I don't know how long it lasted, but shortly the convulsions began to diminish and then she lay exhausted in my arms.
'I'm calling Luther,' I said. Luther was her neurosurgeon.
'No. Please no,' she pleaded. 'Just take me into the bedroom.'
I picked her up and carried her down the hall into our bedroom, then laid her on the bed and put a cover over her to keep her warm.
'I've been having convulsions,' she finally admitted, her voice a weak whisper. 'This is the fifth one.'
'I know. I found your pills.'
'You can't… you can't tell anyone.'
'Honey, you need help.'
'This will go away. It's part of the TBI. I've been researching it on the Internet. Convulsions usually pass after a year or so. I'm not running it through the department or using insurance because if I have seizures on my record, I could get retired on a medical disability. I got a doctor friend to treat it. She gave me some medicine.'
'But, Alexa?'
'You can't tell. I'm begging you, Shane. All I ever wanted to be was a cop. They'll take it from me. Promise me. You've got to promise.'
'I promise,' I finally said.
I held her hand until she fell asleep. Then I lay down beside her and cradled her. She felt frail and small, her bones closer to the surface. As I held her I was so sad, I almost cried.
Chapter 10
Alexa was out of bed by six, out of the house by six-thirty. I tried to stop her, but she was on a mission. She timed it so I was still in my boxers in the bathroom when her police department driver showed up. I heard the car door slam and heard the car pull away. I couldn't very well chase her down the street in my underwear.
After she was gone I sat at the kitchen table and wondered what my next move was. As I thought about it, a wave of desolation flooded over me. I had problems everywhere, both personal and professional. I had not been lonely like this since before I met Alexa and Chooch. For the last five years we'd been such a team, all the darkness had been pushed out of my life. As a family, we were always there for each other. But that had changed. Chooch and Delfina were now in college and busy with their own lives. That left just the two of us. But with Alexa's TBI causing such a loss of intimacy, we had experienced a shift in our marital dynamics. We had become two people sharing a space; two friends who didn't talk, and when we did, we often said the wrong things. As I sat at the kitchen table trying to down a bowl of dried cereal, I felt more isolated than I had since I was an orphan in the Huntington House Group Home as a boy.
I shook it off and walked into the bathroom to get ready for my day. I soon found myself staring into the mirror. The guy who was looking back at me was the same angular, rugged thug who greeted me each morning. He had the same lean body, unruly hair, and scar tissue over his eyes, but now he seemed like a stranger. I didn't know what he wanted anymore. I wasn't even sure if I trusted him. Last year I had a magical life with a magical woman and a great son, but that reality was drifting further and further away; close enough to see, but not to touch.
I dressed in a black shirt, a black tie, a black jacket, and pants. It wasn't until I was getting set to leave and caught a glimpse of my Johnny Cash getup in the door mirror, that I realized what a deep funk I was really in. I looked like a mortuary plot salesman. I could have changed clothes, but what the hell. They always say, 'Dress the way you feel,' and I felt angry and black. Let today's victims be the ones to worry about it. I got into the Acura and by nine I was coming off the freeway, heading toward the PAB downtown.
I rode the elevator up to five and tried to smile, but my humorless grin was stretched tight.
'Who are you supposed to be, Black Bart?' Loni Paul, our media affairs assistant said, as she passed me coming off the elevator.
'I'm The Shadow and The Shadow knows,' I said theatrically, going for retro humor, but not scoring.
I got to my desk and hadn't even put my ass in the chair before the phone rang.
'Scully, Homicide Special,' I said into the receiver.
'Shane, it's Sally.'
It was good to hear my partner's voice. 'How's the murder trial coming?'
'Like trying to push shit through a tube with a Q-Tip,' she said. 'Delays, sidebars… these lawyers are making a meal of it. I won't be done until at least Friday.'
'Okay,' I said glumly.
'Listen, Shane. I overheard some people from the D. A.'s office talking about you in the lunchroom. Couldn't tell what it was about so I cornered one of the guys a few minutes ago and he tells me you've got some trouble heading your way.'
'What kind of trouble?'
'The D. A.'s office gets a charge sheet memo from PSB every morning. It's a list of all pending I. A. beefs, sort of a heads-up document so the D. A. can decide if he's interested in monitoring any of our police misconduct boards. Apparently, there's a big complaint on you coming out of Jane Sasso's office. That's all they'd tell me. What's that all about? You wait till I'm out of the building and then go over and tie a knot in that cat's tail? What're you doing, partner?'
'I hesitate to go into it over the phone, but thanks for the warning.'
'Okay. Just thought you'd like to know. Whatever it is, it's probably got some weight on it or it wouldn't be in the rumor mill.'
I thanked her again and hung up, then I sat for a minute contemplating the Ugly Wall, which is the far wall of our offices where pictures of our felony wants are hung. It was a gallery of unrepentant killers who looked down at me with cold mug-shot stares. I ran Sally's warning through my survival meter. My guess was that Scout had leveled with Captain Sasso about how she lost her creds and that confession had put us on a fast track to the La Brea Tar Pits.
Jeb Calloway came out of his office and crooked a finger at me. I got up and followed him into his office. He closed the door. Always a bad sign.
He got right to it. 'You wanted time off for a personal problem.
Now I find out you and some I. A. detective named Llevar are working a closed case against the specific orders of the head of PSB, Deputy Chief Townsend, and his adjutant, Commander Summers.'
'Sasso shouldn't have closed it. It's a good case, Cal.'
'I don't give a shit if you're about to solve the Princess Di mess. You've been told to file the son-of-a-bitch.' He was almost screaming.
'Are you gonna listen to me, or are you gonna scream at me?'
'So it's true?' he said, shaking his head in disgust. 'Man, sometimes I don't get you at all.'
'Captain, if I leave a copy of this file with you, along with my notes, will you at least just read it? At worst the wrong guy is in prison. At best it's an extremely sloppy investigation that needs to be revisited. I. A. is supposed to look at bad due-process cases, not shove them under the rug.'
'Captain Sasso called me this morning. She notified me that she's put a charge sheet on you into the system. I should be getting it this afternoon.'
'She's charging me? With what?'
'Insubordination, malfeasance, refusing a direct order.'
'I never even talked to her. How could I refuse her direct order?'
'Hey, smart guy, did Detective Llevar tell you this case was off the boards? That Sasso closed it?'
'Yeah, but-'
'So you refused her direct order. This is administrative. Prior knowledge is sufficient here. You're probably gonna get put on suspension.'
'I can't be suspended like that. I get a supervisor's review with you and a Skelly hearing first. You guys aren't just gonna throw away the Police Bill of Rights, are you?'
'I'm in your corner, Shane, okay? Why I am sometimes baffles me, but good god, man, if you're gonna set fire
