Frank paused for another sip.
"I was in the station all night. My mom too. But nothing I told them was good enough. They never caught the guy. My mom got worse after that. She was manic-depressive and there were a lot more lows than highs. When I was in sixth grade, I started reading every criminology and every true crime book I could get my hands on. Devoured 'em. I was gonna be a cop. A good one. One who caught bad guys. Got good grades. Got scholarships to three universities. Kissed my mother goodbye. I wasn't gonna go down with her, I couldn't, and out I came to sunny California. Land of milk and honey. Became a cop.
"That's all I ever wanted to do was be a cop. And I've been a good one. Yeah, I've bent the rules sometimes. In the long run you have to. I remember Joe saying, 'Law and justice ain't the same thing, kiddo.' And I didn't believe him. Didn't want to. I had to believe they were the same thing, see? The law was all I had. It was all I had to put my faith into. And I know he was right. I knew it a long time ago. But I still like to pretend. It justifies what I do every day. And sometimes they are the same thing. And then it's a good day. When they're not, when law and justice are light years apart, then it's a bad day. And today was a very bad day."
Finches chirped in the oak over-hanging the yard. The faraway rush of cars sounded like surf. A couple yards over, kids voices rose and fell in play. Gail asked quietly, "Do you know who shot him?"
Frank shifted her face toward the sun, closing her eyes against its burn. Trying to forget the spatter on Claudia Estrella's Buick, Frank marveled at the negative images playing against her eyelids. She thought maybe she'd like to take a photography class someday.
"Frank?"
Gail's hand was a command on her shoulder.
"No," she said to the invisible sun. "I don't know."
About the Author
Baxter Clare lives on a ranch in Southern California with her longtime companion, numerous houseguests, wild animals, and domestic pets. Street Rules is her second mystery.