Sparkle (41 page)

The shot Louis fired had been pure reflex, and he immediately got down and started CPR on Bjorgeson. After the first round he took a quick look at Mark and made an urgent call for backup, but it was clear the guy was gone. Pinky was clearly gone too. Louis was a hell of a shot. He began to cry.

Louis was too busy to notice Eddie get up from the bed and make his way through the mess to Joe’s dresser. He reached inside and took something out. Then he came back to where Louis was desperately pumping Pinky’s chest, and sat back down on the bed.

“What happened, Eddie?” Louis pleaded, stopping briefly before blowing uselessly down Bjorgeson’s throat again. “Can you tell me? Can you tell me anything?”

Eddie glanced over and noticed Jolie’s ball on the bed next to him. He reached over to pick up the ball.

“Don’t touch that, Eddie,” Louis said. “It’s evidence.”

Eddie held up the recorder to Louis. He hit rewind for precisely the right amount of time, then clicked play.

“I didn’t murder anyone, Eddie. Except for Lucy Silver, everyone I ever killed was getting away with something. The DA? Dirty. And in power. There was only one way to make things right.”

Eddie clicked the recorder off. “There’s a lot more,” he said. “Man-sized mess.”

Chapter 65

One Week Later

Detective Louis stuck his head in the hospital room door, holding flowers he’d bought from the hospital gift shop. “Can I come in?”

“Uh-huh,” Eddie said. “Okay.”

LaVonne was sitting with Eddie next to the bed. Detective Louis looked at her and reintroduced himself.

“Hi Detective.” She held out her hand. “Of course I remember you.”

“Joe’s girlfriend,” Eddie added.

Louis still wasn’t over that one. As miracles went, it possibly even trumped Joe’s survival. But not much could faze Louis after what he’d gone through in the past week.

“How’s he doing?” Louis said.

“Better,” Eddie said.

Joe was in a single room. It was filled with flowers and balloons, most of them from cops who’d heard what had happened to the poor schmuck crime-scene janitor. He was sleeping.

The bullet had entered Joe’s chest under the left collarbone and exited his back above his shoulder blade. A couple of inches lower and it would have probably been fatal. As it was, he would fully recover.

“I can’t tell you how bad everyone feels about what happened to you. Both of you. You guys are good friends to us,” Louis said. “Normally I’d talk to Joe about this. We took up a collection for you guys.” Louis handed Eddie a thick envelope.

“Thank you,” Eddie said.

“The charges against Joe have been dropped, and there aren’t going to be any charges against you,” Louis said. “Jolie explained exactly what happened with Mark. And Detective Bjorgeson—” Louis had to stop for a minute. The revelations about his partner had hit him hard enough that he wasn’t sure he’d be able to continue on the force for long. “Anyway. I talked to Jolie’s landlord myself. He’s willing to settle up out of court. Most of the stuff you broke was hers, and she’s already forgiven you. Hell, she says she owes you. We’re going to do everything we can for you boys, okay?”

“Uh-huh. Okay.”

“I don’t know how much we can do about replacing Jolie’s stuff, or the van, or your hospital bills,” Louis said, “but I want you to know that as soon as Joe’s better, we’ll make sure you have plenty of work to help you get back on your feet.”

“Joe’s done with blood and guts,” Eddie said.

An awkward silence fell. LaVonne had noticed over the past week that Eddie had been saying a lot of things that were out of his ordinary range. He also seemed closer to being in the real world. He was taking care of himself, taking a cab back and forth between home and the hospital, and dividing his time between Joe’s and Jolie’s rooms. It had surprised LaVonne at first, but she was starting to get used to it.

Louis, though, was still having trouble adjusting to the new Eddie. Eddie was even looking at him, more or less, when he talked.

“Maybe we’d better go outside, Detective,” LaVonne said, breaking the suddenly awkward silence.

Louis pulled on his ear. “Uh, sure. You hang in there, Eddie.”

“Thank you.”

Outside Joe’s room, LaVonne said, “Eddie’s right. I don’t think Joe’s going to want to clean up any more crime scenes. He was talking about closing Sparkle before he got shot. And Eddie…I don’t know. He seems really different all of a sudden.”

“Yeah. When did he start looking at people?”

“I don’t know. When did he start solving crimes?”

“Yeah. You got me on that one. I can’t imagine they have much saved up.”

“No,” LaVonne said, “I doubt it.”

“What are they going to do?”

“I wish I knew. Any thoughts?”

“Not really,” Louis said.

“They’re good cleaners, aren’t they? There has to be something they can do.”

“That’s true.” Louis thought for a moment, and his face brightened. “You know,” he said, breaking into a rare smile, “I might have an idea.”

Chapter 66

Two Weeks Later

Louis did his job well. He wasn’t the kind of guy who asked his superiors for favors. And everybody felt bad for him about what had gone down with his partner. So when he made an appointment with the chief to plead Joe and Eddie’s case, he got a much warmer reception than he’d dared hope for.

It didn’t hurt that Joe and Eddie’s story had turned up in the local section of both the Seattle Times and the Post-Intelligencer. Joe’s shooting, although quickly ruled justifiable, hadn’t been great for the police department’s image. That and the fact that one of their longest serving homicide detectives had turned out to be a serial killer made them desperate for any scrap of good publicity.

So when the chief passed Louis’s idea to the recently elected mayor, the stars were in Joe and Eddie’s favor. The mayor was just as anxious as the chief for a warm and fuzzy human interest story—anything to give the media something new to chew on.

Finally, the Mariners’ owner was happy to do such a small favor for the mayor. Hiring another apprentice groundskeeper at Safeco Field was a small price to pay, if it meant starting off his relationship with the new administration on the right foot.

Chapter 67

Four Months Later

At the top of the sixth inning, Joe realized he was leaning forward, chin on his forearms, not hearing anything, staring over the railing at the green, glowing right-field grass far below him.

In the short time he’d been working at Safeco Field, he’d grown comfortable with the place. More than ever, it had become a second home. But this was the first game he’d been to as a civilian since he’d started, and there was something surreal about how beautiful it all seemed.

He noticed the lack of pain in the shoulder where he had been shot. He was grateful. More surprising was that he felt no urge to celebrate his good feelings with a smoke.

Then an even better feeling, like déjà vu, washed over him: Everything’s going to work out. Given the troubles that he and Eddie faced in the wake of everything that had happened, it wasn’t easy to swallow. But for once Joe was willing, even eager, to believe it. Maybe, just maybe, everything was going to be okay. Joe could hear the words in his head, over and over, and they sounded like music: Everything’s going to be okay. He grinned, and his shoulders dropped slightly. Maybe he’d write a song about it.

He felt LaVonne’s soft hand on his elbow. She was leaning forward too, reaching for him.

“What are you thinking about, Joe?”

Joe straightened and chuckled. “I feel good today.” Had the words come from his mouth? Usually the only thing harder than feeling good was admitting it. But today it didn’t seem important to hide the simple warmth and gratitude he felt for LaVonne. For once, he was confident that admitting his good feelings wouldn’t jinx them away.

The noise of the crowd rose again, as though someone were slowly turning up the volume. LaVonne smiled at Joe. “Do you want something to eat or drink? I thought I might go get something for my guys. My treat.” She looked over at Eddie, who was gazing contentedly at the California Angels in the field and Ichiro preparing for his at-bat. “Want a Sparkle or something, Eddie?”

“No, thank you.” Eddie spoke clearly and without hesitation, but without looking away from the game.

Then a thin, loud insistent voice between Joe and LaVonne piped up. “Can I have a hot dog? And some soda? And some candy?”

“Anton,” LaVonne said, looking sternly down at the little boy, “you’d best try that request again.”

The boy straightened up and looked at her earnestly with serious dark eyes. “Please, may I have a hot dog, Auntie LaVonne?”

“Much better,” LaVonne said.

“And some candy? Please? And some pop?” the boy pressed.

LaVonne was inclined to indulge the boy. It was his seventh birthday, and Anton hadn’t experienced many outings as special as this.

“I’ll get you a hot dog, but I don’t know about any more candy or pop for you, young man,” She looked at Joe, who was smiling at the boy. “You’d best ask your coach about that.”

Joe had taken LaVonne up on her challenge. He was now the coach of sixteen unpolished but enthusiastic Little Leaguers. And Anton, in Joe’s opinion, led the field by a wide margin, in terms of potential. The kid was a mass of raw energy, with amazing reflexes and speed. No discipline or focus, but those things could be learned. Joe had approached coaching with an intensity and dedication that surprised everyone who knew him—no one more so than himself.

Anton turned eagerly and began tapping Joe’s sleeve with the new, huge-looking baseball glove on his left hand. The mitt was a birthday present from Joe and Eddie, and Anton hadn’t taken it off for the entire game.

“Can I please have candy, Coach? Can I? Please?”

Joe was going to answer yes, but he happened to glance up at the big screen and saw Ichiro make an uncharacteristic move out of the batter’s box. It completely arrested his attention.

“Just a minute, son,” Joe said.

The bases were loaded, and there were two out. The Ms were down by one.

Joe stood up, focused and intense, and rapidly scanned every player in the field. Then he glanced up at the big screen again and watched, rapt, as Ichiro stepped back into the batter’s box. He watched the pitcher wind up for a fastball. He knew what was going to happen next.

The crack of Ichiro’s bat sounded as long and drawn out as a string of Chinese firecrackers. Everything erupted furiously as all the people around Joe sprang up onto their seats in a wild shouting crush. Joe elbowed his way up too, and the ball arced up, true and straight for the sky.

Joe knew it was his.

In all these years, he had never snagged a single homer. Not even a foul ball. It was a sign. His feeling had been right on: Everything was going to be okay.

The ball hit its peak and started down. No one else had a chance. Joe had the reach and the position.

Then something shifted.

Joe took a sharp breath that didn’t come back out. It felt as though he’d been hit by soft lightning. He smelled rancid cigarette smoke, and it seemed as if his dad was right behind him. Bodies were pressing and hollering, and Joe glanced down.

Big dark eyes locked with his.

Anton, expressionless, sat on his bottom, twisted awkwardly in front of his seat, knocked down by the press of the crowd. LaVonne was reaching for the boy’s hand to help him up.

But Anton’s hand was reaching for Joe.

Joe pulled him up quickly. He wrapped his arms around the boy and lifted the small light body up. All the way up above the press of the crowd, up to where the boy could lift his glove higher than anyone else.

“It’s yours!” Joe shouted. “You can catch it!” Then he closed his eyes.

The crowd roared. LaVonne screamed. Joe opened his eyes, and the first thing he saw was Eddie gazing mildly up at Anton. The beaming, shouting, skinny little kid had made the catch.

Immediately, Anton slid down Joe’s body. He jumped up and down, yelling and pumping his real, big-league, home-run ball into the cool fresh air that was starting to smell like fall behind the popcorn, hot dogs, and beer.

Joe looked up at the big screen. There was Anton, enormous, celebrating high above the crowd.

Then they played the whole thing over again, and everyone erupted into wild cheers for the nice guy who’d made such a slick move to let a kid make the catch.

One of the guys in the booth recognized Joe from the maintenance crew, and a few seconds later “YOU GO, JOE!” ran across the screen in twenty-foot letters. “What I Like About You,” Joe’s favorite song, boomed out and bounced around the stadium, loud enough to dance to.

Somebody in the row behind him picked up the chant, and pretty soon the whole place was booming with it: “YOU GO, JOE! YOU GO, JOE!”

Joe was laughing in spite of himself, nearly overcome with the unique sensation of friendly hands patting him on the shoulders and offering high fives all around.

Everyone was standing, singing, and shouting. Joe stared at the screen in amazement.

There was LaVonne, beaming and waving and looking even hotter than usual. Eddie was waving too, cool in his glasses. Was he smiling? And there was Anton, busting some serious dance moves on his seat like a little wild man, giving the whole crowd something to laugh about. Then Anton stopped and held the ball up.

Joe looked away from the screen and down at the boy.

“You should have this, Coach. I never would’ve caught it without you.”

Joe hesitated for only a moment. “Thank you, Anton. That means…a lot to me. But you keep it.”

Joe pumped the air with his fist. “Thank you!” He shouted as loud as he could.

Up on the Jumbotron, a good-looking, happy man also yelled, “Thank you!” Joe let out a huge laugh, and the image on the screen laughed right back at him.

He hadn’t seen that one coming at all.

Chapter 68

The Next Day

Eddie woke and opened his eyes. The late September sun shot a thick bright beam through his basement window. There weren’t many motes floating in the golden light. Eddie allowed himself the pleasure of watching them drift. Their scarcity was an excellent measure of how clean it was in his basement.