AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“That’s what the dad seems to think,” Martinez said.
I was used to the meandering conversation of cops. They eventually got where they were going.
“And Joe Able didn’t think hearing a gunshot was worth checking out?” Jack asked.
Martinez grinned. “He said Coach gets aggravated with the squirrels eating all his bird feed, so he’ll go out from time to time and blast off a shot. Must scare the hell out of those squirrels. But Able said he doesn’t do it often and they hardly pay any attention to it anymore.”
“A sawed-off shotgun seems overkill for a few squirrels,” I said.
“A sawed-off is overkill for anyone,” Martinez said.
“Lily and Sheldon are on the way to do the body retrieval.” And then I paused and clarified. “Retrieval of everything.”
Riley grimaced. “I’m glad it’s not me. Becky hates it when I have to strip down naked on the back porch before I can come in the house. I fell in a septic tank once and she made me take my uniform off down the street and hose off in the backyard.”
“You stripping down naked anywhere is a travesty for all mankind,” Martinez said. “We’re all surprised Becky lets you in her bed at all.”
“I’ve heard she keeps the lights off,” one of the forensic techs said from inside the room. “She’s probably never seen him naked.”
“Or maybe she did and that’s why she keeps the lights off,” Martinez said.
I stifled a chuckle, and Jack and I left them to go find the kitchen.
There were a lot of downsides to being a first responder. There was the trauma of seeing how fragile the human body is up close and personal. And also a firsthand look at the evil that permeated the souls of people—next-door neighbors, kindergarten teachers, children, parents—we’d seen it all, and we were never surprised at the culprit. Anyone who believed in world peace was living in a fantasy land. There was good and there was evil. Evil didn’t just decide to become good because someone gave them the hug they never got in childhood. Not being aware of the true evil in the world was a good way to end up buried under someone’s basement.
There was also the personal toll of being a first responder. Besides the PTSD and nightmares, there was generally a common dysfunction when it came to family and personal lives. There was alcoholism, broken marriages, infidelity, anger issues and high suicide rates—all results of trauma that accumulated over years on the job.
Jack and I were an anomaly. I’d been a mess for most of my life, and still, we’d learned how to work through it for our relationship. We still had to work through things, but at least we were working. Not everyone was that lucky.
I often wondered what made certain people gravitate toward being a first responder. Generally, it was because they wanted to help people. Then they got on the job and discovered that altruistic and naïve outlook was hard to hold on to. I also wondered if those same people would make the same choices knowing what they were really signing up for.
We all learned to be matter of fact about the job. It was difficult not to become cold and calloused and desensitized at the sight of tragedy. But no matter how desensitized we became, it still affected us all, and in different ways. Which was why there were often inappropriate jokes told while standing over the dead. Gallows humor got us through even the toughest of scenes.
Jack and I wound our way to the back of the house toward a spacious and newly renovated kitchen. Mrs. Hargrove was sitting at the kitchen island on a barstool, staring out the big picture window that looked out over a parklike backyard. A mug sat in front of her, still steaming but untouched, but her hands were wrapped around it for warmth.
Walters was leaning against the kitchen counter, sipping out of his own cup. Jack nodded to Walters and we approached Mrs. Hargrove. She didn’t seem to notice that we were there.
I looked at Jack and saw the worried expression on his face. Then I took the barstool next to her and gently took her hand, using my fingers to subtly feel the pulse in her wrist.
“Mrs. Hargrove,” I said softly. “It’s Dr. Graves. Can you look at me?”
She blinked once but that was the only acknowledgment she gave me. Her hands were cold and her pulse fluttered weakly beneath my fingers.
“How long has she been like this?” I asked Walters.
“Not long,” he said. “She’s been cleaning the kitchen. She made tea and coffee and offered to make me breakfast. And then when she ran out of things to do she just sat down. Maybe five minutes ago. What’s wrong?”
“Can you grab a rescue blanket from one of the patrol cars and call in an EMT?” I asked him. “She looks like she’s going into shock.”
I moved her hot tea out of reach and took her other hand. “Mrs. Hargrove,” I said again. “Let’s move you to the couch or your bedroom. You need to lie down for me so I can check your vitals. We’ve got EMTs on the way.”
She blinked again, her eyes heavy lidded, as if she were struggling to keep them open. But she finally turned to look at me.
“I’m okay,” she said. “I shouldn’t have sat down. I always do better when I’m busy. Better not to think about things that way.”
Walters came back in with the blanket and we unfolded it, wrapping it around her shoulders. She seemed frail in the moment, and I realized how young she’d been when Jack and I had been her students. Something you don’t think about when you’re seven years old. She was probably in her late fifties and had always had so much life and vitality in her. Both her and Coach.
“I see a couch right over there,” I said, pointing to the closed-in sun porch off the kitchen. It was dark and gloomy as the rain dripped off the glass, but I wanted to put her in a position where I could lay her down quickly and elevate her feet if she got any worse.
