CHAPTER TEN
The next few days were busy for Fraser and Ray.
A Canadian citizen visiting Chicago with his wife had a heart attack the day they were to fly home to Calgary. He required serious cardiac surgery and significant recovery time before he would be able to travel. His wife, distraught at her husband's illness so far from home, needed help. They were alone in the city. Their only child was a sergeant in the army, currently stationed in Bosnia. Not knowing where else to turn, the social worker at the University hospital called the Consulate.
Inspector Thatcher assigned the case to Fraser. He met Mrs. Conroy at the hospital. Mr. Conroy was in Intensive Care, and her visiting time with him was limited to a few minutes several times a day. She was reluctant to leave the building, in the event that there was a downturn in his fragile condition. But, there was much to be done.
Fraser took charge. With her consent, he packed their belongings and checked them out of their hotel, moving their things to a new hotel adjoining the hospital which catered exclusively to the families of patients. He requested and obtained the Inspector's approval to dip into the travelers emergency fund for the cost of the stay. He went through channels with the Army and broke the news of her father's illness to Sergeant Melanie Conroy, assisting on his end with her compassionate leave. He cut through the red tape on the coverage of medical treatment for a foreign national in an American hospital. He arranged for a neighbor back home to check on their house, deal with their mail, extend their dog's stay at the kennel, and other details of keeping their home lives intact. He coaxed Mrs. Conroy to eat, and insisted that she rest. But mostly, he sat with her in the little waiting room in ICU.
On the third day of his assignment, Mr. Conroy underwent his surgery. It was a difficult day. The surgery took far longer than anticipated. He waited with Mrs. Conroy in the surgical waiting room. She spoke from time to time about their daughter, their dog, their travels, their lives together. Her fear of losing her husband of forty years remained unspoken. When her silences grew long, Fraser told her stories of his and Diefenbaker's travails in the big city. She liked to hear about Dief, and he promised to introduce them.
They were sitting in the waiting room when there was a noise at the door.
"Mom?"
Mrs. Conroy looked up. As she took in the sight of her daughter, clad in fatigues and holding a duffel, her face was transformed. Fraser helped her to her feet, then averted his eyes as mother and daughter embraced fiercely. The tears that Mrs. Conroy had held at bay during the ordeal were released at last. It was a supremely private moment that belonged to them alone. He felt like an intruder. He picked up his hat and coat and walked quietly to the door.
"Wait!" the sergeant called. "Officer, please wait!"
He stopped and turned. The young woman released her mother, who was starting to regain her composure. The soldier took a step toward him and held out her hand. Fraser took it. She grasped it firmly and held on. Tears glistened on her cheeks and eyelashes, but she didn't wipe them away.
"Thank you, sir," she said, looking into his eyes, "For watching over them."
He ducked his head. "That's not necessary, Sergeant. I was just doing my duty."
She smiled, releasing his hand. "Thank you, all the same."
Mrs. Conroy stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. "Thank you, Benton," she whispered. "I hope I do meet Diefenbaker one day."
He nodded, not trusting his voice. The surgeon came in then, weary, rumpled, but smiling broadly. Fraser took his leave with a lightened heart. He pushed the button to call the elevator, covering a yawn with a hand. It had been a long day. But, he was glad to be here. Here in this city. Here for this family. The elevator doors opened with a ping and he entered.
It was late when he returned to the Consulate. Turnbull was still there. He asked after the Conroys and was pleased to hear the news.
"The Inspector asked that you call her at home, sir. No matter the hour."
Fraser reached for the phone over the stack of correspondence, forms and other documents that had accumulated on his desk in the last three days.
She answered on the first ring. "Hello."
"It's Constable Fraser, sir. I'm sorry for calling so late."
"How is Mr. Conroy?"
"Stable. The surgery went well."
"Good," she said. "And Mrs. Conroy?
"Relieved, tired, happy to have her daughter here," he said. "The Sergeant arrived an hour ago."
"I'm glad," she replied. He heard the sincerity in her voice.
"Yes, sir." There was a pause. He couldn't think of anything else to say.
"Good work, Constable."
Fraser, caught off-guard by the compliment, hesitated. "Thank you -" He was talking to dead air. He replaced the phone in its cradle and leaned back in his chair. Turnbull stood at the open door, a tray in his hands.
"Tea, sir?"
At his nod, Turnbull set the tray on the desk. In addition to the tea accouterments, there were two thick roast beef sandwiches and a slice of cherry pie. His stomach rumbled. It had been many hours since he'd eaten. "Thank you," he said, gratefully.
Turnbull wished him good night, then left him to his meal. A few minutes later, he heard the heavy front door close as the young officer left for the night. He had the Consulate to himself. Or nearly. He looked up from his plate.
"Hello, Dad." He held the plate out. "Sandwich?"
"No, thanks, son," his father said, tugging at the Sam Browne at his waist. "I'm watching my weight."
Fraser opened his mouth to point out that his father was dead, so why bother, then stopped. Why bother? He picked up the first Form 1699-F from the stack on the left and began to complete it.
"Paperwork, eh? It never ends, son. Not even in the afterlife." He put his hat on his head. "I'll leave you to it, then."
"Stay," he said, looking up. "Keep me company."
The ghost of Robert Fraser looked startled, then took a seat. After a couple of hours, Fraser completed the last 1699-F and put it in his Out bin. His father was gone and so was the second sandwich.
He turned to the teetering stack of correspondence. The return address on the first letter was RCMP headquarters in Ottawa. It was addressed to him personally, marked PERSONAL AND CONFIDENTIAL. He slit the envelope with the letter opener and read the contents. "Oh, dear," he said, to no one in particular. He looked at the calendar for a long time. Then, he stood, stretched, donned his hat and coat, and went downstairs. He pulled the front door behind him and locked it. A light snow fell as he walked home, but he didn't notice. His thoughts were racing, chasing themselves round and round.
Ray, too, had been busy at work. He had been corralled for half a day in a cramped interrogation room at the station with State's Attorney Louise St. Laurent prepping his testimony on a big extortion case. Though his relationship with Louise had never progressed beyond their one date, it wasn't for lack of interest on Ray's part. She was one of the most attractive women he'd ever met. Ray liked her fiery personality, her professional prowess and unabashed commitment to her job.
But Louise had ... issues. First, she was reluctant to date a cop, any cop, having been burned before. Second, she was ambitious. This made her extremely sensitive to the conflicts of interest created when cops and prosecutors became romantically involved, and the effect that frequent recusals could have on her career.
And, then there was Fraser. Unlike most of the women who encountered the Mountie, Louise couldn't stand the sight of him. She had never reconciled Fraser's role in the Victoria Metcalf affair and the murder of Charlie Jolly, and regarded Ray's partner with suspicion and contempt. Nothing Ray said changed her opinion. They finally had to agree to disagree and drop the subject entirely. Still, Fraser made himself scarce anytime he saw her coming. So did Dief.
Ray wished she would take the plunge with him, but knew that the odds were against it ever happening. So, their relationship, such as it was, was limited to the professional, spiced with the occasional flirtatious banter or creative insult. Still, he enjoyed it. But four hours locked in a tiny airless room alone with Louise and her perfume left him frustrated and exhausted, as if they had engaged in extended foreplay with no consummation at the end.
"Vecchio! Pay attention!"
He snapped out of his reverie. "I am! I did Mirandize the suspect. Twice."
"I asked about the search warrant!"
He rubbed tired eyes. "Asked and answered, counselor." He flashed a smile. "Sorry, that's your line."
She didn't smile. "This is a big case, Vecchio. We blow this one and more than one defendant walks."
"I know, I know," he said. "But we're beating a dead horse, here." He reached a hand across the table and took hers. "Trust me, Louise. I know my case. It'll be fine tomorrow."
She didn't say anything, but didn't pull her hand away either. But she stopped grilling him and called it a night. The next day was a long one. Ray, being on the witness list, had to report to the courtroom at 9:00 am, but the prior witness' cross took most of the afternoon. When that was finished, rather than start and stop Ray's testimony just before adjournment, the judge called it a day.
Louise cornered him before he left the building. "Ray, maybe we should go over –"
"Give it a break, Louise." He smiled to take any sting out of his words. "I'll be fresh as a daisy in the morning."
She looked uncertain, but then said, "All right. See you in the morning." She walked away briskly, then turned back. "Early!"
Ray found himself downtown with nothing to do. He didn't feel like going back to the precinct to work on his other cases. He wanted to keep the details of this one in the forefront of his mind, uncluttered with the minutiae of other files. Fraser wasn't around. He was tied up on a consular matter for a few days. He didn't feel like going home to his crowded house, either. Ma was leaving for Florida in a couple of days, so there was a steady stream of family and friends taking their leave, and rejoicing over her clean bill of health. He remembered that there was a Bulls game on tonight. He headed on foot to a cop bar a few blocks away that he knew well from his time in the 17th Division.
Eddie's hadn't changed much in the past five years. Ray was greeted by a few uniforms and a couple of undercovers from the old days. Eddie was still behind the bar, though Eddie, Jr. seemed to be doing most of the work. He took a stool at the bar and ordered a beer and a cheeseburger. He'd finished his beer when there was a tap on his shoulder.
"Ange!"
"Hello, Ray," his ex-wife said, leaning in to kiss his cheek. She was in uniform. "What are you doing in this neighborhood?"
"I was in court," he explained. "How are you?"
"Good," she said. "Real good."
He looked closely at her. Her eyes were smudged by deep shadows, and her hair, usually so perfectly styled, was in need of attention. She avoided his gaze and changed the subject. "I saw your picture on the front page!" She punched him in the arm. "Way to go, Vecch-i-o!" She said the last as if she was a cheerleader. It was an old expression from their marriage.
He shrugged. "It was no big deal."
She looked skeptically at him. "Ri-ight. No big deal, catching the high-wire burglar, pictures with the Mayor. Happens every day."
"So, you still on Juvey duty?" At her nod, he continued, "How's that going?"
"You know how it is, Ray," she said, avoiding eye contact. "Nothing ever changes." She squeezed his arm. "It was good to see you." She turned away, a weary slump to her shoulders.
"Ange," he called.
She turned back.
"You here with anybody?"
She shook her head. "Just dropped in for a beer before heading home."
"Have dinner with me."
"That's OK, Ray." She smiled, weakly. "I wouldn't be very good company."
He reached out and took her hand. "You're always good company." Just then, his meal arrived. He gestured toward the burger and fries. "Your favorite. Come on. Please?"
She hesitated, then gave in. He ordered two more beers and another cheeseburger. Then, he picked up the plate and carried it to an empty booth. She took a seat across from him and he slid the platter in front of her. She took a bite and made a noise of pleasure. Eddie's burgers were still the best in town.
At first, it was the usual cop talk. Then, he told her funny stories about his new partner, the Mountie with the deaf wolf. It pleased him to see her laugh so hard she had tears running down her cheeks. They moved on to family matters. Her mom was undergoing chemo for breast cancer, though the prognosis was cautiously optimistic; he told her about his mother's recent scare. To his shame, his voice cracked when he told her about blowing up the Riv. But she reached out and patted his hand. "Oh, Ray," she whispered, in perfect understanding, "your dream car." As the evening wore on, he told her about shooting Fraser in the back and watching as he was wheeled into an OR, utterly convinced that his friend would die on the table. It was very late when she told him about the kid who killed himself today, right in front of her.
Eddie, Sr. brought them their check. He cleared his throat. "Sorry, guys, but we're closing."
Ray looked around in surprise. The place was empty. The wait staff were sweeping floors and stacking chairs on tables. He glanced at his watch. Two am. He pulled out his wallet and paid the bill, waving away the money Angie tried to press on him. He helped her with her coat, then shouldered into his own. It was cold out on the sidewalk. No cabs in sight. His car was in the opposite direction from her place.
"I'll walk you home."
"That's not necessary, Ray. It's only a couple of blocks."
"I'm walking you home," he said, firmly.
She took his arm. They were silent on the way, but it was not uncomfortable. Ray enjoyed the freshness of the night air after the bar. A light snow was falling.
When they got to the door of her building, she looked up at him. "Come up, Ray."
"Ange. That's not why I walked you home," he began, but she put a finger on his lips.
"I know." She took out her keys and unlocked the street door. He followed her to the elevator and they rode silently up to the tenth floor. She unlocked her apartment door and pulled him in. Ray shed his coat as she turned on a few lights. Then, she walked back and faced him. She reached up, cupped her hands around his face and kissed him. Her lips were soft and sweet.
Ray's heart pounded as she deepened the kiss. He clutched her tightly to him. When they broke apart, both of them were breathless. She led him to the sofa and kissed him again. This kiss was demanding, hungry, almost frantic. Things were rapidly accelerating, when Ray disengaged and held her by the shoulders.
"Ange."
She tried to kiss him again, but he pulled away.
"Ange. Stop a minute. C'mon, stop,"
She looked up with liquid brown eyes. "Why, Ray?"
He took a deep breath and steadied himself. "All the times I wanted to do this before, and you always said no. You said it would feel good for a little while, then only make us feel worse when it was over. Open up wounds that we had finally let heal." She leaned in, and kissed his neck. "Why now, Ange?"
"I want you, Ray," she said, nuzzling his ear. "And, I can tell that you want me."
"Yeah, well, that's obvious," he said, wryly. "You always had that effect on me." He shook his head. "I don't want to hurt you, Ange." He swallowed. "And, I don't want to take advantage when you're hurting."
She leaned back and looked, wide-eyed, up at him. "Who are you and what have you done with Ray Vecchio?"
A snort of laughter escaped him, then he sobered. "I just want to be sure you're sure. And that you won't wake up in the morning hating yourself." He paused. "Or me. I couldn't stand that."
"Oh, Ray," she hugged him. "I could never hate you. I might want to kill you sometimes. But hate you? Impossible." She took a deep breath and smoothed her hair. "OK. This is me, stopping and thinking." She was silent for a long moment. Then, her expression grew serious. "OK, truth ... I want to be with you tonight ... partly, because I've had a lousy day ... partly, because it's been a long time ... a really long time." She glanced down, embarrassed, then looked back with shining eyes. "But mostly, because I want to love you tonight. I want to feel love tonight. And that's what it would be, Ray, even if it's only for one night." Her smile was small and sad. "Can you live with that?"
He looked deeply into her dark eyes and saw the truth there. "I can live with that," he said, huskily, and leaned in to kiss her.
"Vecchio!" Louise hissed at him, as Ray darted into the courtroom at 9:05. He slipped into the back row. She advanced on him. "Where the hell have you been!?" She took in the dark shadows under his red-rimmed eyes, his spotty shave, that he was wearing the same clothes as yesterday. "I can't believe you!"
Before he could say anything, the bailiff was calling the courtroom to order. "... the Honorable Randall P. McMurphy presiding."
The judge sat behind the bench, then spoke, " Ms. St. Laurent, call your first witness."
"The State calls Detective Raymond Vecchio," she said, her tone glacial.
As Ray passed her on his way to the witness chair, he said, sotto voce, "No worries, Louise."
She looked daggers at him. But, in the end, Ray was right. He nailed his testimony in all its particulars. Under cross-examination, he was cool, comfortable, and convincing. His rumpled appearance created the impression of the slightly dissolute man-of-the-world, a rakish but hard-working street cop. The jury loved him.
As he walked past the prosecution desk on his way out, Louise said quietly. "Good job, Vecchio." She ran an eye over his dishevelment. "Whatever you're doing, keep it up. It works for you." As the judge harrumphed impatiently behind him, she mimed holding a telephone to her ear. "Call me," she mouthed.