For Everything a Reason by Paul Cave Page A

coach chanced a glance over
the young boy’s shoulder to see how Joseph was doing. He felt a stab of pain
and anger in his chest, and cursed himself for not seeing this potential
life-threatening event before it had happened. Then as he looked over at
Marianna, anger turned to deepest regret as he saw in her face both pain and
fear.  
    Profit climbed to his feet,
intent on offering her his support, but before he’d taken two steps, the door
opened with a mighty bang.
    The doctor stood in the
doorway, his face a mask of worry. He took a deep breath and, speaking directly
to Joseph, said, “We’ve got a problem. A real emergency!”
     
     
     

 
    Chapter
Eight
     
     
    The homicide division took on a sombre, subdued air the
moment Carter entered the room. The usual morbid and juvenile banter was
replaced with hushed tones and attempts at working that looked
over-exaggerated. Carter instantly sensed the change in atmosphere. He
concentrated on looking down at his scuffed brown shoes during the short time
it took him to reach his desk, open a desk drawer, and place his shield and
holster inside. Closing it, he turned towards the single piece of paper in the IN part of his work tray. He reached out to take
it.
    My office, as soon as you get
in. C.M.  
    Carter read it again, the
handwriting unmistakable, and then looked over to the closed office door, which
bore the name: Captain Mendoza. He crossed over to the door and rapped on it
twice. Captain Mendoza’s coarse voice barked for him to come in from the other
side.
    “You want to see me?”
    Mendoza looked up from the
stack of paperwork spread across his desk. “You look like shit.”
    “Yeah,” Carter agreed. “I feel
like it, too.”
    Captain Mendoza gestured
towards the single seat that faced his desk. “Sit.”
    Carter did as ordered and
silently braced himself for what was about to follow.
    “I phoned your house again last
night,” Mendoza stated.
    “I know.”
    “You weren’t in – again.”
    “I know.”
    “Thomas,” Mendoza began, “you
can’t do this all alone.”
    Carter met the captain’s eyes
and held them steady. “Yes I can.”
    Mendoza shook his head. “You’re
an idiot.”
    “Can’t argue there.”
    Mendoza shook his head again,
but his dark brown eyes held only affection within them. “I don’t mean that
asshole Perkins. I mean you can’t get through this grief – Billy’s loss – all
by yourself.”
    “I know what you meant. And
you’re wrong.”
    “How long have we been
friends?” the captain asked.    
    “A long time.”
    “Right,” Mendoza said. “And I’m
not gonna let some asshole punk allow you to throw your life away.”
    “What life?”
    “This one!” Mendoza said, now
infuriated with his friend’s beaten manner. “What about Billy? Would he have
wanted you to throw your whole life away, because of what happened?”
    “I guess we’ll never know, will
we?”
    Mendoza stood, his squat body
taking up most of the room on his side of the desk. He moved around to sit on
the edge, next to Carter. “If you find him, and kill him, you’ll go to prison –
you know that, don’t you?”
    “Yeah.”
    “So quit this bullshit, and
return to the real world, will you!”
    Carter just stared down as his
feet, his captain and friend’s concern having little effect on him. “What else
would you have me do?”
    Mendoza exhaled heavily. He
reached up to rub tiredness or frustration from his eyes. “Leave Perkins to the
cops in charge. They’ll bring him in, and then the fucker will spend the rest
of his life rotting in some stinking prison cell.”
    “How many leads have they got?”
    “Enough to keep them busy. I’m
serious, Thomas, let it go, or I’ll have you arrested for interfering with
police business.”
    The warning had been weak and
lacking in substance. Mendoza would love nothing more than to wake up, to find
the newspaper headlines stating that Officer William Carter’s killer had been
found