RCC03 - Beneath a Weeping Sky Read Free

Hands on his hips, he walked in large circles around the front yard, slowing his breathing and letting his legs cool down.
    Mornings were melancholy times for him. Sometimes he had thoughts of Scarface, the robber he’d killed. Other times, memories of Vietnam crept back in to his consciousness, forcing their way out of the shallow graves in his mind.
    Like Bobby Ramirez.
    Or Mai.
    He needed sleep. That’s all it was. Some water, a hot shower and sleep.
    As his breath slowed, he turned on the water in his front yard and drank from the hose. The city water had a slight metallic tang to it, but he took a deep draught before turning the spigot off.
    Chisolm made his way up the short, concrete steps and removed his house key from his sock. Unlocking the door, he went inside, tossing the key on the kitchen table. A hot shower was calling to him.
    As he walked past the refrigerator, a picture taped to the front caught his attention. An attractive, dark-haired woman stared out of the photograph at him. She had a smile on her face but her eyes were slightly sad. They’d always had that hint of sadness, as long as he’d known her.
    Sylvia.
    He’d intended to remove the photo over two years ago, but never remembered to do it. He didn’t bother with it now, reasoning that the shower was more pressing. He almost fooled himself into believing that as he walked out of the kitchen and toward the bathroom.
    Thomas Chisolm refused to think of her, concentrating instead on what he had to accomplish after he woke up and before going to work tonight. If he opened up the door to memories, far too many would come unbidden. Especially in the mornings.
    “Regret is a luxury you can’t afford,” he told his reflection.
    We live in a world of broken promises, he added silently. And life is full of failure.
    Chisolm undressed and took his shower. He turned the hot water up until the searing heat was as hot as he could stand. Despite admonishing himself to forget about Sylvia, he allowed himself to brood a little more as the water cascaded down on his head. He knew that if he stopped thinking about her, there was another memory standing in line behind her.
    Stop chasing ghosts. Just stop.
     
    0938 hours
     
    Lieutenant Alan Hart drummed his fingers on the desktop. The rhythmic thud echoed through the empty office.
    He stared down at the file in front of him, his eyes skipping over the words in the report that he’d already read three times and nearly had memorized.
    According to the report, Officer James Kahn drove through the Life’s Bean Good coffee stand several times a night. He bought coffee each time, tipped generously, and asked the nineteen-year-old barista out on a date. She reported being flattered at first, then uncomfortable with his advances. When she told her boyfriend about it, he made her call in a complaint.
    Identifying Kahn had been no problem. Skirt chasers were common enough, but Kahn gave the barista his business card with his cell phone number on the back. He insisted she call him by his first name. Besides that, when she came into the office, Hart directed her to the picture wall that held every officer’s photo but no names. She immediately pointed right at Kahn’s picture.
    Hart flipped the page and read the transcript.
     
Question: How often did the officer visit your place of business?
Answer: Two or three times a day, at least.
Question: Did he buy something each time?
Answer: Yes.
Question: Did he ask you out on a date each time?
Answer: No, but more than once. And he flirted with me a lot.
Question: Did you ever feel afraid of him?
Answer: No.
Question: Threatened? Unsafe?
Answer: No. I just didn’t want to go out with him.
Question: Did his demeanor ever change when you turned him down?
Answer: Not really. He just smiled and kept trying.
     
    Hart sighed and closed the file. He’d been assigned to Internal Affairs for almost a year and here he was, reduced to investigating some patrol cop trying to get