‘Well, well,’ said Spencer, his mouth stretching at the corners. ‘Why didn’t you say so? That’s what I’m here for. To help them.’

  ‘That is what you’re here for,’ snapped Gallagher. ‘To help them. We all work together, Tracy. What’s going through your thick head? You find the killer, they prosecute the case, remember?’

  ‘Yeah, well, I didn’t realize prosecuting the case involved making the arrest. I thought I was in charge of that.’

  ‘You weren’t here!’ shouted Gallagher, as Will stared at the carpet. ‘Maybe if you had been here, you could’ve made the arrest.’

  ‘If I had been here, I would have advised you to wait –’

  Gallagher cut him off. ‘O’Malley, wait for what? Christmas? I’m tired of your shit. Want Baker to take over?’

  Spencer glanced at Will, who didn’t look up. ‘Is that another threat, chief?’

  ‘Shape up, O’Malley! The DA’s office needs you, your partner needs you, this station needs you. Don’t let your personal problems overwhelm you every time we have a big case.’

  ‘Overwhelm me? Every time? What, out of the two we’ve had?’

  ‘What, unless it’s a murder, it’s not a big case? What about the forty robberies we had last year? What about the burglaries? What about that nearfatal assault in the bar last winter? Every time things get heated up, you go off somewhere, doing God knows what.’

  Spencer considered the situation. ‘Is that why you brought in the AD As? Because you think I’m off somewhere?’

  ‘I didn’t bring them in! We work together, goddammit! It was a suspicious homicide. Now it’s murder one. Concord and Haverhill should’ve both been here on Thursday.’

  ‘Yes, but they weren’t.’

  ‘No, and look what we got – I don’t even know what!’ Gallagher banged on his desk, stood, and sat back down. ‘Look,’ he said, in a calmer voice. ‘Baker seemed to indicate you might need some help.’

  Spencer cocked his head and studied his partner levelly. Will Baker flushed. ‘Baker seemed to indicate that, did he? Well, did he or didn’t he indicate that?’ Before the chief or Will could reply, Spencer said, ‘For your information, the help you’ve given me is too little too late, chief. I had only Ray on Thursday to process the scene, and there’s no bigger screw-up in the department. No camera, no tape, no notebook, doesn’t call Concord when told to, the coroner isn’t notified till Friday evening, and frankly, where were you last week? If this was so important, where the hell were you? I don’t know and I don’t care, but one thing’s for sure, you weren’t here.’ Spencer’s voice was becoming progressively louder. Had he been calmer, he would’ve understood that Gallagher’s bluster and anger at Spencer was to cover-up for his own neglect of a murder investigation, but Spencer wasn’t calm. And he didn’t understand.

  ‘I am the chief, Tracy,’ said the chief, raising his voice.

  ‘Yeah, well, where was the chief last week when we were digging up a woman’s naked corpse with our bare hands? Where were you when we found nine million dollars in her account, and where were you when we couldn’t find a soul on earth to come and claim a dead girl, who was everybody’s flavor of the month when she was alive, but dead must’ve given off quite a stink, because no one wanted anything to do with her! Let me tell you something about me going off somewhere. Yesterday I drove to Norwalk, Connecticut, and spoke to a woman who told me some pretty incredible things you don’t give a shit about. Today I drove to Concord because –’ He paused for breath. ‘Because one set of prints didn’t match up. I’ve hardly eaten in four days. Where were you yesterday? Let me guess – playing touch football with your kids and having a nice Sunday roast with your wife. So don’t tell me I’ve been going off somewhere,’ said Spencer with his fists clenched. ‘I’ve been doing my job.’

  It took a long while to blow Spencer’s fuse, but once blown, it was blown.

  At Spencer’s side, Will didn’t look up from the floor.

  Gallagher’s voice when he spoke was remarkably calm, as if he were a parent trying to mollify a temperamental child.

  ‘Now, Spencer,’ said Gallagher softly, through gritted teeth, and Spencer, had he been less angry, would’ve been amazed, for the chief never called him by his first name, not even when they were drinking.

  ‘Ah, don’t Spencer me,’ snapped Spencer. ‘I’m tired of it all. Just tired. I’m going home. You got your girl, so to speak. Go and talk to those mikes outside. They’re clamoring for your opinion. Go and tell them everything you know about Conni Tobias. About Kristina Kim. And about Nathan Sinclair.’

  ‘Who the hell is Nathan Sinclair?’ Will whispered.

  ‘I’m sorry we can’t all be as smart as you, Tracy,’ said the chief angrily. ‘But we’re not idiots. And we’ll all beg your pardon for having wives and families, but we do also try to do our jobs, as best we can, though of course not brilliantly and twenty-four hours a day like you.’

  Spencer did not want to have this discussion. He was overflowing with emotion. He hadn’t felt this much since his wife died. He realized suddenly that Gallagher knew something very important about Spencer Patrick O’Malley, something that gave him the power of intimidation over Spencer, and this wasn’t the first time the chief had wielded that power with glee.

  Gallagher knew that Spencer O’Malley had no life.

  Barely breathing, Spencer stood in front of the chief. Faced with a dilemma, a situation of mutually exclusive and equally unfavorable options, Spencer’s only outward sign of emotion was a shaking of his fingertips.

  ‘I quit,’ he said.

  ‘O’Malley, don’t be stupid,’ the chief said. ‘Every time I chew you out, you threaten to quit. I’m tired of it. One of these days I’m not going to call you back.’

  ‘Make that day today, chief,’ said Spencer, unzipping his holster with the Magnum and throwing it on the desk.

  ‘O’Malley!’ Gallagher exclaimed.

  ‘Tracy, stop it, man,’ said Will quietly, coming over to him.

  Spencer backed away, unclipping his police badge from his shirt pocket, and also throwing that on the table. ‘I know, I know,’ he said, much calmer now, and more relaxed. ‘It’s always the same thing. I pretend to quit because I’m just fed up to here the way you treat me, the way you talk to me, the way you run this place. I’ve been waiting five years for you to retire so I can take over your job, but they seemed like fifty-five years. I stayed because I had no choice. But you know what? Kristina Kim has no choice. Katherine Sinclair has no choice. I actually have some. And I quit. You think I love this job too much –’

  ‘I don’t think that, O’Malley.’

  ‘Well, you’re wrong. I do like this job. But then, I don’t have a life to compare it to. That’s why you treat me like shit, isn’t it? Because I got nowhere else to go. Well, the hell with this place. I quit now. You can clean out my desk. I got nothing in it. If the DA needs me to testify, let them subpoena me.’

  ‘Tracy,’ Will whispered to him. ‘You’re going too far.’

  ‘Yeah. Out the door.’

  And he turned to leave.

  ‘Tracy,’ said Chief Gallagher, ‘I’m warning you, if you walk out that door, don’t bother coming back. I’m telling you. That’ll be it.’

  Spencer turned around long enough to say to Will and Gallagher, ‘And furthermore, don’t call me Tracy. I hate that fucking name.’

  Spencer walked out into the cold night air, and stopped right outside the front door. He knew he could still come back. They needed him, he knew that. He hadn’t told them yet about Nathan Sinclair.

&n
bsp; But what would that change? he thought. So they would know. They wouldn’t give a damn. But once the truth was out, Conni Tobias would know it. And Jim Shaw would know it. Conni would think only that her life had been ruined for nothing, and Spencer didn’t want to make Conni feel even more hopeless. She needed hope to sustain her. Spencer felt some empathy for Conni. He didn’t want to destroy her.

  And Jim Shaw? He would become embroiled in a scandal that could wreck his potential public service. His countrymen would always come back to the time when he was young and involved in a vicious, incestuous quadrangle. As Ted Kennedy had never been able to live down Chappaquiddick, so Jim Shaw would never be able to live down Kristina and Nathan Sinclair. Spencer didn’t want to drive the last nail into Jim’s career coffin.

  Slowly Spencer became aware of white flashing lights, of a hundred people, shouting, shoving black sponge balls into his face, bulbs going off. It looked like daylight. Fake daylight. But it was night, and cold. Once again, Spencer pushed past the swarm of reporters with nothing to say except in answer to the question ‘Are you the detective in charge of this case?’ ‘Not anymore,’ replied Spencer.

  He drove to Hanover and did not look back at the tall and foreboding pines on the golf course near the police headquarters where he had passed five years of his life.

  At home on Allen Street, he packed. It didn’t take long; he had brought little with him and accumulated only a few things during his years in Hanover. Why didn’t I grow roots here? he thought. Was it because I always knew I would leave? No, he had loved Hanover. He just hadn’t gotten around to growing roots. He had been too busy surviving to be bothered with living.

  Spencer haphazardly threw his stuff into suitcases. His mind was elsewhere. Oddly, he wasn’t thinking about the job as detective-sergeant he just quit, or about what he was going to do next, or even about going home, a place he hadn’t been to in years.

  Spencer was thinking about the four friends, about the sleaziness, the trailer-trash vulgarity, of their relationship. The bad feelings kept washing over him like rain.

  Jim Shaw. Conni Tobias. Nathan Sinclair. Kristina Sinclair.

  Jim Shaw. Something barreled in loud and clear into Spencer’s consciousness. Jim Shaw.

  Why hadn’t he reported seeing Kristina’s black boots when he walked into them last Wednesday? He had said he was scared, but Spencer didn’t buy it.

  Rather, scared for whom?

  Could Jim Shaw have known about the incident that Frankie had witnessed a year ago? Could they all have known about it, maybe even laughed about it during the low-minded games they played with one another when cards would no longer do?

  Spencer threw on his parka and left the room. Disgusted with Hanover, he looked at nothing but his own feet as he walked to Hinman Hall.

  Jim answered the door. He looked worn out and older than the student Spencer had met four days ago. He was unshaven and his hair was unbrushed. Spencer knew Jim had not been studying. Jim looked stricken. Spencer thought it was by the impending funeral, but Jim said, ‘Conni … she’s been arrested.’

  ‘Yes, I know,’ said Spencer, nodding.

  ‘It’s horrible for her, horrible.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Spencer, wanting to say that it was horrible for Kristina, too.

  ‘What do you think will happen to her?’

  ‘To Conni? She’ll get herself the most expensive lawyer her father can buy, and hope for the best.’

  ‘What do you think? Is there a way out?’

  Spencer came in and sat down in the lounge chair. He looked around Jim’s room.

  ‘Jim, I know how you feel, but Conni was on the bridge and her blood was on Kristina.’

  Shaking his head and covering his face, Jim said, ‘No, no. I don’t believe it. It can’t be.’

  ‘Jim, she did it to herself. I know it’s hard to deal with.’

  ‘She didn’t do it, she didn’t,’ Jim said. ‘I just don’t believe it.’

  ‘You don’t?’ Spencer said. ‘Who, then?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Jim said. ‘Someone else.’

  ‘Like you?’

  Jim shook his head.

  ‘Like Albert?’ When Jim didn’t respond, Spencer said, ‘Is there something you know?’

  ‘I’m not saying it was him. I’m just saying …’

  Spencer nodded. ‘What about last Wednesday? When you saw your girlfriend in the snow? Did you think Conni killed her then?

  Shaking his head defiantly, Jim said, ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘No?’

  Jim lowered his gaze. Spencer nodded and stood up. ‘I thought so.’

  ‘What did you come here for?’ Jim exclaimed. ‘Did you come here to torture me?’

  ‘I came here to tell you that when you testify, you should muster enough courage to tell the court the truth.’

  ‘The truth?’

  ‘Yes, the truth. You should tell them, to save your good name, that you ran away from your ex-girlfriend’s dead body because you were afraid the girl you loved had killed her. That’s correct, isn’t it?’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Jim said loftily. ‘I told you I was afraid.’

  ‘Yes, but not for yourself, for her.’ Spencer said. ‘You knew about the incident on the bridge, didn’t you? Last year? Conni could’ve killed her then, you know. She wanted to.’

  Jim lowered his eyes. Spencer nodded and walked toward the door. ‘Think about what I’ve asked you.’ And turning around, Spencer said to Jim, ‘Good luck.’

  Very quietly, Jim said, ‘Sending Conni to prison will not bring Kristina back.’

  ‘Of course not. It never does bring the victims back.’ Spencer shook his head and backed away through the open door. ‘You’re allowing your feelings for Conni to cloud your judgment. The guilty have to be brought to justice.’ Spencer paused. ‘What’s wrong with you? Kristina’s life is over forever. And Kristina didn’t ask to be killed.’

  Jim lifted his eyes. ‘No?’ he said.

  Spencer walked back into the room and moved close to Jim. ‘What the hell are you saying?’

  Jim backed away. ‘God will forgive Conni,’ he said. ‘God should be the one to punish her, too.’

  ‘And God will,’ said Spencer. ‘Eventually. But here on earth, men enforce God’s rules. And his first is thou shalt not kill.’

  Jim stared hard at Spencer and then said harshly, ‘How does it feel, detective? To just come in and ruin people’s days – hell, their lives? Does it feel good?’

  Looking down at Jim, Spencer said through gritted teeth, ‘You just have no idea. If I wanted to ruin your day, I’d ruin it good and proper. Hell, I’d ruin your Christmas vacation.’

  Spencer was nearly going to tell him about Nathan Sinclair, but in the end didn’t want to waste one more breath on this kid.

  On Tuesday morning, Spencer moved out of his apartment and got a room at the Hanover Inn, where Howard was arranging details for Wednesday’s after-funeral buffet at the Daniel Webster Room.

  Spencer was going to stay through the funeral and then drive back to Long Island. It was somehow fitting that Spencer should stay at the Inn on his last day in Hanover. After all, he had stayed at the hotel on his first day.

  The hotel room had more furniture than his entire apartment. Through two Georgian windows, he overlooked the Baker bell tower and Dartmouth Hall. After eating lunch at the Ivy Grill, Spencer took an afternoon nap, under the covers of a king-size bed with a macramé canopy. He woke up exactly at three to the sound of the bell tower playing ‘Let It Snow, Let It Snow, Let It Snow.’

  He looked outside. It wasn’t snowing.

  It was cold but sunny when Spencer went outside. He could see Dartmouth Hall, its black shutters, its white paint, and felt a tremor of regret run through him. What had he done?

  But the snow-covered common square, the Baker Library, with its white clock tower, and the students milling about Dartmouth Hall didn’t give him the feel
ing of affection for Hanover he had once had. As he walked along Main Street under the green awnings, Spencer was aware of his own disenchantment. Hanover seemed to him like a straying mistress. She had once been beautiful, but now as he looked into her betraying face he felt only drab anger and saw none of the loveliness. The hell with it all.

  He got into his Impala; the first thing he saw was the police radio and the siren on the seat next to him. One day he’d have to return those.

  He drove to Red Leaves House. On the way Spencer thought about Kristina almost dying in a ditch near the reservoir, and he slowed down to a crawl at the spot where the accident had occurred. Someone behind him started to honk, so he moved on, trying to ignore the knot in his stomach.

  Spencer drove through Lebanon and made a right onto a quiet street. He’d been to Red Leaves House twice before, both times to bring runaway pregnant teens to a place where they would not be judged. There was only one such place in the Upper Valley region. No wonder Kristina loved Red Leaves.

  He got outside, walked past the establishment plaque, which was nailed to a post cemented into the sidewalk, and knocked on the door. A woman answered, led him to another woman, and another. The owner of Red Leaves wasn’t here today, he was informed, but could anybody else help him?

  When the counselors and the teenagers found out who he was, they gathered around him like churchgoers. They clucked solicitously, stuffed a cup of tea into his hand, put some tea biscuits in front of him, sat him down, and crowded around him.

  A few of the women sobbed openly. They shook their heads, asked him to tell them what really happened, and kept interrupting him with exclamations, how unbelievable, how could it have happened, this sort of thing never happened in their part of the country. Spencer wanted to tell them that this sort of thing happened everywhere.

  He wanted to explain to them how much Red Leaves had meant to Kristina, but he didn’t have the words. The women, however, with their tears and kind words, clearly showed Spencer how much Kristina Kim had meant to them.

  They would have claimed her body, Spencer thought. All of them, collectively, would have come in and rescued her from the anonymity of the metal gurney. They would have claimed her.