Part Twenty-Three
There was no mistaking that it was Alex's elegant script flowing across the front of the pale mauve envelope, her address label affixed neatly in the corner. The coincidence of its arrival and her departure did not pass unnoted. Jim felt the churn in the pit of his stomach , the queasiness he had managed to suppress for the past several hours seizing control again. His legs were suddenly rubber beneath him.
"I need to sit down," he said, dropping to the couch and setting his half-empty bottle precariously close to the edge of the table. Resting his chin against his clenched hands, he caught his bottom lip between his teeth and stared blankly into space, his expression unreadable.
Christie's posture was rigid, arms folded across her chest, her eyes riveted on that envelope. "Jimmy?"
He breathed deep and exhaled slowly. "Christie, this isn't what you think," he said quietly, a finger absently stroking his lower lip. "I can explain."
"I hope so because I really need you to say something right about now."
He lifted his head and caught her gaze. "Alex is...she's someone I knew, before I knew you. We were..." The moment he uttered the word, he was struck by his use of the past tense, not so much in the context of when Alex had occupied a place in his life, but measured now by the fact that she would never do so again. "Alex D'Ambrosia was a friend, a good friend...a long time ago."
"You're not friends now?" she asked, taking a seat beside him, her tone demanding his response.
"No, we're not friends now," he replied. "She was just...she was someone I used to know."
Her eyes darted from his face to that little bit of paper, now seemingly wedged between them. "If that's true, Jimmy, don't you think her timing is just a little too neat? Why now? Why today? Why haven't you mentioned her before?"
"Hey, slow down." He lifted her chin, meeting her eyes with us. "I haven't mentioned her because I guess I didn't think it was important. I'm sure you've got skeletons in your closet too. Or have you told me about everyone that's ever been involved in your life?"
"No, of course not," she answered, "but none of them are trying to contact me a week before my wedding."
"Christie, believe me, I wasn't expecting this, not from her. As for her timing..." a wry smile turned the corners of his mouth, "I haven't heard from her in such a long time. I have no idea what this might be," he said, picking the envelope up from the table, "but..."
"But what Jimmy?"
"She's dead, Christie," he said quietly, a slight tremor in his voice. He pressed a hand to his mouth, one of those little mannerisms he often used in an attempt to suppress his surging emotions. "We found her floating in the East River this morning."
Her eyes widened. She glanced from his face to the envelope and back. "I...I don't know what to say, Jimmy."
"No," he said, with a discernable shake of his head. "I don't know either, and honestly, Christie, I don't know what or how I'm supposed to feel. I've had to wear my cop hat on this one all day long and keep it all in check. But, I knew this woman." He stared at the envelope in his hand, yesterday's date clearly postmarked across the stamp. "Whatever this is, it's not what you're thinking."
:Jimmy, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to imply..."
"Yeah, Christie, I think you did...but I need you to know that it was over, okay? We were over long before I met you."
"I believe you, Jimmy," she said, softly, her hand finding the tense spot at the back of his neck. "But that still doesn't explain the letter."
He shrugged his shoulders. "No, it doesn't. For all I know, this is nothing more than a good-bye to her friends."
"Suicide?"
Heaving himself from the couch, he strolled to the window, pressing his forehead to the cold glass. "We're still waiting for the coroner's report."
He closed his eyes to block out the jumbled thoughts and images playing in his mind, Alex as he had last seen her alive, the frozen face staring back at him with lifeless eyes, the knowledge that he had neglected to tell Christie the whole truth about the extent of his relationship with her, the little transgression he wished had never happened and yet, even with guilt, he was now somehow glad it had, the overwhelming sense of loss he felt for someone who hadn't been part of his life for so long, the recognition that Alex had much left to do, wondering who would step forward and take up her causes, and through it all, the same nagging doubt that had plagued him since they'd pulled her from the water.
This was no suicide; the Alex he remembered would never do it. She cherished her work, as he did, defined herself by it, and believe so fully in the good of her causes that she would never leave any of it untended.
He turned to Christie. "No, this was no suicide. She wouldn't kill herself, not the Alex I knew. I'm sure of it. I don't know what she thought she needed to tell me, but whatever it is, it's here," he said, tearing the envelope open and unfolding its contents.
As he read her words, he recognized that he was making no effort to guard his reaction to them, his shock and anger playing out in his expression. He clenched and unclenched his fingers; he paced back and forth in front of the window, and when he had read the last word, he slammed an angry fist against the window ledge.
Christie jumped. "Jimmy, what is it?"
"Jesus Christ!" he hissed. Her letter tucked tightly in one hand, he picked up the phone and dialed his partner's number. "Come on, come on, answer...Yeah, it's Jim. Can you meet me?...Yes, now...where we found our DOA this morning. If you happen to get there before I do, just wait for me, okay?"
He folded the papers and slipped them back in the envelope, tucking it in his coat pocket. "Christie, I'm sorry about dinner," he said, shoving his arm into the sleeve, "But I have to go."
"Jimmy, hold on." She met him in the entry, straightened the collar of his coat and smoothed down the shoulders. "Hey, are you going to let me in?"
He kissed her lightly on the cheek. "Don't wait up for me, okay? This could be a really long night."
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"Alright, Dunbar, what is so important that it couldn't wait until the morning?" Danny slid into the passenger side of the car and pulled the door shut. "It's too damn cold to be out here tonight," he said vigorously rubbing his hands together to emphasize that point.
"Did it ever occur to you that your hands wouldn't be so cold if you'd just break down and buy yourself a pair of gloves? Look, I wouldn't have called you out if I didn't think it was important. And this is important." He turned to face his partner. "Danny, Alex didn't jump. She was thrown from that bridge."
"Shit, Dunbar, you brought me all the way out here on a night like this to tell me that? Is this another one of your hunches we're playing out here?"
"No, Danny, this is not a hunch. I know she didn't kill herself," he said with certainty.
"Alright, Jim, I'll take that leap. You know that how? We haven't got anything to go on, other than the old homeless guy and we know he saw shit."
"No, that's where you're wrong, Danny. We do have something to go on." He shifted his weight so he could slide his hand into his coat pocket and retrieve the envelope. "She wrote me a letter."
"She wrote you a letter?" Danny asked, his expression, like his voice, full of skepticism.
"We were friends once, Bellamy, good friends," Jim responded firmly, handing his partner the letter. "I think she knew she could trust me."
"Trust you with what?"
"Just read it, Danny." He sat silently, watching for the reaction he knew would come.
"Jesus, Mary and Joseph, Dunbar." The note slid out of Danny's hand and came to rest on the seat between them. Jim picked it up, folded it and slipped it back into the confines of his coat pocket.
"Christ, this is unbelievable. How the hell do you suppose she found out about any of it?"
"Come on, Danny, put two and two together. She was a public defender...she had to have access to an awful lot of street information."
"But, Jimmy, something like this is way too big for us to handle on our own. You've got to let the Lieutenant know about this."
"Yeah, I know and I will, tomorrow. I wanted you to see it first and," he hesitated knowing his partner's penchant for logic and doing things by the book, "I want to go take a look, see if there's any action over there."
"We'll be out of jurisdiction, Dunbar. You know that."
"I'm not saying we're going to do anything. I just want to have a look around."
"I don't know, Jimmy."
"Danny, it's not open for debate. You come with me, or your don't. Either way, I'm going."
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He wheeled the car up onto the access ramp for the Brooklyn Bridge and crossed the East River, exiting onto Prospect Avenue.
This area of Brooklyn had long been defined by an assortment of abandoned warehouses, a haven for the vagrant population, especially on a night like this. Benefiting from a recent resurgence of interest in its prime waterfront location and an influx of new money, the old warehouses were rapidly rezoned for multi-use commercial and residential complexes. The revitalization project ensured the preservation of the warehouse's exterior shells, years of soot, grime and graffiti were acid washed from their red bricks, the old multi-paned windows perfectly replicated, the big wooden doors replaced with sleek glass and metal. Even the faded white washed names of the original proprietors, dulled through the years were left for posterity sake, labels from another time in their history.
The redevelopment process was slow; while new life was breathed into one street, a few streets away, the buildings were still caught in a virtual time warp, industrial leftovers waiting for that same metamorphosis. Turning onto Gold Street, one of those streets where transition had not yet begun, Jim distanced the car from the dull glow of an overhead street lamp, drifted over to the curb and killed the engine. The world around them was silent, unmoving, except for the condensed puffs of warm air rising through the manhole covers.
"Now what?" Danny asked, already beginning to shiver.
"Now we wait," Jim replied. Slouching down in the seat, he drew his coat closer to him to fend off the advancing cold. "We can't risk running the engine, Danny boy, so do what you can to stay warm."
"Christ, Jimmy, I can't believe I let you talk me into this. On a night like this one, even the rats are smart enough to be some place warm."
Jim shook his head and shrugged. "Not the kind we're looking for."