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Martha was digging under the blankets and Julie edged toward me, leading with her wrist. I put my hand around her slim forearm and shook it gently.
“See? Shake my arm and say, ‘Mom’?”
She shook my arm and said, “Mom.”
I said, “Hi, hon. Are you getting ready for school?”
She said, “Me and Daddy are taking Martha out for her walk. And then we’re going to hug you goodbye.”
“Got it. Dad’s putting you on the school bus.”
“Come on, Mommmm. You know.”
I shook off my troubled sleep with a sharp memory and pang of remorse. Joe and Julie were flying to New York today for spring break, a plan that had been in play for several months and still worried me. But Julie hadn’t seen her only grandmother in too long and really wanted to see New York.
Joe called Julie. She and Martha zoomed out of the bedroom.
I yelled out, “Wait a minute. Wait for me!”
I jumped out of bed, found a T-shirt on a chair, dug for clean sweatpants, put on a pair of running shoes, no socks, no makeup, no worries. I caught my family at the elevator. Julie hugged my waist and Martha had a few kind whines for me.
This was a new record; from bed to elevator in under three minutes, but time with Julie and Joe before they flew away was priceless.
Out on the street, I asked Joe, “What time’s your flight?”
“Linds,” Joe said, “I hired a car to take us to SFO.”
“But, why? I can take you.”
“You have an appointment, Linds. You’re going to be late.”
CHAPTER 11
CLEARLY I’D LOST all track of time and after a peppy walk, weepy goodbye hugs, promises to call every single day, I took Martha home and handed her off to our lifesaver of a nanny, Mrs. Gloria Rose who lived across the hall.
I threw on some work clothes and drove to Dr. Sid Greene’s office for my final therapy session.
My therapy had been a review-board decision because of my involvement in a fatal incident. I was not held responsible but I was ordered to see a psychiatrist who worked with law enforcement. I felt strongly that my work with Dr. Greene had been worth the time, but I was relieved that in another hour it would be over.
I parked at mid-block across from Dr. Greene’s two-story office building. I buzzed the downstairs bell. There was an answering buzz, and I went in, climbed two flights of stairs, and entered Dr. Greene’s waiting room. I stared at the door to his inner office and, as in my waking dream this morning, I sensed that the answers to everything were right behind it.
As if cued, the door opened and Dr. Greene greeted me, saying, “Lindsay, come on in.”
Dr. Greene was a man in his sixties, round-faced with an easy smile and good reputation inside the Hall of Justice. I liked him but wouldn’t miss these weekly high dives into my feelings. I had prepared myself for his summary and mine of what we had accomplished these last months, followed by a goodbye-and-good-luck handshake.
The room was pleasant, about ten by twenty, beige carpet, windows on two white walls, and between the two windows three abstract paintings that I couldn’t fathom.
I took my customary seat across from Dr. Greene, who began the session by asking me to tell him about my week. And I did—the good, the bad, and Saturday, all culminating in what felt like the breaking of a dam.
“Whoever killed Ralph Hammer is, by the look of his work, an unusual killer, an overachiever. Hammer was opinionated, vocal, a thief, and perhaps a hoarder and I don’t know what else. I’m interested in the case, but it’s not mine. And I have no control over what happens with it or on any case on a given day.
“You know, Dr. Greene, I work with great people. We have an ethical and legal code that’s honorable and yet we’re not writing traffic tickets. Death is always involved. I can’t count the numbers of homicides I’ve tried to solve. I’m feeling overwhelmed right now by Hammer’s brutal death and about the individual who killed him. This case has really gotten to me and … and I don’t remember one that hasn’t.”
Dr. Greene leaned toward me, his hands on his knees.
“Let me ask you this, Lindsay. Are you ready to retire anddo some other kind of work? Inside police work, administration, for instance.”
After a long pause, I said, “I had a job like that once. I had the corner office and the title, and I knew how to do the job. I supervised most of the same cops I work with now. After a few years as lieutenant, I stepped down. I wanted to work the actual cases and at the same time I didn’t enjoy giving orders to people who took chances that I didn’t take.”
