Tacked across one wall of Glenn’s office were the last seven days of front pages. Each day, the first thing he did was take the seven-day-old edition down and tack up the latest front page. I guess he did this to keep track of the news and the continuity of our coverage. Or maybe, because he never got bylines as a writer anymore, putting the pages up was a way of reminding himself that he was in charge. Glenn hung up and looked up at me.
“Thanks for coming in,” he said. “I just wanted to tell you again that I’m sorry about your brother. And if you feel like you want some more time, it’s no problem. We’ll work something out.”
“Thanks. But I’m back.”
He nodded but made no move to dismiss me. I knew there was something more to the summons.
“Well, to business then. Do you have anything going at the moment? As far as I remember, you were looking for your next project when. . . when it happened. I figure if you are back, then maybe it would be good for you to get busy with something. You know, dive back in.”
It was in that moment that I knew what I would do next. Oh, it had been there all right. But it hadn’t come to the surface, not until Glenn asked that question. Then, of course, it was obvious.
“I’m going to write about my brother,” I said.
I don’t know if that was what Glenn was hoping I would say, but I think it was. I think he had had his eye on a story ever since he’d heard the cops had met me down in the lobby and told me what my brother had done. He was probably smart enough to know he didn’t have to suggest the story, that it would come to me on its own. He just had to ask the simple question.
Anyway, I took the bait. And all things in my life changed after that. As clearly as you can chart anyone’s life in retrospect, mine changed with that one sentence, in that one moment when I told Glenn what I would do. I thought I knew something about death then. I thought I knew about evil. But I didn’t know anything.
3
William Gladden’s eyes scanned the happy faces as they moved past him. It was like a giant vending machine. Take your pick. Don’t like him? Here comes another. Will she do?
This time none would do. Besides, their parents were too close by. He’d have to wait for the one time one of them made a mistake, walked out on the pier or over to the snack window for cotton candy, leaving their precious one all alone.
Gladden loved the carousel on the Santa Monica Pier. He didn’t love it because it was an original, and, according to the story in the display case, it took six years to hand-paint the galloping horses and restore it to its original condition. He didn’t love it because it had been featured in lots of movies that he had seen over the years, especially while in Raiford. And he didn’t love it because it brought to mind memories of riding with his Best Pal on the merry-go-round at the Sarasota County Fair. He loved it because of the children who rode on it. Innocence and abandonment to pure happiness played on each one’s face as it circled again and again to the accompaniment of the calliope. Since arriving from Phoenix he had been coming here. Every day. He knew it might take some time but one day it would eventually pay off and he would be able to fill his order.
As he watched the collage of colors his mind jumped backward as it had so often since Raiford. He remembered his Best Pal. He remembered the black-dark closet with only the band of light at the bottom. He huddled on the floor near the light, near the air. He could see his feet coming that way. Each step. He wished he were older, taller, so that he could reach the top shelf. If only he were, he would have a surprise waiting for his Best Pal.
Gladden came back. He looked around. The ride had ended and the last of the children were making their way to waiting parents on the other side of the gate. There was a line of more children ready to run to the carousel and pick their horse. He looked again for a dark-haired girl with smooth brown skin but saw none. Then he noticed the woman who took the tickets from the children staring at him. Their eyes met and Gladden looked away. He adjusted the strap of his duffel bag. The weight of the camera and the books inside it had pulled it down on his shoulder. He made a note to leave the books in the car next time. He took a last look at the carousel and headed for one of the doors that exited onto the pier.
When he got to the car he casually looked back at the woman. The children screamed as they ran to the wooden horses. Some with parents, most alone. The woman taking tickets had already forgotten about him. He was safe.
4
Laurie Prine looked up from her terminal and smiled when I walked in. I was hoping she’d be there. I came around the counter and pulled an extra chair away from an empty desk and sat down next to hers. It looked like a slow moment at the Rocky library.
“Oh no,” she said cheerfully. “When you come in and sit down, I know it’s going to be a long one.”
She was referring to the extensive search requests I usually made in preparation for stories. A lot of the crime stories I wrote spiraled into wide-ranging law enforcement issues. I always needed to know what else had been written about the subject and where.
“Sorry,” I said, a feigned contrition. “This one might keep you with Lex and Nex the rest of the day.”
“You mean, if I can get to it. What do you need?”
She was attractive in an understated way. She had dark hair I had never seen in anything other than a braid, brown eyes behind the steel-rimmed glasses and full lips that were never painted. She pulled a yellow legal pad over in front of her, adjusted her glasses and picked up a pen, ready to take down the list of things I wanted. Lexis and Nexis were computer databases that carried most major and not so major newspapers in the country, as well as court rulings and a whole host of other parking lots on the information highway. If you were trying to see how much had been written on a specific subject or particular story, the Lexis/Nexis network was the place to start.
“Police suicide,” I said. “I want to find out everything I can about it.”
Her face stiffened. I guessed she suspected the search was for personal reasons. The computer time is expensive and the company strictly forbids its use for personal reasons.
“Don’t worry, I’m on a story. Glenn just okayed the assignment.”
She nodded but I wondered if she believed me. I assumed she would check with Glenn. Her eyes returned to her yellow pad.
“What I’m looking for is any national statistics on occurrence, any stats on the rate of cop suicide compared to other jobs and the population as a whole, and any mention of think tanks or government agencies that might have studied this. Uh, let’s see, what else. . . oh, and anything anecdotal.”
“Anecdotal?”
“You know, any clips on cop suicides that have run. Let’s go back five years. I’m looking for examples.”
“Like your. . .”
She realized what she was saying.
“Yes, like my brother.”
“It’s a shame.”
She didn’t say anything more. I let the silence hang between us for a few moments and then asked her how long she thought the computer search would take. My requests were often given a low priority since I was not a deadline writer.
“Well, it’s really a shotgun search, nothing specific. I’m going to have to spend some time on it and you know I’ll get pulled when the dailies start coming in. But I’ll try. How about late this afternoon, that be okay?”