“What about the gun? How’d you know he had a gun?”
His hand was still on my arm, his blue eyes fastened intently on my face. I kept my chin up, my expression neutral. “Just knew.”
His arm finally dropped. Beside me, Tulip whined slightly, as if sensing my discomfort.
“Good work,” he said abruptly. “I think…Thank you, Charlie. I mean it, thanks.”
“I’m glad you’re okay,” I said simply. “And I’m sorry it took me so long to figure out the situation. I’ll do better next time.”
Two more shifts. That’s all she wrote. Two more shifts.
Officer Mackereth switched his attention to Tulip, who was now pressed against my leg. I noticed his hands by his side. No wedding ring, but that didn’t mean anything. Few officers wore them, not wanting to broadcast personal information in their line of work.
“I’ll take you home,” he said abruptly.
“It’s okay-” I started.
He cut me off. “Can’t take her on the T,” he said, gesturing to Tulip. “We might be open-minded,” his tone was wry, calling my bluff, “but Boston mass transit isn’t.”
He had me there. Taxi had cost me thirty bucks, nearly a third of my shift. Take another taxi home, and after taxes, why had I bothered to work at all?
I still hesitated, old instincts dying hard. Detective D. D. Warren had advised me to confide in my officers. They didn’t have ties to Randi or Jackie. They couldn’t be part of the problem, so I should make them part of the solution.
Except…In war movie logic, Officer Mackereth’s use of my name meant I’d die next. But in the story of my life, if I used Officer Mackereth’s name, he’d be the next to go. There was a reason I kept to myself; not just because I was trying to limit the pool of people who could hurt me, but because I was trying to limit the pool of people I might hurt back.
“Come on, Charlie,” Officer Mackereth said gruffly. “Cut a guy a break. You probably saved my life tonight. Least I can do is save you cab fare.”
He turned toward the door. And Tulip and I followed, Tulip with a fresh prance in her step at the unexpected attention.
I wondered what Jackie had been doing this time last year. I wondered what she’d been thinking, who she might have recently met. And I wondered, if she had known, if our trio’s erstwhile planner had foreseen her own death, what would’ve she done differently.
Said no or said yes?
That’s a central life question, don’t you think? Do you regret the things you did, or the things never done?
Eighty-four hours and counting, I followed Officer Mackereth to his vehicle.
I TOLD OFFICER MACKERETH I lived in Cambridge, by Harvard Square. Close enough, I figured. Tulip and I could walk the rest of the way from there.
Officer Mackereth, I learned, lived in Grovesnor. Meaning, given morning rush hour traffic northbound on I-93, he was now driving at least an hour out of his way. I protested again. He led me to his patrol car, which all officers drove home.
I climbed in the front, taking up position in a genuine black leather passenger seat that was quite comfortable. Tulip got the hard vinyl-covered bench in the back. Perfect for hosing down. Not so good for smooth-haired dogs. Tulip slid off twice, then gave up and lay on the floor.
“Where you from?” Officer Mackereth asked me as we hit the on-ramp for 93.
“New Hampshire.”
“Concord?”
“North, the mountains.”
“You ski?”
“A little. Cross-county.”
“Used to downhill in college,” he offered. “Tore my ACL. Cross-country might be better for me. Family?”
I squirmed in my seat, looked out the window. “Not married. You?”
“Never tried it. Seeing anyone?”
“Tulip’s pretty special,” I offered.
He chuckled. “You two been together long?”
“About to celebrate our six-month anniversary. I’m hoping she’ll bring me flowers. You have any pets?”
“No girlfriend, no kids, no pets. Two parents, one pain-in-the-ass older sister, and three adorable nieces and nephews. That’s enough for me.” His turn again: “Hobbies and interests?”
“I like to clean.”
He paused, glanced at me with his left hand on the wheel. “Seriously?”
I shrugged. “I work all night, then sleep all day. Cuts into a girl’s social life, you know.”
“Fair enough.” He glanced down at my hands fisted on my lap, stating shrewdly, “Bet you didn’t get those knuckles cleaning.”
I stared down self-consciously, wishing I’d put on my mittens, or at least tucked my hands beneath my legs. My knuckles were a mess, the valley between the joints of my pinky and ring finger swollen and purple on both hands. The remaining knuckles were abraded in several places, a collection of old and new injuries. Prizefighter hands. Not pretty, not feminine, and yet I valued this new and improved look very much.
“Boxing,” I admitted at last.
Officer Mackereth arched a brow. “Then you do have a hobby. Must be a serious one if you can do that kind of damage wearing gloves.”
I didn’t correct his assumption. Of course I fought bare-knuckled. What good were gloves gonna do me on the twenty-first?
“You seem to work mostly graveyard,” I stated, switching the focus back to him.
He nodded. “Mostly.”
“Why? You must have enough seniority to request a better rotation by now.”
Officer Mackereth shrugged. “I started out with graveyard because that’s what rookies get. And I don’t know. Guess I’ve always been a night person. I don’t mind the hours, while there are plenty of officers with families and kids and dogs, and God knows what, where graveyard would be a real pain in the ass. Seems to make more sense for me to keep the shift.”
“Team player,” I said.
“Most cops are,” he observed. “What about dispatch officers?”
“Loners,” I assured him, which wasn’t exactly true, but I was feeling impulsive. “Being shut up in a darkened room with multiple monitors and a dozen cups of java is our idea of a good time. You know what you get when you cross an air traffic controller with a tightrope walker? A nine-one-one operator.”
He laughed, a rich, easy sound that thrilled me more than it should have.
“What got you into dispatch, anyway?” he asked.
“Tried it out in Colorado. Needed a job, didn’t have a college degree. Call centers will take just about anyone, which fit my qualifications.”
As a student, I’d suffered from chronic memory issues, not to mention a limited ability to focus. It had made for a rough academic ride. Oh, the times Jackie had shaken her head at me as I’d failed yet another test. Turned out, however, that crises brought out the best in me. You don’t want me on your team for a quiz bowl, but if someone’s breaking into your house, I’m the gal to call. I planned on the adrenaline rush being my friend on the twenty- first.
“Not many dispatch officers make it through training,” Officer Mackereth observed now.
My turn to shrug. “Turned out I liked it. Every shift is different, you get to think on your feet. I’m probably painfully ADD, meaning it’s perfect. You?”
“Father’s a cop. Cliche, but there you have it. And I like it. Every shift is different. You get to think on your feet.”
Officer Mackereth exited 93 for Storrow Drive. Almost there now. Through the top of the rear divider, I could just make out Tulip’s head as she sat up in the back.
“You can drop us off in Harvard Square,” I said.
