Dead of Knight (43 page)

Staal skimmed the story, ignored his name, and continued until he found a paragraph regarding Rachael’s death. The author told nothing about how it happened, saying only that she was killed during the arrest of Nathan Charles Campbell.

He folded and returned the paper to its owner. Fatigue had found a home in him and he wondered if he would ever feel rested again. He sipped his coffee and cringed at the strong, burnt taste. He set the cup at his feet, closed his eyes and drifted off into much-needed sleep. 

He stood in a dark room, lit only by a thin seam of daylight shining through a quarter-sized hole in the wall. The floor was littered with trash and he smelt the familiar stench of feces. Then he heard it, faint at first but increasingly louder, the sound of an infant crying. He tried to follow the noise, stumbled on a broken chair, and fell to the floor.

Staal woke up, rubbed his face, and looked at his surroundings. The morning sun stung his eyes so he closed them again. He knew the room from the dream. He had learned to use it in the few group therapy sessions he had attended. In his mind he imagined taking all the negative thoughts, flashbacks, and anxiety and locking them in the dark room. This was supposed to keep the symptoms from disturbing him. It worked for a while until the dark room became part of the nightmares. He leaned back in his seat and slept again. 

He heard the ocean lapping on a beach, and a flock of seagulls working the shoreline for food. The sand slipped around his toes, the sun warmed his face, and wind whipped his hair. He felt a presence and turned to his left to see Rachael Gooch. She smiled and looked out across the water. “Should have waited for back-up,” Gooch said.

“The bomb was real,” Staal said. “Campbell would have set it off if he felt cornered.”

“Should have called the Mounties and waited,” Gooch said. Her voice was flat and unemotional.

“I needed Campbell. We both did.” Staal noticed someone to his right. Sandra Meneghello.

“You took too long, Jack,” Meneghello said. “Look what happened to me.” 

“I tried my best. There just wasn’t time.”

Nicole Newsome and Kimberly Walker crossed the beach to where Staal stood.

“My kids have no mother now, Jack,” Walker said.

“That’s not my fault. I tried...” McKay and Haywood stood nearby but did not speak.

“You let us down, Jack. All of us,” Karen Van Allen said. Samantha Van Allen and Collin Hughes from Stanley Park approached.

“No,” Staal whispered.

“You’re a sorry excuse for a cop, Staal,” Sean Moore said. The faces, he could see them all at once, begging for his help.

The scene went black and then he realized that the ocean had fallen away and he stared down a sheer cliff face. The victims fell; Staal dropped to all fours, grabbed for Rachael, and caught her by her hands. Second by second her weight increased as Meneghello held onto Rachael, and Walker grasped Meneghello, until each victim joined a chain of the dead.

Staal pulled with every ounce of his being, but the chain inched further into the abyss. Staal and Gooch locked eyes. “You should have quit the job, Jack.”

“No.”

“You only made detective because of your father.”

“No.” The weight was unrelenting. He reached with his left hand and fought to grasp something solid so he could haul up the victims. He clutched only sand.

“You failed me, Jack,” Gooch said. Her fingers slipped from his hold and the entire chain fell with her.

“NO!” 

Staal jolted awake and sat up in his seat. Several passengers were staring at him and he realized that he had called out loud. He fought to catch his breath.

He knew that the dream was only a fabrication of his own self-doubt, but Rachael Gooch’s words cut him deeply. ‘You should have quit. You only made detective because of your father.’ Replaying her statement only made him feel worse. Occasionally, in weaker moments, he had wondered if what she said was true.

Over the public address system, the pilot’s voice announced that they were nearing Coal Harbor and that the plane would soon be making it descent and water landing.

It was almost ten AM when Staal jogged down the loading ramp and through the tiny airport out to West Cordova Street in Vancouver. There was a warm gentle wind hinting at hotter temperatures ahead. He knew that Gina Hayes would be at work, and fumbled to think of the number for anyone else who might be able to drive him home. He pulled out his phone and realized it was Rachael’s. He turned on the cell and it rang instantly. “Staal.”

“Jack, where the hell are you?” Inspector Ross asked. “I’ve been looking for you all morning.”

“I’m in Vancouver. I’m going home.” Staal looked west to the forest of Stanley Park. He shuddered and then turned away to the traffic and concrete towers.

“Staal, fuck. You can’t just disappear like this.”

Staal closed the phone and then dialed his father’s home number and left a message on the machine. Next, he called Travis’ cell phone and for once it was turned on.

“Jack, is that you? Damn these things!” Staal heard a beep-beep and then the call disconnected. He glanced at the charge level bar and noticed that the battery was almost dead.

He walked along Seymour and found a payphone outside of a high-end furniture shop. He searched his pocket and wallet and came up without a single coin. His slid his Visa in the pay phone charge slot. The phone would not accept his card and he tried again and again without success.

“Damn it!” He thumped the machine with the palm of his hand. He tried his MasterCard several times, but nothing worked. He stepped out of the phone booth and saw a woman with dark hair and glasses standing at a bus stop. He felt the sun squint his eyes as he crossed the street to the woman. He asked her if she could change a five.

“Sure,” But when she looked in her purse for the change she found only three quarters and two dimes.

“I’ll take it,” Staal said. He handed her the bill and turned back for the payphone. He lifted the receiver and put it to his ear. He heard no dial tone and the receiver pulled away form the phone. He slammed it down, smashing the receiver, and took a huge rejuvenating breath.

He continued walking east, found another payphone, stepped in the door, and closed it behind.

“Was that you that called a few minutes ago, Jack?” Travis Staal asked.

“Yeah, dad. My cell quit.”

“I’m on the road, so if I fade out, you’ll know why. How are you, son?”

Staal said nothing.

“Jack?”

“Not good.” His emotions were escalating, threatening to overcome his composure. He swallowed and twisted a kink from his neck.

“Not good? I heard that you guys got Campbell—so what’s the problem?”

“She’s dead. Everything’s fucked up.”

“Who’s dead? Jack, what’s going on? Where are you?”

“Rachael.” He felt like the weight of it all would crush him.

“Rachael? Rachael Gooch, your partner, is dead?”

“Yeah. When we took Campbell down.” His eyes filled with tears. 

“Jesus, Jack. I’m sorry—I didn’t hear anything on the radio. Where are you? I’ll come by and we can talk.”

Staal paused before speaking again. He had to ask himself if he wanted his father to see him in this condition. What the hell, he needed a ride and someone to talk to.

“I’m on Seymour. Near the Waterfront Skytrain Station.”

“Well, I’ll meet you at Stamps in an hour or so. We’ll have a beer and catch up.” His father was trying his best to lighten the mood.

“I don’t have a car, Dad.”

“Okay, I’ll pick you up in say, 45 minutes. Grab a coffee or something, and keep an eye for an old dude in an old Ford.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Okay, I’ll see you then.”

“Dad?” His vision grew blurry with tears and he slumped to the floor of the phone booth.

“Yeah, son.”

“Don’t hang up. I’m not doing too good here.”

“Jesus, Jack. What the hell happened out there?”

“They’re all dead. I couldn’t help any of them.” Tears streamed down his cheeks.

“Who’s dead, Jack? What are you talking about?”

“Campbell’s victims. I couldn’t save any of them.”

“Jack, you’re a good cop. You did your best for those people. You got Campbell off the street so he can’t hurt anyone else.”

“I dunno. Rachael wanted to wait for back up and I talked her out of it. Now she’s dead because of my impatience.”

“Jack, if your partner thought that waiting for back-up was imperative, she would have pulled rank. Don’t you think?”

“Maybe, I dunno. I—I don’t have it. Maybe once—but not anymore.”

“Son, I’m almost there, just hang on.”

He groaned.

“Jack?”

“The eyes. Those dead eyes haunt me. I see those kids...every day...I see them and I can’t help them...” He rubbed his face vigorously.

“Jack, you’ve been through a lot. You need a break. Take some time to think. Maybe Major Crimes isn’t a good fit for you anymore. No one would think less of you if you went back to GI.”

“I killed her, Dad...”

“Jack—that piece of shit in the park—Chang—had three rounds left in his clip. If you hadn’t fired you’d be dead instead of him.”

“Sam Van Allen...would still be alive.”

“Jack, please let this go. Please.”

“I can’t...”

“Jack, your round went straight through Chang before it hit that little girl...that’s not your fault. It’s just...I don’t know...fate.”

Staal’s mind was a blur of thoughts. “I should have quit the job.”

“Bullshit, Jack! You’re a damn good detective. Better than I ever was.”

The phone company interrupted and instructed Staal to insert more coins. He did.

“Better than you, Dad? Now, that’s bullshit.”

“It’s true. I never worked the homicide squad.”

“I wouldn’t have made detective if it wasn’t for you.”

“Me? I had nothing to do with you getting your shield.”

“Then why did I get the bump less than six weeks after you retired?”

“Shit, that was a fluke. When the Chief came and told me it was my time to go, he asked me about you. He said that the auto-theft guys were raving about you. He said that your work was crucial in taking down that huge outfit. He asked me if I knew your preference—sergeant on patrol or detective. I told the Chief you wanted your shield.”

He nodded.

“Jack. You there?”

“She cried, Dad.”

“Huh?”

“Sam Van Allen. She was alive for a few minutes. Her mother—her mother held her and she cried—”

“I’m almost there son—hold on.”

“She cried...and that sound...those sobs haunt me...I hear them—all the time.”

“Oh—Jack.”

“I never told anyone about this. Not the shrinks—not even Gina.”

Staal looked out across the street. “I see you, Dad.” He stood, hung up the phone, stepped out the booth door, and waved. Warm exhaust-filled air blew into his face as a bus rushed past him. He wiped his sleeve across his eyes.

He slumped into the passenger seat of his father’s 1965 Thunderbird. Neither Staal said anything for several minutes.

“Your place?” Travis said.

“Yeah.” He closed his eyes and drifted into a deep sleep.

He woke when the car stopped. His father’s face was lined with worry. Travis looked much like Jack, only older, with almost pure white hair and a few more wrinkles. He walked to Jack’s side of the Thunderbird.

“I called Gina,” Travis said. “She said that she’d be here in five.” He reached in, took Jack’s arm and pulled his son to his feet.

“Thanks.” They stood close for a moment, and then turned for the house. 

“She’s a good woman, Jack.” Travis used his key to open the front door.

“Yeah, the best.” He suddenly thought of his mother. “Mom called me that night.”

“Huh?” Travis sat down next to Jack on the couch.

“The night she died, she called and said she was dizzy and light headed. I told her that I’d come see her at the end of my watch.”

“You were just a couple months on the job, right?”

“Yeah.” He glanced at a photo of his mother on the wall to his right. “I couldn’t save her, either.”

“Jesus Christ, Jack, snap out of this; your mother was diabetic and she drank too much. She knew she had to change her lifestyle.” He sighed, ran a hand through his thinning hair.

“Yeah, but if I had gone to her that night—I might have been able to help her. Instead I told her to call 911 if she got worse.”

“Jack, I’m not going to sit here and listen to you blame yourself for your mothers’ death. If it was anyone’s fault, it’s mine. I let your mother slip out of my life and I still regret it.”

“I know, Dad.” He heard a vehicle turn up the driveway and park.