The Fallen
- Автор: Паркер Т. Джефферсон
- Год: 2006
- Язык: английский
- Год: William Morrow
- ISBN: 978-0-06-056238-0
- Жанр: Криминальные детективы
Электронная книга - «The Fallen». Краткое содержание книги:
“Jesus,” said McKenzie.
“Yeah. Tough stuff.”
“How could she drown with all those people there? I never understood that. It happens every summer. All the time. I just never get how. From a pool party to a funeral. Boom.”
I played the sequence again. Then again.
“What are you doing, Robbie?”
“There’s something in that first part, when the adults are eating at the table. Something caught me.”
“Play it again.”
I did. The dining sequence was one long pan, maybe eight or ten seconds. There was a table full of adults. It reminded me of the Last Supper, with all the activity and drama, people leaning this way and that. Ten different conversations seemed to be going on. Roger Sutherland was there — Garrett’s boss at the time. His companion was a shapely brunette in a yellow sundress. The Professional Standards lieutenant who had since retired sat across from Sutherland. Garrett’s other future boss was there, standing behind the table and looking on — Erik Kaven — tanned for summer and wild-haired as always.
The narrator said, Great party. Great people. Great country. Then the next scene was the pool with all the kids splashing and diving and yelling.
“What is it?” I asked. I played it again.
Great party.
“There’s Garrett’s brother, Sam, left end of the table,” I said.
The camera moved right again, taking in Garrett and Stella and the others.
Great people.
The camera showed the right end of the table. And just as the narrator said, Great country, I thought I recognized the guy standing off to the side of it. He was wearing a straw hat and had his back to the camera. He was almost lost in the overhanging foliage of a pretty tree with yellow blossoms. But as he turned to the shooter, right before the sequence ended, I could just make out his profile.
“There,” I said.
Funny how your mind catches up with itself in its own good time.
“Fellowes,” I said. “The hat threw me. And you can’t see his face until he turns.”
“Hell,” said McKenzie. “Our whore-loving captain of Vice. You’re right. Is that his wife beside him?”
“Yes. Partying down with the Asplundhs on the day their daughter drowned.”
The last twenty minutes of the disc were harder to watch than the first twenty. Some of Samantha’s memorial service was recorded, part of the eulogy. Part of the burial was shown. There was a brief tour of her room, some close-ups on her collection of stuffed animals and the clothes in her closet. There were newspapers with the Asplundh tragedy recounted in increasingly smaller articles. Garrett said nothing at all. Silence. But the emotion came through the silence — exhaustion, heartbreak, and numbness.
The last five minutes featured a family portrait done by Garrett. Samantha must have been close to three years old. It was Garrett’s usual black-and-white. His usual balanced composition and subtle emotions. The camera stayed fixed on it while he spoke off-screen. His voice was clear and soft and it sounded like he was speaking to someone who was right in front of him.
Sam, honey, I don’t know where you are now, or if you’re anywhere, but I wanted to say good-bye. Through all of this, I never really said that to you. I was afraid that if I did, I’d lose the last little bit of you, but now I know that can never happen. I love you more each day. I know that must sound odd but it’s true. So I’m not afraid to say good-bye anymore. You know I’d give anything to have you alive and here. I would eagerly trade places with you. The world is a much different place to me without you. When I see the sun in the morning it gives no light, and when I walk out in this September heat I feel no warmth. I’ve learned that in the darkness you see no horizon. I can still feel your body on my lap from when we would read at night in the rocking chair. I can still feel your exact weight and temperature from when you’d crawl into bed between Mom and me. Oh, sweet Samantha, I still know the smell of your head and the clarity of your eyes and the brightness of your soul shining through them. You will never die in me. You will live, perfect and three years and two months and eleven days old, inside me. From now on I will find a way to protect you and I will never let you down again. I promise. I will make you proud. And someday when I go to my grave we will finally be together. When you reach for me, I will be there. Your hands will find not water but me. I welcome that day. Good-bye, daughter and perfect girl. Bye for now, Sam.
The video ended with a close-up of Samantha, framed by silence. I thought of Garrett sitting in his black Explorer by the Cabrillo Bridge in the rain.
We sat there in the slowly darkening room. For a moment I tried to imagine what Stella Asplundh must be going through, having lost her daughter and husband in the last nine months. Nine months, I thought — the time it had taken her to bring Samantha into this world. All I could imagine was a darkness that would not lift, a darkness that would drown all light in your heart.
“Sometimes I feel exhausted and lucky at the same time,” said McKenzie.
“I know that feeling.”
“And sometimes... I just feel wrung out and dried up as an old bag. You know what I’m glad of? I’m glad Hollis Harris is going to whisk me off in his ten-billion-horsepower red race car tonight and I’ll forget about stuff like this for a few hours.”
“I guess you two have hit it off.”
She looked at me, then away. “He’s a hyperactive Looney Tune but I do like him. Get a load of this — he wants me to teach him how to shoot.”
“He’s a lucky guy. And I’m happy for you, McKenzie.”
I ejected the DVD and placed it back in its special leather case.
“He’ll get sick of me in a week or two but we’ll burn some fossil fuel along the way,” said McKenzie. “Fire some bullets too, I guess.”
“You never know.”
“True. Maybe I’ll get sick of him first.”
“Why not be optimistic?”
I put the DVD in my briefcase. McKenzie stood on the porch looking out over the city while I locked the door of the apartment.
“You going to watch that thing again at home?” she asked.
“It will help me understand Garrett.”
“It’s hard to watch.”
“Robbie, do you ever get sick of being a nice guy?”
I thought about that a minute. “I never put much effort into it.”
“Just naturally a nice guy?”
“I guess. Maybe I got a little nicer after the fall, you know, just trying to be more considerate.”
“You always say ‘fall,’ instead of ‘being thrown.’ Like it was an accident.”
“No, it was no accident. I was there because I wanted to be there. I just got caught off guard.”
“I didn’t mean it like that,” said McKenzie. “Either way, you’re a nice guy, Robbie.”
“Well, thanks.”
Just then a late-model Corvette grumbled to a stop on the street outside Garrett’s apartment building, then angled back quickly for a precise parallel park.
Sam Asplundh uncoiled from the driver’s seat, pushed the door closed with his boot, and came down the sidewalk toward us. He was dressed the same as he was a few hours ago when I’d seen him with Stella Asplundh and John Van Flyke. When his coattail swung out, his Bureau sidearm was holstered in plain sight over his right hip.
“Brownlaw,” he said, “I’m going to have a look around Garrett’s place if you don’t mind. Stella and I have to figure out what to do with everything in there.”