End of Watch

Shooing the memories with a shake of her head, Frank ambled back to the car.

She poured the last of the coffee and took The Da Vinci Code from her briefcase. Propping it just below her line of sight, she settled against the door, delighting in the simplicity of her stakeout. Before turning a page she scanned the cemetery. She read like this, indulging in the pure pleasure of it for almost two hours.

After using the cemetery restroom, she leaned against the Nova and called Figueroa. Diego picked up and she said, 'Hey, Taquito. Let me talk to the great Picasso.'

She heard Diego grunt to Bobby, who answered in a voice softer than rose petals.

'Picasso. How's it going?'

'Good. We closed out all our old pendings and are just sitting around waiting for the phone to ring.'

'Damn. I shoulda done this a long time ago.'

Bobby chuckled. 'It's pretty quiet. We caught a domestic yesterday, but the guy was right there in the apartment when a unit responded. Easy slam dunk.'

'Sweet. What else?'

'Remember that guy Irie told us about? Fidelio Ramirez? We traced him to a friend's house in Phoenix. Phoenix PD are looking for him. He's got three priors we can hold him on—one possession and two assaults—and if Phoenix finds him I was thinking of sending Lewis and Darcy out to get him. Is that okay?'

'Sounds fine. Do you have the paperwork ready?'

'No, I was going to call you about that.'

Frank walked him through an extradition and clarified a few other things. After a little chitchat, she hung up. Despite her nostalgia, she missed her squad and was eager to be home.

The rest of the day passed dreamily. It was hard on Frank's ass but she was grateful for the down time. The cemetery had a fair trickle of visitors. Frank perked up when a few got close to her father's site but none lingered. When the gates closed, she meandered back to Tribeca by way of Dean and Deluca's. The prices were vulgar but considering what she'd pay to eat out she indulged. Plus, when she complained to Mary about how many doughnuts she was eating or how much she was spending on lattes, Mary always assured her that she could do whatever she wanted in the first year of sobriety.

'Worry about diabetes and bankruptcy later,' she said. 'For now, just focus on stayin' sober. If it takes doughnuts and lattes, so be it. It's better than drinkin'!'

With that in mind, Frank wheeled past the wine display, dropping two pints of Cherry Garcia and a bag of cookies into the cart. What the hell, she thought, adding another bag. A woman had to have something to do during surveillance.

CHAPTER 22

Thursday—13 Jan 05, Tribeca

I still got it.

Made a spectacular dinner. Pork loin roasted in black currant and apple glaze, surrounded by roasted butternut squash and potatoes, accompanied by autumn fruit chutney and sauteed chard with pignoli and red currants. Washed it all down with sparkling pear juice—okay, so pear juice doesn't have the panache of a Fume or a Chard, but still and all it was damn good. Especially for a woman who didn't think she'd ever cook again.

Bought everything at Dean & Deluca's. I’ve wanted to shop there since I was a kid. Insanely expensive but worth it to see Annie's face when I served her dinner. She's fun to cook for, grateful, and it makes me feel useful. And I’m hungry. Really hungry. Maybe it's the weather, but I actually enjoyed cooking for the first time since I quit drinking. Maybe because I was in a different kitchen. No memories or empty liquor cabinets to haunt me.

Maybe I should move. Rent the house out and get an apartment closer to work. There's too many memories at home. Leaving that house would really be leaving Maggie. Maybe it's time. Leave Maggie, the booze, all the old hurts. Make a fresh start. I feel like Tm starting a whole new life— someone said in a meeting that the only thing that changes when you quit drinking is everything. And Tm starting to see that. How old habits and ideas have to go. Like holding onto my pain. It's all got to go. It's stuff I have to look square in the eye and say good-bye to, no matter how difficult or painful.

Cried at the cemetery today. Embarrassing as hell but it felt good. Like lancing an abscess and letting all the pus drain out. Felt clean when I was done. Raw, but clean.

This sobriety is a trip. Got to admit it's kind of interesting to see where it's going to take me next. Hell of a lot more interesting than sitting on my couch with one hand wrapped around a liter and the other around a 9-millimeter. Hey, Tm a fucking poet! Christ, what a life that was. Fucking sad. And crazy. Apple doesn't fall far from the tree. Mildly cirrhotic like dear old Da, and mildly mental like dear old Ma. Yeah, okay so maybe I fell close to the tree, but I landed on a hill, baby, and Tm rolling. Watch me—

CHAPTER 23

Frank put the pen down when her phone rang. The number on the screen was Gail's.

'Hey,' Frank answered.

'Hey yourself. How's it going?'

'It's going. No match to the prints but we talked to the groundskeepers at the cemetery and they say the flowers are changed about every two weeks, so I'm staking the place out.'

'Did they know who was leaving the flowers?'

'Nah. Whoever it is apparently comes during the weekend when they're off, so I still don't even know if it's a man or a woman. To show you how unobjective I am about this, Annie suggested maybe it was an old flame and I about came undone. In a normal case that probably would have occurred to me in five minutes, but here? No way. Still don't like the idea but I've braced myself for it. Promised Annie that if and when I see whoever it is, I won't talk to her. Or him. Just tail our mystery guest and let Annie do the interviewing. Least I can do, right? It's her case.'

'Well, maybe you'll find him or her this weekend. Then you can come home.'

'Maybe. With any luck.'

'Would you like me to pick you up when you come in?'

'That'd be wonderful, if you have time.'

'Let me know when and I'll see if I can swing it.'

'You got it. Thanks. How you doing?'

'I'm okay. Tired. Wish I was still on vacation. Did you hear about Rodney Bentley?'

'The old anchor for KABC?'

'Yeah. During the last storm he called nine-one-one claiming his wife and two kids were trapped in a car that had gone off the road into the LA River. He said she'd called on her cell phone crying that they were being carried off by the current. Two hours later CHP retrieved the car with everyone dead inside. We did a routine autopsy but there wasn't any fluid in the wife's lungs, plus she has markings around her neck and petechial hemorrhage inconsistent with drowning. So it looks more like triple homicide than accidental death and the media's in a feeding frenzy. I even had a reporter waiting outside my apartment when I got home last night.'

'Who caught the case?'

'The Sheriff's Department. Did Bobby tell you about the domestic you had?'

'Yeah. Said it was a slam dunk.'

'How are they getting along without you?'

'Surprisingly well. Seems I'm completely expendable.'

'Not completely.'

'How so?'

After a long pause, Gail said, 'I probably shouldn't say this, but I miss you.'

'You do?'

'Yeah. A little.'

'Only a little?'

'Don't push it.'

'Yeah, I'm bad at that, huh?'