A Killer Past by Maris Soule Page B

dressed like a hippy, and another one wore a crown on her head. He supposed they were out trick-or-treating, but he drove by slowly, just to let them know he’d seen them, and also, if any cars were damaged during the night, he could identify them.
    Most of the houses along his block had turned off their porch lights, the glow of televisions and some upstairs bedroom lights the only signs that people were at home. ‘One more Halloween down,’ he said to himself as he pushed the remote for his garage door.
    He hoped VanDerwell and Mendoza had an easy night. Twenty-four years ago, when he was a rookie assigned to Halloween night, he’d had it easy. Back then they didn’t have the gangs and gang fights. Waxed windows and egged cars made up the bulk of thenight’s mischief. Nowadays the chief doubled up patrols and had even asked Jack to be on standby. Considering how many beers he’d downed at the Shores Bar and Grill, he hoped he didn’t get called.
    His house was dark when he went inside, but he didn’t bother snapping on a light until he reached the living room. After twenty-four years of living in the same house, he had no problem finding his way around in the dark. With a sigh and a burp he sank down onto his couch and lit a cigarette.
    He’d stayed at the bar long after Officer Mendoza left but had moved to a stool at the counter. Crystal was on duty behind the bar, and Jack liked talking to her … teasing her about her current boyfriend. Maybe he was drinking too much, but it was a helluva lot better than coming home to an empty house.
    Jack turned his head so he could see the family photo sitting on the end table beside him. Taken back when his boys were in their teens and his wife was healthy, the picture was his favorite link with the past. The photographer had come to the house and after several shots taken with them seated on the couch and then standing in front of the fireplace, he’d suggested they go outside in the back yard. There they gathered in front of the hedge, a slight breeze ruffling Barbara’s hair and the sun giving her skin a rosy glow. John was half-turned toward the garage, and Jack could almost hear his oldest son grumbling about having to get to a softball game. Richard, on the other hand, stood almost at attention. They should have known even then that Richard would be a career Marine.
    When the proofs were delivered, Barbara picked the picture where they were all standing in front of the fireplace and had a twelve by fifteen made of that one. It now hung in their bedroom. Jack had preferred this one. For him it captured his family best: Barbara’s natural beauty, John’s energy, and Richard’s natural leadership. Jack even liked the way he looked back then: happy.
    How quickly the years had passed since that photo was taken. With Barbara gone, it all seemed like a dream. He wished he’d spent more time with his family and less on the job. Now all he had was the job and even that would be ending soon. Two more years and he would retire. Then what?
    He sighed, put out his cigarette and lit another.
    John wanted him to move to Virginia. But if he did, who would look after Barbara’s father? The old man rarely recognized him anymore, but with Barbara’s mother gone and no other living relatives around, Jack felt it his duty to drive to Kalamazoo and visit the nursing home at least twice a month. And what about his own parents? His sisters were always nagging that he didn’t visit their mother and father often enough. He knew he should, that they, too, would be gone soon, but the drive to Chicago always seemed so far, and brought back so many memories: the first time he saw Barbara, their wedding, the birth of their sons, and the death of his partner.
    He had enough memories.
    Most of the time what he wanted to do was forget.
    He took a long drag on his cigarette and slowly let out the smoke. He was getting maudlin, that’s what he was doing. Well, if he was going to cry in his