CODA
Coda: Italian: a concluding event or piece
A sharp knock at the door brought her head up from the Mount Everest sized folder of end of the month reports. Peering over her glasses, she saw Benny Montalvo's six foot four, 220 pound, USC Linebacker body filling the frame.
"Hey Cap"
"Hey Ben"
"Just wanted to remind you about Giamatti's tonight. Make an appearance about nine, ok? The guys want to see you get your present"
"Got it. Giamatti's. Tonight. Nine pm. Will do"
"It's your party, remember".
"uhhuh".
Benny stepped into the office. "You ok, Boss?"
She looked up at him "Yeah Ben, I'm fine. Just finishing these reports is all."
Need anything before I go?"
"No, I'm good".
"Ok, see you later then." Her exec moved toward the door. "Oh, and you got this. Dropped off an hour ago when you were meeting with the Commissioner." Montalvo handed her a heavy vellum envelope.
She put it in her desk drawer to read later. "Thanks, Benny, I'll see you later."
"Bet on it Boss, because I'm putting out the APB on you personally if you aren't at Giamatti's by nine"
Shadows began to lengthen by the time she finished her reports. Opening her drawer, she took out the envelope Benny had left with her. Although there was no return address on it, she recognized it immediately. She'd typed enough letters for him on it. Taking a letter opener, she slit the envelope. It was unsigned but the handwriting was unmistakable, she had read it for close to twenty years.
"Fran-
Know you're trying to tie up loose ends at Mission, but here's another one. Think of this as a coda.
114 Terrace Hills Dr, Rm 18 City"
That would be the Chief, cryptic as usual. He wanted her to do one more thing. Keying the address into Google, she found it was the address for The Vale, a hospice. "Who do I know that needs hospice care?" she wondered aloud. Pushing her glasses back into her hair, she rubbed her eyes and got up stretching. Scooping up the paperwork, she put it neatly in a wire basket, took her coat and purse off the coat rack and turned around to take one last look at her office. It was devoid of the human touches she'd given it. They had all gone home with her earlier. Turning off the lights, Fran Belding locked the door, and without a backward glance took the elevator to the garage.
In the parking spot was her, no, she corrected herself, their, SUV. It was hers technically til midnight. One more drive to solve this mystery, then return it and she'd cab it to Giamatti's and home. Sliding in the driver's side, she punched the address in the Garmin, turned the key and at the top of the drive followed the Garmin's cheery direction to "Turn Left".
Thirty minutes later she had successfully fought crosstown traffic and turned into the parking lot of the Vale. Fran entered the building and from a cheery desk clerk, given the directions to room 18.
She rapped on the door.
"Yeah, c'mon in", a voice rasped.
The room's light was dim but she could make out its basic features. A large couch, a couple of comfortable chairs, a round dining table, and a power recliner. In the center of the room was an oversized hospital bed with a body in it, a man. Fran looked at him. He was skin stretched over bone. She moved towards him.
"Lady Frances" he rasped.
A memory clicked. Her first case with the Chief, Mark, and Ed. "Charlie? Charlie Rhine? Is it you?"
"Yeah. It's me". He coughed explosively. Fran slipped her arm behind him as he hacked and wheezed. After a while, the coughing slowed, and she eased him back on the bed. Charlie waved his hand feebly at the bedside dresser and she gave him a sip of water through a straw.
"You were always the girl of my dreams."
"You were always a shameless flirt". She pulled a chair close to the bedside.
"I'm dying."
"I'm sorry, Charlie."
"Cancer. Too many years of smoking those things, waiting for things to happen. That's all a guy can do in the joint; think and smoke, if he wants to stay outta trouble. You and the Chief were the ones that threw me into jail long enough to give me time to think about things. I tried to change, but I'm a leopard; couldn't change my spots no matter how I tried."
"You were my first case."
"Saw…inna cop paper you were….retiring." His voice had lost its earlier energy.
"Tonight."
"Gotta party planned?"
"They do."
"Lemme guess… Giamatti's... You cops been goin'... there... forever."
"They have what cops like, cheap drinks, and good food. Why did you ask me to come Charlie?"
He was silent for a while. Fran thought he might have fallen asleep, then.
"I owe you an apology".
"For what?"
"Getting you in that mess with Joe, me, an Eddie Rogers. Taking your dad away from you."
"It's ok Charlie."
"Naw, I didn't know Joe ..was gonna have your old man... killed. Didn't know... Betty, that Betty was...gonna do... it. Not, til...after."
"It's ok Charlie.".
"I told Joe….your old man, he didn't need ... to get killed. Just ...dropping the three... hundred large on him... woulda ... woulda been enough. Not enough for …for...Joe. He wanted to be the big... big...man." He broke into coughing. This time he couldn't stop. Fran pressed a buzzer, a nurse came in with a bottle and a syringe sealed in a white paper and cellophane packet. She shook the bottle briskly and tapped it to break up the air bubbles. Then unwrapping the syringe, she briskly rubbed Charlie's skin with alcohol, drew a dose, checked it, then inserted the needle.
"I warned you, Charlie, coughing like this will kill you." She said in a singsong voice flavored with the Philippines.
Charlie's body began to relax. "Come again Lady Frances." His eyes closed and he slid into sleep.
"I will Charlie. Sleep well," knowing he couldn't hear her whisper as she left the room.
"You're his first visitor, except for the gentleman in the wheelchair who visited the other day."
"Do you know why he asked me to visit?"
"No, no idea."
"Will you tell him I'll be back to see him tomorrow."
"Of course".
Her squad had closed Giamatti's for the night to host her party. It felt strange that tomorrow, there would be no hubbub, no constantly ringing phones. This weekend she would go to an artist's retreat and starting Monday, her days would be filled with preparations to move to Austria. As she looked out on the crowd of co-workers & friends, she knew it was a difficult choice, but the right one to make. Unlike some of her coworkers, she'd survived. She'd left on top. Amidst the plaques, presents, hugs, and well wishes given her, she looked for a quiet place. A drink was thrust into her hand. She looked up into the familiar face of Mark Sanger.
"C'mon over here. We've been waiting for you to get away from the muckies."
"Hey your Honor, the muckies gave a $4000 donation to KidsArt in my name, so be a little nice to them."
Mark laughed, his smile partly hidden by his mustache, took her arm and led her to the far side of the room.
"Well, well, here's our girl!" The Chief said jovially as Fran and Mark approached the table that he, his wife Katherine, and Diana Sanger, were sitting at. "Quite a night. Quite a night." He took her hands in his.
"So, as of midnight, you start experiencing the joys of uninterrupted sleep?" Katharine asked
"I don't know what to do with that."
"Enjoy it while you can, because you'll make up for that with the unbridled joy of German dative case," Ironside pronounced.
"I get until Monday morning. But in the meantime, I've got a mystery to solve."
"What's that?" Diana asked.
"Why Charlie Rhine really wanted to see me."
"Charlie Rhine? Joe Julian's gofer? There's a blast from the past," Mark replied.
"Exactly. The Chief sent over a note, no name, just an address and it turned out to be a room at a hospice, he's dying."
Ironside shrugged his shoulders. "Personally, I was just as surprised as you when he contacted me." Fran looked into her mentor's face. He knew exactly why Charlie wanted to see her. He wasn't going to give any other information.
"He apologized for my father's death, but there's more to it. I'm going to stop by before I head to Monterey tomorrow. Hopefully, he'll tell me then."
"Maybe he just wanted to clear his soul." This from Katherine.
Early the next morning, Fran arrived at the hospice, signing in at the desk. No directions needed this time, she knew where she was going.
The room was closed. Opening the door, there was no one there. It was as if Charlie Rhine never existed.
"Are you Ms. Belding?", a voice spoke behind her.
"Yes," she said turning around "I am".
"I'm Patricia Goins, the head nurse here. Charlie died earlier this morning."
She was quiet.
"This is for you." She said handing over a large envelope.
Fran pulled out a sheet of paper covered in spidery handwriting.
"Lady Frances,
I'm glad I saw you. I knew I didn't have much time left when I talked to Ironside, he said you were tired of being a cop and going to Austria to start life fresh. He said you'd gotten a grant, so probably you wouldn't take this to help you out. He called it "Blood Money". Chief always had a way with words. He's probably right about this too. This is the 300K Joe had Artie plant on your old man all those years ago. Joe and Betty can't use it. They're gone. Eddie Rogers never knew who really stole it from him, and I can't use it, not where I'm going.
So, you do something good with it.
I always liked you, you were a good kid. I wanted to make things right with you before I faced St Pete. Have a good life, be happy. You deserve that much and find some guy like that Sgt. Brown to share your life with. He's not very funny, but he's a good guy. Light a candle for me sometime too, would you?"
Charles Rhine, Esq.
She looked in the envelope. Inside was Charlie's bankbook. Fran knew she couldn't accept the money. The Chief, as usual, already knew what her response would be. She turned to the nurse.
"Here, Charlie wanted me to make sure you got this present from him". Handing her the envelope, she walked out of the building.
The Chief was right. It was a coda. The circle had come around full.
In memory of Elizabeth Baur, 1. December 1947 - 30. September 2017. Lux Perpetua et aeternum dona ei Pacem.