Gail Bowen - The Shadow Killer

My father and I both reach for our earphones. We hear Josh’s voice, small and scared. “I don’t want people to know who I am,” he says.

The top button goes dark. “You’re off air now, Josh,” I say. “We can talk.”

“You know who I am,” he says. He sounds scared. “I don’t want anybody to find out what I was planning to do.”

“Nobody’s going to find out anything,” my father says. “Charlie and I will meet you whenever you want. Wherever you’ll feel safe.”

“I want to talk to you now,” he says. “Everyone’s sleeping. I can come down the back stairs and meet you in the alley behind our house.”

“Okay,” I say. “I’ll be right there.”

“We’ll be right there,” my father says. “I’ve got my car here, and I know where Josh lives. It’s going to be all right, son,” he says. He reaches out and touches my arm. In that moment, I know that he’s speaking not just to Josh but to me.

“Could you do me a favor?” Josh asks.

“Name it,” I say.

“Could you bring me a Big Gulp from 7-Eleven?”

“Coke?”

“Yeah. Thanks, Charlie.” His laugh is small and sad. “You always know what people need.”

When the police psychologist offers to come with us to meet Josh, she doesn’t have to ask twice. Howard and I have seen Josh’s blueprints. We know his demons are powerful and that we’ll need an ally.

Dr. Elizabeth Lu is a broad-faced woman with a calming manner and shrewd eyes. She knows my father and I are on edge, so she waits for us to open the conversation.

Howard still drives his old gasguzzling Buick. Dr. Lu takes the backseat, leaving me to ride shotgun. Behind us, an unmarked car carrying four of our city’s finest follows at a discreet distance. It’s a hot night, and the car doesn’t have air-conditioning, so we drive with the windows down, listening to the music Nova has chosen to finish the show.

The mood in the old Buick is tense. We are all focused on the same question. My father, always the man of action, poses it.

“How do we handle this?” he asks.

Dr. Lu’s answer is simple and sensible.

“Follow Josh’s lead,” she says.

As we turn onto Josh’s street, Nova comes on air for the sign-off. She has a beautiful voice for radio-warm and husky-but she doesn’t like being on air, so she stays on her side of the glass. We always end our show by talking about what, if anything, we’ve learned that night.

Nova follows the pattern.

“So what have we learned on our Father’s Day show?” she asks. As soon as I hear her voice, my pulse slows. “Maybe the one lesson we’ve learned is that in the end what matters is not who your father is but who you think he is. Charlie has a favorite quote. ‘Forgive yourself for being human.’ Maybe on this Father’s Day weekend, we should all try to forgive our dads for being human.”

When we turn into the alley behind Josh’s house, the air is fragrant with the scent of nicotiana. We park and walk toward the small figure waiting by the garage. Josh is wearing shorts and a T-shirt. He has a mop of dark hair. He looks very young and very fragile.

The light from the garage glints off the blade of the carving knife he has clasped in his hand. I’m holding the Big Gulp. My father doesn’t hesitate. He extends his hand palm up.

“You’ll need both hands to hold your drink, Josh,” he says.

Josh passes him the carving knife.

“Is it over?” Josh asks.

“This part of it is,” I say. “You’ve met my father. This is Doctor Lu. She’s here to help.”

Josh sips his drink, then looks up at Doctor Lu.

“My mum has wanted me to get help for a long time. She has a doctor lined up and everything.”

“Maybe that doctor and I can work together,” Doctor Lu says. Her voice is gentle and reassuring.

“Two of you and my mother and me. That’s four against one,” Josh says, and he sounds hopeful.

We stay with him until he finishes his Big Gulp. He puts the cup in the recycle bin in front of the garage and opens the gate. Dr. Lu follows him.

“I’d like to talk to your mum tonight. If that’s okay with you.”

“It’s okay,” he says, “but what if he tries to stop us?”

“We’ll make him understand,” Dr. Lu says. She points to the unmarked police car up the alley. “Josh, there are four officers in that car. Their job is to take care of your mum and us.”

Josh nods.

“That’s good,” he says. Then he and Dr. Lu cross the yard and move toward his house.

When he speaks, Howard’s voice is thick with emotion.

“Do you think Josh is going to make it?”

“I hope so,” I say. “His chances are better than they were when the night started.”

The unmarked police car pulls up behind the Buick. I go over and tell the officers that Doctor Lu has gone into the house with Josh and that he seems calm and optimistic. The constable behind the wheel thanks me. My father hands the constable the carving knife, and we walk to the car. For the first time that night, the tension that has been pressing down on me like a weight is lifted. Howard and I exchange a glance, and then, in unison, we exhale.

I call Nova from the car.

“Josh has just taken the first step,” I say. “He and Dr. Lu have gone into his house to talk to Josh’s mother. It’s a beginning.”

Nova’s voice is tight.

“It could have been an ending. Charlie, I was so scared.”

“Howard and I listened to you on the way over. You sounded great.”

Her laugh is strained.

“Fake it until you make it,” she says. “But I’m going to stick to the control room. I don’t have to fake it there.”

“You’re the best producer in the business,” I say.

“And I still have a job,” Nova says. “So do you. Henry Burgh called a few minutes ago. He made Evan an offer for CVOX that Evan couldn’t refuse. And guess who our new boss is? Misty de Vol. Henry is giving Misty CVOX as a wedding gift.”

I laugh. “Now that is kick-ass news. Howard and I are going for coffee. Want us to swing by and pick you up?”

“Thanks,” she says. “But I think your coffee date with Howard should be a father-son thing.”

“You’re probably right,” I say. “Howard and I have a lot of ground to cover.”

When we pull out of the alley, my father turns on the radio, and we hear “Cat’s in the Cradle” again. We listen to Harry Chapin’s sweet melodic voice without speaking.

When the song is over, Howard says, “That’s a good song. Did he write anything else?”

“Nothing anybody remembers,” I say. “He was killed in a car accident when he was thirty-eight years old.”

“We never know how much time we have, do we?” Howard says.

“No,” I say. “We never know.” And then I reach over and touch my father’s hand.