So we ate breakfast largely in silence and ended up retreating to our separate corners of the house to await the circus’s arrival.
Our worst fears were well founded. The string of cars that eventually crested the driveway reminded me of the funeral cortege of some latter-day martyr. Not only were all the Brattleboro luminaries there in force, but the town’s familiar media corps had been reinforced by a dozen more from around the region, including two TV trucks.
As I stood in the doorway, pointing out the cast of characters to Leo as they milled around like a bunch of actors on break, he shook his head and asked, “Who the hell did they leave behind?”
Brandt was the first to come over to shake hands, complimenting Leo as he gave me an appraising eye. “Nice work-he almost looks better than before he was run through.”
“Jesus, Tony,” I muttered, my eyes fixed on the throng.
He gave me a hopeless shrug. “It was out of my hands, Joe. I told Dunn we were tabling the Medal of Honor at your request, and he just said, ‘Then I’ll do it my way.’”
“What crap,” I muttered.
“You know, what all of us admit except you is that you deserve this citation. Besides, we don’t do this job for the money, Joe, and people like you give other cops something to be proud of.”
I was too frustrated to answer, feeling I was being celebrated simply for surviving.
“Well,” Tony filled the silence impatiently. “Let’s get it over with.”
From that point on, it was difficult identifying who was in control, as we were unsuccessfully posed in front of one photogenic location after another. I, my mother-included because she was deemed picturesque-Brandt, Dunn, and a sullen Gail, were shuffled from the front steps, to the base of the maple, to the bottom of the yard. Finally, at the outer limits of his patience, Dunn ended it abruptly by giving a short, clenched-teeth speech about what a wonderful fellow I was and thrust his precious plaque at me as if he couldn’t get rid of it fast enough-all before a semicircle of clicking cameras, tape recorders, and bulky TV camcorders.
When it was over, after Dunn had left and we’d returned to the house, fending off the crowd of reporters with a barrage of “no comments,” Tony Brandt handed over a cardboard box filled with documents.
“This isn’t everything, of course. I left out all the chain-of-evidence data, most of the legal mumbo-jumbo, and a lot of stuff I didn’t think you’d be interested in-including the physical evidence, which stays under lock and key. That basically leaves the narrative documents-who did what when-the relevant technical paperwork, and a lot of photographs. That what you were after?”
I nodded at the box. “I really appreciate it, Tony.”
We were still standing in the front hallway, Brandt having declined an invitation by my mother to stay for lunch. He looked at me long enough to force me to finally meet his eyes. “You going to tell me why you want all this?”
“I would if I could.”
“Something must have got you thinking.”
I shook my head. “It’s not like I’ve got a problem. Gail and I were just talking the other night, and I started asking myself questions-niggly little ones. The answers are all probably in there.” I pointed my chin at the box.
“And if they aren’t?”
I raised both palms toward the ceiling. “I’ll call you.”
Tony Brandt mulled that over for a while, absentmindedly chewing his lower lip. “You realize this thing could go to court anytime. Dunn’s only hoping it won’t before the election.”
“You think it might?” I asked, surprised. Dunn wasn’t the only one expecting a drawn-out process. Virtually none of us had ever seen a felony case go in front of a judge in anything under twelve months-and that was considered fast.
“No,” he admitted. “But you never know. Tom Kelly’s still playing coy-no depositions, no continuances, no delaying tactics whatsoever. I just want to be sure that, regardless of when they go in, we’ve made damned sure Dunn’s got everything he needs. If you’ve got doubts, I want to hear them now. If Dunn ends up screwing up on his own, that’s his problem, but I don’t want him dropping the ball because of something we did or didn’t do.”
“I understand,” I said neutrally, sensitive to the hackles I’d raised in his mind. “But I’ve got to do my job regardless of the timing.”
He seemed to stop breathing for a moment, and then let out a long sigh. “Just do it soon, okay?”
He moved toward the front door. I followed him out. “Things a little wild back home?” I asked, stimulated by his pessimistic tone.
“You been watching the news? Between the vigils, the public meetings, the media, and Dunn and Derby chewing on each other every day, this case is about the only topic in town. That crazy bastard Jason Ryan has anointed himself the Joan of Arc of the feminist movement, if you can believe that, and he’s started passing out pepper Mace to damn near every woman he meets. So now the usual domestic disputes and parking-lot squabbles are starting to involve chemical warfare, with a few of our guys getting zapped in the process. The town’s a zoo, and if you want my opinion, all it would take is for some loony to do something really crazy, to put us on the map big time.”
Over the many years I’d worked with him, I’d rarely seen Tony Brandt so worked up. I patted his shoulder as we reached his car. “Look, I’ve probably just had too much time on my hands, and nothing else to think about. I’ll read through what you brought me, re-familiarize myself with the case, and then drop it, okay? I don’t think there’s anything to worry about.”
He turned and looked at me then and echoed what was going on in my own brain. “I know you too well, Joe, and that scares the shit out of me.”
I moved the box upstairs and spread its contents in orderly piles around my old bedroom, feeling an odd twinge of pleasure as I did so. I realized how much I’d been missing the job. Beyond any questions I might have harbored concerning this particular investigation, I found myself happy merely manipulating the tools of my craft. The eye-witness accounts, case reports, forensic sheets, and crime-scene photos passed before my eyes with a comforting familiarity and were as welcome and rewarding as the exercises I’d been doing to retrain my muscles. I even kidded myself that perhaps my reason for asking for these documents had been subconsciously therapeutic, with no bearing on the actual integrity of the case.
I was lost in this reacquaintance ritual when a knock at the door made me look up. Gail was standing quietly on the threshold, her expression guarded. “What are you doing, Joe?”
I felt suddenly and inexplicably guilty, as if caught in an act of lapsed faith. “Oh. Tony brought up a synopsis of your case-basically what he’s handing over to Dunn. I thought I’d look it over again-it’s been a long time.”
She watched me in silence, her face impassive, her eyes taking in the carefully stacked piles. “Leo’s looking for you.”
I checked my watch in surprise. I’d lost track of time and had completely forgotten our afternoon training. Gail was already walking back down the dark hallway toward the stairs. I quickly got to my feet and went after her. “Gail…”
She turned in the gloomy light and faced me silently, her arms by her sides, her body tired and defeated. I reached out and held her shoulders, to no response. “Something’s wrong. Was it our talk last night? Or Dunn and his stupid plaque?”
She smiled wanly and shrugged. “I’m just feeling a little blue. It’s just part of the process. Our talk was good. I know it’s what I’m supposed to do.”
“Is there anything I can do to make things easier?”
She raised her hand then and laid it on my forearm. “Not unless you could give me amnesia.” She shook her head, the smile fading entirely. “I think I’ll take a nap. You go work out with your brother.” She paused a moment and then asked, “You’re doing a lot better, aren’t you?”
“I’m getting there. I still don’t have much stamina, but the strength is coming back. Why?”