Episode 19: "You Can't Go Home Again"
Day Two
Scene One
Jim climbed into the front seat of the car, after closing the rear door behind Hank. As Karen pulled away from the curb, he turned toward her. "I was thinking . . . maybe we've been looking in the wrong place for a connection between the two homicides."
"Where do you think we should look, then?"
"Maybe it all began with Ellen Milner's death."
"But she died of a heart attack," Karen pointed out.
"She did," Jim agreed. "But I was thinking – she was only 42. That's awfully young to just die of a heart attack. What if something – or someone – caused the heart attack?"
"I still don't understand how that connects to the kids," Karen protested.
"I'm not sure, either," Jim admitted.
"Let's run it by the lieutenant," Karen suggested. "It's not as if we have any great leads so far."
Jim nodded. "Yeah."
Jack McConnell leaned back in his chair, studying the two detectives standing on the opposite side of his desk. Jim's idea about Ellen Milner's death seemed pretty far-fetched to him, but he'd seen too many of Jim's hunches pan out to dismiss his theory out of hand. Besides, he didn't want to close off any paths in the investigation at this point.
"What do you want to do?" he asked.
"I thought we'd have the ME pull the reports on Ellen Milner and see if it's possible the heart attack was brought on something or someone external. Then, I'd like to go talk to Sister Angie at 'Safe Haven' and see if she remembers anything else about Richie – maybe something we didn't think was important two and a half years ago."
McConnell pursed his lips. "Okay," he told them, "Do it."
As they walked back to their desks, Karen asked, "'Sister Angie'? 'Safe Haven'?"
Jim explained. "Sister Angela Carletti runs 'Safe Haven,' a program for street kids over on 121st Street. Richie spent some time there when he was on the streets. She got to know him pretty well."
A few minutes later, Jim hung up the phone and turned toward Karen. "It'll take the ME a few hours to pull the file on Ellen Milner and review it. Let's head over to Sister Angie's."
When they reached the front door of the station house, Jim ordered Hank to turn right.
"Where're you going, Jim?" Karen asked. "The car is to our left."
"It's only a couple of blocks, Karen. Hank needs a walk – and so do I."
"Okay. So tell me some more about Sister Angie."
"She's the best friend the street kids in this neighborhood have. For a lot of them, she's the only adult they've ever known who hasn't abused, or used, or victimized them in some way. Oh, and don't be fooled by 'Sister Angie.' She has a Ph.D. in adolescent psychology. If anyone can tell us what was going on with Richie, it's her."
"Safe Haven" was a storefront on East 121st Street. A couple of kids were hanging out by the front door. They stared openly at Jim and Hank as they approached, then took off when Jim and Karen turned toward the entrance. Inside, several groupings of mismatched chairs and tables were scattered around the room. Two obsolete-looking computers sat on battered desks in one corner. A television, turned off, occupied the opposite corner. Shelves along one wall held books, videos, and games. Another wall was covered with drawings and artwork created by the kids who found refuge there. Two teenagers were playing air hockey at the far end of the room. A petite, fifty-ish woman was sitting at a desk near the entrance. She was casually dressed, the only sign of her religious vocation a crucifix hanging from a chain around her neck. She looked up when Jim and Karen walked in.
"Jim Dunbar!" she exclaimed. "This is a pleasant surprise."
"Sister Angie," Jim said, walking toward her and extending a hand.
She stood to take his hand, then turned toward Karen. "And you are?"
"Sorry," Jim said, "my partner, Detective Karen Bettancourt."
"And who is this handsome fellow with you, Jim?"
"His name is Hank. I'd introduce you formally, but he's working right now."
"Understood. It's wonderful to see you, Jim, but I'm guessing this isn't a social call."
"That's right. You heard about Kimmie Milner?"
"Yes. One of my kids found her."
Jim grimaced. "Ouch." Karen looked a little sick.
"He was one of the fragile ones, too. He didn't need to be traumatized further." Angie paused, then continued. "But you didn't come here to talk about him. I take it you want to ask about Richie."
"Yes. Two kids in the same family being murdered in the same way can't be a coincidence. We're trying to find out what the connection is."
"Well," Angie began, "Richie wasn't like most of my kids. The main difference was that he wasn't running away from a bad family situation, as far as I could tell. He came from an intact family – at least until his mom died – and there was no history of abuse in the home. He was running away from something, but it wasn't that. Most of my kids come from bad family situations – if you can even call them families – and most of them have been physically, sexually, or emotionally abused – sometimes all three. Then there are the kids who've been discarded. They come home from school one day, and the whole family has cleared out, leaving them behind. But none of this applied to Richie."
Karen spoke up. "What do you think was going on with him? If his family life was so good, why run away?"
"He never told me why he left," Angie replied, "so all I can give you is an educated guess. All of my kids are afraid – being on the streets will do that to you. But Richie's fearfulness was extreme, even for a street kid. Sometimes he even seemed to regress – he was like a little kid, afraid of the bogey man. But I think his bogey man was a real person. I don't know who it was, or why Richie was afraid of him. But he was definitely afraid of something real."
"Could it have been his dad?" Karen asked.
"I don't think so. Richie talked about him a lot. He was homesick, he missed his dad. He never said anything to suggest he was afraid of him." Angie shook her head. "No, I'm pretty sure it was someone else."
"Did Richie ever talk about his mother's death?" Jim asked.
"Yes, a lot. Aside from his extreme fear, that was his major stressor."
"Do you think there was a connection?"
"You mean between his fear and his mother's death?" Angie asked. "Let me think." She sat down, leaned back in her chair, and closed her eyes for a moment, considering Jim's question. Then she opened her eyes and sat up. "There could be. I remember once, when he was talking about her death, he said there was something he couldn't tell me about it. Clearly, he was afraid to tell me about it. That's not much, I know. . . .Is there something suspicious about his mother's death?"
"We don't know," Jim told her. After a moment, he went on. "It was good to see you again, Angie – and thank you."
"Any time, Jim."
Scene Two
When Jim and Karen arrived back at the precinct, Coop was reporting to McConnell on the results of Kimmie's autopsy.
"ME confirmed the cause of death was blunt force head trauma, multiple blows from something like a metal pipe. She was probably unconscious after the first hard blow, but it took several hours for the brain swelling to kill her. Time of death was sometime between 8 and 11 p.m."
"Any other injuries?" Jim asked.
"Some bruising around her wrists, as if the killer grabbed her," Coop replied. "Also some bruising on her forearms, probably defense injuries from raising them up in front of her face to ward off the blows. There were also some scrapes on her legs, probably from being dragged while she was unconscious."
"That it?" McConnell asked.
"Yeah, basically," Coop told him.
"Okay. Jimmy, did you find out anything useful from Sister Angie?"
"As a matter of fact, we did. She remembered that Richie was unusually fearful, even for a street kid. She thought his fear had something to do with his mother's death, but she didn't know what, specifically. Maybe Richie knew something about his mother's death that made him a threat to someone. That would explain a lot."
Karen spoke up. "The ME is looking at the reports on Ellen Milner, to see if something, or someone, could have brought on the heart attack. We're still waiting to hear from her."
"Keep me informed," McConnell ordered as he returned to his office.
Karen turned to Jim. "I'm getting some coffee. You want some?" she asked.
"No, I'm good, but thanks."
Karen grabbed her empty coffee cup and strode through the squad room, without as much as a glance at the other detectives. Coop followed her to the locker room. He was puzzled by her animosity toward them. Sure, it had been a little awkward at first – not knowing what to do or say when Jimmy arrived – but that had passed quickly. Coop had gone out of his way to make Karen feel welcome, but she could barely be civil to them. He was determined to find out why.
He closed the door behind him. "Hey, Karen," he greeted her.
When she continued pouring her coffee without responding, he continued. "I'm hoping you can help me out here, because I don't know what's going on. . . ."
"What's that supposed to mean?" she demanded.
"C'mon, Karen, you've had an attitude ever since you got here. But you don't even know us. What have we ever done to you?"
She set down her coffee cup and turned toward him. "It's not about me. It's what you did to Jim."
"What do you think we did?"
"You really want to know?"
"Yes, I do."
"Okay, then, it makes me sick to see you guys all buddy-buddy with him, after the way you bailed on him after he got shot. What kind of friend does that?"
"Is that what you think happened?" Coop asked.
"No, that's what I know happened. On the way over here yesterday, when I asked about you guys, Jim told me he didn't even know who was still here, because you hadn't kept in touch. I couldn't believe it. A guy who would put his life on the line for you – hell, knowing Jim, he probably did – and you assholes couldn't be bothered to keep in touch with him because he's blind. Some friends."
"So that's it," Coop mused. "How long have you been a detective, Karen?"
Startled by the sudden change of subject, she replied, "About two years."
"Long enough to know not to make assumptions when you don't have all the evidence," he observed.
"Yeah. So what evidence don't I have?"
"It didn't happen the way you think it did, Karen. Jimmy pushed us away. He made it pretty clear he didn't want anything to do with us, and eventually, we just stopped trying."
"I don't understand. . . ."
"I don't, either – not really," Coop told her. "I went to see him a few times, back then. After the doctors told him it – the blindness – was permanent, he had a very rough time. That's when he started pushing everyone away. Aside from his wife, the only person he would talk to was Walter Clark. I thought maybe he just needed some space, but we never re-connected."
"So you're saying it's Jim's fault?"
"No, Karen, it s no one's fault. It just happened that way. Sure, I could have tried harder – we all could have – and I regret that I didn't. But have you ever been able to make Jimmy do something he didn't want to do?"
Karen smiled a little, in spite of herself, and shook her head. "You got that right."
"Bottom line, Jimmy didn't want us around back then. I wish I'd tried to re-connect before now, but after seeing him yesterday and today, I'm not sure he wants to re-connect with any of us from before. I guess he has his reasons. I just don't know what they are." A look of sadness crossed Coop's face. "You know, I still miss him sometimes – I mean, the Jimmy I used to know. I'm not sure I know your partner."
Karen looked down. She didn't know what to say. Finally, she looked up. "I misjudged you, Coop. I'm sorry."
"No apology needed. I'm glad he has a friend like you."
When she got back to her desk, Karen sat silently, pondering what Coop had told her and glancing at Jim from time to time. She'd always assumed Jim had had a tough time after he lost his sight, but he never talked about it, and she knew she would never ask. Still, she didn't understand what would make him push away the people who could have supported him and helped him get through his ordeal. She'd thought she was finally getting to know her partner, but maybe she didn't know him as well as she thought she did.
Scene Three
"Cause of death was definitely a heart attack," Dr. Taylor told Karen and Jim, seated across the desk from her in her cramped office. "But there are some – anomalies."
"What sort of 'anomalies'?" Jim asked.
Dr. Taylor rustled the papers in the file in front of her. "She had hypertension and was a smoker, and she had an enlarged heart – which is an indication of heart disease. So she was definitely a candidate for a heart attack. But as you pointed out when we spoke on the phone, 42 is a relatively young age for that, even considering her risk factors."
Dr Taylor turned the pages in the file until she found the photographs. She handed several of them to Karen. "There are several injuries which, in my opinion, are not adequately explained in the original report. She had some lacerations to the front and sides of the head, which were thought to have occurred when she fell. But their locations are not consistent with hitting her head when she fell. And looking at the photos taken at the scene, I don't see anything on which she could have hit the front or sides of her head when falling. So it is my opinion that there is some other mechanism for these injuries."
"Such as?" Jim asked.
"The most likely explanation is that she was struck by some object. This would also explain the heart attack."
"But how?" Karen protested, gesturing at the photos. "These injuries look pretty minor."
"They are," Dr. Taylor agreed. "The injuries themselves are not life-threatening. But if she was involved in a physical struggle and sustained these injuries, the resulting physical and emotional stress could be enough to trigger a heart attack, given her underlying disease."
"How was this missed?" Jim demanded. "We need to talk to whoever did the autopsy."
"That would be Dr. Robert Whitley," Dr. Taylor told him, a disapproving tone in her voice. "If you want to talk to him, you're going to have to make a trip to Florida. He retired a couple of months after this case."
"Great," Jim said, frowning. "Just so we're clear – it's possible she was in a fight of some kind, and this triggered her heart attack?"
"Yes."
Jim thought for a minute, then stood and took Karen's arm. "Thank you," he told Dr. Taylor as they left. While they were walking down the hall, Jim thought out loud. "We need to find out what was going on in Ellen's life."
"Yeah." Karen agreed. "Let's head back."
Scene Four
As she walked down the hall, Karen heard voices coming from the squad room. When she realized what they were talking about, she stopped to listen.
". . . so, like I've said before, guys, it doesn't add up. There's something they're not telling us," Mitch declared. "You know, Terry couldn't hardly show his face around here after Jimmy was shot. He transferred out of here so fast – "
"You're right," Junior said. "Terry was fucked up after Jimmy was shot – and it wasn't just on account of Jimmy getting hurt. I asked him a coupla times how Jimmy got shot, but he never really gave me an answer."
"Me, too," Mitch agreed. "You know, I was at the scene, after, and I couldn't figure out why Jimmy had to leave cover to take out the perp. It sure looked to me like Terry had a clear shot at him from where he was." He shook his head. "Someone's covering up something. . . ."
While Mitch was speaking, Karen started walking toward the squad room. Then she stopped, remembering what Jim had reluctantly told her: Terry hadn't "stepped up" as much as he could have, that day at the bank.
"What're you saying?" Junior demanded. "You think Jimmy covered for Terry? I don't buy it. He got hurt bad – he's blind, for crissake. If Terry blew it, why would Jimmy cover for him?"
"I dunno," Mitch admitted, "but I can see Jimmy doing something like that. . . ." He broke off as Karen entered the squad room.
"Hey, Karen, where's Jimmy?" Coop asked.
"Walking the dog."
Mitch resumed the discussion. "Then Terry gets shot by 'accident' a few months back – when he just happens to be working a case with Jimmy. And now he's off the job. What's up with that?"
"Drop it, Mitch," Karen told him.
"Why?" he protested. "We deserve to know."
"You don't want to go there," Karen said firmly, as Jim and Hank walked into the squad room.
Mitch ignored her. "Hey, Jimmy, you heard from Terry recently?"
Jim stopped short. "No." Karen could see his jaw clench as he walked the rest of the way to his desk. She glared at Mitch.
McConnell emerged from his office. "Can it, Kozlowski. Karen, Jimmy, did you get anything from the ME?"
"We did," Jim said. He began summarizing what the ME had told them. Still glaring at Mitch, Karen sat down at her desk and folded her arms. Her anger dissipated as she thought about what Mitch had said, and she realized she now knew what happened the day Jim was shot.
