Stay in Touch

Chapter 10

Dear Rick,

It's supposed to take three or four years to become a detective. I'm determined to shave as much off that as I can. It's hard to get any kind of information as a patrol cop, especially under Donovan's watchful eye. He has us doing a lot of traffic stops. I know those are important, especially after what happened to Mike, but I don't get much chance to talk to other cops or learn anything except the niggling details of moving vehicle violations. I don't know any more about Dick Coonan, and as far as I can tell, Jackie Coonan disappeared from the surface of the earth or at least pulled a hole so far in after him that it's impossible to dig him out.

I did have a little bit of excitement - terror actually - for about a minute. I pulled over a car of teenagers. A guy in the back seat was playing with a gun. It looked like he might point it at me, but it's lucky that I know a water pistol, even a realistic-looking one when I see it. He didn't have water in it. The kids had filled it with cheap booze and were passing it around. The driver only blew a 0.03 on the intoxilyzer, way under the limit, but he was too young to be drinking at all, as were the others in the vehicle, so of course, we had to take the whole bunch of them in. I thought I smelled pot in the car too, but Donovan couldn't find any. They might have had a joint or two, earlier. The odor would have still been in the upholstery. I was much more concerned about the alcohol. If they'd gone on with what they were doing, someone could have been hurt or killed.

Mike is recovering faster than the doctors thought he would. He's just too stubborn to keep down. He may be back with me in a couple more weeks. He was worried that he wouldn't be able to get his car fixed. The collision stove in the door, but luckily it didn't bend the frame. It was hard finding another door for that car, but it gave him a chance to practice his computer search skills. His baby, complete with a new paint job is ready to go now. It's in better shape than he is.

I'm glad I don't have a car. In the city, public transportation is a lot faster, and the price of parking is ridiculous. I can rent, or borrow an auto from my Aunt Theresa if I need one. I do miss my Harley. I put it in storage when I went to Stanford. Someone broke into the garage where I was keeping it and stripped it. Restoring it is on the list of things I want to do after I've nailed my mother's killer.

All of the cops on patrol in Washington Heights have been instructed to have an extra sharp lookout for dealers and drug buys. There's been an uptick in overdoses. According to dispatch, there are more calls than usual. Narcotics has a theory that the drug network up here has been reorganized. They are sure that the strength of the product is increasing. We are all carrying Narcan. So far, I haven't had to use it. But cops from several of the other units have saved addicts with it.

I can't help wondering whether Dick Coonan or Bracken has something to do with the change in the drug situation up here. I think the truth is that they are both always at the back of my mind, and I can't help seeing reminders of them wherever I go. Something has to pop soon.

Keep in touch,

Kate

Dear Kate,

I went to an event to raise money for schools in Afghanistan. It wasn't put on by the Coonan foundation, but Dick made an appearance. He probably thought that it was good PR for him, even if he wasn't receiving any of the money. I put on my best philanthropic author act and dropped in on him at his table. I'll be on his radar in a positive way now.

Coonan's a big man with a lot of muscle on him. He doesn't come off like someone I'd expect to find sitting behind a desk or chairing a charity event. But he smiles a lot. Too much. Watching him made me think about what the ghost of Hamlet's father said about Claudius, "that he may smile and smile, and still be a villain." Claudius poured poison into the king's ear; I can visualize Dick Coonan grinning as people shoot it into their veins.

I don't suppose you could suggest to someone in Narcotics that Coonan might be worth some surveillance, or isn't the word of a rookie taken seriously? Maybe, if you have a chance, you could say something to Captain Montgomery, since he seems to appreciate your considerable mettle.

I'm making excellent progress on both the books I'm writing. I've almost finished the tribute to the first responders, and I'm about halfway into my next Derrick Storm. I have to admit, I've developed a real affection for Carl. Mother says that except for his white hair, I've made him look a lot like the way she remembers my father. Do you think that sounds Freudian? I've had a little therapy here and there. I went to a few sessions after my divorce from Meredith and also for a couple of months after I had to throw out a book I was writing and was afraid that I was losing my touch. But that was cognitive behavioral stuff. The practitioners weren't worried about my dreams or how I felt about my parents.

Alexis has a new interest - art. I took her to MOMA a couple of times, but she wasn't very interested. Recently she saw a video about painting on YouTube and all of a sudden; she wants to be the next great master. Honestly, I don't think that will ever happen. I got her a set of paints that will wash out and not make her sick if she ingests them, but she doesn't show any signs of being a protégé. I'm not surprised. Her crayon drawings warm my heart but have never shown signs of genius. I'm loathe to admit it, but there were a couple of kids in her pre-school class that did better ones. However, if my daughter is happy wielding a brush, who am I to discourage her? If Andy Warhol could take the art world by a storm with soup cans, anything is possible.

Mother thinks it's more likely that Alexis inherited her (questionable) talent for music. I've seen children a lot younger than Alexis start on the violin and get pretty good, sometimes very good, at playing one. I'm considering getting lessons for her. Alexis can sing on pitch, which to my ears already puts her a step up from what I sometimes hear from Mother. But to be fair, when the diva is off key, there is usually alcohol involved.

I read a blurb in The Ledger about your father's class action case. The few lines in the business section sounded encouraging for your Dad but not so much for the windmill at which he is tilting. It looks like just about anyone who's ever had a printer quit at a critical time is on the side of the angels. Let's hope that includes a judge and or jury.

Keep taking care of yourself, Kate. I believe that we're close to a breakthrough on your mother's murder. I can feel it in my bones.

Stay in touch,

Rick