Chapter 3

Saturday, June 14, 1997 – Los Angeles

Enos worked most Saturday mornings to catch up on file documentation with his ever-increasing caseload, but even busy work ran out eventually. After he left the office that Saturday afternoon in June, he went back to his apartment, grabbed his sweats, and headed for the community center. It was good to have something to do. The activity at the center gave him another distraction.

Since this was his first time back for a few weeks, he wanted to arrive early to reacquaint himself with the equipment room, check-in with the administrative staff, and generally get his bearings. He was heading to the gym, unusually quiet for a Saturday afternoon, when he was stopped short at the music room door.

Alone in the room was a slim woman, about five foot nine, with long, dark brown, almost black hair that cascaded down to the small of her back. She seemed familiar, and he wondered if it was because she reminded him of Crystal Gayle. Then he realized who she was. He couldn't remember her name. It was something-something-sun, from that charity thing he'd gone to with Inez in March.

He could see only her profile as she began to move the bow-hairs over the strings, summoning from her violin a sweetness that turned to melancholy, then became a mournful resonation of loneliness and sorrow.

Instinct told him he should walk away, but he couldn't. The sound of it held him spellbound, glued to the spot as she played. When he first heard her music back in March, it was melodic and soothing. Now, he was beset by uninvited thoughts usually kept at bay when he wasn't on the job.

A mama crying for her lost child,

Homeless camps,

Indifference,

Hopeless people, abandoned children, battered wives, and shattered lives,

And cemetery angels weeping over graves.

Before he could gain control over them, images flooded his consciousness: victims for whom he could only help get justice after the fact; death notifications, the worst of every cop's job; grieving families. Those visions transitioned to gruesome discoveries, senseless loss, and murdered children.

His chest tightened around his heart. He had to swallow hard as the bow drew the last note from the strings. It hung in the air like an unanswerable question.

Why?

Tears were already dripping off his chin when he found the strength to unglue his feet from the floor, hurry down the hall, and disappear back into the empty equipment room.

After managing to recover and eat up about an hour and a half of the afternoon, Enos meandered toward the administration office to discuss the equipment inventory, wondering how he could fill up the rest of the day. There was no reason to go back to his one-bedroom apartment. The only thing waiting there for him was a microwave dinner and a bitter cup of loneliness, and he was done with stewing in the self-pity pot. He'd been that route before. It was counterproductive and didn't relieve the pain, or the grief…or the guilt.

On his way, he passed the music room's open door, now more populated by children. Unsure how he had missed it before, he noticed the flier next to the door, then sighed because it was probably just another sign he was not firing on all cylinders lately.

The flier gave her name as Mun Kyung-soon and proclaimed the center's good fortune to have a classically trained violinist teaching summer classes. He softly sounded out her name as he now remembered it, Mun Gyeongsun.

Leaning on the door jam, he listened for a few excruciating minutes, trying his best not to let his face show the assault to his ears. In the kids' hands, the instruments sounded like a cat got stuck in a drain.

Ms. Mun noticed him and flashed a quick smile of recognition. Her hair was now pulled back into a high ponytail that swished and swayed as she moved. Before returning to her group of seven boys and girls, she held up five fingers to him, then dismissed the kids with some instructions for which Enos Strate, a transplant from Bluegrass and Country Western territory, had no frame of reference. He believed himself to be woefully undereducated in the classics and much more familiar with music played at the Boar's Nest and the Bloody Bucket, where they called the violin a fiddle. 4

A few minutes later, the kids packed up the lent violins, depositing them on the table next to the door. Filing out of the room, most of them greeted Enos by name. One little boy, about eight, fist-bumped him as he passed.

Enos called after him, "Hey, Marcus, how's your mama doin'?"

"Just fine, Sir. She got a new job." The boy said, walking backward.

He gave Marcus a thumbs up. "Tell her I said hey."

"Yes, Sir. I will," he said and turned around just in time to keep from running into the closing door.

Enos walked into the room and said, "Hello, Miss Mun."

"Detective Strate, correct?"

"Yes, Ma'am, but I'm not on duty. I'd be pleased if you call me Enos."

"I suppose you know all of the children and their families?"

"Most of them, unless they just moved here. When I was in uniform, this was my patrol area. I haven't seen some of the kids for a while."

He started to tell her it was because he was with SWAT for nearly eighteen months before getting his shield, but it sounded boastful - or intimidating. Although unintentional, it sometimes had that effect as well. He found himself wanting to convey neither to this woman.

"I'm glad you decided to work with the kids this summer, Ma'am."

"How could I not after that sales pitch you gave me at the gala? And my friends and co-workers call me Kay, by the way – they find it easier than Kyung-soon."

As with her name, her accent was lyrical, like the strains she had drawn from her violin. He couldn't remember what she had played that night in March, only how her music had made him feel.

"Yes, ma…Miss Kay."

She wanted to ask him to drop the 'Miss' then decided she should just settle for not being called ma'am.

"I took your suggestion and called the director," she continued, an enigmatic smile crossing her lips. "She said they wanted to add another summer music program. Last Saturday was my first class." She had not mentioned his name when inquiring about the volunteer work.

"I'm sure the kids are glad you're here. They can be a little rambunctious sometimes, but they're all good kids. Just need a little attention's all." He paused, then tilted his head quizzically. "Was that…Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star?"

Her laugh was light and effortless, and she said something in Korean. He didn't need a translation to understand she was probably saying something akin to, "Bless their hearts."

"After a fashion," she said, returning to English. "At least you recognized it, so I must be doing something right."

"As pretty as you play, you'll have um fiddlin' on the roof in no time."

"I doubt that. However, their playing should improve enough to sound more like twinkling and less like nails across a blackboard."

Enos winced. "Kids seem to be having fun. That's what matters most."

At the time, he had no idea why he boldly, albeit awkwardly, asked the next question.

"Would you like to get a cup of coffee?" he asked. "There's a regular coffee place on the next block. Regular meaning not one of those places that calls the guy who makes coffee that would wake up a bear in the wintertime a barista."

"I would like that," she said, putting him out of his awkward misery. For a Police Officer, a Detective no less, he seemed awfully shy, and she worried that she had sounded too eager.

The waitress who brought their order of two cups of coffee wasn't the one who took it. That had been some bored teenager with torn jeans and a tank top that barely covered her midriff.

This waitress looked like Alice. Her nametag said, Isabelle. She took a large bowl full of half 'n half containers and two ubiquitous white coffee mugs off the tray and put them on the table, placing the bowl in front of Enos.

After pouring Enos's cup two thirds full, she asked Kyung-soon, "How do you like yours?"

"Black, please," Kyung-soon answered.

Isabelle filled the cup almost full.

Kyung-soon decided not to ask the obvious question: 'come here often, do you?' The way Isabelle surveyed her was enough for someone with even mediocre perception skills to see that he frequented the establishment regularly and likely alone.

Isabelle focused her attention on Enos. "Haven't seen you in a while, Hun. You doin' okay?"

"I've been a little busy, Iz."

"Guess so, new job an all," Isabelle said. "How's the Detective thing goin'?"

"Still learnin.' I'll get back to you when my probationary period is up," he said and then motioned toward Kyung-soon. "Iz, this is…,"

"I am Kay." Kyung-soon interjected, wanting to spare him the embarrassment of trying to pronounce her Korean name with his thick, though charming, southern accent.

"Got a real name, Hun?" Isabelle asked.

"Uh, yes. Kyung-soon."

"That's pretty."

"Thank you."

"You work at the center with Enos?"

"I am giving violin lessons for the summer."

"Violin, huh. Classical stuff?"

"Well, Twinkle Twinkle Little Star is a classic."

Isabelle hadn't taken her eyes off Kyung-soon since the weird exchange began, and it was obviously making the Detective uncomfortable. It was only slight, but he was definitely blushing.

Isabelle turned to Enos. "I like her. She's funny."

When the other table called Iz for the second time, she rolled her eyes and said, "Nice to meet you, Kay, but I have to go give a lesson on manners."

When Isabelle left the table, things got awkward again, almost to the point Kyung-soon wished Iz would come back. The man across from her today was not the man who'd been so energetic and engaged on the night they first met.

The Ides of March Gala had been a fundraising event for Médecins Sans Frontières (Doctors Without Borders). The accounting firm for which she worked, home-based in South Korea and owned by her uncle, was a sponsor. Though she had donated her solo performances for two previous years, events like those, although worthy causes, were usually very dry affairs from which she escaped as soon as she could. However, that night she had met the most intriguing man. He had captured her interest enough to make her want to see more of him. If that meant teaching a summer class at a community center, she jumped at the chance.

Enos interrupted her reverie.

"That song you were playing, before the kids got there. It was so…" He searched for the words.

"Gut-wrenchingly tragic, yet hauntingly beautiful?" she asked, finishing his thought.

"It was the saddest thing I've ever heard," he said quietly while he concentrated on slowly stirring his coffee.

"It is the theme from Schindler's List," she said. 7

"Oh. That makes sense."

Knowing what the movie was about had put him off adding it to his must-see list. He dealt with enough on-the-job. He needed to wallow in pain, sorrow, and grief off-the-job like he needed a hole in the head. The first rule of being a cop in L.A.: don't take your work home with you. The first rule of being Enos Strate: focus on the positive.

Kyung-soon watched him become introspective again. Perhaps he was not as interested in her as she was in him – or maybe he was married. He was with another Detective at the gala, but they did not seem to be a couple. She looked at the fourth finger of his left hand and thought, 'no wedding ring and no tan line – some men do not wear wedding bands.' She had lived in the United States long enough to have been hit on by all kinds of cheaters. This guy did not seem to fit that profile.

So, she was left with disinterested.

Their conversation continued politely, then quickly decayed into nothing of consequence. Enos Strate and Mun Kyung-soon left the coffeehouse and parted company in their respective vehicles.

Saturday, July 12, 1997 – Hazzard

Home from Duke University for the weekend, Daisy sat on the swing in the yard, with a lackadaisical appreciation of the mid-morning warmth when Uncle Jesse approached her carrying two fishing poles, a bucket of worms, and a picnic basket.

"Honey, how'd you like to help me catch dinner?"

"I'd love to, Uncle Jesse. I can't remember how long it's been since you and me went fishin'"

"Well, then, it's high time we did. Here's your pole and the lunch basket. I'll carry the bucket."

With a couple of walleyes and one bluegill on the stringer, they finished off the sandwiches and pickles Jesse had packed. As a treat, he'd added Daisy's favorite chewy oatmeal raisin cookies from the recipe on top of the oatmeal box. Even so, Jesse had watched with concern his niece's initial lightness about going fishing fade into introspective gazing at the dragonflies.

"What d'ya say we try for one more."

"Sure, Uncle Jesse." She baited her hook and threw her line absent-mindedly into the middle of the stream.

After a while of watching her count dragonflies instead of watching her cork, he asked, "You got somethin' on your mind, Daisy?"

"Why do you say that?"

"You been awful quiet since you got to the farm an' even more since we been out here."

Daisy wasn't sure where to start, but she took a breath and sighed it out. "Do you remember when Enos left on the bus for the academy in Atlanta?"

Jesse was afraid of where this was going, but he said, "I think he was about sixteen, maybe seventeen."

"We were sixteen."

"Daisy, I don't think you were there when we put him on that bus."

"I wasn't. We said goodbye here."

Now Jesse closed his eyes and wondered if fishin' was such a good idea.

"I asked him to meet me down here because I didn't want to say goodbye to him in front of all of ya'll and everybody downtown."

"I never knew that."

"Nobody knew." She faltered for a moment. "We were in love, really in love, even though neither one of us said it."

"Daisy, you were children." Jesse had suspected their friendship had grown into something more back then. He thought of Enos as kin, even though it wasn't blood kin. But their closeness had unsettled him at the time. In the years since Enos went off to the Police Academy in Atlanta, he'd only seen glimpses.

"I was, that's for sure. But it was still the most real and true thing I've had in my life before or since. I didn't want him to go, and I held onto him as tight as I could." She balled up her fist and stared at it. "But I couldn't keep him here, with me. He had dragons to slay..." She finally sniffled softly. "Then, he was gone. And…I think I've been punishing him for it ever since."

Saturday, July 12, 1997 – Los Angeles

Kyung-soon showed Marcus how to hold the bow correctly for the umpteenth time, and when he finally got the hang of it, she remembered how rewarding it was the first time she got it right. If nothing else, the boy was tenacious. Even if she had volunteered for what might be considered the wrong reason, it was worth it. She enjoyed working with youngsters. The experience had awakened in her a renewed passion for her own playing. However, she had decided not to play anything as heavy as Schindler's List again.

Perhaps that was what had turned Detective Strate off. They had not reconnected in several weeks – only passed each other, going in different directions. Her class time had changed to Saturday mornings, so she had not seen him in a few Saturdays – his time at the ballfield was usually late in the afternoon.

When she came out of the music room with her purse and keys and saw him standing there, ball cap in hand, she was nonplussed.

"Hello," was all that came out. Recovering, she added, "You are here earlier than usual."

"I didn't have as much paperwork at the office to finish today."

She didn't think it possible, but the man seemed more humble today than the last time they had spoken.

"I see."

Enos pondered and played with his cap some more. "Ma'am, did I do somethin' to offend you?"

Stunned, she said, "No."

"If I did, I'm real sorry. I…I haven't been myself lately. At least, I might notta' been myself that afternoon. I'd be awful ashamed if I did or said somethin' that –"

"You did nothing to offend me," she tried to assure him.

He had been pulling double shifts for the last couple of weeks, so his off-duty time at the center had to be sandwiched in between on-duty time. The glimpses of Kay had been fleeting – he had waved and smiled, she had waved and smiled back.

"I just thought since you switched your classes to mornin's –"

"You thought that I was avoiding you?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

And they were back to 'ma'am.'

"I was not avoiding you. I suppose I was disappointed," she said. "At the gala, you seemed so different than when we were at the coffee shop...I thought perhaps you were married or something and having trouble at home...or that you were not interested."

Enos didn't know what to make of that statement. The confusion showed on his face. He hurried to correct her, "I'm not."

"You are not…interested?"

"No, ma'am. Yes, ma'am. I mean…" He closed his eyes for a second. "I'm not married."

Kyung-soon would have been hard-pressed to remember seeing anyone that flustered.

"Then perhaps you could return to calling me Kay instead of Ma'am?" That particular honorific reminded her of the life she left behind.

"Well, Miss Kay," he said, obviously relieved. "I'm glad I didn't cause any offense. I guess I best let you go."

'There he goes with the Miss again,' she thought. 'Maybe if I call him Mister. Enos he might get the hint.'

As he looked like he was turning to leave, she said instead, "Perhaps we can try again...the coffee, I mean. Unless you do not have time before your game." She stopped short of telling him she knew precisely the amount of time he had available before the ball game.

"No. Yes…I'd be pleased to have coffee with you."

"Okay." She pointed over her shoulder with a smile. "I will finish closing up."

At the door of the coffee shop, Enos asked, "Have you had lunch yet? Du Par's is just around the corner. They're famous for their patty melt. Unless you're a vegetarian. I think they have a menu for that too. If you're vegan…not sure if they have anything to fit that."

"Rest assured, I am carnivorous. A patty melt sounds good as long as they serve it on rye. There is a foodie place close to work that uses ciabatta bread. It is not the same."

He rolled his eyes and put his ball cap back on. "I know. If you're gonna change a basic ingredient – call it somethin' else."

At Du Par's, Kyung-soon ordered her patty melt with an extra pickle and lemon water, and Enos ordered his with sauerkraut and buttermilk.

"You like sauerkraut." It wasn't a question.

"I do."

"Have you ever tried kimchi?"

"I know what it is. Just never tried it."

At least he left off the Ma'am, although he looked as if he wanted to say it.

"So, you're an accountant," he asked after taking a large swig from his mug.

"Auditor, actually." She wasn't sure how he knew what her day job was, but he was a Detective.

"Investigator. Same as me."

"Not exactly." She smiled and took a sip of her lemon water. "I deal with the numbers, not the people. I stay in my cubicle while someone else collects the data. So I am quite anonymous. And, as a rule, numbers do not carry guns."

"You'd be surprised. We collared this ole boy once with nothin' but numbers tattooed all over his body. He was carryin' three guns."

She laughed with that same slight smile in her eyes. Lingering on those eyes a little longer than necessary brought an extra pink to his cheeks.

The conversation, much more relaxed than the last aborted attempt, continued through the meal. Enos was finishing his buttermilk when he noticed a pained expression on Kay's face.

"How can you drink that?" she asked, her brow wrinkling.

"I was raised on it. A cold glass of buttermilk is second only to moonshine back where I come from?"

When they returned to the community center parking lot, Enos walked Kay to her car, removed his ball cap, and put on his serious face again. "I'm sorry about last time."

"You said you have not been yourself lately. What did you mean?"

Enos fumbled with the hat for a second and looked away. "It's hard to say."

"Forgive me. That was presumptuous."

"No, Ma'am. It's just that I've been on kind of a ricketty road over the last few months. I'm tryin' to make sense of some things. And sometimes…sometimes I get...my supervisor calls it moody."

Instead of pursuing that line of thought any further, she said, "I thought we might be past the Ma'am stage. Could you please call me Kay?"

"I surely will try…Kay."

Tuesday, July 15, 1997 – Los Angeles

When Enos arrived at work at 5:45 am, he found Inez De Pina already at her desk working on the assignment schedule. He laid his notebook on his desk and walked over to hers.

"You're here early. Something up?"

"Nothing out of the routine," she said, "and I could ask you the same question. Double shifts aren't enough of a challenge?"

"I always come in early."

"You know, you don't have to work so hard to prove yourself, E. You've paid your dues and earned your place here."

"Thanks, Inez, but I really don't have anything else that keeps me at home. I'd rather be working."

"I hear you. Aaron spends so little time at home, I already feel like an empty nester, and he won't even be leaving for Boston until the middle of August."

Enos looked at the photo of Inez's nearly nineteen-year-old son, who he had known since the boy was eleven, on her desk. He had started to walk to his own desk when she called him back.

"Just so you're not blind-sided in the morning briefing, I'm assigning you a partner."

He did not see that coming this early in the morning.

"The only reason," Inez continued, "I kept you on probationary status for an additional couple of months was your self-confidence level. I always thought you were ready, but you had to know it."

There had been no question in Enos's mind why he was still on probationary status, and he agreed with her decision. "Ah, the head doctor eval…I must have passed, huh? So who's unlucky enough to get saddled with me?" He hoped for Mike Radakovich or Camilla Morales.

Inez smiled despite herself. She was trying to keep it professional, but he could crack her up without even trying.

"That'll have to wait until the briefing. You have paperwork to finish. You'll need to hand off some of those lower level, information chasing files to the newbie…" Inez was searching for a name.

"Angela Kim?"

"That's the one."

Enos's first order of business was filing the final report on the uniform thefts, after which he read the updated observations from the medical examiner's office about 'Jane.'

Subject: Jane Doe, age fourteen to fifteen, Caucasian

Date of Death: May 16, 1997

COD: exsanguination due to unconfirmed exit point, dismemberment of left arm and right foot

Serology report attached suggests victim born in the Ukraine or Belarus due to levels of Iodine-131 in thyroid (result of Chernobyl radiation leak April 1986? Victim would have been between three and four and likely ingested contamination in milk.)

With regret that he could not pursue the case through to the conclusion, he packaged the file and messengered the hardcopy to the detectives that handled human trafficking cases, then sent an email alerting them to the hand-off.

The rest of his shift was spent rolling on a crime scene with his newly assigned partner, who had been blind-sided in the morning briefing by the news.

Detective Gordon Thompson was a thirty-one-year-old hotshot who'd risen meteorically through his duty requirements before becoming a Detective two years earlier. As everyone in the unit was acutely aware, his goal was set on Captain before forty-five; his new partner's age. What his plans were beyond that was a topic of conjecture.

He dressed the part of the upwardly mobile, ready to take the fast-approaching 21st-century by storm. Why Inez had partnered them neither Enos nor Thompson, which he preferred to be called, could fathom.

Although Enos trusted Inez, Thompson did not, and he made no pretense about it.

After that first afternoon with his new partner, the primary item on Thompson's agenda was to protest the pairing to the Senior Detective, Inez De Pina. He argued budget concerns, his opinion that 'he works fastest who works alone,' that there were already limited resources, per capita, available to support partners. 8

Knowing De Pina and Strate were tight, although 'the why' boggled his mind, he did not mention he thought the man was out of his depth in a unit that handles high-level investigations. He even asked if assigning him Strate as a partner was some sort of punishment and demanded to know what he had done to deserve it.

"The decision was not mine," Inez had said, her lack of sympathy dripping like icicles from every word. "You'll have to take that up with Captain Mallory. He requested the assignment." She put the file she'd been reviewing down on her desk. "And frankly, Detective Thompson, I was against it. But, since my arguments were over-ruled, I acceded to Captain Mallory's authority and made the assignment. Now, is there anything else I can do for you, Detective?"

And that was that.

Thompson didn't have the clout, yet, to go around De Pina and directly to the unit Commander. He decided to bide his time and gather enough fuel for the fire he might have to light to be shed of what he considered an impediment to his image and to his rise up the department ladder.

To Thompson, Strate was an ineffectual marshmallow. His countrified Columbo style might work out on the streets, but it took a certain sophistication to be a Detective in this city – and in Thompson's opinion, Strate didn't have what it takes – he didn't care what kind of ribbons were pinned to the man's full dress uniform.

Enos had also been prepared to work alone. The number of detectives per capita was on the low side, and it was not departmental protocol to be assigned a partner – that was reserved for officers patrolling the streets. Neither of them expected it, but Enos understood why the powers that be might think it necessary in his case. Never intimidated by a challenge, he was also appreciative of what others might perceive as shortcomings. Hence the working twice as hard to be considered half as good. He had overcome that in uniform but was back to experiencing it again as a probationary Detective.

He assumed it was because he needed more training from an experienced Detective with whom he had no history. He and Inez had too much history together. Just being assigned to the same unit had brought up all kinds of intrusive inquiry from HR about their relationship, past and present. It wasn't a secret that they were close. Her son called him Uncle E. He had taken Aaron to baseball games, gone to his Bar Mitzvah, and picked him up from school when Inez couldn't. Having to answer questions about whether or not he and Inez had had or were still having an intimate relationship was hard for both of them. But they had survived it.

Being a Detective without all the baggage was enough of a challenge on every level. He found preparing for and conducting witness and suspect interviews to be his favorite part of the job. He was good at it – knew he was good at it. However, many days were spent doing nothing but paperwork and chasing down leads. He might visit crime scenes three or four times a week, stay a couple of hours, return to the office, start a door to door search, or spend two days arranging search warrants. He couldn't deny that there were days when he longed for the street's constant activity and public contact and wondered if he'd become an adrenaline junky.

When the SWAT commander had recruited him, he'd been at top form on the firing range and had finally finished his bachelor's degree in Criminal Justice. He'd had constant training that required both individual commitment and working as a team – not prima-donnas.

But the injury to his right arm in the final moments of a stand-off with active shooters after a kidnapping nine months ago had taken the edge off his aim and control. The fluke once in a lifetime shot had evaded his body armor. The bullet had missed the brachial artery but permanently damaged nerves just above his elbow. He could still fire his service weapon with better accuracy than most, but that was neither good enough for him nor SWAT. The injury hadn't been life-threatening, but it had been career-changing. After recovering, he could have returned to regular uniform with the same rank of Sergeant. But Turk, Inez, and his Commander had talked him into taking the Detective exam instead. When he passed with a higher score than he'd expected, Enos went into it knowing he would be starting over – again.

Seemed to be the thread of his life these days.

References:

(4) The Bloody Bucket was a country-western bar featured in The Dukes of Hazzard: Hazzard in Hollywood

(7) Shindler's List: movie released in 1993, directed and produced by Steven Speilberg and written by Steven Zaillian. It is based on the 1982 novel Schindler's Ark by Thomas Keneally. John Williams wrote the score for the movie and the tragic but hauntingly beautiful violin solo was performed by Itzhak Perlman.

(8) Paraphrase of a line from Rudyard Kipling's poem, The Winners ( )