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:
Because I was tired, my mind skipped along on minor thoughts: Did they have a laundry service? Was the house rented furnished? What did the neighbors think was going on so late at night? Was the brothel open only on certain nights?
For a moment I stood on my porch with the light off and looked out into the cool March darkness. The springtime that I felt coming seemed to be far away now. It seemed like the night could last forever. I wondered how Mom and Dad were doing out in El Cajon. I was glad they had each other.
A little while later, I sat on the couch and put “The Life and Death of Samantha” into the DVD player. I should have been exhausted by almost no sleep in the last forty-eight hours but all I felt was jittery and bleak.
I watched the adults eating and drinking and listened to their voices and the cameraman’s voice: Great party. I saw Garrett and Stella at the center of the table, happy and expansive. And Garrett’s brother, Sam. Great people. I couldn’t help noting that even Fellowes looked leaner and better formed than he did now. Great country. Kaven’s thick hair lifted in the breeze, and his smile flashed behind the big mustache.
I wondered which of the Asplundhs’ party guests had shot and narrated this part of the video. His voice was clear and strong and I knew I’d heard it before but couldn’t place it.
I watched the children playing and the splash from the cannonball and the water hitting the lens of the camera. Then the fireworks and the boy running with the sparkler. Then the awful hush surrounding the small casket bathed in the stained-glass light of the chapel.
I watched the party scenes again. I had the feeling I was missing something obvious. They took only a few minutes to flicker by in the bright July sun. Then I pictured Garrett Asplundh sitting in his black Explorer at his special place by the Cabrillo Bridge while the rain came down.
What a terrible difference eight months had made.
I woke up a few hours later to a room jolted by sunlight and the sounds of birds carrying on in the coral tree in our front yard. I was on the couch. I had the remote in my hand and a kink in my neck.
I had dreamed that Gina and I were living happily in a tree house in a forest of Saskatchewan. The house was near the top of the tallest tree and it was open on all four sides. It was small and fragrant, and you could see for hundreds of green miles. I was aware even in the dream that I’d never been to Saskatchewan and this made our lives there feel all the more precious and temporary. We had leaf blowers to keep the pine needles off the floor and we could point the blowers backward between our legs, just kind of sit on them, then jump right off into the sky and fly. The blowers were not loud, and they gave off the smell of cinnamon instead of gas exhaust. When Gina flew by she laughed and her dress blew up and I tried to catch her but couldn’t. I don’t know how the dream ended.
I checked her closet again but was unsurprised by what I found. I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror and wished I were somebody else.
19
Garrett Asplundh was buried on Wednesday morning, a week after he was murdered. The funeral made me thankful to be me again and I felt selfish and shallow for being so pessimistic the night before.
The memorial service was brief. Stella, who arrived with her parents and Sam Asplundh, did not address the mourners as a group. Garrett’s long-widowed mother trailed behind them. There were two dozen SDPD officers, including the chief himself. The Ethics Authority showed up in force — from the director down to Asplundh’s fellow investigators. Even Arliss Buntz was there, in a black dress and her once-green sweater.
John Van Flyke eulogized Garrett movingly, considering Van Flyke’s superior and humorless personality. He said that Garrett, like many great men, had experienced deep joy and deep pain. He had seen darkness and light. He had overcome a million temptations in order to walk the straight and narrow. He had believed in the power of good. He had understood how quickly a man’s life can change. He was a great man. Van Flyke’s voice wavered when he said this, so he said it again. Garrett Asplundh was a great man. It took me a moment to realize I’d heard his voice just a few hours before. Great party, great people, great country. I hadn’t realized until now how close he was to Garrett.
Van Flyke went on to say that Garrett Asplundh had left behind the memory of his daughter, a mourning wife, many close friends — and whoever was responsible for his death would pay once on earth and atone forever in hell.
The minister subtly winced at this last declaration but he said a powerful prayer for the souls of the dead and the living and of forgiveness in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.
Stella hid behind sunglasses and steadied herself on Sam’s arm. Her hair was pulled back tight and she didn’t say much. I wondered if she would recover from all of this, and how long it might take. To lose a daughter and a husband within one year seemed a punishment too large to absorb.
I was struck again at the resemblance between Garrett and Samuel. According to the information that Hollis Harris had given us, Samuel was three years older. He was slightly taller and heavier, too, judging by my memory of Garrett. But Samuel had the same trim, dark features, the same expressive eyes as his brother. I wondered why the attractive blonde from the Fourth of July video was not with him.
Ethics Director Erik Kaven was there, face lined and mustache drooping, but his eyes boring steadily into everyone around him.
The mayor, the fire chief, and five of the nine city councilpersons all attended.
Jordan Sheehan came late, stood just to the right of the assembled mourners, and left early.
Carrie Ann Martier did the same but stood completely opposite Squeaky Clean, to the left. They never acknowledged each other.
Captain Sutherland, who had interviewed me for Professional Standards, was there, along with several PSU officers I scarcely recognized — Garrett’s old gang. Captain Villas was there, of course. Captain Fellowes of Vice gave me an oddly chummy look as he walked past me.
Abel Sarvonola, the Budget Oversight Committee chairman, fresh from Las Vegas, moved through the mourners with his usual entourage of whatever they were — advisers, bodyguards, sycophants. He was mid-eighties at least and he looked it. His suit looked hungry on him but his eyes were still sharp and his handshake had a strength that surprised me.
“I am saddened and angered,” he said. “We cannot afford to lose the good men.”
“It angers me too,” I said. “Garrett spoke of you.”
He blinked. His dark eyes glittered and he smiled. “I didn’t realize he thought of me at all. We should talk.”
“We have an appointment for this afternoon,” I reminded him.
“Of course we do.”
He shook McKenzie’s hand and stared frankly into her eyes.
Councilman Tony Rood made it. He looked satisfied and penitent in the way you might expect a man fresh from a brothel to look. His girl-beating aide Steve Stiles was with him, straight-backed and thick-necked.
I stood in the shade of a Torrey pine with McKenzie, Hollis Harris, and April Holly.