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“I think every cop you’ll talk to would say the same thing. He was loyal to his people and everyone was loyal to him. I would have taken a bullet for him and I wasn’t the only one. That’s why we were all so stunned when he turned fifty-five and walked away.”
“He’d promised Ryan,” Georgia said simply.
“He kept his promises. Always.” Whitfield unwrapped the burger and took a bite, sighing happily. Siggy sniffed hopefully, then settled onto the floor when Whitfield told him no. “Thank you, Sam. I appreciate this. Georgia, I figured I’d just tell you about some of our cases and let you ask questions. Will there be a private memorial service at Shady Oaks?”
“There will be, but you’re all welcome,” Georgia said. “That’s why I wanted to talk to someone who knew him back then. I hoped some of you would come.”
“Then I’ll spread the word.” Whitfield hesitated. “He did love his wife. I’m sure of that. We were all shocked at their divorce, but now it makes more sense.”
“He did love her,” Georgia agreed. “He told me so. He didn’t speak of her often, but it was always fondly.”
“She’d like to hear that.” Another sigh. “I remember when they split up. It was forty-five years ago, but I remember it like it was yesterday. Like I said, we were all in shock. Especially me. We’d been partners in Homicide for two years by then. I thought they had the perfect marriage. My wife and I had divorced already and…well, I didn’t want that for Sharon. Frank’s wife, you know.” Whitfield glanced at Sam. “I really liked her.”
“Made a move on her, did you?” Georgia asked wryly.
“I did. She told me that she was done with cops. But she never spoke ill of Frank. She loved him. Told me that they’d agreed that it was time for them to part and that she loved him like her best friend.”
“He met Ryan forty-five years ago,” Georgia said thoughtfully.
Whitfield nodded. “Again, that makes sense. Frank would never have cheated on Sharon. I know that like I know my own name. I think Sharon must have known. You know, that he was gay. She didn’t seem surprised at the divorce. She even seemed happy for him, which I didn’t understand back then. So…a mystery solved. Anyway, they were good friends for the next few years, until Sharon remarried. Up until then, he would come by the house to fix things whenever something broke and he always remembered her birthday, up until the day he retired. Maybe even after that, I don’t know. You should talk to her.”
“She’s in hospice,” Sam said gently, hoping to soften the blow.
Whitfield’s eyes grew sad. “I know. I’ve visited her a few times, whenever my grandson is free to drive me over.” He hesitated. “I think Frank may have visited as well.”
Sam’s eyes widened at that. “When?”
“Every so often for the last three months. I’d see white roses in a vase in her room. Those were Frank’s flowers. He said he’d brought them to her on their first date. Always sent her white roses on her birthday. I think if you want to know who Frank was back then, you should pay her a visit. But do it quickly. Today, even. She likes dogs, so you can take the pooch.”
“We’ll go over there when we’re done here,” Sam said, wondering if that was where Frankie had gone the Wednesday before he’d been killed. “So…stories about Frankie?”
Whitfield pointed to a scrapbook on the coffee table. “Photos. Frank’s in some of them. Help yourself.” He applied himself to the burger in earnest as Georgia picked up the scrapbook.
“Oh!” she said in a happy voice. “Look at Frankie, Sam. He had to have been in his thirties in this photo.” Sam looked over her shoulder as she went page to page, hungrily absorbing the details, asking the occasional question which Whitfield readily answered. Then she laughed when she came to the photo of an amused Frankie holding a clearly fake police ID.
Sam chuckled. “The photo’s of you and Frankie and he’s holding up a police ID. The photo below it is an enlargement of the ID that says ‘Joe Friday.’ Did you make that for him?”
Whitfield laughed. “We did. That was his retirement present.” His smile faded. “That was the last time I saw him.”
“He kept the ID,” Georgia told him with an unsteady smile.
Whitfield’s eyes grew suddenly shiny. “He did? Really?”
“Really. I found it in a shoebox when I was helping him clean out Ryan’s things after he died. I’d already found Frankie’s actual old badge and was shocked that he’d been a cop. He never talked about those days. It was his ‘other life,’ he said. But he kept the Joe Friday badge. It was with some mementos of his time on the force. A few certificates of appreciation, that kind of thing. I remember him laughing when he saw the badge. It was only the second time he’d laughed since Ryan passed. The first time was when Sam played Iron Maiden on Shady Oaks’s baby grand.” She glanced at Sam, then looked back at Whitfield. “If no one in his family claims the badge, would you like to have it?”
Whitfield wiped at his eyes. “Yes,” he said gruffly. “I would. Thank you.”
Sam checked the time. They’d been there an hour and Georgia was growing visibly tired, as was Whitfield. “I think it’s time we head out.”
Georgia met Sam’s gaze. “Can you bring me back sometime for a visit?”
“Of course.”
Whitfield struggled to get out of the recliner and Sam lent him a hand.
“Thank you for coming,” Whitfield said, his voice still rough. “I didn’t know how much I needed to talk about him. Come back soon.”
“I will,” Georgia promised.
