Big Sick Heart: A Detectives Seagate and Miner Mystery (28 page)

Ten minutes later, I got the call from Ryan.

“Got some paper?” he said.

“Yeah, go ahead.”

“Her name is Patricia Kesler. K-E-S-L-E-R. She’s
married to Captain Robert Kesler, U.S. Navy, retired. They live on Coronado
Island. Get on I5 heading south, past downtown. Take the San Diego-Coronado Bay
Bridge. It’s marked as California 75. The bridge spills you onto 3rd Street,
heading west. Take your first left, that’s south, on Orange Avenue. The house
is number 111 Orange. Got that?”

“Thanks, Ryan. I’ll check in with you when I can.”
I made it back to I5 in ten minutes, then I hit traffic. Another ten minutes to
go two miles. I got up on the big bridge, traveling a brisk thirty miles per
hour, taking in the battleships and destroyers off to the right.

Just as I got to the middle of the bridge, I felt
a rumble beneath me. It was a carrier headed out of the harbor. I was able to
pick out the men, tiny against the massive grey steel boulevard of the deck. I
had to force myself to concentrate on my driving, get myself squarely in my
lane. I snuck a glimpse of the enormous ship sliding away, its hull taller than
any building in Rawlings.

I made it through the tiny commercial center of
Coronado Island, left on Orange to the older homes. I pulled over to the curb
near number 111. It was as I had feared. I looked through the forsythia to see
the brick circular drive leading past the front door and up to the garage. It
was a beautiful old house, a white clapboard colonial. It looked like it had
three or four bedrooms, which would have been considered showy when it was
built. Now, it would probably have to be sold hard by a realtor if it had only
two baths.

There were two dormer windows on the second floor.
One had pink curtains, one had blue. The windows were open a half foot, the
breeze rustling the curtains on what was turning out to be a fine day. It would
hit fifty-eight degrees or sixty in a few hours.

I waited, looking at the black limousine parked in
the driveway. All along the width of the house was a beautiful flower garden,
set off with large ornamental rocks embedded with some sort of crystals that
reflected the sun like mirrorballs. I don’t know much about flowers, but I
recognized marigolds, bluebells, carnations, and lavender. It was a dizzying
palette of blues, yellows, reds, and whites.

I wondered if it would be enough. Would Captain
Kesler, retired, and his new wife, Patricia, and their young son be all right?
What would they do? Would they sit on the wrought-iron patio set on the front
porch and look at the garden? What would they say to each other? What was there
to say?

The front door opened. The first one out was
Captain Kesler, wearing his dress uniform, the brass and the silver catching
and reflecting the sun. He was tall, a good-looking man, forty-five years old,
I guessed, square jawed, dark hair turning to salt and pepper. He held his
young son in his arms. The boy, about three years old, was wearing a dark blue
suit, with short pants. He wriggled in his father’s arms, but the father
restrained him and moved deliberately.

Next came Patricia, wearing a plain black dress,
low-heeled black shoes, a black purse. She clutched a white handkerchief in her
hand. I couldn’t see her face behind the black veil attached to a simple hat.
She moved unsteadily. Her husband took her hand. The uniformed chauffeur was
holding the door open.

The family slowly made its way to the limousine.
Patricia got in first. As Captain Kesler tried to hand his son to Patricia, the
little boy grabbed at the roof of the limousine. The father disengaged the
son’s tiny fingers from the roof, one by one, and guided the boy inside. Then
Captain Kesler disappeared inside the limousine, and the chauffeur closed the
door.

I watched the limo start up. I stayed back. There
was no need to follow the slow-moving Cadillac up close. We traveled only a few
minutes on the small island. We entered Hillside Cemetery, a gorgeous shaded sanctuary.
I followed the limo down the sun-dappled lane, the tall pines standing like
sentries, until it came to a gentle halt. Some thirty cars were parked along
the lane. The hearse was already there. I parked away from the others.

From where I stood, under one of the pines, in the
shade, I could see the Pacific in the distance, unnaturally blue, the waves
bright white lines that appeared, then disappeared as they approached the
shore. Suddenly I felt a chill and went back to the car and grabbed my coat. I
put it over my shoulders.

The minister was standing by the graveside, his
Bible open. At his side was Captain Kesler, with his son cradled in one arm.
Next was Patricia, her face downturned. Even from thirty yards, I thought I
could see her shaking. She was holding on to her husband’s arm for support. On
her other side stood Warren Endriss, his hands at his side.

Endriss looked older, his face ashen, his
shoulders dragged down by an enormous invisible weight. The ceremony proceeded,
the mourners sobbing as the coffin was lowered into the grave. In a few
minutes, the minister closed the Bible, walked over to Patricia, and hugged
her. He shook Captain Kesler’s hand after the Navy man transferred his
squirming son into his other arm. The minister then shook Endriss’ hand.
Captain Kesler started to escort his wife back to the limousine. Endriss was
still gazing at the coffin, unwilling or unable to move.

Endriss’ gaze lifted. He saw me standing beneath
the pine, across the narrow, unpaved road. He nodded to me. We both stood still
as the mourners filtered away from the graveside. Captain Kesler and his family
got in the limousine. It started and slowly drove away, leaving the other
mourners’ cars to follow for the reception at the Kesler house.

A pickup with a king cab drove up to the
graveside. Three men wearing overalls got out. They stood by the side of the
truck awkwardly, waiting for Endriss to leave. He nodded to them and walked
slowly over to me.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Endriss,” I said.

“Thank you, Detective.” I saw that Endriss was
weeping. I could not stop my own tears. Endriss said, “Do you need to put
handcuffs on me?”

Regs called for cuffs, behind his back. “No, I
don’t think that’s necessary.” I took his elbow and escorted him to my rental
car. He got in the passenger seat.

“Put on your seatbelt,” I said to him.

“I’m sorry to have put you to this trouble,
Detective. I couldn’t ask for permission to come. If I did, you would have had
to arrest me and prevent me from coming.”

I nodded. “I understand.”

“May I ask for a favor, Detective?” I turned to
him. “Before you take me in, I’d like to show you where Amber and I used to
come.”

“Where’s that?”

“Torrey Pines State Reserve. It’s about a half
hour from here. A little north of La Jolla. It would mean a lot for me to see
it one more time.”

“All right,” I said.

He directed me back to I5, then north to La Jolla
and out to the coast. We were silent on the trip. Torrey Pines State Reserve
hugged the Pacific Ocean, a series of dunes, trails, and sandstone canyons
rising up from the ocean.

“This parking lot would be great.” I shut off the
car and we got out. “This was our favorite trail.” He led me out on the Guy
Fleming Trail, winding deeper and deeper into a stand of Torrey pines. Soon the
trees thinned and the sun pierced the needle canopy. We came to a lookout
point.

Three hundred feet above the ocean, we leaned
against the wooden guardrail. I looked out at the waves rolling in, the gulls
drifting above the surfers in their wetsuits, tiny black figures on their red
and yellow and white boards. “This is so beautiful,” I said. Warren smiled and
closed his eyes. We stood there silently for a long time.

Finally, I said, “Tell me what happened.”

“Amber was getting worse. She was ten when she had
to have her left leg amputated. She used to run track. She got it fitted with
one of those metal feet for track, and she kept running. Eventually she had to
stop. She tried to put on a brave face, but she was really scared. I could see
it in her eyes. Patty and I were so torn up about it, Amber told us we had to
be braver. The marriage ended. I wasn’t brave enough, I guess.”

“Why did you change your name?”

“I was in debt, about a hundred and fifty
thousand, from the medical bills. My insurance had maxed out years before. I
put all the bills in my name, so Patty’s credit wouldn’t be ruined.”

“What happened that night, in Rawlings?”

“After we got back from that bar with you and
Detective Miner, I got the call from Robert Kesler on my cell. He said Patty
couldn’t talk. The doctor had sedated her. Amber had had a heart attack. She
was gone. She had just turned fifteen.”

“What did you do then?”

“I’m not sure. I left my room. There was a
maintenance guy working on the elevator. His tool kit was in the hall. I picked
up a screwdriver. It was big, a really long handle. I knocked on Arlen’s door.
He opened it. After that, it’s a blank. I think I killed him. I woke up in my
room, covered in blood. I showered and lay on my bed. I can’t account for the
time.”

“It wasn’t about Connie.”

He was looking out at the ocean. “No, it wasn’t
about Connie. I loved her, and in a way I think she loved me. I’m not sure she
had ever been in love in her life. She didn’t really know how to love anyone.
She had never ever seen it in her life. There was no possibility for us, of
course. I tried to talk with her about getting away from Arlen. She told me it
was not that big a deal for her. Eventually, she asked me not to talk about it.
So I didn’t.” He turned to me. “No, it wasn’t about Connie.

“I don’t remember ever losing my temper with
Arlen. What he did to the girls was cruel and selfish, and I hated that about
him. But I don’t know. Maybe I talked myself into being very mature about it.
Connie seemed content, at least as content as someone in her situation could
be. And I tried to be an adult about the stem cells, too. It wasn’t his fault
Amber was so sick. I never mentioned her to him. And he never asked about my
family, about kids, about anything.

“He looked at stem cells like it was some sort of
exercise in logic. He thought his point of view was valid, and I couldn’t
really say he was wrong. Until I looked at Amber. Then I knew it was very
wrong. But I went out on that stage, night after night, and we did the debates.
Then we had a drink or two. We made a good team. Maybe I was a coward, unable
to confront him. I told myself it was a way to practice keeping my composure
when I visited Amber. I think I was a coward.”

We stood there, the call of an occasional gull
breaking through the distant rumble of the surf below us, each of us lost in
our own thoughts.

“Do you have any children, Karen? Do you mind if I
call you Karen?”

I shook my head. “No, Warren, I don’t mind. You
can call me Karen.” I looked at him. “Yes,” I said. “I do. I have … I have one
son. His name is Tommy.”

“How old is he?”

“He’s fourteen, almost fifteen.”

“You’re very lucky.”

“I know it,” I said. And I was telling the truth.
“Warren, this sounds to me like manslaughter at most, maybe even temporary
insanity. You’ll do time, but it won’t be life.”

He shook his head. “I don’t know anything about
the law. You’re probably right. But I’m not going back with you.”

“I have to take you in.” I knew I had my pistol in
my big leather shoulder bag. I eased back from him and slowly reached into the
bag. He was looking out at the ocean.

Sensing I was pulling away, he turned to me.
“Don’t worry, Karen,” he said softly. “I’m not going to hurt you. But I have to
go now. I’m just so tired.”

“Listen to me, Warren. I know you’re going through
a terrible thing here, but you can—”

“Karen, please. I need to go now. It’s right that
I go. Thank you for letting me see the ocean one last time. But I need to sleep
now.” He boosted himself onto the wooden guard rail. I grabbed at his leg, but
he shook me loose, knocking me onto my hands and knees. I lunged at the guard
rail, pulling myself onto my feet as he soared out over the sandstone cliff,
his body blocking the sun for a moment.

He floated, his arms spread wide, graceful as a
young cliff diver, until he landed, silently, on the sandstone wall. I saw the
body convulse for an instant, just for an instant. His life had already left
him as he rolled down the canyon toward the blue water, his arms and legs like
the broken stick limbs of a discarded marionette, tumbling over and over until
he came to rest where the cliff touched the beach.

I reached into my bag, pulled out my cell, and
called it in to Lieutenant Davenport at San Diego Police Department. Then I
called Ryan and told him Endriss was a suicide. I asked him to tell Margaret
Hagerty and Connie de Marco they could go home and tell Harold Breen he could
release Arlen Hagerty’s remains.

Chapter 11

The staff in the Pediatric
ICU knew who I was because I had kept calling.

“Can you tell me how Annie is doing?”

“Annie’s not here anymore,” the nurse said. I felt
my knees buckle. I reached for the handrail on the wall.

“No, no, Detective,” the nurse said, grabbing me
by the arm. “I’m sorry. We transferred her out of ICU yesterday.”

I tried to catch my breath. “Oh, thank God,” I
said, starting to cry. “So she’s gonna be okay?”

“No guarantees with this kind of trauma, but all
the signs are good.”

“Can I see her? Please. It would mean so much to
me.”

“It’s not up to me, Detective,” the nurse said.
“Give me a minute. Let me see what I can do.” The nurse walked down the hall,
out of ICU and into Pediatrics. I sat on a chair, trying to pull myself
together. I saw the nurse head into a room some thirty yards away.

I got up and walked down the hall to the room. I
snuck a glance through the window. The nurse was talking with Annie’s mother.
The nurse was gesturing toward the ICU section. The mother was wearing a grim
expression, shaking her head no.

I turned and started walking toward the elevator.
I took a deep breath, a sense of relief flowing through me as I realized the
little girl was getting better. As for the mother not letting me see the girl?
I understood that. Why should the mother want to let me anywhere near her
daughter? If I was in the same position, I wouldn’t, either. All in all,
though, my best visit yet. And one of these days I would learn that Annie had
gone home.

The light on top of the elevator read 2, then 3.
The indicator bell rang. “Detective!” a voice called. I turned and saw the
nurse hurrying toward me, then waving her hand, telling me to come. As I got
closer, I saw the smile on her face. “Room 432,” the nurse said.

Aubrey Pritchard stood in the door. She stepped
back, inviting me in. Annie looked good. Her color was back. She still had a
bandage on her head, but the drainage tube from her skull was gone. Her hair,
the color of wheat, was starting to grow back. She was sitting up in the bed, a
crayon in her hand, working on a coloring book.

“How are you feeling, sweetheart?” I said.

“I’m okay,” the girl said. “Who are you?”

I took a deep breath. “My name is Karen,” I said.
“I was the person who got in the car accident with you.”

Annie said, “Did you get hurt?”

“No, honey, I didn’t get hurt,” I said. “I’m so
glad to see you’re doing better.” I paused. “Annie, I want to explain to you
how the accident happened. Can I talk to you about that for a second?”

“Okay,” Annie said, “if you want.” She kept
coloring.

“Yes, I think I should,” I said. “You and your mom
were driving down Route 113. I was coming down Chalmers, which intersects with
113. There was a stop sign … but—”

The mother interrupted. “What happened was, Karen
wasn’t paying attention when she was driving.” I turned toward Aubrey. “She
didn’t mean for it to happen. It was an accident.”

I turned back toward Annie. “I am so sorry it
happened,” I said, touching Annie’s hand, right next to the IV tent taped to
the slender wrist.

“Can you come visit me again?” Annie said.

I turned to the mother, who nodded slightly. “Of
course, Annie. I’d like that very much,” I said, smiling.

*  *  *

The chief said, “What the
hell happened?”

“He jumped.”

“I know he jumped. How was he able to jump? Wasn’t
he cuffed? Didn’t you restrain him?”

“No, I didn’t cuff him or restrain him. We were
just talking.”

“What was it, like a date? What the hell were you
thinking?”

I shrugged. I wasn’t sure I could explain it to
myself. I was certain I couldn’t explain it to the chief.

“I’m trying to add up how many procedures you’ve
violated.”

“It’s three or four, Chief, depending on how you
interpret them.”

The chief smiled. “Thank you, Detective,” he said.
“Pistol and shield,” he said, tapping the desk in front of me.

I removed the pistol from my belt holster and the
shield on the leather case hanging from the chain around my neck. Placing the
items on his desk, I said, “I’ll be gone in a half hour.”

“No, you won’t. You’ll stay and do the 120’s on
the case. Finish them, then go.”

I turned and left, catching a smirk from Helen
Glenning, the chief’s assistant, as I swept past.

I was at my desk. Ryan said, “Did he fire you?”

“I’m not sure. Either that or I quit. He told me
to do the 120’s, then go.”

“That what you’re going to do?”

“Yep.”

I sat at my desk and pulled up the forms on my
computer. I worked on them steadily. It took two hours.

“Okay, Ryan,” I said. “I’ll be heading out.”

“Can I ask you a question, Karen?”

“Sure, Ryan. What?”

“Why didn’t you restrain him, bring him in?”

I gazed out the window. The trees were waving
silently in the frigid December breeze. “I don’t really know. When he asked if
he could see where he used to go with his daughter, that seemed the right thing
to do at that time. So I did it. I could see it in his eyes. He wasn’t gonna
take off, and he wasn’t gonna overpower me. He had just lost his daughter. He
needed to talk to me. Maybe I needed to listen to him. I don’t know.”

“You knew he was going to take a flyer?”

“Maybe I did, on some level. I guess I wanted him
to have a little control of things. It had been a long time. He chose the right
thing for him. What would be the point of him going to jail for a decade or
two? He was just … just too busted up inside to want to keep going.”

“What are your plans, Karen?

I smiled. “If I knew how to make plans, Ryan, I
wouldn’t be an unemployed drunk.”

I knew I would have to give Ryan’s question some
real thought over the next … well, over the next however long it took. What
Warren Endriss had said to me, right before he jumped, was true: I am lucky to
have a son. I owe Tommy something more than just to disappear, no matter how
busted up I am right now, and how sorry I feel for myself. Walking out on him
would be easy enough, and the smart money says he’d be better off if I just
disappeared. But what if, someday, he needed me? No matter where I was, no matter
what I had become, I would know it, and I would know I was a coward.

I saw Ryan’s eyes shining with tears. They were
the same tears I saw on Tommy’s face when I told him I had to leave his father.
I rushed over to Ryan’s desk and put my arms around him. “Oh, no, Ryan, it’s
okay,” I said, kissing him on the top of his head. “It’s fine,” I said,
stroking his back. “It’ll be fine.”

I knelt down beside his chair, touching his cheek
with my fingertips. “You’re a beautiful young man, Ryan, and a fine detective.
The department is very lucky to have you here. I wish you a terrific life,
Ryan, full of love and purpose. May God bless you.” I stood and kissed him on
the forehead.

“You, too, partner,” he said, his voice choking.
“You, too.”

I walked around to my desk and picked up the small
framed photo of my son. There was nothing else to take. I went over to the coat
rack. It was a cold and windy day, with some mean-looking clouds barreling in
from the northwest. Winter was settling in, and it would stay for a long time.
But there would be a Spring. I knew there would be. I got into my coat and
walked toward the red Exit sign.

###