Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 129, Nos. 3 & 4. Whole Nos. 787 & 788, March/April 2007

Copyright © 2007 by Ed Gorman

Ed Gorman is not only one of the mystery field’s foremost authors, he’s also one of its premier critics and publishers. Co-founder of Mystery Scene magazine and for many years its editor and publisher, he’s been involved with many other publishing ventures, including Five Star Press. Currently he’s contributing a new column, Blog Bytes, to EQMM. A new novel in his Sam McCain series, Fools Rush In, has just been released (Pegasus Books).

1.

When I rolled into the precinct just before eleven that humid August night, I saw my brother Michael walking out the west door.

I’d been able to get him on the force seven years ago, despite a still-ongoing hiring freeze, and he was generally doing well. It didn’t hurt that at the time I’d just received an award for stopping a man who’d just killed three people in a convenience store. I’d chased him in my car, warning him in the dark alley to stop running. He had turned around and put three bullets in my windshield. I ran him over and killed him.

I’d asked the commander a few times before about hiring Michael. He knew about Michael’s past and problems. He’d always said, “Let me think about it.”

Since joining the department, Michael had become a dutiful cop. On other matters, which he insisted weren’t my business, he wasn’t doing well at all.

He worked the same shift I did but he was already in civvies: a crisp white short-sleeved shirt, dark slacks, and a brisk, slightly wood-scented cologne.

He must have been lost in his own thoughts, because he didn’t see me until I almost walked into him.

“Hey,” he said, looking up. “Didn’t see you.”

“I wanted to apologize for the other night.”

He grinned the grin that had won him a hundred hearts. My little brother got the family’s blond good looks. I got the family’s work ethic. Or, as our mother always put it, “Little Mike got the looks, but Chet got the maturity.” In her maternal way, she tried to pretend that both attributes were equal. Maturity, in case you hadn’t noticed, has yet to get even one female into a bed.

He clapped me on the arm. “Hell, Chet, we’re brothers. You were just looking out for me the way you have since Mom died.”

When I was sixteen and Michael was twelve, Mom drowned in the YMCA pool after suffering a stroke. Freak accident. The news reports called it that, the Y called it that, the coroner called it that, the priest at the burial site called it that, everybody at the wake called it that. Even seventeen years later I wince when I hear that term.

Dad took over. Or tried. But he’d always been a better cop than a father. It was from his side of the family that the blond good looks came. For twenty-one years of marriage, Mom had been able to pretend that all the nights Dad spent carousing with other cops were spent bowling and playing nickel-dime poker. The only time I’d ever heard them argue about those nights was when a drunk lady called at two A.M. and demanded to talk to my dad.

Other cops, male and female, walked around us now, good-nights and goodbyes on the air thick as the fireflies.

“I’m not mad, Chet. I just want to run my own life. You don’t need to play Dad anymore.”

And I had been his dad all the way through high school. Made sure he got a B average, made sure he wasn’t into drugs or alcohol, made sure he wasn’t hanging around with the wrong boys, made sure he honored the curfew hours I set for him.

Dad spent more and more time away from the house. He got himself what he called a “woman friend” and half-ass moved in with her. One night when he was home and puke-drunk, I heard him sobbing — literally, sobbing — in the bedroom he’d shared with Mom all those years. I went in and dragged him to the bathroom and got him cleaned up and then ripped the covers with the vomit on them off and got him settled in. He grabbed my hand and gripped it hard, the way he used to. He didn’t seem to realize that these days my grip was a lot harder than his. Before he passed out, he said: “You gotta watch Michael. He’s gonna turn out just like me. And I was such a shitty husband to your poor mother, Chet.” He started sobbing again. He wouldn’t let go of my hand. “I’m goin’ to hell, Chet, the way I treated that woman, always sneakin’ off for some strange broad. You got to know that I loved her. She was the only woman I ever truly loved. Those bitches I ran around with didn’t mean nothing to me. They really didn’t.”

Michael said, “It’s just this little thing I’m having on the side, is all. It’ll wear itself out.”

“That’s what you said four months ago.”

His face hardened. His taint was to be amiable, kid you away from serious talk. But since that hadn’t worked, he coasted for a while on irritation that would soon become real anger if he wasn’t careful. “Look, I admit I screwed up my life back there when I first left home. I gambled, I did some drugs, I married the wrong woman, I couldn’t hold a job — and I let you take over my life the same way you did when I was a kid. And that really helped, Chet. And I’m really grateful for it. I mean, how could I not be? You found my second wife for me, you got me on the force, and you managed to find a bank that would give me a mortgage even with my credit rating.” He put both of his hands on my shoulders. He was three inches taller than I was. “I owe you everything, Chet. Everything. But this time—” He shook his head. Then he shot me the Michael grin again. “This time it isn’t any of your business. All right? I know what I’m doing. I’m not going to hurt Laura or the kids. That I promise. But I’m in this thing and I just have to play it out is all.” His hands shook my shoulders with mock fondness — mock because he was sick of me trying to drag him away from the affair he was having. The affair that had put him right back into gambling, drinking too much, even getting into a few fights. Fights can get you kicked off the force.

He took his hands down. “So can we leave it like that, Chet? Please? I’ll handle it, everything’ll be cool, and we’ll get together at Jen’s birthday party a couple weeks from now and everything’ll be fine. All right?”

He walked away before I could say anything, got in his car, and drove off. I hadn’t known until that moment that he’d bought himself a new Pontiac GTO. I didn’t know another uniformed officer who could afford a new GTO and have any money left over for the wife and kids.

The call came a few months later. Laura, Michael’s wife.

“I’m sure you’re watching the football game,” she said. I’d met her years ago at a grade school. I had been there to tell the kids about being a policeman. Laura was a slender, dark-haired young woman with a very pretty face spoiled only by a quick, nervous smile that revealed the stress she always seemed to feel. This was at the time when Michael had neared the height of his problems — no job, into some gamblers for several thousand dollars, and drinking way more than he should have been. Laura herself was just getting through a divorce, a husband who’d run around on her. Neither of them wanted to meet the other, but I stage-mothered the relationship until it found its own way.

“Actually, no. Jen’s volunteering at the hospital tonight, so I’m here with the kids. I just cattle-prodded them into bed, in fact.”

A strained laugh. “They’re just like ours. They hate going to bed.” Then: “Could we talk a little, Chet?”

“Sure. That’s what brothers-in-law are for.”

So this was to be the night. I knew that it would happen and that when it did a whole lot of things would change. I thought of what Dad had told me the night he’d drunkenly admitted he’d been such a terrible husband: that I was to keep Michael from repeating his mistakes. I wondered how much Laura knew. I was about to find out.

“I don’t think Michael loves me anymore.”

“Oh, come on. You know better than that.”

“He used to come straight home after work. He’d only hang out at that cop bar once a week. But now — three or four nights a week he doesn’t get home until three in the morning. And he hasn’t had much to drink. That’s what makes me suspicious.”

“I guess I’m not following you there.”

“Well, he always tells me he’s just at the bar with the boys. Well, first of all, the bar closes at two, and it’s only about a mile away. It sure doesn’t take him that long to drive home. But even worse than that — he’s never drunk.”

“Well, that’s a good thing, isn’t it, that he’s cut back on his drinking?” I tried to put a smile into it.

“But I know him well enough to know that if he was at that bar, he’d be drunk when he came home.” Cop wives always say “that bar” when referring to the Golden Chalice. They hate it because they know all about the cop groupies who hang out there.

She said: “Would you talk to him, Chet?”

“I’d be happy to. But you know how he resents me sometimes.”

“You know how I feel about that. And I’ve told him so. You were in a situation where you were forced to be his father. You had to give up a lot of things other boys your age got to do — and all for his sake. I always tell him that.”

“I appreciate it, Laura. But that doesn’t mean he’ll be any happier if I butt into your marriage.”

A long pause: “Then how about a little spying?”

“Spying?”

“Just seeing what he’s up to after your shift ends. Where he goes and things like that.” This time her laugh was real but sad. “I know this is awful. I’d sure resent it if somebody spied on me. But our marriage — it hasn’t been any good for quite a while.”

For a moment I was back in the parking lot and Michael was explaining to me, as if I were slightly retarded, how everything was under control. He had his mistress and he had his family, and according to him, he was doing well by both of them.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have called, Chet. I’m just so—”

She started crying. I let her get through the worst of it. Michael was doing it all over again. He’d lost a first wife who’d been every bit the player he was. But this woman was different. Only through her had he finally put his life on track. And now he was turning away from her.

“I’m sorry, Chet.” The tears became sniffles. “I just feel so isolated, I guess. I’m sorry I called.”

“Tell you what. I’m going to do a little looking around. I’ll be back to you in a day or so.”

“I’m sorry I’m so needy, Chet.”

“I’m needy, too. I want to find out what’s going on. We’ve both got a stake in this, Laura, believe me.” I made a joke of it before hanging up: “I didn’t spend all those years raising him so he’d act this way.”

2.

Three A.M. Sitting in my boxers. Staring at the glow of the guttering fire we’d set to chase the autumn cold away.

I heard Jen coming down the stairs, her slippers flapping with each step. When she reached the living room, I said, “Leave the lights off, please.”

She came over, the hem of her long cotton robe whispering across the hardwood floor. She sat on her haunches next to my armchair. Bare branches scraped the windows in the whistling wind. Shadow goblins played on the walls.

“So what seems to be troubling our baby boy tonight?”

“Sometimes I wish I were a baby boy.” Then: “Michael. Of course.”

She touched my wide coarse hand with her long smooth one. “Now I’m going out to the kitchen and get that.45 you taught me how to shoot. And then I’m going to come back and kill one of us. And at this point I really don’t care which one of us it is. Because if I ever hear that you’re brooding about him again—”

“He’s my brother.”

“Oh yes, and you swore to your father you’d raise him right.”

“Don’t make fun of that. I gave him my word.”

“Yes, and that was the right thing to do. When Michael was still a boy. But he’s almost thirty now. He has a wife and two children. You got him a job, you found him a wife, and you’ve been playing daddy to him right straight through. It’s not right, honey. Or normal.”

For some reason that irritated me. Normal. What was abnormal about taking care of your kid brother?

“If I don’t take care of him, who will?”

“Oh, let’s see — maybe himself. He’s an adult, Chet. At least that’s what it says on his driver’s license. You have your own family and your own problems you need to take care of. You can’t keep spending all your time on him. It’s unnatural.”

Abnormal. Unnatural.

“You know how selfish that sounds?”

“Selfish? What’re you talking about?”

“That I shouldn’t worry about my own little brother?”

“Worry, fine. But try to turn his life around — no way.” Her hand had pulled from mine a minute ago. Now she used it as a lever on the arm of the chair to pull herself up. “You know I don’t like him. But sometimes I can’t help myself — I feel sorry for him, the way you’re always putting yourself in his business. I understand why he resents you, Chet. I really do.”

And then the line I hated most where my little brother was concerned: “You could always see the police shrink. I really think it’s something you should talk through. We’ve been arguing about this since we first started dating. And it never seems to get any better.”

“And you never stop saying that I should see the police shrink.”

She was all done with banter. Tears trembled in her voice. “You ever think that’s because I love you? You ever think how tired I am of all this? And I meant what I said about Michael. I feel sorry for him sometimes. I really do. But if he’s going to screw up his life, that’s his business.”

“If it’s his business, why did Laura call me today and tell me she’s worried about their marriage?”

“Laura called you?”

“That’s right. So if I’m butting in, it’s because she asked me to.”

“Oh, great,” Jen said. “Now we’ve got her pulling you into their lives. This whole thing is insane.” She started to walk back to the stairs. “I’m going to sleep on the couch in the TV room. You need your sleep, so you take the bed.”

I started to object but she stopped me.

“I’m too tired to argue about it, Chet. I’m taking the couch. I’ll grab a blanket from the closet upstairs.” Six steps up the staircase, she said, in a gentler tone, “I’ll see you in the morning.”

3.

I spent the next few days finding out what I could about Jane Cameron and found nothing I liked.

You couldn’t call her rich, I suppose, but she did have the remains of a large inheritance to rely on if she needed it for her business, which was public relations. You would have to call her beautiful. College-girl beautiful, though she was mid-thirties — fine, clean features; gym-trim body; and a radiant blond presence in any environment. A ten-year-old daughter conveniently locked away at a boarding school in Vermont. Two ex-husbands, several lovers, at least three of whom had been married at the time. A few very public and very angry scenes with angry wives.

As I sat at my computer looking at her photos, I realized what my little brother was living out here. He’d met her the night a jilted lover of hers had assaulted her in the lobby of her expensive condo. Michael and his partner were the first on the scene. It probably hadn’t taken long for Michael to find himself in the sort of bad movie he used to star in frequently. Married cop intrigued by fashionable, vulnerable beauty cheats on family, honor, good sense.

For three nights, I followed him. Twice he left work to meet her at the bar across the street from her condo, the bar where all the successful young lawyers in town like to do their cheating. An hour of drinks there and back across the street to her condo. The third night, still in uniform, he went straight home. In my talk with Laura, she’d said this was his standard pattern, but she was still hoping none of this had to do with a woman, that he was just carousing with the boys.

One night I took my camera and got some good snaps of them making out in the parking lot of the bar.

I put them in a manilla envelope and set them in the front seat of his new Pontiac.

The next night, when I got off shift, I found them sitting on the front seat of my own car.

He came over, still in uniform, and slid into the shotgun seat.

“You really think I wouldn’t figure out you were behind this bullshit?”

“I wanted you to know, Michael. If you hadn’t figured it out, I would’ve told you.”

“You’re insane, you know that? Clinically, I mean. Off your damned rocker.”

“You know anything about her, Michael?”

“Sure I know about her. She’s a very beautiful and a very successful woman.”

“And she has a lot of enemies.”

“That’s because she’s so successful.”

“That’s because she’s slept with so many important men around town.”

“People change.”

I couldn’t help it. I laughed.

“In Japan they get their hymens sewn back in for the wedding. She thinking of doing that, is she?”

“Be careful here, man. You may still be able to take me, but I can put a lot of hurt on you.”

I stared straight ahead. Sighed.

“So now it’s supposed to be serious, Michael?”

“Isn’t ‘supposed to be.’ Is.”

“I thought it was going to end.”

Now it was Michael who stared straight ahead and sighed.

“I’m not sure what to do, Chet.”

“Take out that picture of your kids in your billfold and look at it for a while. That’ll tell you what to do.”

Silence for a time.

“You know how good a woman you’ve got in that wife of yours, Michael.”

“Of course I know.”

“And you treat her like this, anyway?”

“We’re different, is all, Chet. You and me, I mean. You’re satisfied to sit home and watch TV and I want—”

“Excitement.”

“Not exactly. Not the way you mean. Not running around and getting all boozed up and hanging out in clubs. It’s just — I’m starting to feel old, Chet. I’m young. But when I met Jane I realized that mentally I’d become an old man. She didn’t make me feel young exactly, but I didn’t feel old anymore, either. I’m a better cop now because of her. I know that sounds funny, but it isn’t. She really thinks it’s true. I’m even thinking about taking the test for detective.”

“Laura wanted you to do that two years ago.”

“Yeah, but with Laura it was different. It was just because I’d make more money. But with Jane, being a detective isn’t just about that, it’s because being a detective is—”

“Cool.”

“God, Chet, you don’t understand any of this.”

“I don’t think you do, either. You’re getting a nice piece of ass on the sly and you think it’s worth destroying your family for.”

“I’m going to go now. I can’t sit here and let you lay all this on me. Remember when I called you The Pope once? Well, you haven’t changed. You think you can run my life from this big-ass throne you sit on. But it doesn’t work that way anymore, Michael. Maybe I am screwing up my life. I’m not stupid. I know what I’m doing is wrong. But right now I can’t pull myself out of it. And you playing Pope isn’t helping. You can’t order me around anymore, Michael.”

He opened the car door.

“Let me ask you one thing. It’s my place to tell Laura. Not yours. So until I tell her about this, don’t say anything to her. All right?”

I just stared at my big hands on the steering wheel.

“All right, Chet?” The anger coming back into his voice.

I could barely whisper. “All right, Michael.”

4.

The next day, I started following her. I wanted to see where the best place was to have the conversation she was forcing on me.

Didn’t take me long to figure out that there would be no opportunity to confront her during the day. Meetings all over town with her various important clients. I couldn’t afford to brace her in any sort of public way.

Nothing to stop me wearing my uniform on my night off, though.

I had to make sure she was alone. I sat across the street from her fifteen-story condo. She swept her Jag — what else? — into the underground parking garage just after nine that night. She was alone.

I pulled in four spaces down from her. I reached the elevator before she did.

In the shadowy light, she wasn’t able to see even my faint resemblance to Michael.

“Did something happen here tonight?” she said.

She looked especially fine this evening in a silver suit, her golden hair pulled into a loose chignon.

“Happen?”

“When I saw your uniform, I thought maybe something had happened in the building tonight.”

“Oh, no, ma’am. I’m here on my own. I’m just going to see somebody in the building.”

She smiled. “Well, I love having a police officer around. Makes me feel safe.”

The elevator door opened. We climbed in.

Then she said: “That’s funny.”

“What is?”

“Why aren’t you in the lobby getting checked in by Lenny? He checks everybody in. Even cops.”

I had been demoted from police officer to cop. She was smart. She knew there was something wrong with this situation.

I said, “I’ll bet you said that to my brother.”

“Your brother? What’re you talking about?”

A bit of panic — just enough to be gratifying — shone in those azure eyes.

She didn’t know it, but she’d already lost control of the situation. It was almost disappointing. I thought she’d be a lot tougher.

After she’d brought us whiskey sours, she sat on the divan across from my chair and said, “I hope you realize that all I have to do is pick up the phone and call my friend the police commissioner and your days as a cop are over, sweetie.”

“And if that happens, ‘sweetie,’ then I’ll get somebody to help me get a computer file of some of your messes we’ve had to help you with — especially a certain group of pissed-off wives — and I’ll send that file straight to a friend of mine who’s a reporter at KBST. And I’ll do the same thing if you don’t agree to break it off with my brother right away.”

She smirked. “You’re going to blackmail me out of seeing your brother?” She didn’t wait for me to answer. “I can’t believe you two are brothers. Michael’s so handsome and intense and you’re so—” She hesitated. “I may as well be up-front with you. You scare me.”

“Good. I should scare you. You’ve got good instincts.”

She exhaled harshly. I tried not to notice the way her long sleek legs were stretched out on the divan or the sheer blouse she wore now, having discarded the jacket to her suit. She kept a single shoe on a single big toe, dangling there. Like my brother’s future.

“You’ll dump him someday, anyway.”

“I’ve been dumped, too, you know.”

“Any tears go with this story?”

“It’s true, you bastard, whether you believe it or not. I was dumped — twice, in fact — and I got hurt just like anybody else would. You make me sound like some sort of professional heartbreaker. I have parents I see three times a month and I have a daughter I love very much.”

“So much you put her in boarding school.”

Her eyes narrowed. She just watched me for a time, as if she was observing something in nature she’d never seen before. “Michael told me you were like this. So goddamned judgmental. He calls you The Pope.”

“I’m judgmental about women who break up marriages.”

“Michael told me you had an affair when you were about his age. Aren’t you a little hypocritical here?”

I felt my cheeks burn. “I made up for it. I’ve never put a hand to another woman since.”

“Mass three times a week? Confession every Saturday? Coach a Little League team? The perfect husband and father.”

I finished my drink and set it down. “Thanks for the drink. I want to hear Michael tell me that you’ve broken it off.”

“What if I don’t?”

“We’ve already discussed that.”

“You’ll ruin me.”

I waited until I was on my feet. “I’ll sure give it my best shot.”

“I really do love Michael.”

“You’re not what he needs. Laura is what he needs.”

“I’ve never claimed to be anything other than what I am — a selfish, spoiled woman. But this time — with Michael — I really do love him. I never thought I’d do it again.”

“Do what again?”

“Let somebody get me pregnant. I didn’t want to be owned by a man or by a child. But with Michael — I stopped taking my birth control. I went to the doctor’s last week. I haven’t even told Michael yet. I want this child. I want Michael, too. But if I can’t have him, at least I’ll have his child.”

I shrugged. I was trying to make sense of all this. But there was no sense to be made of it, none of it. A little fling, every man did it once in a while. Back when it started it had seemed nothing more than that. But now I was listening to her tell me that she was carrying Michael’s baby.

All I could think of was poor Laura and the kids. I turned the knob on the door leading to the hall. I wanted to say something nasty. But then an old man’s weariness overcame me. I didn’t seem to have any strength left at all. Then words came: “I’ll pay for an abortion. And Michael doesn’t have to know about it.”

She laughed. “You won’t believe this, Mr. High and Mighty, but I don’t believe in abortion. I may be a slut in your eyes, but I’m still a good little Catholic girl.”

I turned my eyes back to hers and with the last of my strength, I said: “Then walk out of his life. He doesn’t have the strength, but you do.”

“That’s the terrible thing,” she said. “I don’t have the strength, either.”

5.

The next afternoon I tried to find my brother before his shift started. Sometimes he had coffee down the street at a luncheonette. He wasn’t there. He wasn’t in the precinct locker room, either.

“You didn’t happen to see my brother, did you?” I asked Keller, who was spelling the watch commander, who was in Vegas at a police convention. Don’t think there hadn’t been a lot of jokes about holding a cop convention in Vegas.

“Bad sore throat and fever. Home sick.”

“He call in himself?”

He gave me a sharp look.

“No, his wife did. Man, you gotta give the kid some breathing room, Chet. He calls in or Laura calls in. What’s the difference?”

“Just curious.”

He shook his head and walked on. It was clear that Michael had done a good job with the other cops at the precinct, letting them know that I was always interfering in his life.

There was no answer at his house. I didn’t leave a message on his machine. If he’d actually told Laura about his affair, this wasn’t a good sign. A number of paranoid ideas shook me, the one that kept repeating being where the wife, the kids off at school, goes insane and kills her unfaithful husband. It happens.

At the end of my shift, I got in my car and drove out there. A lone lamp lit the house, downstairs, the family room. Michael’s car was gone. I went to the front door and knocked.

I could see her through the glass slat in the door. She was curled up in the corner of the couch. She wore a pair of faded pink cotton pajamas. With her short dark hair and sweet face, she could have been a college girl. The TV was on but the sound was off, and she wasn’t watching it anyway. Screen colors flicked across the living room.

I knocked again. This time she looked up. I walked over to the window and waved. She got up off the couch, buttoning the top of her pajama shirt, and came to the door.

She let me in but said nothing. She went back to the couch and sat down. “You could’ve told me. Then this wouldn’t have come as such a shock tonight.”

I sat down in an armchair across from her. “It would’ve been just as much of a shock if I’d warned you.”

She raised her head, closed her eyes, as if invisible rain was spattering her face. “This is so unreal.” She opened her eyes, lowered her head, looked at me. “In case you don’t think I got hysterical, I did. There’s broken glass all over the kitchen floor. The kids are at my sister’s house. I didn’t trust myself enough to keep them here tonight.”

“Don’t do anything nuts.”

She shrugged. “I never do anything nuts, Chet. You know that. I’m not dramatic in any way. Or exciting. That’s what he said she was. Exciting.” Then: “Damn, I wish I had a cigarette.”

“No, you don’t. You quit five years ago. Keep it that way.”

She paused. “What I hate most is my self-pity.”

“You’re entitled.”

“I just keep thinking about all the people who have it worse than me. And here I am feeling sorry for myself.”

“That never works. Believe me, I’ve been trying it all my life. Just because somebody’s crippled or blind or has cancer doesn’t help me at all.”

She made a face. “We could always have sex.”

“You frowned when you said that. Meaning that you know better than that.”

“I have these fantasies that he walks in on me when I’m having sex with somebody and it makes him jealous and then he realizes what a good thing he’s lost.”

“You’re in shock right now.”

“That’s funny you should say that. That’s sort of how I feel. So shocked I don’t know what to do with myself. I can’t even get drunk. Two drinks and I throw up.”

“You have any tranquilizers?”

“I’ve taken two already. This is the best they can do for me, I guess.” Something changed, then. I wasn’t sure what. The eyes were no longer vulnerable or sad. They reflected anger.

“I’m probably just lashing out here, Chet. But I need to say something to you, something I should’ve said a long time ago.”

“Lash away. You’ll feel better.”

She took a deep breath and said, “This’ll probably make you mad.”

I was thinking she was going to tear into me for keeping the truth from her.

Instead, she said, “You didn’t help my marriage any by constantly being on Michael’s back.”

My anger was swift, sure. I guess I’d been told too often in too short a time how I was doing badly by my little brother.

“I don’t think that’s fair, Laura.”

“I just had to say it.”

“Did it make you feel better?”

“Maybe. But it made you mad.”

“No, it didn’t.”

She smiled. “You’re grinding your jaw muscles and your hands are fists. I’d say those are signs you’re pretty pissed off.”

“Irked, irritated, maybe. But not pissed off.” Then: “I was just trying to help you kids.”

“That’s just it. We’re not kids, Chet. We’re grownups. But you’d never acknowledge that. You were always checking on him at the precinct and giving him advice on handling his money and telling him who to hang out with and who not to hang out with and — God, I remember the time when your aunt died and you told him right in front of everybody at the funeral that he shouldn’t have worn a tan suit to the wake. But that was the only suit he owned, Chet. And the time you saw our girls playing Wiffle ball and you told him you thought they should be playing more feminine games. And when you got on his case about where we went to church, that it was better to go to St. Joe’s because that’s where the shift commander went. It just never ended, Chet.”

I suppose, looking back, that’s when it started, this black feeling. And that’s the only way I can describe it. It was anger in such volume that I could barely breathe holding it back.

I said, “You ever hear the expression ‘No good deed goes unpunished’? I used to think that was just a funny line. But it isn’t. It’s the truth.”

“Now who’s feeling sorry for himself? We’re just talking here, having a conversation.”

“Is that what this is, Laura, just a conversation?”

“All I meant was that you need to let him go. I hate that bitch he’s in love with but even with them, Chet — you have to let them have their own lives. You can’t be his father anymore.” She hesitated. “He told me they’re going to move away. He said he’s giving notice to the commander tomorrow that he’ll be leaving.”

“Oh,” I said, “just great.” And the anger made my breathing short again. Gave me a sudden stabbing headache just above my left eye. Made every taut muscle in my body scream for release. “You know how hard I had to work to get him on the force? All the trouble he’d been in, and I had to promise that he’d straightened out and really wanted to be a cop. And now he’s throwing it all away.”

“It’s his choice, Chet. His choice. He’s a grown man. Right now I’d like to get that gun of his and empty it into his heart. And then I’d do the same to her. I hurt so much right now I don’t know what to do. But it’s his choice and you’ve got to let him make it.”

“Oh, right. I get him through high school, studying with him every night so he’ll get good grades. And then I get him through a couple of years of college until he starts hanging out with punks. And then I get him on the road to recovery and introduce him to you. And you’re everything a man would want in a wife. And he throws it all over for some slut. And I’m supposed to like it.”

“I don’t like it any more than you do, Chet. But you’ve got to let go now. He’s in love with her and he’s moving away and there’s nothing we can do about it.”

I stood up.

“Where’re you going?”

“I’m not sure.”

“I didn’t mean to chase you off.”

“Oh, no, of course you didn’t. All the things I’ve done for you two over the years and this is what you say to me.” I went to the front door, opened it. “You aren’t chasing me away, Laura. I’m chasing me away.”

6.

I didn’t count the beers. I was careful to stay under what I considered my own legal limit, but that didn’t mean I was sober.

A little bar near the old stadium. Dark, anonymous. I found myself salting my beer the way the old man had. He used to take me to the neighborhood tavern with him. Those were my favorite times, the few occasions when I got to be alone with my old man. He took Michael more places than he’d take me. But in the tavern I’d sit on the stool next to him and he’d pop peanuts in his mouth and sprinkle salt in his beer. I always wanted people to know he was a cop because I was so proud of him. But he never wore his uniform when he went drinking. He said it just caused trouble. I’d always wondered what he meant by that. If somebody gave him trouble, couldn’t he just shoot him? That was how my eight-year-old mind worked. Nobody could insult cops.

But I made the mistake he’d avoided. Early on I wore my uniform into a few non-cop bars and paid for it. No fights or anything, but a couple hours of vague insults grinding into my ear canal. Everybody, especially drunks, has a good stock of anti-police stories.

I went out through the pounding rain to my car.

And that was when it happened. A lot of it was the rain. It came down in such force-it sounded like hail by then — that it hammered the metal of cars and overflowed gutters within minutes. My wipers started straining after just a few blocks. I wasn’t sure where I was going. But I was in a hell of a hurry to get there.

7.

You certainly can’t call this first-degree murder, my lawyer told the press the next day. It was a terrible accident. A terrible, terrible accident. I doubt the D.A.’s even going to bring charges. You wait and see.

I can honestly say that I wasn’t even aware where I was after I left the tavern. I just instinctively took the usual way home. I forgot entirely that I’d be passing by her condo. I just wanted to be home, in my own bed, slipping into darkness.

She could have been anybody. I don’t expect you to believe that, but it’s true. Wrong time, wrong place.

They were coming from the yuppie bar across from her condo, covering their heads with newspapers they must have dragged along from inside.

And there was this person stepping into the beam of my headlights — and I was slamming on the brakes — and then there was this other figure reaching for her, jerking her back from the path of my car, but in doing so he himself stumbled and fell into the way of my skidding car and—

Daniel Ahearn, my lawyer, says to me, “You wait right here and I’m going to let her have two minutes with you.”

“You going to be here, too?”

“Are you crazy? Of course I’m going to be here. But she’s been calling and coming up here all day long.”

“I’m afraid to see her.”

“Chet, look, what happened was an honest accident, just the way you told me, right?”

He knew better and I knew better. But I had to keep repeating the story so eventually I’d believe it, too.

I’d seen her running out into the street and then I was back in that alley where I ran the killer down that time. All the misery she’d caused. Poor Laura and the kids. And ruining Michael’s life after he’d tried so hard to be trustworthy and sober again and—

But then Michael had suddenly pulled her back and tripped in front of my car and by then I couldn’t stop and the sound he made when the car hit him — I knew he was dead; I knew he was dead.

“So she’s going to come in here and go all hysterical on you and accuse you of being a murderer and tell you you’re going to the gas chamber. But you’re going to do what?”

“I’m just going to sit here and calmly tell her that I’m sorry. That it really was an accident. That it was just this terrible coincidence that I happened to be driving by that night.”

“And that’s when I say, ‘I hate to put it this way, Jane, but his loss is as big as yours, wouldn’t you say? He accidentally killed his own brother.’ So, you ready?”

“I’m ready.”

“Remember, just keep taking a lot of good long breaths to keep yourself cool.”

I took a good long breath.

“That’s right,” he said, “just like that.”

He patted me on the shoulder and then he went through the door to the reception area.

She was already screaming and sobbing when he brought her in.

She stood in front of me like an interrogator. She didn’t talk. Between sobs, she shouted. “You think you’re going to get away with this, don’t you, Chet? Well, you’re not. Not when the D.A. gets all the witnesses lined up. Even his wife’s going to testify against you, you know that, Chet? Do you know that? As much as she hates me, she’s going to testify against you!”

And that was when she slapped me. I couldn’t tell if it was skill or luck but I sure felt it.

She touched her stomach. “Thanks to you, your brother’s baby won’t have a father. Maybe you’ll think about that when you’re in prison, Chet. His poor little kid without a father.” She started crying again. “This was supposed to be so good, so happy for the three of us. But you couldn’t let that happen, could you, Chet? You had to make sure your little brother did just what you wanted him to, didn’t you? So you killed him! Your own brother! You killed him!”

She spit at me. It covered my nose and immediately dripped down to my upper lip. My lawyer stepped in then and started dragging her to the door. She was still screaming in the outer office. I imagine the wealthy clients sitting in the reception room were wondering what was going on.

When he came back and closed the door, he said, “That is one nasty bitch.”

“She said my sister-in-law’s going to testify against me.”

He waved me off. “She doesn’t know what she’s talking about, Chet. You think she wants her kids to hear about what kind of man your brother was?”

“How about bond?”

“Just what I predicted. Judge said no bond. You’re on your own recognizance. I brought along all your awards and commendations. Nobody thinks you ran Michael down on purpose. It was raining and dark and he just stepped too far out into the street. His blood alcohol was way over the limit. I’m not arrogant enough to call this a slam-dunk. No serious criminal case is. But I can practically guarantee you you’ll never see prison. You’ll be free.”

That was the word that was supposed to make me feel better. Free. I kept thinking about it all the way home and all the way through our quiet dinner and even when we were in bed and when I couldn’t respond to Jen as I usually do.

Free. But I knew better than that now, didn’t I?