into law enforcement, he gets frustrated by the personalities I've had
to deal with over the years. The colorful language he uses to discuss
my office is his way of showing he's on my side.
'I guess so. The new supervisor's this guy named Russ Frist. Seems
pretty decent so far.'
'Any cases look interesting yet?'
'You know, they're interesting, but a little depressing. I'd rather
hear about what you've been up to. We've hardly talked since I got
back.'
'You know me. Typical retiree stuff: a couple of movies, some
gardening, a trip to the shooting range. Exciting, I know.'
'I noticed that my lawn was mowed while I was gone. Thanks.'
'No problem. It's not like anyone else needs me. So what kept you so
late at the office?'
He was trying to be subtle, but he obviously wanted to know if I was
involved in what he was still following as a missing persons case.
'You probably saw the coverage on the administrative law judge. I was
wrapped up in that most of the day. Actually, I started working on it
last night.'
'Jeez, Sam. The minute I saw the news this morning, I knew it. Do you
really need to be on a case like this one right off the bat?'
'Those are the kinds of cases I'm working on now, Dad. Major crimes
tend to come with the territory in the Major Crimes Unit.'
'Very clever, wiseacre. But you know this isn't the usual territory.
You're going to be right in the middle of the firestorm, cameras all
over you. Nothing will bring out the crazies faster. Did you ask your
office to put you on something else until you get used to the new
rotation?'
'No, Dad, and I don't plan to. This is my job; you should be proud of
me for getting promoted. I didn't become a prosecutor to handle drug
cases the rest of my life.'
My first excursion from my standard drug and vice caseload had finally
come last month when I had prosecuted a psychopath for the rape and
attempted murder of a teenage prostitute. By the time the case was
closed, a couple of nut jobs had broken into my house, bashed me on the
head, and killed the former supervisor of the Major Crimes Unit. I'd
avoided a similar fate only because I'd forced myself to become a good
shot years ago when my ex-husband insisted on keeping a gun in our
apartment. My father may have been a lawman himself, but he hadn't
gotten used to the idea of his little girl shooting her way out of
trouble.
'I am proud of you, Sam,' he said, 'but maybe you should hold off on
something so big. You're finally out of the spotlight after the
Derringer case. This one's going to put you right back out there. For
all you know, this judge has run off on a lark. She'll be home safe
and sound, and you'll end up the target of some obsessed freak who saw
your picture one too many times in the paper.'
'Well, this is what I want, OK? And, anyway, she didn't run off, as
you say. They found her body today. She's dead. It's a murder case.
Does that make you feel better about me handling it?'
I should've stopped then. I'd already gone too far. But I was tired,
stressed out, and angry for reasons I couldn't even understand.
'There's no way I'm walking away from a case like this,' I said. 'Maybe
you hung up OSP and ran off to the forest service, but I'm sticking it
out.'
I apologized immediately, but the words were still out there. I was
too young to remember the switch, but I knew Dad had quit the Oregon
State Police to become a forest ranger when I was still a kid. My
mother had never been particularly comfortable as a cop's wife. You
never knew when that expired tag you pulled over on highway patrol was
going to belong to a guy running from a warrant, thinking to himself,
I'm never going back.
I had vague recollections of my parents' hushed arguments behind their
bedroom door about Dad's job. At the time, I had no idea what they
were all about, but in retrospect, and in light of the timing, I
gathered that Mom had put the screws to him.
And so Dad had let go of his law enforcement dreams to patrol Oregon's
national forests until his retirement just last year. He enjoyed the
steady outdoor hours and his federal pension, but I knew he sometimes
wondered what he'd missed out on in the career he left behind for his
family.
'I just want you to be proud of me, Dad. When you treat me like a
little girl, I feel like I'm not in control of anything in my life.'
'You know I'm proud of you, Sammy. Of course I'm proud of you, not
just for your work but for everything you've accomplished. I'm sorry I
even brought this up. This isn't about you,
