One Husband Too Many

In Chapter Five, Jake goes to the Sheppard house to speak with Elise. Her mother tells him she isn’t home and shares that she has been living with Elise and the children ever since Rick’s murder. After a few pertinent questions and some pleasantries, Jake returns to the precinct where he finds Greg’s cell phone record on his desk. In scanning through it, he sees a number that seems familiar.

Before he headed to his car for that day’s final trip, preceding happy hour, Jake felt compelled to pull out his last note pad. It had been full a month or so ago, and he had dropped it into one of his top desk drawers to claim its place among the elastic bands, thumb tacks, discarded candy wrappers, and the matches he’d kept to remind himself that he no longer smoked. “Too bad I can’t stick a bourbon in there,” he thought, knowing full well it wouldn’t have lasted long.

Jake sat back down on his chair and rummaged awhile in the drawer before pulling out three dog-eared note pads. He found the last among them and flipped through quickly, scanning as he did. It was mostly full of interview notes and an array of phone numbers he no longer needed. He looked around and saw the office was empty but for the receptionist who was engaged in conversation with someone at the front desk. He wondered briefly where everyone had disappeared so early? A moment of panic took him as he hoped against hope he hadn’t missed a mandatory seminar. He’d stupidly left his current note pad in the glove compartment of his car; otherwise he could have checked today’s date to see if he’d entered a time when, and a place where, he was supposed to be.

Intent on appearing nonchalant in case Rachelle saw him leave his desk, Jake sidled over to the bulletin board wall. Perp lineup was what it was essentially, but there were the odd ‘don’t miss’ and notices of everyday things that mattered in the lives of others. Because most of the people in the precinct were relatively young, they all seemed to have kids young enough for team sports, and Jake’s count revealed five requests for sponsorship, or school campaigns to buy cookies or popcorn for one reason or another.

“Should have brought my glasses,” he thought as he squinted. He looked briefly over to his desk where the glasses should be sitting but couldn’t see if they were there. “Of course I can’t without my glasses," he told himself. He opted to continue his perusal of the bulletin boards, glasses or not and, after about five minutes and three furtive glances to make sure Rachelle’s attention was trained elsewhere, he assured himself there was no event scheduled for today.

Returning to his low-walled cubicle, Jake parked his feet on his desk and leaned back in the chair. He picked up the note pad he’d chosen and began to look through it from back to front, hoping it would decrease the amount of time he had to spend. There were addresses on the last few pages, then a section with his case list for the period, with key contacts for each. As he began turning to the next page, he saw ‘Elise Sheppard’ among the names, along with her address. He had figured her husband’s murder would be in this last notepad, and quickly went to the 10th page where his interview notes began. He skimmed through a few pages until he found the details from the two interviews he’d had with her just over six months ago.

“Goodnight, Jake, see you tomorrow,” Rachelle called to him as she picked up her coat and handbag. “Don’t stay too late.”

“Never do,” Jake answered with a smile. “Have a good night.”

“You too.”

Jake hated these mandatory pleasantries. They always seemed forced and he was lying through his teeth when he wished anybody a ‘good night’ or ‘great weekend’. Everyone was so chipper and always looking forward to something. He hated that, even though he knew he should want them all to be happy. But, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being cheated, that his life was now so empty but for work, the bar, the TV and a bottle. Jake had been to see the therapist that Human Resources arranged for him when the alcohol had begun to interfere with his work performance. All that had done for him was to point out and emphasize how truly alone he was. And the therapist always seemed too happy and positive about life. He hated that, too.

His record of his meetings with Elise was heftier than for any of the other cases he’d had over the pad’s duration. Jake remembered how moved he’d been at their first meeting. She was exactly the type that had attracted him in his youth, but couldn’t pursue as a married man and father. Jake had never strayed from his matrimonial vows and, though his job had him meeting every manner of woman, he always fought the temptation. Elise wasn’t like any of the others. She resembled a dainty, porcelain doll who seemed about to break into a million pieces. He felt so sorry that her grief had transformed her into more of a rag doll, inanimate as she sank miserably into the couch across from him.

He usually forgot all the details of a case a few months down the road. Memories were there, but usually somewhat blurred by time. Elise was different. Jake recalled everything about their two encounters and quickly conjured her face in his mind’s eye every time he remembered the interviews. He knew he had to see her again, but couldn’t explain why exactly it felt so pressing. Never get involved with anyone connected to cases, he knew that, too. But, until Elise, Jake had never felt so compelled to flout his own rule.

Looking around him, at the empty office area, and realizing how late it must be, Jake decided it was more than time. Before leaving, he jotted a few reminders to himself on the small pad he kept on his desk. He needed to catch up on all the records and case files he’d left for ‘later’, knowing ‘later’ was now. Though it was mostly office work he dreaded that needed attention tomorrow, he circled the last item and underlined it twice. ‘Elise Sheppard’.

Having that visit to anticipate tomorrow, Jake knew, would give him a bit more pep than usual these days. He’d been on the job nearly 30 years, the majority of them as detective. In those years, he’d seen too much blood and death, too many victims and those left behind. Kids who’d lost a parent were the hardest. Jake never knew what to say to them and, if possible, avoided any interaction. Though he had attended a few of the funerals for murder victims, somewhat covertly, Jake had managed to avoid face-to-face moments with their immediate family. This thought, that reintroduced itself occasionally in Jake’s memory, always ended in his ruminations about his own kids. How would they have dealt with things if he’d been killed, in the line of duty or an accident, or had died of an illness? He berated himself often that he’d more or less drifted from their lives over the years. They probably wouldn’t miss him. His absence would be more of the same, though he indulged his patriarchal leanings by deciding they’d have missed him before they’d hit their teens. They were a pretty happy family then, Jake thought, but reality always intruded and, once again, he realized it had all been a lie. What he’d thought was a relatively happy marriage disintegrated before he’d had a chance to notice. By the time he was confronted with the truth, as Joyce described for him the many reasons it wasn’t working, it was too late. Just another lost cause. Jake had had too many of them.

He’d arranged to meet his old beat partner, Roy, at their usual pub to watch the hockey game on the gigantic screen that put to shame the TV he’d inherited with the divorce. He forced himself to think, realistically. Maybe tonight he would just have something to eat and only drink soda water. He’d done it before. It wasn’t easy but neither was liver cancer. His father had died from cirrhosis, and what he’d seen his dad suffer during that last year, he never wanted to see again. Certainly not for himself.

When Jake walked into the pub, the TV was blaring and the loud voices above the din were nearly deafening. Jake blocked it all out. He just wanted a quiet meal and to catch up with Roy. It had been a few months since they’d been there together, and it was playoff season. The game, he hoped, would be a nail-biter.

He saw Roy, half standing beside an empty table, waving at him. Jake could tell he was mouthing his name but it was impossible to hear. He waved back as his friend sat down, then made his way through the gaggle of patrons and wait staff, and took a seat across from Roy.

“Howya doin’, buddy? Jake asked as Roy caught the server’s attention. He motioned that he wanted another pitcher for the table. Jake knew he should say something, and stick to his plan, but he didn’t want to seem preachy or put a damper on the get-together. It had been months, he told himself. Just a few beers, he decided. He’d go to a 12-step meeting tomorrow, before heading to Elise’s place. There was that sudden pin prick of excitement again. Jake wasn’t sure if he should tell himself to “grow up” or “get a life”. Both probably.

He’d planned on getting up extra early, but it was not to be. The mornings after the nights before always ended that way. Jake cleared his throat as he lay in bed ‘just a bit longer’. He knew he was already late, so there was no point in hurrying. His head felt the way he wished he’d remember before any time he thought about drinking. He thought about taking a cold shower. It would be more likely to wake him up than his usual, and he knew he wouldn’t linger long.

Showered and shaved, with an extra long brushing of his teeth in hopes of taking away the taste of last night, Jake decided he needed a cup of coffee before he left the house. Maybe two. He grabbed the newspaper from just outside the door and set about making coffee. He needed something fried. Greasy always went well with a hangover he’d found. Jake scoured the fridge, not finding what he really wanted, but settled on a few eggs and tomatoes. They went well together and he could fry the shit out of them.

When his meal was ready, he sat down at the table and lay the newspaper to the side of his plate. His coffee was beginning to take effect and he wanted to prolong the feeling. As he scanned the front page of the paper, he suddenly thought, “I can claim working time if I make a few phone calls.” Yeah. Good idea. Jake went out to his car, opened the door and the glove compartment, and retrieved his note pad.

It was a particularly sunny day, Jake was unhappy to see, as he shielded his eyes from the sun that seemed determined to taunt him. Once he’d returned to the table, he flipped through to the name: ‘Elise Sheppard’. Was it too early to call? He had to think of protocol and the professionalism the unit demanded. He looked at the clock and realized two hours had passed since he’d managed to get out of bed. Jake quickly downed his coffee, took a last stab at the fried eggs, picked up some toast for much-needed carbs, and went to find his car keys.

The car’s interior was warmer than Jake thought he could manage with a hangover, but he had no choice. He pushed the A/C button as soon as he’d started the engine, then sat trying to sort out what he had to do and when he should do it. He was surprised when he found the note pad in his shirt pocket as he had no memory of putting it there. That would save him the time it would have taken to go back into the house to get it. He wanted to exert himself as little as possible today.

Instead of phoning Elise, he toyed with the idea of just going to see her in person. She had a job, of course, but it was lunch time and, maybe, she came home to eat and check on her mother. It was fairly easy to convince himself that, if he got that visit out of the way, he could concentrate more fully on the other assignments he’d set for himself. He could just phone her, he knew that, but why not make a house call? He needed that excitement to brighten such a bitch of a day.

Again, there was only one car in the driveway of the Sheppard house. Jake picked his way through the toys and bikes lining the recently re-tarred surface and climbed the few stairs to the front porch. He stopped and checked his clothes to ensure no streaky eggs had been dropped. Teeth. He’d had raspberry jam and he knew seeds often got stuck between his front teeth. He rubbed two fingers over his top teeth, ran his hands one last time over the front of his jacket, and rang the doorbell.

It took awhile before the door opened. Someone had yelled, “I’m coming,” then didn’t seem to be in much of a hurry.

“Officer,” said Elise’s mother as she stepped out onto the porch. “I thought you were going to call and set a date to meet with Elise.” She smiled that smirky smile people would affect when they’d opted for sarcasm. Not to be deterred, Jake cleared his throat. “I know I’d planned to do that, but I was just in the neighborhood…”

“It’s fine,” she said. “We can talk out here, Officer.”

“Detective, ma’am. Is Mrs. Sheppard here?” Jake asked, hoping he’d kept the disappointment from his voice.

“No. Of course not. She’s at work. The kids are coming home earlier than usual, so I booked my treatment for tomorrow; otherwise I wouldn’t be here either.”

Jake was crestfallen, and silently rebuked himself for not sticking to his original ‘phone ahead’ plan.

“You should phone ahead,” she advised, somewhat annoyed.

“You’re right. I said I’d do that.” He was embarrassed, having nearly overstepped some line or other.

“Will she be home this evening?” he asked, fearing another sarcastic retort, but none was coming.

“She should be,” Elise’s mother said. “No, wait. What day is this? Wednesday? It’s Wednesday and that’s a gym night.”

“I’m sorry?” Jake didn’t quite understand her point.

“She goes to the gym Monday, Wednesday and Friday. The odd time on the weekend.”

“So, she won’t be in this evening?” he asked, pointlessly.

“That’s what I said, Officer,” then added “If you’ll excuse me, I have something on the stove I need to check.”

“Of course.” Jake took a step backwards to let her know he was leaving. “Please just tell her I stopped by, and that I’ll definitely phone next time.”

The woman smiled as she opened the screen door to go in. “Any time, Officer,” she said brightly, as if they hadn’t just had a somewhat uncomfortable conversation.

“Thank you for your time, ma’am.” Jake turned, stepped onto the pathway and quickly got into his car.

It was boiling hot in the car. “Jesus,” Jake said loudly to himself. He took the notepad from his pocket again, and placed it on the passenger seat. “Next time I phone,” he told it.

He needed another coffee, so pulled into the nearest fast food drive-through and got himself a cup of something that he knew would taste terrible, but it was caffeine, not taste, he wanted.

He ordered a large, paid at the cashier window, then pulled his car into a vacant parking space. He knew he should turn off the engine, but he needed the A/C. Jake blew on the coffee’s surface after he’d removed the lid, then took a long, much-needed sip.

“It’s half over,” he comforted himself, referring to the day. It was time to hit the precinct and do something useful. Before he backed his car out, he picked up the note pad and opened it to the most dog-eared of the pages. “Elise Sheppard”. He looked at the phone number and tried to commit it to memory. Before he’d quite finished, it suddenly hit him. It was the same number that had called Greg. His last phone call. The one before he left the bar that night.