A False Dawn

EIGHT

Detectives Slater and Moore cautiously approached me the way officers do when they think a gun is present or an arrest is imminent. Detective Moore carried something in one hand. She looked nervous, her lips tight, eyes wide, ready for confrontation.

Under the parking lot streetlights, I could see a pulse beat in one side of her neck. She said nothing, allowing Slater to throw out the first pitch.

“Mr. O’Brien, we meet again. How’s the vic?”

“She’s dead, but you knew that.”

He was silent, searching my face. “Where have you been since I last saw you, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I do mind. I’m not a convicted felon. You’re not a parole officer. So why don’t you two tell me what you want and we can enjoy the rest of the night in separate places.”

“I’ll tell you what we want. We want your DNA. Detective Moore is prepared to take it. Don’t suppose you’re wearing your gun.”

“Not tonight. I usually do wear a gun in a hospital to see how fast security can respond. Part of my consultant business.”

Detective Moore almost smiled. She said, “We appreciate your cooperation.”

Slater said, “Then you don’t mind turning around and placing your hands on top of the hood. Spread your legs.”

“Glad to oblige, Detective.” I placed my hands on top of someone’s BMW and spread my feet apart. I could hear the sirens of an approaching ambulance a few blocks away racing toward the hospital. Slater frisked me.

“All right,” he said with a sound of satisfaction. “Turn around. Why were you at the hospital?”

“If there isn’t a new law against hospital visitations, I’m leaving.”

“Not yet,” he said, holding his palm out like a crossing guard. “We’ll take that DNA sample. Leslie, why don’t you go on and secure a sample from Mr. O’Brien.”

“Why don’t you ask my permission before you start reaching in my mouth?”

Slater’s eyebrows rose like an animator drew them high on his forehead. “We can do this downtown or we can do it here, Mr. O’Brien.”

“I don’t have a problem with a DNA sample. I do have a problem with your method of getting one.”

“If you don’t like police protocol, take it up with the sheriff.” His jaws hardened.

“This’ll be fast,” said Detective Moore, taking a swab from a plastic kit she held. “This will just take a couple of seconds. Please, open your mouth.”

“Do I say ahhhhh?” I asked, opening my mouth, allowing her to take the saliva sample, which she did.

“Thank you.” This time she did smile.

Slater rocked on the balls of his feet. “When we did the search at the crime scene we found blood in the back of your Jeep. We tested it. Came from the victim.”

“And as I told you, I tried to stop the bleeding from her chest. I ran back to my Jeep to call for help and to get a towel. I must have touched something.”

“What did you think when you heard she’d died?”

“What did I think? I was saddened. She was someone’s daughter.”

“No one’s claimed the daughter — the body. Don’t have an ID. Makes it hard to alert next of kin. Right now she’s a Jane Doe, unless you know her name.”

I said nothing.

“I’m looking forward to the results from the DNA,” he said. “Why’d you really leave Miami PD in the prime of your career? I checked on you. Seems you took a medical leave after you shot and killed an innocent man at a crime scene. Was the line gettin’ a little blurry for you, O’Brien?”

“Why would I assault this girl and stay at the crime scene?”

He grinned. “We’re eliminating suspects. You haven’t been eliminated.”

“I’m not your perp, pal. He’s out there. And chances are he’ll do it again if he hasn’t already. Now either arrest me, or get the hell out of my way.”

“I’d watch that temper if I were you, O’Brien. Leads to stress.”

I walked between Slater and Moore. I hoped Slater would reach his sweaty hand out to try and stop me. He didn’t.

I drove west on highway 44 toward DeLand and the St. Johns River. I watched a quarter moon play hide-and-seek with me through the trees near the road. I hadn’t been home in almost fourteen hours and I felt bad for little Max. If she’d peed on the floor, I made a silent promise that I wouldn’t even raise my voice to her.

The day’s events played back in my mind. What had the girl whispered to me? Was the bruise on her cheek the letter U or something else? All I knew is that somewhere there was someone who loved her and was never going to see her again.

I flipped on the Jeep’s high beams as I came around the last curve in my drive. The headlights panned across the house. I looked for a moving shadow or anything that appeared out of place. A fat raccoon scurried across the oyster shell drive. After I shut off the ignition, I sat and listened. There was the ticking sound of the motor cooling, the crescendo of frogs, and the whine of mosquitoes. I moved the dome light button to a manual off position, reached under the seat for my pistol and slowly opened the door.

Stepping from the Jeep, I heard the deep-throated grunt of a bull alligator across the river. Under the moon, the live oaks were solid, shadowy giants with dark beards of Spanish moss that hung straight down. There was no breeze and the night was warm and humid. I could smell smoke from a campfire in the national forest. A cloud drifted across the moon, drawing a curtain of black. Mosquitoes orbited my face in a halo of whines that screamed in my ear for blood.

I silently walked up the three steps leading to the screened door on the porch. I could feel that it was slightly ajar. Had I left it that way? I backed down the three steps and walked around the outside of my house.

I unlocked the front door and heard the pulsating beep of the twenty-second delay on the alarm. Max barked and scampered down the hall to greet me. “Hello lady!” I said. Her tail was a blur. “Come on, Max, let’s see if you can make it outside.”

I opened the door and Max bolted between my legs in a mad dash for some earth. I flipped on the floodlights and would have laughed if I hadn’t felt so bad for leaving her home alone for hours. She squatted and peed for a full minute, looking up at me through eyes that seemed to ask, “Where the hell have you been?”

“Chow time, Max.” That’s all it took to see her charge across the threshold and beat a path to the kitchen. I poured a cup of her favorite dog food into her bowl. For me, it was leftover chili. I pulled a cold Corona out of the refrigerator, managed to fit the bottle in my back pocket, picked up my chili bowl and Max’s bowl and together we headed out to the back porch to dine.

As Max ate, I took a long swallow from the beer, sat the food on the table beside my chair and looked at the moon’s reflection across the river. I reached for the bowl of chili and noticed something on the far end of the table.

I recognized it. The black flint arrowhead I saw Joe Billie pull out of the river. It was lying on the table like a black diamond. The arrowhead was fitted into a long wooden shaft, trimmed with eagle feathers and notched at the end.