George Pelecanos - The Night Gardener

Cook picked up his Stetson, which looked brand-new. He fitted it on his head and got out of the car.

The sunlight was pleasant on his face, and he could smell lilacs in the air. His wife tended carefully to the tree that blossomed in the front yard. It must be April, thought Cook, as he walked toward the house. 'Cause that's when those lilacs bloom.

He approached the kids playing on the sidewalk. The boy holding the ropes on one side was fresh in his teens, with thick eyeglasses and a gangly build. The girl holding the other side was also young but had the lush curves of a woman. She had a hint of mischief in her eyes.

The girl in the middle, who was double-Dutching with ease, had beautiful dark brown skin and eyes. The sunlight winked off the colored beads in her braided hair. She jumped out of the ropes fluidly and stopped to stare at Cook, standing by the curb. She smiled at him, and he returned her smile.

'Hello, young lady,' said Cook.

'Sergeant Cook?'

'It's me.'

'We thought you forgot us.'

'No, darling,' said Cook. 'I never did.'

'You wanna play with us?'

'I'm too old. You don't mind, I'll just watch.'

Eve Drake made a come-on gesture with her hand, and the kids resumed their game. T.C. Cook stepped toward them in the bright and warming light.

Holiday put his fingers to the neck of T. C. Cook and found no pulse. The man's face was waxy under the Mercury's dome light. He had seen enough corpses to know that Cook was dead.

Holiday closed the door and went back to his Lincoln. He phoned Gus Ramone and told him what had happened and where he was. Ramone said he'd be there shortly.

Holiday returned to the Marquis, opened the back door, and stared at Cook.

I killed him, thought Holiday. He wasn't strong enough to work.

The latex gloves on Cook's hands and the jimmy bar and flashlight on the floor told Holiday that Cook had been planning a break-in at the home of Reginald Wilson.

In the front seat he found the mini-cassette tape recorder beside Cook's Stetson. He rewound the tape, pushed the 'play' button, and listened to the recording. His emotions welled up as he heard the old cop speak his name and praise him. He pulled the tape from the recorder and slipped it into his jacket pocket. He took the gloves off Cook's hands and stuffed them in the same pocket. Then he took the recorder, the jimmy bar, and the flashlight and placed them in the trunk of his Town Car. While the lid was open, he transferred some items from Cook's trunk into his own, including some cop tools and a shop rag. He would use that later to wipe his prints from Cook's car.

He had been very quiet. No one had come out of a house and no one had driven down the street. Holiday sat down on the curb and smoked a Marlboro. He was working on another one when Ramone's Tahoe turned the corner and pulled up behind the Town Car.

Ramone sat behind the wheel, finishing his call to Regina. He had been speaking to her on his cell as he drove into RG. County. When he was done telling her about Asa Johnson and the events of his day, including the death of Cook, he assured her that he would not be home too late. He asked her to keep Diego up if she could. He wanted to speak to him before he went to sleep.

Ramone killed the engine and got out of the SUV. Holiday stood to meet him. They nodded at each other but did not speak. Then Ramone went to the Marquis and examined Cook. Ramone returned to where Holiday stood leaning against the Lincoln.

'Why was he here?' said Ramone.

'That's Reginald Wilson's house over there.'

'The security guard.'

'Right,' said Holiday.

'He was, what, surveilling him?'

'He was doing what he'd been doing for the last twenty years. He was looking for a break in the case.'

'That's a long time to play a hunch.'

'Cook wasn't wrong too often when he was homicide police. If you could DNA Wilson-'

'No PC.'

'Fuck probable cause.'

'It would be nice if it worked that way.'

Holiday lit another smoke. His hand shook as he held the match.

'You call this in?' said Ramone.

'Not yet.'

'When were you planning to do that?'

'After I move him off this street. I'm gonna take him up to Good Luck Road and park his car in a strip mall. I'll wipe my prints off and call in an anonymous.'

'That's gettin' to be a habit with you.'

'I don't want him found here.'

'Why not?'

'Long while back, the Post did a feature on Cook,' said Holiday. 'The headline read, "Years Later, Palindrome Murders Still Haunt Retired Detective,' something like that. The article quoted Cook as saying he strongly suspected a man named Reginald Wilson who by then had been incarcerated on other charges. It made Cook out to be half nuts. It's possible that some reporter's gonna go through the morgue material and connect Cook to Wilson and this street. The old man shouldn't go out like that. He doesn't deserve it.'

'Maybe not,' said Ramone. 'But you're committing a crime.'

'I shouldn't have taken him out with me. I owe him some dignity in death.'

'He was a sick man, Danny. It was his time. It doesn't look like he went out with much pain.'

'He went out not knowing.'

'We might never know,' said Ramone. 'Chances are, the Palindrome case won't ever be closed. You know this. We don't always get to win in the end. It's not about slaps on the back and confetti.'

'He wasn't looking for glory. He wanted to solve this for those kids.'

'How do you solve a murder? Tell me. 'Cause I'd really like to know.'

'What are you talkin about?'

'Would finding that killer raise those kids back from the dead? Would it bring closure to the families? What would it solve, exactly?' Ramone shook his head bitterly. 'I lost the idea a long time ago that I was accomplishing anything. Occasionally I put assholes away for life, knowing they can't kill again. That's how I speak for the fallen few. But as far as solving goes? I don't solve shit. I go to work every day and I try to protect my wife and kids from the bad things that are out there. That's my mission. That's all I can do.'

'I don't believe that.'

'Well, you always were a better cop than me.'

'No, I wasn't,' said Holiday. 'You say I was good, and so did the old man. But I wasn't.'

'That's history.'

'No. Earlier tonight I came up on the uniform I was tailing, and we had a little talk. Officer Grady Dunne. He didn't have anything to do with Asa Johnson or Reginald Wilson. But he was polluted. I'm sayin the guy had maggots crawling around inside him.' Holiday hit his cigarette and blew smoke at his feet. 'That was me before I got tossed. Shit, that motherfucker even looked like me.'

'The poor bastard.'

'I'm serious, man. I was looking at him and I was seeing myself if I'd stayed on the force. What I would have become. No question, I was headed for a bad end. You were right to go after me. I was lucky to walk away.'

'Guys like him weed themselves out.'

'Sometimes,' said Holiday. 'And sometimes they need a little push.'

Holiday pitched his cigarette out into the street.

'You still thinking of moving the old man?' said Ramone.

'I'm doing it,' said Holiday.

'Call me when you're done. I'll pick you up.'

Holiday completed his task. Ramone retrieved him and dropped him back at his Lincoln. They heard the faint sirens of the squad cars arriving before the ambulance, and they shook hands.

'So long. Doc. I need to get home.'

As Holiday walked to his Lincoln, Ramone drove off the street. He speed-dialed Regina at their house.

'Gus?'

'It is your man,' said Ramone. 'Everything all right?'

'Diego's still up,' said Regina. 'Alana's in her bedroom, talking to her dolls. We're all just waitin on you.'