He nodded. ‘There are reasons, Pumpkin. Ones not too nice.’
He spoke the words reluctantly. When he looked up and saw the seriousness of her stare, he considered letting the subject go, once again burying it with the rest of the past. But this time, he could not. Everything was different now. It was time for a clean start. Time for honesty.
He closed his eyes, trying to think how best to word it. ‘Things between your mom and I weren’t as good as you remember them, Courtney. Our marriage wasn’t perfect. To be honest, it wasn’t working all that well.’
‘I know, Dad.’
He blinked. ‘You do?’
‘Yes. I know about the affair.’
He twitched in his seat. ‘Affair? What affair?’
‘With you and Felicia.’
Striker let out an exasperated sound. ‘You think that?’
‘Well, what am I supposed to think?’
‘Jesus Christ,’ he said. ‘No wonder you’ve been acting the way you have.’ He rubbed his hands over his face and sighed deeply. ‘It’s my fault. All my fault for not telling you.’ He leaned closer, took her hand and said, ‘Courtney, I never cheated on your mother. Me and Felicia never so much as dated until seven or eight months ago.’
Her face took on a confused look. ‘Then what-’
‘Your mother wasn’t well, Courtney. In fact she was quite sick. Clinically depressed. She wouldn’t even leave the house half the time. It was an issue — her bipolar diagnosis — and we always tried to hide that from you, but I guess… I guess it was wrong of us.’
‘Bipolar?’
‘She was on medication and seeing a specialist in Kerrisdale.’ He took in a deep breath, studied the shock on her face, then told her the worst of the truth. ‘The night she left home, I didn’t let her drink and drive, Courtney. In fact, she hadn’t drunk a drop.’
‘But then how…’
Striker said gently, ‘The Dinsmore Bridge… it’s straight and flat. And there was no traffic that night. When your mother drove off the bridge, Courtney, it wasn’t an accident. It was her own doing.’
The words made Courtney flinch, and she almost pulled her hand free from Striker’s grip. He watched her intently, expecting her to cry and crumble, or at least get angry and lash out. But she did neither. She just stared out the window, at the snowy hills outside, and her face took on a sad look.
‘You okay, Pumpkin?’
‘I think I always knew,’ she said in a low voice. ‘I just didn’t want to believe it.’
‘I’m sorry about your mother, Pumpkin. And about Raine.’
Courtney looked up at him and her expression was wretched. ‘It’s so strange. When Raine and I were in the back of that van, I thought we were going to die, I really did. And Raine was just out of it. Like in shock or something. So I stuck a bunch of frozen steaks down the front and back of her shirt. I thought that it would protect her if he started shooting, but now… now I wonder if that was what weighed her down. Maybe that’s why she couldn’t swim to shore. I killed her.’
Striker looked into her eyes. ‘The fall killed her. And the currents are strong. She never would’ve been able to swim out.’
‘I just feel-’
‘You did all you could. And thank God for those frozen steaks. They may have deflected the bullet a bit. The doctor says you’ll walk again.’
‘But how well?’
Striker held her hand. ‘I don’t know.’
Courtney didn’t reply. Moments later, a few tears slid down her cheeks.
Striker stood up and wrapped his arm around her, gave her a long hug, felt her warm breath under his chin, smelled the lemony scent of the laundry detergent on her clothes. She held him, too, and just as tight. When her arm finally relaxed a little, Striker pulled back and looked at her face.
‘What do you want for Christmas?’
‘Getting this bullet out of my spine would be a nice start.’
He laughed, genuinely and hard, and touched her face. ‘I love you, Pumpkin.’
‘I love you, too, Dad.’
He fetched her suitcase from under the bed, made sure it was locked and secure, then helped ease her off the bed into the wheelchair.
‘Come on,’ he said softly. ‘Let’s get the hell out of here. We’re going home.’
One Hundred and Two
Striker had just finished getting Courtney seated and buckled into his Honda CR-V when the sound of squealing tires filled the underground. He turned and spotted a small car speeding around the bend in the dark parkade. Instinctively, he swept his hand under his jacket flap and touched the butt of his pistol. As the car drove closer, Striker saw that it was a silver Volvo, a car he recognised well.
Laroche.
Striker let his fingers slide off the butt of his gun as the Volvo came to a stop ten feet away. Even in the darkness, Striker could see the angry expression on Laroche’s face. The Deputy Chief climbed out, slammed the car door.
‘Striker!’ he roared.
‘This is a hospital, sir — the mental institution is down the road.’
Dressed in civilian attire, Laroche looked even smaller than he did in his dress pants and officer’s shirt. Beads of sweat rolled down his face, making his white skin appear even more sickly. He stormed up to Striker, his hands balled into fists.
‘It was you, wasn’t it?’ he demanded.
‘Me, sir?’
‘I know it was you, Striker!’
‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’
‘The complaint to Internal. The subsequent review over my handling of the Active Shooter file.’ When Striker said nothing, Laroche continued, ‘I’m getting demoted, Striker. Demoted! You’ve ruined my bid for Chief. Ruined it. My entire career!’
‘That’s very unfortunate, sir.’
Laroche’s eyes darkened and his face reddened till all the white had left his cheeks. ‘You think I don’t know you did this, Striker? You think I’m some kind of fool?’
‘Think, sir?’
Laroche swore out loud, raised a finger. ‘I don’t care if it takes the rest of my goddam career, I’ll make you pay for what you’ve done.’
Striker waited for Laroche to finish his rant, then stepped calmly forward and said quietly, ‘Let me give you a little bit of advice, Superintendent. When you’re in a field full of horses, don’t go looking for zebras. All you’ll find is more horses.’
Then Striker turned around, walked away from Laroche and climbed into the CR-V. Moments later, he and Courtney drove out of the underground parkade into the cold brightness of the blue-skied winter day. Courtney was returning home. Felicia was coming over for dinner. And Laroche was screwed. Striker let out a satisfied breath.
What more could a man ask for?
