Harrington placed his hand on Jack’s shoulder and squeezed it. Jack appreciated the gesture, and what he said. Whatever bitterness he had just been feeling seemed to morph into self-loathing and depression.
Jennifer re-entered holding a styrofoam cup filled with water. She held it out for Jack. “Thank you.” He took a sip and placed it down on a table. “Jennifer, can you get Carl Rosa on the phone for me?”
“No need. He hasn’t left.”
Jack exited the room and moved somberly down the hall. He wasn’t looking for Carl, he’d run into him eventually. He simply ambled forward, his mind dark, devoid of any coherent thought. He passed his office and paused to glare at his name on the frosted glass door. He suppressed an urge to drive his fist through it.
He entered the main hallway, spotting Carl asleep on a bench. Someone thoughtful had brought him coffee, the half empty cup balanced treacherously on the arm of the bench.
Jack slowed, thinking he might let Carl sleep a little longer, have one more dream with a happy ending. He would have the rest of his life to relive this crushing moment, what’s the rush?
Just then, Carl’s eyes fluttered. He spotted Jack down the hall and sat up straight. No turning back now.
Jack came to understand the best way was to just look them straight in the eye, tell the truth, then shut up. Nothing else you say will matter, unless you know of a way you can bring their loved one back from the dead. Just shut your mouth and let them grieve, however they choose.
Jack thought about what that poor doctor must have felt, having to tell him he’d tried and failed to save Sarah’s life. I’m sorry, Mr. Ridge, she didn’t pull through. She didn’t pull through… He remembered how the doctor didn’t waiver and looked him in the eye bravely. How difficult that must have been.
Carl shifted in his seat as Jack stepped closer. She didn’t pull through, Carl.
Carl stood up and Jack motioned for him to sit back down, which made Carl want to stand up all the more. Sitting down meant dreadful news. He stayed on his feet.
Jennifer entered the hallway from the far end and spotted Jack talking to Carl. She couldn’t hear what he was saying. She watched as Carl went limp and collapsed into Jack’s arms. Jack helped him to the bench and eased him down.
Jack sat motionless beside Carl, who wept into his hands. They sat that way for a long time.
CHAPTER 53
Jack closed his office door and slumped down into his chair, emotionally drained. The cassette player still sat on his desk. He reached over and pressed play. Rebecca’s voice came to life on the tape again. “Trusted him…lied to me.”
Jack pressed fast forward at random. “Rebecca?” Leonard’s voice spoke.
“I hear church bells. Santa Maria, Madre de Dios—” Jack forwarded again. “The fruits of our labors… find Jesus on the hill. Find Jesus…” Jack stopped the tape. What had he overlooked? Misinterpreted?
There was a photograph of Angelina on his desk, a large 8x10. He picked it up and studied it one last time, then tossed it into the pile of victim’s photographs.
He walked over to his file cabinet. A small bend in the metal made it difficult to open. He tugged it hard and it slid all the way out with a metallic screech. He removed the large scrapbook of mugshots Rebecca had examined the other day.
He flattened the book out on his desk and flipped through. As Bishop’s mug shot came into view, the thing that stood out the most about him was his very unique face — ugly, memorable — not ordinary at all. Not a face you’d forget, or confuse with someone else’s.
Rebecca had stared at this picture, he was certain. But she said nothing. For someone who had dreamed of this face for so long, woke up screaming from it, supposedly carried it with her across lifetimes, you would think seeing it up close would illicit a very powerful reaction. But she said nothing. Which meant she had never seen him before.
He thought about what Laura had said, that they’d all taken what Rebecca had conjured up in those therapy sessions and applied whatever explanation they saw fit, never fully realizing the obvious. However all of those coincidences had transpired, it was certain that they were just that, coincidences. Dumb luck, as Harrington called it.
Jack felt consumed by regret — and guilt. He had been a party to this, he contributed to her confusion as much as Leonard. Laura was the only one who had remained lucid and sane. They’d taken a few startling occurrences, some ramblings, and conjured a fantasy. One he was more than willing to subscribe to. Facing death, desperate, knowing that his cherished memories of Sarah would be lost to oblivion forever, memories that kept her spirit alive. All those moments.
The hope that perhaps there was a reason to life, fate, karma, another chance to learn, reconnect, live again. He bought it. All of it.
But Rebecca’s clues didn’t find the killer, did they?
In the end, it was Teresa Mason’s bravery that collared their man. Not the supernatural. Laura, Harrington, they had tried to talk some sense into him. How easily we’re misled when we want to believe something for our own personal motivations. How had he let his normally conservative judgment become so clouded? That lapse in reason took his investigation off on a tangent and, because of that, Angelina was dead now.
The phone on his desk rang. He watched the little yellow button blink off and on. He pressed it.
“Ridge.”
“I hear you arrested Edward Bishop,” Leonard said.
“That’s right.” Jack could hear Leonard sigh on the other end.
“Bishop is a former patient of mine. I evaluated him during his rape trial. He’s been in and out of the psych ward for years.”
“What’s your point?”
“Carmen knew her killer, she trusted him, went with him willingly.”
“He already confessed.”
“He’s lying.”
“Leonard, I’ve played along long enough.”
“Jack, listen to me, the answer is there, we just haven’t figured it out yet.”
“I have to go.”
“Edward Bishop doesn’t have the ability to facilitate friendships, even temporary. Speak to him.”
“I have.”
“He doesn’t fit the description.”
“Description? Right now I have a description from a girl who died trying to defend herself, his DNA was scraped from her fingernail bed. I got a car that matches a vehicle description from a witness in Ann Arbor. I have verification that he was working at Monroe College while Carmen was a student.”
“I’m not denying he attacked the Mason girl, but he’s not the one who killed Carmen, he’s probably not the one who took Angelina.”
“Hard evidence and solid police work solved this case.”
There was a long pause. “10 years of solid police work didn’t find Carmen’s body,” Leonard said.
“Dumb luck.”
“Bullshit. Angelina still hasn’t been found.”
“He named the location.”
“Where?”
“The reservoir.”
“You won’t find anything. I guarantee it.” Jack gave Leonard’s words some consideration, but only out of respect for their friendship.
“I don’t have time to debate this with you, Leonard.”
“I stopped by to visit Carmen’s mother, Jack. Don’t worry, I didn’t tell her why I was there. I simply said I was from the police department and offered counseling. She refused, but she did say that you were there again recently. You didn’t explain to her exactly why, either. What were you looking for in the girl’s bedroom?”