The dark before dawn, p.15
The Dark Before Dawn, page 15
“Andrew Pierce? From here or San Francisco?”
“Up north,” Dr. B said, and could hear his father telling him he would never cut it as a therapist. “I can’t give you any more details, Miguel, but it may be worth looking into.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll check into Andrew Pierce,” Ramirez assured him and brought his lighter up to the Winston dangling from his mouth.
“And will you promise not to take Gabriel off the case?”
The lighter’s flame froze an inch from its target. “You’re as crazy as he is.”
“I do think Gabriel and the suspect are connected. But if you pull Gabriel off the case, he won’t get any closer to remembering his past and the killer is in his past.”
Ramirez regarded Gabriel for a moment through the glass. “I don’t know. I don’t like the idea of a detective following clues that may lead right to his own door.”
“Trust me, Miguel.”
Ramirez grunted and lit his cigarette.
Ming Li held the sample of Gabriel’s blood in her hand as she exited the Homicide building and walked briskly to her car. Anthony Hamilton was waiting for her at the downtown lab, only Ming was melting like the watered down witch in The Wizard of Oz. She wanted to drop the vials of dark red onto the asphalt. Taking the DNA sample from Gabriel was torturous – both for her and for Gabriel. When she heard Anthony Hamilton had been dispatched to draw blood from Gabriel, Ming had intervened. She hoped that her presence would lessen Gabriel’s ordeal, but instead, her being there had made the situation worse – much worse. Bad enough Gabriel had to be questioned by Rick the Rookie, but it must have completely crushed him to see her walk through the door, all business, and ask for a sample of his DNA.
Ming passed an industrial sized trash bin and she licked her lips. I could toss the sample in there, she thought wildly. Then she berated herself for thinking something so imbecilic.
I could replace this sample with the blood of someone else. Ming eyed the tubes in her hand. I could do it before Anthony Hamilton ever saw the specimen. No one would know the difference. The suspect’s sample would be different than Gabriel’s, that’s all. Simple. Over and done with.
Ming entered her car, placed her hands on the steering wheel, and looked at the building where Gabriel was sitting under fire. How could she consider lying?
Gabriel doesn’t need protection, Ming told herself, because he’s not the killer. His DNA is going to be different than the suspect’s, so why worry?
But she was worried. She was worried that the DNA would be a match.
Ming glanced wistfully again at the trash bin, and then quickly started her car and headed toward the lab.
Chapter 14
The traffic buffered him. Seeing nothing but the red brake lights of thousands of automobiles on the Santa Monica Freeway lulled Gabriel, allowing him to retreat into a private area where nothing mattered except avoiding fender-benders.
When he arrived at his apartment on Bay Street, Gabriel immediately went to the fridge and grabbed a bottle of beer. He uncapped it, put it to his lips, and then suddenly flung it across the room. The glass crashed mightily and the amber liquid made a frothy trail down the wall, quickly descending to the carpet. His cooking pots sat neatly on the stove in anticipation of his next culinary adventure. With one fell swoop of his arm, Gabriel sent them all clanging to the floor.
He trekked back to his bedroom looking for something else to destroy but, finding nothing; he collapsed upon his bed, wondering if maybe he should destroy himself. Gabriel ripped the Band-Aid from his muscular arm, staring at the small hole and feeling humiliated that Ming had witnessed his interrogation. He wondered if this was the intention of the killer – to torture Gabriel. But who was it and what had Gabriel done to warrant this vendetta? I can’t remember. Nothing and nobody comes to mind!
Gabriel had researched the lives of recent parolees from his past cases but they were easily accounted for, and he discounted them as persons of interest. The other convicted perpetrators were still safely ensconced in prison.
Gabriel let his mind wander to Andrew Pierce for a moment. In retrospect, he could see that Andrew was exactly what Gabriel’s mother had labeled him: a high school dropout living off his parents, with no direction and nothing to do except tinker with his dump of a car. Thinking about Andrew fixing his car caused a black flower to bloom in Gabriel’s chest, a blossom with unfurling petals that gave promise of a hideous scent. Gabriel abruptly flipped over in bed, turning away from the memories of Andrew Pierce.
He concentrated instead on his current predicament. Frankly, he was surprised Ramirez was keeping him on the case. Gabriel knew he would be watched very carefully. He wondered if his phone was tapped.
I could quit, he told himself, but what good would that do? If he quit they’d still watch him. If Gabriel could bring the true killer to justice, the Sheriff’s Department would owe him much more than an apology.
Tomorrow he was scheduled to attend the victim’s support group meeting in Beverly Hills. He could just imagine what those relatives of the victims would say if they found out that the main investigator of their case was also the main suspect.
* * *
Brian Goldfield’s ex-wife was a dyed blond skinny mixture of plastic surgery and diet pills. Imogene Goldfield’s large Beverly Hills home, bought with the considerable settlement she had received from her late ex-husband, was fabricated in glass and mirror; the masterpiece of an expensive interior decorator.
Gabriel spoke at the meeting and brought the support group up to date; allowing them access to the few leads which could be made public. He kept the members ignorant of the typewritten notes and his own hunch about college students.
Gloria Lusk, the leggy, redheaded fiancée of Ted Brody, sat stirring a martini that Imogene Goldfield had dropped in her hand earlier. She didn’t say much, just stared sadly into the clear vodka. The parents of Patrick Funston and Adam Parraco sat on opposite sides of Imogene’s spacious living room; each pair telling a different story. Patrick’s parents, standing next to a large Lalique crystal figurine, bemoaned the loss of a beloved son who had had a bright future. Mr. and Mrs. Parraco, leaning against a display case of Imogene’s collection of crystal shoes, dolefully shook their heads, blaming Adam for the way he died, never having approved of his lifestyle.
Imogene herself sauntered around like the quintessential hostess, ignoring the solemnity of the meeting and entertaining as if for a party. A hired bartender served drinks and a caterer passed canapés. When it was her turn to ask questions, she stood up, the granddame, sniffling and claiming that the loss of Brian Goldfield was a detriment to society in general; that the world could possibly be heading toward apocalypse now that her husband’s contribution to filmmaking was over.
Gabriel patiently weathered her monologue, recalling that by all accounts the Goldfield’s divorce had been a particularly brutal war.
After a general discussion of investigative procedures, Gabriel and Dash wandered from person to person, attempting to answer questions on a more personal basis. Gabriel left Dash to engage Gloria Lusk in conversation and he continued working the room. At last Gabriel found himself standing above Tania Dankowski’s son.
He was a big boy of nine or ten, with a moon face topped by a sandy crew cut. He stood near his father, a sad hulking man who had taken root in an armchair. The boy held his head sorrowfully and was quiet. Looking at him, Gabriel felt incredible empathy and a strange sense of desolation.
He crouched down in front of the boy. “Want to see a trick they taught me in magic school?”
The boy regarded Gabriel for a moment, and then slowly nodded.
Gabriel bent his thumb, pretending it was only half a digit. He bent a finger from his other hand and then put them both together in such a way that it appeared he was pulling away half his finger.
The boy smiled and asked how the trick was done. Gabriel obliged and showed him. He took hold of the boy’s hands and manipulated his fingers.
How could you do that to a child? You’re an evil, evil man!
Gabriel abruptly let go of the boy’s fingers and stepped back.
“Like this?” Tania’s son asked him.
Gabriel composed himself and nodded to the boy. He moved away and went into Imogene’s oversized kitchen. He helped himself to a glass of water and hoped a headache wouldn’t ensue.
Gabriel closed his eyes and leaned against the granite counter. Tania’s son was tainted now. Tainted with tragedy that would affect him in such a way that he could never be the boy he was two months ago. Someday he would sit across from a therapist – spilling his guts to a stranger instead of living a happy life.
Gabriel opened his eyes to see Dash staring at him in concern.
“Are you okay?”
Gabriel pulled away from the counter and headed back toward the living room. “Aren’t you getting tired of asking that question?”
Later, Gabriel and Dash went to Pepperdine to interview more students. Gabriel found quite a lot of moped/dirt bikes being utilized, and he was determined to question every owner.
He spent most of his day at the History and Russian Language Departments, but he did not find any clues that related to the murders. As he was talking to a counselor, he noticed a case filled with Russian medals. Again, his memory sparked for a brief moment—something in his youth. He knew something was there that had to do with Russian military artifacts… but what was it?
The evening brought another appointment with Dr. B. Gabriel sat in the armchair and for once, welcomed the opportunity for therapy. He desperately wanted to crack open his own shell.
“Ramirez thinks I did it,” Gabriel told Dr. B.
“If he truly believed that, you’d be in custody.”
“The DNA from the suspect has come in. Did you know that? White male. They’re processing my blood now. They’re waiting to see the match.”
Dr. B pushed his glasses up the ridge of his nose. “You say ‘the match,’ not the results. Tell me, Gabe, do you think the two samples are going to match?”
Gabriel swallowed, surprised at the Freudian slip. He dug in his pocket for his aspirin bottle, and put a tablet into his mouth. “Everyone else thinks they’ll match.”
“I asked if you do.”
Gabriel rested his elbow on the arm of the chair and rubbed his chin. “I’m not going to lie to you, I am worried. Where do I go when I’m in those fugue states?
“Somewhere comfortable I imagine. Some event triggers the suppressed memory, but before it can surface you check out – you go away from it before it can hurt you. Going on a killing spree is highly doubtful.”
“How can you know for sure?”
I’m not sure, Dr. B thought, and felt the invisible presence of his dad frowning over his shoulder.
“Because you’re not a killer, Gabe,” Dr. B said. “Now let’s talk about today. You went this morning to a victim’s support group where this child had a profound effect on you.”
“Yeah, I was touching his hands, showing him a trick, and um, I got this feeling.”
“What kind of feeling?”
“Of being ashamed.”
“Shame usually means guilt. What is it that you feel guilty about?”
Gabriel inhaled deeply and drummed his finger in an obscure beat along the arm of the chair. “I can’t think of anything offhand.”
Dr. B studied him. Gabriel studied the roving second hand of the wooden clock. In his head, he heard the voice of a harpy, assuring him he was an evil, evil man.
“Something I never told anyone,” Gabriel admitted quietly, not taking his eyes off the ticking hands of the clock. “When I shot that guy at that Halloween party, I really did think he was going to shoot me, he was so drunk and belligerent. But right as I pulled the trigger for the second shot, I saw there was something wrong with the gun he had. I fired anyhow.”
Dr. B said nothing and Gabriel continued, “I asked the ME back then to determine which shot killed him, the first or second; and he told me it was my first shot. It didn’t matter. I still shot him a second time. And that kid with the knife and that old lady. Something burned inside of me which I couldn’t control.”
Gabriel smiled and continued. “Everyone thinks that old lady was some grandmotherly type.” He chuckled without mirth and said, “She was a real sweet old lady that one. You know what she said when I showed her my identification? ‘Get off my doorstep you cop-pig mother fucker before I put a cap in your ass.”
Gabriel glanced quickly at Dr. B and continued, “Anyhow, you get the picture. When I saw that shotgun laying in plain view on the table behind her as she was riding me, I felt this rage swell up out of nowhere. I’ve always had this incredible anger brewing inside me. It’s like carrying a demon around in my pocket.”
Dr. B clasped his hands in front of him, and asked, “When did you first notice this ‘incredible anger?’”
Gabriel reached for his aspirin bottle again and shook out another white pill. “When I was a teenager.”
“What happened?”
“It’s so fuc—frigging scary, you know?”
Dr. B nodded, understanding, but remained silent.
Gabriel continued, saying, “I was in charge of watching this kid when I was about seventeen. A babysitting job for some kid down the street. My sister took swimming lessons at his mother’s swim school. You don’t think of people hanging out by pools in San Francisco, but, hey, kids need to learn to swim and her school was the only one for miles. My mother volunteered me for the job. The boy was about six or seven. I think he had it bad in his house. I never knew what exactly went on there, you know, I was a stupid teen, what did I know or care? But I got the feeling things weren’t very kosher in his house.”
“The child told you he had it bad?”
“Never. I’d just catch the tail end of something. Anyhow, this kid really looked up to me, almost too much, like I was his savior or something. I liked it. He was a smart little guy, and I used to take him to Golden Gate Park where we would take the boats to the island. We would find hideouts and do all the things that boys like to do.”
“Then why the rage?”
“I don’t know,” Gabriel said in almost a whisper, and he shook his head. “I don’t know what happened. One day, I looked at him and I wanted to hurt him. It wasn’t anything he did necessarily, I just went off. I was in a bad mood to start with that day and I resented having to watch him, and I…” Gabriel picked at his fingernails nervously. “I beat him up. I beat him up. I punched him in the stomach. I can’t believe it.”
A tear escaped Gabriel’s eye and he quickly wiped it away. “I threw him against the wall. Jesus, I don’t know why I did it.”
“He told his parents.”
“No, that’s the thing; this kid loved me so much he didn’t tell. I don’t know. I can’t remember how it all went down. I think I’ve blocked it, but – oh, I don’t know.”
“No, Gabriel, listen to me, please go with this; don’t block it.” Dr. B edged forward in his seat. “Please tell me. He didn’t tell his folks, but what happened?”
“I guess his mom must have seen the bruises or something, because–I’ll never forget it as long as I live.”
“Forget what?”
“She spat at me and called me an evil man. I remember thinking it was weird to be called a man, because I’d never thought of myself as a man before that. She asked me how I could have done such a thing to a child.”
Dr. B swallowed. “You left San Francisco when you were a teen, didn’t you?”
“Yeah, soon after that.”
“Was this why?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think she ever told my mother, but you can bet I never went there again.”
“You never told your parents.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“What about now?”
“I don’t speak much to them.”
“Why not?”
Gabriel studied Dr. B’s wooden clock again. “I don’t care much for them.”
“Why not?”
“I was a latch key kid, remember? They didn’t have much to do with me when I was a kid, I don’t have to have much to do with them now that I’m grown.”
Dr. B nodded and rubbed his lips with a bony finger, lost in thought.
“Where do you think the rage comes from?” Gabriel asked.
Dr. B answered with a question. “Tell me Gabriel, was the beating of this boy the memory that pains you so much you’ve blocked it?”
“No. I wish I could block this memory. I’ve remembered his face since the day it happened. I just couldn’t tell you, Raymond. I’m sorry. I’ve never told anyone.”
“Then the rage originates from something else. Door number two.”
Gabriel blew out a breath, looking away. “God, I wish this was all over. I want to remember, I do!”
“Then let’s continue with hypnosis next session. I should warn you though; this was a great revelation today.”
“Why is that a warning?”
“Because door number two is about to swing open, I think. You’re right next to it with your hand on the doorknob. You were able to confess something today that you’ve hidden forever. You are less afraid now; less afraid means being ready to open that door.”
“Should I quit the case?”
“On the contrary,” Dr. B told him. “You said yourself this case is bringing you closer to closure.”
“But how and why?”
Dr. B sat back in his chair. “That, my friend, is something you’re going to tell me.”
Gabriel returned home that night, his brain feeling like a stuffed sausage. He had been given so much to think about. To get his mind off the events of the day, Gabriel turned to the chakra books. As he hoisted the first one onto his lap, the raven-haired saleslady’s card fluttered out. Gabriel was bending to retrieve it from the carpet when everything went black.
