C Box - Three Weeks to Say Goodbye

I felt like I’d had the breath punched out of me.

I carried her toward the back parking lot of the chapel where I’d seen a couple of black-and-whites and Torkleson’s nondescript Crown Victoria. The cops were there, no doubt, to see who came to the funeral because the case was still wide-open. Torkleson leaned against his Crown Vic talking with another detective-they stood out as cops even at a funeral where there were more suits and ties than usual- and a couple of uniforms.

Torkleson must have seen something in my face as I approached because he excused himself from his colleagues and met me on the sidewalk.

“Hello, Jack,” Torkleson said.

“You said Malcolm Harris was connected with Aubrey Coates,” I said. “How did you find that out?”

Torkleson shrugged. “Phone records, e-mails, uploads, downloads. A lot of technical evidence concerning ISPs and proxy servers and other stuff I really don’t understand, but from what I was told, Coates transmitted big files and images overseas from that trailer of his. The Brits traced it back from Harris’s computer. Unfortunately, we don’t have the original files anymore, as you know.” He shot a look over my shoulder to see if Cody was lurking anywhere and could attack.

“I don’t know where Cody is,” I said. “Don’t worry about him.”

“Why are you asking me this?” he said.

I said, “Because I’m pretty sure if you dug into the evidence for the charges, you’ll find communication between Harris and Coates and someone else here in this city.”

Torkleson looked at me closely. “We’ve got a team assigned to that,” he said. “They’re working with the Brits and Interpol. Perverts are getting arrested one by one all over the world. Are you talking about someone in particular?”

“Judge Moreland or his son Garrett,” I said. “Or both.”

Torkleson closed his eyes and took a deep breath and moaned. “Not again,” he said. “You know what happened when I sent officers to his house based on your so-called tip.”

“This is different,” I said. “Of all the places he could relocate, Malcolm Harris chose Denver. He said he was coming here because he would be bulletproof . Somebody assured him it would be fine for him. And what better proof of it than when a child pornographer and molester like Aubrey Coates gets set free in Judge Moreland’s own courtroom?”

Torkleson started to argue, but stopped. I could see wheels turning, things falling into place for him as they did for me.

“How do you know Harris?” Torkleson asked.

“I met with him on behalf of the CVB,” I said. “Before we knew what he was.”

“Jesus Christ,” he whispered.

“Do you have access to the evidence against Harris?”

He nodded. “I’d have to get with one of our tech guys to interpret it,” he said. “But I think we have all the supporting documentation that’s been compiled. It’s just a matter of cross-referencing phone calls, e-mail addresses, IP stuff-I think. ”

“Can you try?” I asked.

Torkleson looked over his shoulder to assure himself we hadn’t been overheard by his colleagues. “I’ll try,” he said softly.

“Thank you,” I said, wanting to kiss him.

“But I don’t think it will pan out,” he said, putting his hand on my shoulder. “If there are electronic trails from Coates and Harris to Moreland or his son, I think we’d already know it. This case has been in the works for a hell of a long time.”

“I understand,” I said. “But won’t it be easier if you’re specifically looking at a particular target-Moreland’s or Garrett’s computers or phones-than cross-referencing a whole city?”

“Maybe,” he said. “I don’t know.”

By then Angelina had lost all patience and worked her arms free and was swinging at me, her little fists thumping against my topcoat lapels. “Down! Down! ”

“ Angelina, no. ” The tone of my voice silenced her. She began to cry, and I was sorry I had snapped at her.

THAT NIGHT I ROLLED over in bed and opened my eyes and caught Melissa sitting there in the dark staring at me, a drink in her hand. No doubt wondering why she’d married a man who couldn’t keep her family together.

WHEN THE TELEPHONE RANG at seven thirty in the morning, I rolled over and grabbed it, rubbing my eyes and hoping it was Torkleson or Cody with news. After waking to find Melissa watching me the night before, I hadn’t slept for hours and had just fallen asleep.

“Is everything ready for tomorrow?” Judge John Moreland asked.

I didn’t respond.

Moreland said, “I know this has got to be tough. Please don’t make it any tougher on either one of us than it needs to be.”

I said, “I’m on to you.”

There was a beat of silence. He said, “What?”

“You heard me. You’ll be in prison, where you can never touch a little girl again. And you know what happens to your kind in prison.”

When he spoke again he sounded angry and impatient. “I have no earthly idea what you’re talking about.” I had hoped he would act guilty and reveal himself. He was a good actor.

“Really?” I said.

“You’ve gone off the deep end. I hate to say it, but getting the baby out of that… environment can’t be soon enough.”

“You’ll be wearing a jumpsuit and shoes without laces, and you’ll spend all your time looking over your shoulder for the next attack,” I said.

A heavy sigh. “I’ve done everything I can to be compassionate,” Moreland said. “I never needed to give you the time, but I did. I’ve offered to help you and your wife with another placement, but you’ve spurned that offer. All I get from you is threats and paranoid rants. You accuse my son of murder and me of something I can’t even say out loud. I would have hoped this entire painful thing could have been accomplished with some kind of maturity for the sake of the child, but I see that’s just not the case.”

Man, he almost convinced me with that one. He was damned good, I’ll give him that.

“I’m on to you,” I said again.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake…”

I punched off and looked up to see Melissa in the doorway, holding Angelina in her arms.

“Was that him?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“What did he want?”

“He wanted to make sure we were ready.”

“Kind of him,” she said, with a kind of hopeless sarcasm. She closed her eyes. I stood up in case I needed to steady her. Angelina reached out for me, cried, “Da!”

I COULDN’T EVEN EAT the toast I’d made and stuck to cup after cup of coffee. With the mug in hand, I wandered through the rooms in our house as if seeing them for the first time in a while. White winter light filtered through the blinds and curtains. It was a different quality of light than fall or summer, a more dispassionate hue. It was obviously cold outside because the heater clicked on and forced warm air through the registers with regularity. I thought, Maybe this happens all the time, and I’ve just never noticed it before. I tried to remember the last time I’d checked our furnace in the basement and couldn’t recall when I’d done it.

Sanders and Morales were in their usual places. Wisps of exhaust from their running engines dissipated into the air.

I’d not told Melissa of my suspicion regarding Judge Moreland or my conversation with Detective Torkleson. Maybe I should have, but I was banking on the fact that Torkleson would call confirming the judge’s links to the ring, and it would all be over.

MELISSA DECIDED the house was missing something and decided to bake bread. Soon, the smells of baking bread filled the place, taking the edge off the day. Good call, I thought.