WMC - First to Die

Chapter 126

I COULDN'T GO NEAR MY OFFICE at the Hall. I was given a one-week leave. I figured I'd take another of my own time on top of that. I sat around, watched some videos of old movies, went for my treatments, took a jog or two down by the marina. I even cooked and sat out on the terrace overlooking the bay, just as I had with Chris that first night. On one of those nights, I got really drunk and started playing with my gun. It was Sweet Martha who talked me off the ledge. That, and the fact that if I killed myself, I would be betraying Chris's memory. I couldn't do that. Also, the girls would never have forgiven me, right? I felt a hole tear at my heart, larger and more painful than anything I had ever felt, even with Negli's. I felt a void of connection, of commitment. Claire called me three times a day, but I just couldn't speak for very long, not even to her. "It wasn't you, Lindsay. There was nothing you could've done," she consoled. "I kind of know that," I replied. But I just couldn't convince myself it was true. Mostly, I tried to persuade myself I still felt a sense of purpose. The bride and groom murders were solved. Nicholas Jenks was shamelessly milking his celebrity status on Dateline and 20/20. My Negli's seemed to be in remission. Chris was gone. I tried to think of what I would do next. Nothing very appealing came to mind. Then I remembered what I had told Claire when my fears of Negli's were the strongest. Nailing this guy was the one clear thing that gave me the strength to go on. It wasn't just about right or wrong. It wasn't about guilt or innocence. It was about what I was good at, and what I loved to do. Four days after the shooting, I went to Chris's funeral. It was in a Catholic church out in Hayward, where he was from. I took my place in the ranks with Roth and Jacobi. With Chief Mercer, who was dressed in blues. But my heart was aching so bad. I wanted to be up near Chris. I wanted to be next to him. I watched his ex-wife and his two boys struggling to keep it together. I was thinking about how very close I had come to their lives. And they didn't know it. Hero cop, they were eulogizing him. He was a marketing guy, I thought, smiling. And then I started to cry. Of all people, I felt Jacobi grasp my hand. And of all the improbable things, I found myself holding his back. Go ahead, he seemed to be saying. Go ahead and weep. Afterward, at the graveside, I went up to Chris's ex-wife, Marion. "I wanted to meet you," I said. "I was with him when he died." She looked at me with the fragile courage only another woman could understand. "I know who you are," she said with a compassionate smile. "You are pretty. Chris told me you were pretty. And smart." I smiled and took her hand. We both squeezed hard. "He also said you were very brave." I felt my eyes well up. Then she took my arm and said the one thing I wanted most to hear. "Why don't you stand with us, Lindsay." The department gave Chris a hero's burial. Sad, mournful bagpipers opened the ceremony. Row after row of cops in dress blues. A twenty-one-gun salute. When it was over, I found myself walking back to the car, wondering what in God's name I was going to do next. At the cemetery gates I spotted Cindy and Jill and Claire. They were waiting there for me. I didn't move. I stood there, my legs trembling badly. They could see that if they didn't make the first move, I could break down. "Why don't you ride back with us?" Claire said. My voice cracked. I could barely utter the words. "It was supposed to be me, not him," I said to them. Then one by one they all hugged me. I put my arms around all of them and melted into their embrace as deeply as I could. All four of us were crying. "Don't ever leave me, guys." "Leave?" Jill said with wide eyes. "None of us," promised Cindy. "We're a team, remember? We will always be together." Claire took hold of my arm. "We love you, sweetie," she whispered. The four of us walked arm in arm out of the cemetery. A cooling breeze was blowing in our faces, drying our tears. At six o'clock that night, I was back inside the halls of the Hall of Justice. There was something important I had to do. In the lobby, almost the first thing you see, there's a large marble plaque. On it are ninety-three names, the names and dates of ninety-one men and two women who wore the uniform of the SFPD and died in the line of duty. A mason is working on the plaque. It's an unwritten rule on the force, you never count them. But tonight, I did. Ninety-three, starting with James S. Coonts on October 5,1878, when the SFPD was first formed. Tomorrow there will be one more: Christopher John Raleigh. The mayor will be there; Mercer, too. The reporters who cover the city beat. Marion and the boys. They will memorialize him as a hero cop. I will be there, too. But tonight, I don't want speeches or ceremonies. Tonight, I want it to be just him and me. The mason finishes up the engraving of his name. I wait while he sands the marble, vacuums away the last particle of dust. Then I walk up and run my hand over the smooth marble. Over his name. Christopher John Raleigh. The mason looks at me. He can see the pain welling in my eyes. "You knew him, huh?" I nod, and from somewhere deep in my heart, a smile comes forth. I knew him. "Partner," I say.