Author's note: This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, is purely coincidental. I do not own Pokemon or related trademarks.
Again, my apologies to anyone who was offended by some of the things brought up in the previous chapter.
Well, it's taken me long enough, but here it is: the final chapter of this story. Of course, there's more stories in the Saffron Justice series to come, but I'm going to take a bit of a break after this one and finish a one-shot I'm working on before starting the next entry in the series.
Language warning:
Commissioner Steele strode up to Frank as Harvey Wikstrom, still screaming in pain, was being loaded into an ambulance. "What the hell did you do to him, Caldwell?" she demanded.
"He had a gun pointed at Victoria, so I shot the beam down. I didn't mean for THAT to happen. I just wanted to knock him out."
He looked at Wikstrom again. The man's face was covered in blood, crushed from the impact of the heavy wooden beam. He was probably missing teeth, his jaw was probably broken, his nose appeared to have been smashed flat, and one cheek seemed displaced. Both of his legs had been bent at anatomically impossible angles upon landing. If he hadn't suffered severe internal injuries, Frank would have been surprised.
As it stood, the detective merely shrugged. "Eh, he'll probably live. He'll just need some serious repairs done before trial."
"For what it's worth," added Victoria, who was next to him, "we got his confession recorded. Every sordid detail. He may be messed up physically, but I think he may be more messed up mentally."
Steele said nothing for a while. Then she looked back at Frank. "Depending on the circumstances and what happens later, what you did could land you in hot water for excessive force. That being said, good… good work…."
She couldn't bring herself to finish. Instead she turned away. Choking on her pride again, Frank thought.
The medics finally managed to reach the other ambulance, a stretcher-bound Tristan in tow. Frank and Victoria went up to him. "You're gonna be OK, Tristan," the human said.
"Yeah, I know. Bullet's stuck in my arm, but they'll get it out, no problem." He glared at the other ambulance. "BUT IF I HAVE TO BE ANYWHERE NEAR THAT MOTHERFUCKER I SWEAR TO GOD I'LL KILL HIM MYSELF!"
Victoria climbed in the ambulance as they loaded her boyfriend up. "I'm going with him, Frank, OK?"
"Go right ahead," he responded.
Stuart walked over, Hopfmar close behind. "Think I'll follow behind. You coming?"
"Nah," Frank answered. "I got some stuff I need to take care of first. Call me when Tristan gets out of surgery so I can check up on him, OK?"
"Got it."
Frank watched him get in one of the police cars and drive off, then turned to Hopfmar. "Captain, could you drive me back to the precinct and then over to Angela Wikstrom's residence? There's something I need to do."
"Well, let's go, then," Hopfmar answered as they walked towards his car.
Frank walked up the steps to Angela Wikstrom's house and knocked on the door. Seconds later, she opened. "Why, detective, I didn't expect to see you here! Come on in!"
"Actually, I just wanted to stop by and say that it's over. We got him."
"I heard something about a standoff on the news, but they didn't say where or why. Was that what it was all about?"
"Yes."
"So, are you able to tell me who it was?"
"It was Harvey."
"Oh my god," she breathed.
"Yeah, long story, not sure I want to tell it yet. I only know some of the details because Agent Stillwater filled me in on them. Suffice it to say, though, that Harvey killed his mother when he was younger and swore Dave to secrecy. When Dave started to waver on that commitment, Harvey kidnapped Jeremy."
"Oh my god…."
"He claims Jeremy died from SIDS. We have no way to prove it one way or the other. Then, when he felt my father was getting too close to the truth, he shot him, then cornered Dave and killed him too."
"It wasn't suicide?"
"No."
There was silence for a while.
"Well," she finally said, "thank you for all you've done, detective."
"There's one other thing." He handed her a large brown envelope. "I should have told you this, but when we did the DNA test to determine whether Jeremy was alive or not, I had your husband's file re-opened so we could access the clothes he had been wearing for a DNA sample from a bloody patch."
He handed her the envelope, and she opened it up. She read the document inside, then closed her eyes as a tear began to stream down one of her cheeks.
"Dave would have been proud, Mrs. Wikstrom," he said softly. "I have no doubt your son could've done the two of you proud."
"Th-thank you, d-detective," she sobbed.
The boxes sat opened on Frank's desk.
You know what to do, right?
"Yeah," he replied aloud.
He placed the lids on each of the boxes and scrawled CLOSED in black marker on each one.
Until he got to his father.
There, he stopped, his right hand shaking in the sling.
Dad… we've done it. You and me, we've done it.
And then, for the first time since he opened the case that left him fatherless, he let his head fall to the desk and let himself cry.
He opened the door and trudged inside his home, his eyes worn from tears but still able to see his mother and Karen sitting at the kitchen table. Ellen looked at him and smiled. "I hear you had a pretty busy night at work," she said.
"We solved the case," he replied quietly.
"You mean your dad?" Karen asked.
Frank could not speak, only nod.
"Well, I guess it's closure for us, isn't it, sweetie?" his mother mused. She got up and went to a cabinet. "You know, I saved something for if they ever found who killed your father. I figured," she continued as she produced a bottle of what Frank could only assume was whiskey along with a few glasses, "we could finally stop waiting."
She sat down and poured a small amount into each glass, giving one to her son and one to the Dark-type Elite Four member before pouring one for herself.
Frank lifted his glass with his left hand. "To giving our ghosts peace."
They took a sip from their glasses. There was a pause for a second or two, then the loud sounds of spitting and groans as the three reacted badly. "Sweetie," gasped Ellen, "you should have closed the book sooner."
Karen was wiping tears of pain from her eyes. "Yeah, this is a bit harsh to say the very least."
Ellen pushed the bottle towards her son. "Want to dump this outside?" she asked. "I don't want it to go down the sink because I don't want it to vaporize the pipes."
Trying to smile but failing, Frank picked up the now re-capped bottle and walked outside. He stood there in the snow, feeling the wind begin to pick up, the flakes coming down again. He breathed in the air, felt the cold in his lungs, and also felt a presence. He looked around, and to his non-surprise, there was Mewtwo, wind blowing his cape. "I should have known."
"I came to offer my congratulations, Detective Caldwell," the mutant said. "I should imagine that this has to be of some comfort to you and your mother."
"Well, the closure is nice. It can only do so much, but…."
His voice trailed off, but then he remembered the bottle in his hand. "You want this? My mom saved this for this occasion, but it's not quite what we had expected."
Mewtwo silently took it, opened it, and took a swig. Then he shuddered, put the cap back on, and gave it back. "I see what you mean."
Frank smiled. "So, will I see you around still?"
"I have not much to do, nowhere much to go. So I will still be around."
"I wouldn't have it any other way."
He heard his phone ring. "Just a second." He picked up. "Caldwell."
Frank and Karen walked into the hospital, where the others were waiting. Also there was a man in a suit whom Frank did not recognize. "Numerous facial injuries, bruised internal organs, several cracked ribs, both legs broken," he snapped. "What kind of brutality do you encourage your cops to use, anyway?!"
Another fucking lawyer.
"If you want to try to push the issue," Steele retorted, "I'm sure that there are witnesses that will attest that what happened was nothing more than an unfortunate accident."
"He's in so much pain, he's not thinking clearly! He's insisting he wants to plead guilty when we go to trial!"
"Actually," Frank chimed in, "he already DID confess. It's all recorded if you want to argue. Is it admissible? I don't know, but we have it."
Before the lawyer could speak up, Frank resumed walking towards Tristan's hospital room. It was only then that Victoria noticed the bulge in the sling.
Tristan's eyes were almost closed and his head was slowly but steadily flopping back and forth on his pillow as Frank walked in. "Told you you'd come out just fine."
"Yeah, yeah, I know," the Gallade replied. "It's gonna be a while before I can use this arm again, though."
They chuckled, then fell silent.
Tristan broke the silence. "Look, about what I said a few hours ago. I really am sorry for my behavior, Frank. I guess I let my jealousy and my love for Victoria block out my common sense and decency."
"You're not the only one who needs to apologize. I've been a total asshole over the whole thing. It's my fault that-"
"No, Frank. It's not."
Frank decided not to argue, but the end result was more silence.
This time, the human broke it. "You know, even after her near-death experience, even after the alcohol, I don't think Victoria and I would have gone as far as we did if it hadn't been for something else."
He pulled a box of Swiss rolls from his sling and handed to Tristan, who raised an eyebrow. "Seriously? Swiss rolls?"
"Trust me, she LOVES those. You give her one and she's putty in your hands, muchacho."
The shiny Gallade chuckled. "Well, I'll take your word for it," he said as he slipped the box under his bedsheets. "So, you think maybe you and Karen can go out with Victoria and me after I get out of here? You know, a double date or something?"
"I'm afraid not. Karen's going back home in the morning."
"Oh, well that's a shame."
Frank couldn't think of anything to say. Instead, he got up to leave-
"Hey, Frank!"
The human turned. "What?"
"Victoria and I are moving out here as soon as the branch is set up. I'm looking forward to the three of us working together more often. Just, you know, with less fights and less forced threesomes."
Frank smiled. "I'm looking forward to it too."
About a week or so later, a group of people walked through the snow, coming to a stop at a headstone.
Frank Caldwell knelt down first and set a rose on the top. "Well, Dad, we did it," he said, quietly, although he knew his mother and Angela Wikstrom were right there to hear him. "I just wish you could have been there to see it."
He got up and stood aside for Ellen to place a rose next to his. "We sure made a great thing together, didn't we, Drew?" she asked, her speech slurred from alcohol. "A really great thing."
Frank helped her take a place next to him as Angela laid a third and final rose on the grave of Andrew Caldwell. "Thank you, detective. Thank you and your son for everything."
They all stood there for a while, lingering in respect to the dead, then went back to their vehicles. A light snowfall began to come down, coating the deep red of the blooms until they were hidden in a soft cover of white.