Intentional End
Chapter 26
Evening Tuesday
October 16
Jack drove them to the Hilton Garden Inn. Loomis, the doorman, recognized Bobby from his visits and the apartment hunting. "Detective! Welcome back! Where is your lovely wife?" Bobby ignored the man and Deakins just shook his head at the man. Loomis stared after the three men, confused. Jack went to the desk and requested two adjoining, nonsmoking rooms for two nights, using the department credit card.
Antonio, the kind desk clerk who had befriended Gleason on her first visit two years prior, came around the corner from the elevators. "Detective Goren, how good to see you again!" He crossed the lobby to where Bobby stood and Bobby turned toward him. Antonio stopped dead when he saw Bobby's face. Loomis swept over and pulled Antonio aside.
Jack and Deakins returned to Bobby's side and the two spoke briefly. Deakins and Jack agreed to take Bobby to the apartment at ten the next morning. Jack would have boxes handy for them to prepare her things to be shipped home. "Jack, thanks for everything. I couldn't have done this without you."
Jack glanced at Bobby who had stepped away from their conversation. "Look after him, Jimmy. If you need anything, call me. Are you going to need clothes or anything?"
"No, we'll be fine. We're probably going to head home tomorrow afternoon. He's not going to want to stick around."
Jack stepped to Bobby and put his hand on the tall man's arm. "Detective, I'm sorry for your loss. I'll see you in the morning, get some rest." Bobby looked numbly at the kind man, nodded and put out his hand to shake. Jack took his hand and then left.
"Bobby, let's go upstairs. Come on." He followed his boss to the elevators.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Deakins phone rang as they headed down the hall. He checked the number, Eames's cell.
"Yeah," he said flatly.
"Captain, how, how is he?"
"Let me call you back," and he flipped shut his phone.
Deakins opened Bobby's door, stepped aside, followed Bobby in and handed him the key card. "I'm right next door. I'm going to open the doors between the rooms."
Bobby just stood beside the bed, saying nothing. Deakins opened the connecting door in Bobby's room and left, letting himself into the room next door where he opened the connecting door in his room. "Are you hungry?" he asked.
Bobby wiped his face and slipped off his coat, tossing it over the chair by the desk. He shook his head and undid his tie, throwing it on top of his coat. He kicked off his shoes and opened the top three buttons on his shirt. Then, Bobby dropped onto the bed, feet flat, knees bent and put an arm over his eyes.
Deakins returned to his room and did the same with his coat, tie, shoes and shirt. Then he sat on the bed and flipped open his cell.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Antonio and Loomis stood silently together watching the three men. "I wonder what's going on," Loomis said to his friend. Antonio, never one to let anything go undone, strode to the desk and asked Monique what she knew about the three men.
"All I know is the Evanston Police are paying for their two rooms and incidentals. They booked for two nights, with a chance to check out tomorrow."
"The police are paying for their rooms? I wonder why. Do you think they are working on a case with the New York police?"
Antonio thought for a moment and then said, "Did you see Dr. W's husband's face? The way he was standing off by himself, the way the other two were whispering around him? He didn't look too good to me."
Suddenly, Clark rushed from the back room and said, "Hey, you guys remember Dr. Wintermantle, that nice lady from the university? She died this morning!"
The two men and woman turned. "What! She died! What happened?" Antonio asked.
"The news said her apartment had a carbon monoxide leak."
Loomis and Antonio were struck dumb. Dr. Wintermantle is dead? How can that be?
"That's why her husband is here and looked so bad. And the police. Oh my. Oh my," Loomis said softly.
Antonio walked away and sat in one of the chairs in the lobby area between the desk and windows. Loomis had to dash out to help a guest with her bags and then went to sit with him.
"Can you believe it? She is such a nice lady," Loomis murmured.
Antonio stood and walked to the desk, "Monique, what rooms are they in?"
"Five-twenty-two and -four."
"Thanks." Antonio walked into the kitchen and emerged a few minutes later with a cart filled with plates holding sandwiches, French fries, salad, cake and pie. The bottom shelf held a pitcher of iced tea, a pot of coffee, two beers and a full bottle of Scotch. Cutlery, glasses, cups and condiments filled the last of the space. "Monique, which room is the other guy in?" She told him and he headed for the elevator.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Alex, Deakins."
"How is he?"
"He's destroyed. Anything going on there?"
"Yeah, Bobby's next door neighbour was murdered sometime today."
Deakins went cold. He knew exactly who did it, but why?
"How?"
"Broken neck. It looks like the perp caught her on the way into her apartment, overpowered her and snapped her neck. An elderly woman, Mrs. Irene Ziegler."
Deakins couldn't say anything right away. This is getting out of hand, he thought. How many people have to die and suffer to cauterise their actions? "Who's working it? That's Midtown North."
"They have it. Ted Olewine, Bobby's super, found the body and called it in. Then he called the office to tell Bobby about it; I picked up the phone and responded. I told them about Gleason."
The two were silent a moment.
"Ok. Listen, we're probably going to be back tomorrow some time. He's going to need a lot of time off, Alex."
"Is he going to survive this?"
Deakins debated whether to tell Bobby's partner about the pregnancy and decided to wait. "He'll survive, but this will change him. Listen, I'll call you tomorrow. Take care of things there."
"Ok. Tell him I'm thinking of him."
They both clicked off.
Deakins moved and stood in the doorway connecting the two rooms, looking at his best detective, thinking Bobby was asleep. He wasn't.
"I, I want to see the autopsy report."
"Bobby . . . ," Deakins said.
"I-want-to-see-the-fucking-report," Bobby said darkly and sat up. "Give me the file."
"I will, but I have to tell you something first."
Bobby sat up on the edge of the bed, stared at Deakins and felt a chill, "What?"
"Bobby," Deakins couldn't believe it could get any worse, "Oh God, Bobby . . . Gleason, she, she was thirteen weeks pregnant."
Bobby couldn't draw a deep breath and stared dumbly at his boss. His mind ran. She was pregnant. I knew she was pregnant. A baby, our baby. Oh God, oh God. Honey. My wife and my child. Bobby's face went into his hands and hitched sobs anew, wailing his grief. Oh God.
Deakins couldn't help by cry softly as well. This man cannot take another blow, he thought. Deakins looked at Bobby sitting with his face in his hands, elbows on his knees and had no idea what to do or what to say.
"How far?" Bobby hitched out, looking up at his boss, "How many weeks?" He wanted to know if she was pregnant before she was abducted.
"Thirteen weeks," Deakins replied softly.
Thirteen weeks, thirteen weeks . . . Bobby did the math and figured she was pregnant before their honeymoon. My baby, it was my baby. My baby. And he cried with relief and renewed grief.
A knock on his door drew Deakins' attention. He wiped his face with this handkerchief and answered. Antonio introduced himself, expressed his condolences and explained that he wanted to offer this dinner to them, on the house. Deakins was stunned. "Thank you. This is . . . very nice of you. Are you sure it's on the house? I'd be more than glad to pay for this."
"No, no. Please accept this." Antonio had to pause, he wanted to explain how special Dr. Wintermantle was to him and everyone at the hotel, but he didn't trust himself not to cry.
He nodded to Deakins and left. Deakins looked at the feast and selected the Scotch and two glasses. He walked through the open doors connecting the two rooms. Bobby lay on his back again, stretched out on one bed; hands limp on his chest, staring at the ceiling.
"Bobby, let's have a drink." Deakins opened the bottle and poured two stiff ones. He walked to Bobby and held it out to him. "Come on, sit up. Drink this."
Bobby turned his head and looked at his boss. He sat up and took the glass. Deakins sat on the other bed, facing Bobby. They each took a sip. "You're going to have to eat some dinner. We have lots of food in the other room."
"I'm not hungry."
"I know that, but you have to eat something."
Bobby ignored him and tossed back the rest of his drink. He stood, went to the bottle on the dresser, poured himself another ample drink, and drained it. He reached for the bottle again and Deakins stood and took it from him. "No more, you have to eat something. Come on."
"Give me the fucking bottle."
Deakins ignored him and walked into his room. He put the bottle on the shelf in the closet and set his glass on the dresser. Then, he pushed the cart into Bobby's room. "Here, eat this," handing Bobby a plate with a huge sandwich on it. Bobby shook his head, moved back to the bed, and laid down, resuming his position with hands limp on his chest.
Deakins looked at his friend and took a bite out of the sandwich. He took a plate of French fries, dumped ketchup to the side and set the plate on the table between the two beds. The smell was fabulous.
"Bobby, we're going to go to the apartment at ten tomorrow morning. You'll need to pack up Gleason's things. I'll help you." Bobby said nothing. "We'll head home tomorrow afternoon, if you want. Or, we can stay and head home the day after." Deakins looked at him, Bobby may as well been deaf and mute.
Deakins took a few fries and continued to eat the sandwich.
Suddenly, softly Bobby said, "What about her, her . . . her body?" he whispered the last bit.
"Dr. Rogers will take receipt and keep it until you know what you want to do."
Bobby thought on this and then said, "What should I do?"
Deakins set aside the sandwich and wiped his mouth. "What do you want to do? Does Gleason have any family?"
Bobby sat quietly and then answered so softly, "Just me."
Deakins hesitated with this next bit, "What do you want to do, Bobby? Do you have a funeral home you use?"
Bobby's hands went to his face, elbows on his knees. After a few minutes, his hands lowered and he said softly, "Uh, McFarland's, on East 29th. They, they handled my mother's and father's funerals." His voice quivered.
Neither man said anything for several minutes. Suddenly, Bobby stood and rushed to the bathroom, slammed the door and Deakins heard him vomit. He emerged a few minutes later and Deakins said, "Eat something. You are going to need to be strong tomorrow."
"Where did you put that Scotch?" Bobby responded.
"You need to eat first." Deakins retrieved the other sandwich for him along with the other plate of fries, replaced his plate of fries with Bobby's dinner on the night table and went to retrieve the mustard. "Eat."
Bobby looked inside the sandwich and then took the mustard. He ate. "Can I have one of those beers," he asked. Deakins looked at him and got one for each. The pair ate in silence.
Bobby finished the sandwich and most of his fries. He drained the last of the beer and put his plates back onto the cart. He stood and looked out the window at the night.
Deakins cleaned up the left over bits, covered the cake and pie and pushed the card back into his room. He brought the bottle of Scotch with him and poured them each a drink. He stepped to Bobby's side and tapped his arm, offering the drink. Bobby took it and drained the glass.
"You need to slow down with that," Deakins told him. Bobby ignored him and looked for the bottle. Deakins got it first and poured him a short one. Bobby kept his glass out and waited for Deakins to add more. He didn't and Bobby said, "Don't fuck with me. Fill it."
Deakins acquiesced and gave it another pour. "Go easy," he warned and watched Bobby drain it in two swigs.
Bobby returned to the bed and lay back, assuming the same position as earlier. Deakins said, "Why don't you get into bed, Bobby? Try to get some sleep. We can sleep in, get some breakfast and then Jack will pick us up at about ten." He got no response, so he asked, "Do you want anything?" and then regretted it.
Bobby replied with, "Leave that bottle."
Deakins did not want to do that, but he figured what he hell. He left the bottle on the dresser and returned to his room, leaving open the doors between their rooms. He stripped to boxers and undershirt, got into bed and called Angie, speaking softly so Bobby wouldn't hear.
Bobby lay in his suit trousers and dress shirt. He stared at the ceiling and his mind flitted from thought to thought. Several times, it was hard to breathe as the reality of her passing began to take solid form in his mind and heart. He didn't cry, however; he did drink, though. After about an hour of staring at the ceiling, Bobby got up from the bed and retrieved the bottle and his glass from the dresser and poured nearly a full glass of Scotch. He downed half of it in one swig, winced as it burned its way to his stomach and refilled the glass.
Sitting up with his back against the headboard, Bobby knew he was getting drunk, and was glad. Two hours later, the bottle was empty and he had moved down onto the bed and slept. He didn't dream.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------