Читать книгу Into the Dark - Rick Mofina, Rick Mofina - Страница 16

9

Downey, California

Standing in the kitchen of his bungalow, Joe Tanner watched the old video playing on his cell phone of his wife, Rebecca.

“Hi, Joe. I’m feeling pretty good today, I almost think I can beat this, I—” She tried to smile from under the bandana covering the fine tufts that used to be her hair. “If I don’t beat this, just hug Sam today for me, okay.”

As she touched a tissue to the corners of her eyes, he traced her face on the screen with his finger.

“That’s it for this one, sorry,” she said.

The video ended.

It was among several hundred Becky had left him, and even though it had been two years, just seeing her and hearing her gave him comfort. It helped him through the hard days, like today. He was anxious about his meeting and what he was going to do about the big break in the Bradford case.

It’s what I have to do.

He checked the time on his phone. He was running late. He went to the fridge for milk and eggs, smiling at the watercolor flower framing a photograph of Becky, when she still had beautiful hair. This latest piece of art was created by Samantha Tanner, Age 6, according to the artist’s signature. It was titled “My Mommy,” and was fastened to the door with a banana magnet, next to Samantha’s paintings of a polar bear, a house—“Our House”—and a smiling stick man and smiling stick girl holding hands, titled “Daddy and Me.”

Tanner tucked his tie into his dress shirt, draped a dish towel over his shoulder and started scrambling eggs. While they cooked he went down the hall calling to his daughter.

“Come on, Sam! You’re going to be late for school!”

“I can’t find my socks, Dad!”

“Laundry room! Let’s go!”

Back in the kitchen he poured two glasses of orange juice and checked on the eggs. Then he flipped through yesterday’s mail: junk, a few bills and a letter from a local charity he’d supported after they’d lost Becky.

Dear Mr. Tanner:

As someone personally affected by the disease, we’re hoping we can once again count on your participation to make this year’s fundraising event...

Sure, he thought, he’d be there. He set the mail aside and checked the eggs when the phone rang. It was Kim, his sister.

“Joe, do I pick up Sam today, or tomorrow?” she asked while munching. Sounded like an apple.

“You know I hate it when you do that.”

“Do what? Help my little bro?”

“Chew in my ear, wiseass.”

“Somebody’s tense. So—” she kept chewing “—is it today?”

“Hang on.” He consulted the calendar on the fridge. The notation “Sam—dentist checkup” occupied the next day’s square.

“It’s tomorrow. Sign her out of school at one, and thanks.”

“Got it. Then I’ll take her shopping for new clothes, just us girls.”

Tanner wedged the phone to his ear and served eggs from the frying pan onto two plates, then made toast.

“Oh,” his sister added, “my friend Remmie is wondering if you’re ever going to call her?”

“Stop trying to fix me up.”

Everybody in his circle had a desire to see him paired, including his relic of a partner, Harvey Zurn. “I keep telling you Joe, you should meet my cousin Linda, recently divorced with a little boy. She’s ex-military, a good cook with a good figure.”

On the other end of the line, Tanner’s sister sighed.

“You need to meet some women, Joey.”

“I’m fine— Sam, breakfast! Listen, Kim, I love you for helping me and looking out for me but my new unit’s keeping me pretty busy. Don’t forget, tomorrow at one. Thanks, sis. Please finish eating before calling people. I love you. Bye.”

As he set the plates down, Samantha entered the kitchen and before getting into her chair, pulled up her pant legs to reveal one blue sock and one pink sock.

“See? Everybody’s doing it, Dad.”

She had Becky’s eyes and her curls. At times, he could hear her voice.

“You’re a weird little kid.” He laughed, shaking his head. “Eat up.”

Afterward, while Samantha brushed her teeth and her hair, Tanner went to his small study for his badge. He then opened his gun safe for his weapon, clipped on his hip holster and collected his files.

During the drive through North Downey to Samantha’s school, he stole glimpses of her in the rearview mirror, sitting in the backseat in her booster seat.

“So how are you doing today, Sam?”

“A-OK, Dad.”

“Anything on your mind? You said something was bugging you?”

“How much longer do I have to sit in this seat for babies?”

“Two more years.”

“Two years? That’s like forever!”

“Don’t be in too big a hurry to grow up.” He grinned.

When they arrived at the school drop-off zone, Samantha climbed out of her seat and the car. Then she appeared at his window, her backpack strapped on. She drew her face to his and he leaned out to hug and kiss her.

“Love you, Daddy.”

“Love you, kiddo.”

He watched her enter the school, thinking how much she was like Becky. Then he looked at the files on his passenger seat and the summaries of several unsolved homicides. The first had happened ten years ago.

A wave of sadness rolled over him.

He could measure his life against these cold cases.

He couldn’t stop his wife’s killer, no one could. His challenge now: Would he be able to find the monster behind these slayings? He didn’t know if this meeting and what he needed to do were smart moves. Given the issue of timing, dates and some long-shot theories, it looked like his only option.

He picked up the stack of folders and the note affixed to it.

Mark Harding

Reporter

AllNews Press Agency,

Los Angeles Bureau.