David Jackson - The Helper

‘Yes, they did. My answer was no. Nobody that I know of.’

‘Anything bothering him recently? Any financial worries, that kind of thing?’

She hesitates before answering. ‘Sean was a very troubled man, Cal. It started a long time before last night. But as for anything specific happening more recently, the answer is no again.’

Now it’s Doyle’s turn to pause. He tries to slip the next question in with as much nonchalance as he can muster.

‘I don’t suppose that Sean was the type of guy who might have put his troubles down on paper? In a diary or a notebook maybe?’

She gives him a quizzical look. ‘No. That wasn’t Sean. He needed an outlet, all right, but writing wouldn’t have done it for him.’

‘What about a computer? You have one of those at home? Maybe Sean made a connection with the wrong people on the Internet.’

Now her brow is furrowed in suspicion. ‘No, we’ve never seen the attraction. I guess that Sean and I have always been old-fashioned in that way.’

Give it up, Doyle tells himself. The diary, the computer — there’s nothing there. That’s not the way you’re gonna find the killer. So what is? What possible link can there be between this woman’s husband, a young girl who worked in a bookstore, and a nurse who was having an affair? What am I missing?

‘Cal,’ she says. ‘Why did you come here?’

Just when he thought he’d gotten away with it.

‘I. . I’m not sure what you mean.’

‘Sean and I were married to each other for thirty-one years. In all that time I hardly ever asked him about his police work. Not because I wasn’t interested, but because I was frightened. I didn’t want to hear about the drug addicts and the murderers and the rapists he had to clean off our streets. I didn’t want to know that Sean was putting himself in dangerous situations each day, that he was putting his life on the line. Closing myself off to those things somehow helped me not to worry that he might not come home one day. But I still managed to learn a few things. I know, for example, that investigations are usually carried out by the squad controlling the precinct in which the crime takes place. You’re in the Eighth Precinct, Cal. That’s east side. It’s not here in the Village. Now a minute ago you told me that you’re not working Sean’s case. Fine. Except that you’re asking some damn strange questions for someone who’s not officially involved. What’s going on, Cal?’

Go ahead, he thinks. Worm your way out of that one.

‘I don’t know if you read about it — maybe Sean told you about it — but just before Christmas I was involved in a big case. Some cops died. People thought I had something to do with it. Some still do. Anyway, after it was all over, the Department wanted to make sure the fire didn’t start up again, so they made sure I went nowhere near the matches. They started giving me the cases nobody else wanted. If there was a dumpster to be searched, I was your man.’

‘That must have been tough on you.’

‘It was okay at first. But now I’m starting to get kinda sick of it. So I’m looking for a way out, a way to redeem myself in the eyes of the Department. If it means working cases in my spare time, then that’s what I’ll do. You’re right, I’m not officially on Sean’s case, and the PD would go nuts if they found out I was working it. But the answer I have to give you is that I am looking for Sean’s killer, and some of the reasons for doing that are selfish ones.’

He waits for her to yell, ‘Liar, liar, pants on fire!’ After the plate of horseshit he just served to her, it’s the least he deserves. But instead she lets it ride. It seems to Doyle that she senses it’s wise not to pursue this too closely. She is giving him her trust, on the assumption that he will repay it when he is able. And although he is grateful, he doesn’t feel too bad about himself. Because his real reasons are not at all selfish. He wants to get to this killer so that he can stop him. That’s it, pure and simple. Nothing to do with improving his image. He couldn’t give a rat’s ass about what others might think of him. Lies or no lies, he feels he can hold his head high, and he guesses that Mrs Hanrahan detects that too.

Her smile is a knowing one. ‘All right, Cal. Then I wish you well. Whatever your reasons, I hope you get whoever did this. Perhaps even my daughter would find some forgiveness in her heart if the NYPD could catch her father’s killer.’

‘Forgiveness?’

She pauses, but only briefly. ‘As I said before, Sean was a troubled man. I’m sure you already know that he was a drunk. He was probably drunk last night. If he hadn’t been, maybe his guard wouldn’t have been down. But that’s beside the point. Sean turned to drink after his partner was killed. He blamed himself, even though it wasn’t his fault. I believe that’s a very common reaction in your job.’

Oh yeah, thinks Doyle. Been there, done that, still wearing the scars.

She says, ‘His whole character changed. I’m not saying he became violent or anything, but he wasn’t the same man. Fiona in particular couldn’t come to terms with it. Even though she was a grown woman when this happened, one minute Sean was her daddy, and the next he wasn’t. She took it hard, and she blamed Sean’s job. Not for the shooting itself, but for the lack of support which followed. She felt that the NYPD were never really there for him. And when it just got worse, we started to worry that Sean might. . well, that he might harm himself. To be honest, when I heard the news that Sean had been shot in our apartment, my first thought was that he’d done it himself.’

‘The job has counselors for this kind of thing. Didn’t Sean go to see any of them?’

She shakes her head. ‘I think he was afraid that word would get around, and that it would be seen as a sign of weakness. It took me long enough to get him to see a private counselor, but Sean couldn’t stick with that either, even though Fiona and Brett were willing to keep paying. He only went to two sessions with Dr Vasey before he gave up, and then-’

‘I’m sorry,’ says Doyle. ‘Who did you say he went to see?’

‘Dr Vasey,’ she answers. ‘Dr Andrew Vasey.’

Bingo!

A connection.

Cindy Mellish and Sean Hanrahan were clients of the same therapist. Dr Andrew Vasey. Vasey is the missing link.

Okay, Lorna Bonnow hasn’t been tied into this yet, but maybe that’ll come. Maybe she too was a client of Vasey’s.

To Doyle, spring seems instantly sunnier and warmer. He almost feels like singing as he races back to the station house. Finally he has something to work with.

All he has to do now is convince the squad to go with him on this.

Yeah, sure. That’ll be easy. It’ll be just what they’ve been waiting for. Doyle coming in and saying, ‘Hey guys. Drop what you’re doing. Forget everything you did for the last few days. Here’s what we need to do next. Yes, I know that these are not my cases, but that’s okay. There’s no need to thank me.’

Should be a breeze.

When he gets to the House, he decides to start small. From little acorns and all that. No point in getting everybody excited all at once. So he takes Jay Holden aside and invites him once again into the interview room crowded with too many file cabinets.

Holden says, ‘Why do I get the feeling you’re about to tell me something I don’t wanna hear?’

‘Maybe it’s because I’m about to tell you something you don’t wanna hear.’

Holden looks up at the ceiling. ‘Shit.’

There’s nothing Doyle can do now but spit it out. ‘I just came back from seeing Sean Hanrahan’s wife.’

Holden looks at him. ‘Please tell me it was a personal visit. Please tell me you weren’t looking to work that case.’