Michael McGarrity: Everyone Dies

“So am I,” Clayton said. “Do you think it’s over?”

“God, I hope so.”

“Who was that guy?”

“I’m not sure,” Kerney answered. “Let’s take a closer look.”

In the hallway, Kerney bent over the body, removed the cap, wig, and mustache, and studied the man’s face. There was something vaguely familiar to it, but nothing registered clearly.

“Nope,” Kerney said, and without thinking he rose up and kicked the nameless, dead son of a bitch in the side as hard as he could.

It took most of the day to sort things out. Richard Finney, AKA Samuel Green, had been a fourteen-year-old runaway who’d robbed and brutally murdered an elderly Laundromat owner. He was one of the two potential suspects on Kerney’s list Molina and his team had been unable to locate.

With a number of other officers Kerney had been sweeping the neighborhood near the crime scene on the night of the murder when Finney came at him from behind a vacant house, screaming obscenities and swinging a hammer. He shot Finney in the groin from a distance of four feet. At the time, he had no idea how young Finney was, but would have shot him anyway to stop the attack.

Kerney sat in Andy’s unit while his friend read Finney’s old juvie case file. Still rattled by the events of the day, a few moments of silence were a welcome relief.

“I guess losing your balls is enough to make anyone hold a grudge,” Andy said, closing the case file and handing it back to Kerney. “But why didn’t he just come after you? Sure, Potter handled the case in juvie court and Manning did the psych evaluation. But Finney made a straight-up confession, and Manning thought he could be rehabilitated.”

Kerney shrugged.

“And why did he wait so long to do it?”

Kerney shook his head.

“Why the Olsen disguise?” Andy asked. “Was it some sort of ‘look how smart I am’ kind of thing?”

“Who knows,” Kerney said. He leaned back against the headrest of Andy’s unit and thought about the two dead people at the flower shop, and the skeleton of a woman that had been found buried in the yard of the burned-out house where Finney had once lived.

He watched the crime scene techs loading up their gear. The DA had come and gone, as had the ME. Finney’s body was en route to the autopsy table, and Clayton was inside the house going through a mandatory police-shooting interrogation with Sal Molina.

Mentally, Kerney did a body count. Aside from Potter, Manning, and Drake, there was Kurt Larsen, Mary Beth Patterson, the two flower shop victims, and the unknown woman buried in the yard. That made eight. If he’d aimed a little higher, Finney would be dead and those innocent people would still be alive. He wondered if there were more bodies Finney had left behind that no one knew about.

“At least something good came out of it,” Andy said. “After all, Finney did ice Olsen before he could murder again.”

“Yeah, there’s that,” Kerney said.

Andy’s call sign came over the police radio. He keyed the microphone and answered. The water pump in Clayton’s unit had been replaced and the vehicle was operational.

“He’ll want to go home,” Kerney said.

“What are you going to do?” Andy asked, eyeing his friend, who looked drained of all emotion. And why shouldn’t he? For almost a week, everything Kerney cared about had been on the line. Just hours ago, a murderer intent on killing his wife and newborn child had been stopped only a few steps short of his goal.

Kerney looked out the window wishing Andy would quit talking and let him clear his head.

“Got any plans?” Andy asked to goad a response.

Kerney smiled weakly. “I’m going to get to know my son, spend time with Sara, celebrate with the in-laws once they arrive, push the house project along, go down to Mescalero to visit with Clayton and his family before Sara has to report back on duty, and be grateful for all that I have.”

“Sounds like a full agenda,” Andy said.

“Yeah.” Kerney saw Clayton step onto the portal of the house and opened the car door. “That’s one hell of a good man.”

“Tell him that,” Andy said.

“I plan to,” Kerney replied as he pulled himself out of the vehicle.

Over the next several weeks, life slowly returned to normal, helped along by the visit of Sara’s family, frequent phone calls back and forth with Clayton and Grace, and the calming effect of Patrick Brannon, who seemed, in ways Kerney couldn’t quite put into words, self-assured and contented, which of course made him all the more amazing.

After the family celebration ended and the relatives departed, Kerney and Sara filled their days with frequent picnics at the ranch to watch the new house go up, shopping for the items on Sara’s wish list, and staying close to home, due to Patrick’s insistence that he be fed every two hours and be allowed to sleep whenever he wanted. They coped with it by taking lots of catnaps and alternating feeding and diaper-changing shifts.

Determined to spend as much time as he could with Sara and Patrick, Kerney went on unpaid leave when his vacation time ran out, occasionally dropping by the office to deal with a few important matters, not the least of which was Sal Molina’s retirement party.

Arrangements had been made to visit Clayton and Grace on an upcoming weekend, so Kerney booked a suite at a resort lodge in Ruidoso and made reservations to take everyone out to dinner while they were there.

The night before they left, Sara snuggled up to him on the couch.

“You haven’t said a word about the fact that I have to report back for duty in two weeks,” she said.

“And I’m not going to,” Kerney said. “It’s not an issue anymore.”

“Why is that?”

“Because,” Kerney said, taking her hand in his, “I know without a doubt that nothing can break this family apart.”