End of Watch

available overlooking the rink, centered in a row along the window. As the waiter led them to it, Gail whispered, 'Is this okay?'

Frank shrugged. She hated sitting with her back exposed but answered, 'What the hell? Who knows I'm a cop?' Gail studied the menu and Frank gave it a short glance.

'Want to split a chocolate shake with me? I'm probably going to gain a hundred pounds before I get another AA chip, but my sponsor says I can do whatever I want in the first year as long as I'm not drinking.'

'Have you got any chips yet?

Frank made a peace sign. 'Two.'

'You're kidding?'

'Uh-uh.'

Gail palmed her mouth, not able to stifle her laugh.

'What's funny?'

'I'm sorry. I'm just having a hard time seeing you standing up, saying, 'My name's Frank and I'm an alcoholic' Not to mention accepting a chip. Two chips. It's such a contrast to your lone avenger persona.'

'Tell me about it. I can't believe it half the time, either. But you know,' she said, watching as a laughing mother and daughter sprawled on the ice, 'it seems to be working, and that's all that matters.'

'You're right. Something seems to be working. You look sorter. Less rigid.'

'Great. Sort's a good look in a cop.'

'Don't worry. You don't look that soft. Just not so pinched, so tight.'

'There's a line in Cat on a Hot Tin Roof. After Big Daddy realizes he's dying of cancer he tells his son he's been walking around his entire life like a doubled-up fist and by God now he's gonna have him some fun. I wouldn't say I'm having fun yet, but by God I think I'm starting to unclench.'

Their eyes met and Frank looked away first. Gail graciously returned to the menu.

'Okay. Tell me about this morning.'

'You're not gonna believe it. Three thousand miles from home and here I am working a homicide.'

Frank explained the morning's chain of events and Gail mused, 'Wow. After all these years.'

'Yeah, wow. Pretty weird.'

'How's that feel? I mean, it seems that you'd pretty much closed the door on his death and then to have it swing open again ...'

'Yeah. Don't think I haven't considered a couple drinks today. Not that I'm gonna, but... I don't know. I was surprised. Still am. You're right about the door being closed. And it took me a long time to close it. It hasn't bothered me so much lately. I'd pretty much given up on ever finding the guy, but, man, when I was a kid I used to lie in bed at night thinking about him—his eyes, mostly. That's the thing with hope-to-die junkies. They've got black holes where they oughta have eyes. There's just nobody home inside. They got Night of the Living Dead eyes and I'd fall asleep thinking about those eyes on me. I'd dream about 'em—still do sometimes—and I'd wake up terrified to look in a mirror because I was sure I had junkie eyes.'

The waitress appeared. Gail ordered the lobster quiche and Frank a cheeseburger. The waitress swished away and Gail protested, 'You come all the way to New York and order a cheeseburger?'

'I didn't come for the food,' Frank replied. 'Besides, sober lunches have become a pretty steady diet of cheeseburgers and milkshakes. A cheeseburger's about the only thing I can eat without thinking of booze to wash it down with.'

'Oh,' Gail said, appearing abashed. 'I didn't think of that. Anyway, go on, if you want. You've never told me any of this.'

Frank dismissed, 'Not much to tell. I kept looking for him on the street. Everywhere I went. Walking to school, riding the bus, getting groceries—I was looking for him in every face. I saw a lot of those junkie eyes and sometimes I thought I'd found him, but then he'd pass me or turn a corner and I couldn't be sure. After a while, I guess I got so caught up in looking for him that I forgot to be afraid. And I lived around enough hypes to understand that the guy had no idea who I was, that he probably didn't even know he'd killed a man and if he did know he wouldn't care—because the only thing an oil burner cares about is fixing. Food, sex, homicide—none of it means shit to them—only the high. Chasing it and getting it. Then I started feeling superior to the junkie—like he should be afraid of me, because I remembered and was straight enough to do something about it. I was reading Trixie Belden and Nancy Drew back then. The Hardy Boys—even the little kids series. Remember the one with the twins? Flopsy and Mopsy or something?'

The waitress set down the milkshake and an extra glass. As Frank spooned it out, Gail laughed. 'Flopsy and Mopsy were in Peter Rabbit. I think you're talking about the Bobbsey Twins.'

'Yeah, yeah. That was it. The Bobbsey twins.' Frank's smile was nostalgic. 'Man, those kids were lame. I thought they were dumber than shit—sorry. I hated them for having such happy families and clean houses—I thought that was as fake as Bugs Bunny— but I loved that they always solved the mystery. So I went from harmless fluff straight into In Cold Blood. Somebody left it lying on a table at the library. The title hooked me so I picked it up and that was that. Then I discovered Joseph Wambaugh.'

'Yikes,' Gail interrupted. 'Your mother let you read Joseph Wambaugh?'

'My mother wasn't exactly monitoring my reading habits. I think as long as I was home and taking care of things, for all she cared I could have been reading Playboy. I didn't understand a lot of Wambaugh, but I began to see that only two kinds of people made the rules—crooks and cops. I think the seed to become a cop was already in me but reading Wambaugh was like adding sun and water. Helter Skelter came out around then too. I read everything I could about Charlie Manson and the Tate-LaBianca killings. It fascinated me.'

'Uck.' Gail shivered.

'After being exposed to all that, and from seeing what I saw everyday in my own neighborhood I realized that the bad guys only had temporary power. They were only powerful until their next arrest, but it was cops that were at the top of the food chain. And that's where I wanted to be. At the very top, looking down on everyone else. That's where I went and never looked back.'

'Until now.'

'Until now,' Frank agreed.

Their food arrived and Gail said, 'It must be very exciting to have a lead after all this time.'

'Exciting,' Frank said around a fry. 'I guess it's as exciting as popping a lead in any big case. There's the adrenaline thing. But I don't want to get too close to this, too excited. I mean, what difference is it gonna make after all this time anyway, huh, after all these years? And then if I don't find him, if this goes nowhere . . .'

Gail finished, 'You don't want to be disappointed.'

'No. I don't.'

'Well, do you think these flowers are an isolated incident?'

'Who knows? There's so many questions. I'm thinking of calling Fubar, telling him I'm gonna stay out here a little longer. I want to make sure Silvester follows up on this. Doesn't drop the ball.'

'Maybe it's been going on for a while and you've just finally stepped into the picture.'

'Great. So I could have solved my old man's murder years ago but I was too self- involved?'

'That's not what I meant. There's a big difference between being self-involved and moving on. There are positive and negative aspects to every situation. Running from the pain of your father's death was negative, but accepting it and moving on is positive. The feat then becomes incorporating the two aspects into a vital, integrated whole.'

'Jesus.' Frank stared her. 'I think you've been to too many lectures this weekend.' Gail's smile was easy and Frank tapped the doc's hand with a fingertip. 'You know what?'

'No. What?'

Tracing a line between freckles, Frank suggested, 'I hope we can incorporate our negative and positive aspects into a vital and integrated whole.'

Gail pulled her hand away. 'We'll see.'

Frank cleared her throat. 'I took the opportunity while I was alone in the squad room to Google the saint on the candle, Nino de Atocha. Turns out that the Moors were holding a bunch of Christians prisoner and were going to