Ingrams & Assoc 3: American Life 02

Today was the last day of the inquest. The verdict was death by misadventure. That Todd kid, I dunno. He sure see's things differently from me. He spent an hour telling everyone how I should have saved them all. That it was my fault. That I was perving out by following them, that I'm some sort of twisted nutcase. I tried to point out that the only reason I was there was because I was fishing, and there isn't anyone else there after dusk, so there's no one else to disturb the waters. Well, until that little group showed up, anyway.

I explained that I only jumped in when the branch they were swinging from broke – the three of them went tumbling into the shallows. It was obvious that they were hurt – it's strange how drowning looks. It doesn't look like it does in the movies. But I knew. I jumped in and grabbed one and got him out, and then other one, and then the third one. Sure, I wasn't gentle, but at that moment I was just panicking. I needed to get them out, and fast.

So two survived and one did not. He broke his neck on a submerged log. I don't know how that was my fault, but somehow it became my fault, at least in the press. I think the ringleader – Todd Byerland – was terrified it would be pinned on him. He's the son of the local mayor, and he obviously dotes on him, so once again, I get the painting. The strange old guy that hardly speaks and looks like a mountain man. I'm not surprised. I'd be scared of me and I _am_ me.

I guess I'll just lie low – I'm just glad they got my name wrong. Tara won't find me... I'm not moving again. I've done that too many times just to get away from the way my life is. I'll just hide out. It won't be hard – no one knows where I live. No one really cares anyway. And why should they? One more burn out – why would anyone care? I wouldn't.

It's a strange thing to save a life and be told it's your fault that you didn't save them all. It's a strange thing to have to hide for doing something like this. But I don't regret it. Life is too precious, as Manny would have said. I miss Manny. I should look him up, send him a card or something. I don't even know if he's alive. It's been eight years since I last spoke to him.

It's just the way my life goes. C'est la vie.

*****

April guided the nose of her convertible into the parking lot of the Gettysburg Apartment complex. The building was old and run down, but in a leafy glade. There were lots of small nooks with trees and benches, and as she got out of the car, locking it, two kids, a boy and girl, ran past her, throwing apple pieces at each other. The boy was enjoying tormenting the small girl and she was screaming and loving every second of the attention. As the kids ran past, she smiled at them, wondering whose they were and thinking about her own biological clock.

After they were past, she looked around for the office signs, and saw them next to a sign about construction. Half of the parking lot was fenced off, and one of the apartment buildings in the complex was in the process of being razed.

She walked over to the office and pushed the door open. Sitting behind the desk, looking harassed, was an older woman on the phone. She looked up, saw April and gestured at her to sit down while she finished her conversation.

April sat down and studied the woman. She was older, with bleached and highlighted hair. She wore eyeglasses, the kind with the lanyard that went around her neck and her makeup was too heavy. She was plump and wore a shapeless and loud dress with red and yellow flowers.

"Oh, I know Juney. I know. She should be ashamed of herself. At her age. Who does she think she is? I mean come on. The tango? At her age? Who is she kidding?" the older woman said into the phone, glancing at April, who smiled amusedly back.

"Oh I know. It's ridiculous, that's what it is. I know. Look, I have to go. Got a customer. Who is obviously too nice for this place, that's for sure." She smiled at April in a conspiratorial way when she said this, and April's smile broadened. She could like this woman.

"Yes, I'll call you later. Yes. Later. I don't know. What difference does it make? Yes. Later. After your nap. Bye, dear." And with that, she put the phone down.

"Dear god, that woman can talk," said the older woman. "I'm Sarah Atwood. How can I help dear?" she enquired of April.

"Hi, Sarah. I'm April. I was wondering where I might find apartment 3612?"

"Oh no, dear," said Sarah, sucking on her teeth, "no, you wouldn't. That's in one of the buildings they've already pulled down. Asbestos, don't you know. How they could use that and not know the perils I don't know, but several of the buildings here have had to be pulled down over it. Building 36 was one of them."

"Oh." April looked at the piece of paper in her hand, not sure where to go next.

There was a moment's silence and then, on cue, Sarah said, "Were you looking for someone in particular, dear? Maybe I can help? I've worked here for years, know everyone, if you know what I mean."

April suppressed a smile. She did, indeed, know what she meant. It meant that Sarah was the older lady who disapproved of the parties you held, when you had blinds instead of curtains and tsked at you if you didn't hold the door open for anyone over forty.

"I'm looking for Julian Sullivan."

Sarah just looked at her and then said, "You aren't a lawyer are you?"

April was surprised. "No, not at all. I work as a counselor and I wanted to talk to him about a case I'm on. This is the last address I have for him."

Sarah was still wary. "It's not for that harlot, is it? I won't help if it's for that whore."

April was silent as she digested this. "No, I don't think so. I can't really talk about it, but I can say it's military in nature." April knew she was taking a chance, but instantly Sarah relaxed.

"Oh, well, in that case. Yes, he lived here. With that harlot he married. She was bad news from the word go, that one. Sunning herself at the pool and wearing almost nothing while he was out, trying to get that business started. When she started carrying on with his salesman, well, it was scandalous. It just was. We could all see it, but he couldn't. None of us could bring ourselves to say anything, I mean, it's just not your place, is it?"

April just nodded as this font of information flowed almost non-stop. She was glad she had her iPhone recording, because the details came fast and furious.

She learned that Joe Sullivan had indeed lived here, years ago, with his wife, Penny. Joe had worked hard to build his own business. He had had some problems in the past, Sarah told her, but he didn't talk about them. She assumed he wanted to leave them behind while he built a new life with his wife and started his new business.

As the business grew, Joe had hired an eager, younger salesman to help handle the increasing business. The new guy had taken to the job as though born to it, but he'd also taken Joe's wife, Penny.

Penny had announced she was pregnant, and right after the baby was born, she'd left Joe for this young salesman, moving out of the complex. It was the height of scandal that the baby wasn't his. Joe had left shortly afterwards, a broken man. She'd not seen him since.

Sarah had no idea where Joe might be living now. It was almost a dead end.

But April wasn't beaten yet. She had the resources of Ingrams at her disposal, and all she needed were the right details

She learned that the company name was Sullivan Design, and the salesman's name was Mark Glasso. Penny Sullivan had apparently married him, once Joe was gone, so Sarah had heard. Sarah hoped they had a miserable time of it – Joe hadn't deserved what she'd done to him, but he'd borne it, like he bore everything.

Then April got onto why Sarah considered him for sainthood. Apparently one night Sarah had been returning from the grocery store, laden down with bags, and passed by a bunch of teenagers, who had felt it their job to taunt her. Coming from the generation were you didn't put up with that, Sarah had put down her bags and verbally launched into them.

They were surprised at that, and aggression showed in their eyes and for the first time, she suddenly started to worry about her safety. Then, just as suddenly, one gave her the finger and all the rest pushed off the fencing they were leaning against and ran off down the street. Sarah was surprised and impressed at herself for seeing them off like that, but then, as she turned to pick up her bags, she found Joe Sullivan standing behind her, arms crossed, staring at the teenagers who were high-tailing it down the road.

He looked at her and wordlessly picked up her bags and carried them back to her apartment. He didn't say a word and just smiled at her while she protested that she could handle the bags.

From that point onwards, he organized grocery runs for her and several of the older women in the complex. Never said anything about it, just pulled up to her door on a Thursday and told her to get in, he was going to the grocery store anyway, and he could use the company, since she knew more about what he needed to get than he did. It wasn't true of course, just an excuse, but as excuses went, it went pretty far with her.

After an hour of conversation, two coffees and some giggling about the latest boy singer sensation, April exited the office, pretty sure she'd just made a new life long friend. She was damn sure she'd be going back there to just talk – it was amazing how in an hour what you could learn, and Sarah was just the kind of irascible older woman she really hoped she'd turn out to be. Someone who knows herself, knows the world, knows how it ought to be and was, by god, going to live in that world.

She was less impressed at what she'd learned of this Penny woman, and their marriage ending, but she wanted to keep an open mind. Julian Sullivan might have been a complete asshole – although she doubted it – so she tried not to prejudge. But from what she had heard, she was finding it hard not to. She needed more data.

As she sat in her car, she pulled out her phone and dialed work. She got the usual Ingrams receptionist, Rose, and she gave her a identity code and asked her to get Dermot on the line for her. Dermot McConaughey was the general manager of Ingram's & Associates, and as such, everything that the company did went through him. If she wanted access to the research department for this unique situation, regardless of what Desirea said, she needed to clear it with him first.

She waited a minute or so before the phone was picked up. "Hey April, how are you doing? Desirea filled me in, you ok, girl?" Dermot's Scottish brogue was almost imperceptible by now, with his many years in the U.S., but it was still there if you looked for it.

"I'm surviving, boss man. Can I use R&D? Desirea said it would be ok, but I wanted to be sure first."

"You looking for background on your mystery man?"

"Sort of. Need to find his ex-wife. I think she can lead me where I need to go."

"And where is that, April?" asked Dermott, point blank.

There was silence for a second, before April answered, "I honestly don't know. But you know I can't let this go. He died saving me. I owe him. I need to find out who he is, and see if there is someone left I can help."

There was more silence. April could almost see Dermott considering his options.

"Ok, go ahead. But only a couple of days, ok? We do have irons in other fires."

"Thank you, boss man. Big kiss on the cheek. Can you ask Tina to look for records on a business named Sullivan Designs, based out of the Westside of Washington. I'm looking for history and an address on Penny Sullivan. She would probably be remarried by now and have a last name of Glasso. Her husband would be Mark Glasso; he was the sales guy for the Sullivan's Design outfit. Anything they can get me would be great, as soon as possible."

"Will do, April. Keep your cell on. And April?"

"Yes?"

"Be well. We all know what happened and we're here for you. If you need anything else, let me know, ok? Come and talk to us."

"Sure thing, boss man. I'll be back soon."

April broke the connection and smiled. She knew Dermot meant it.

*****

Hillier waited until he finished swallowing the last donut bit before he answered the trilling phone. It was a stereotype that all cops ate donuts, but in this case, it was true, mainly because a grateful parent kept delivering them to the station. Two years ago, Hillier and his partner - God rest his soul - had found and arrested three gang bangers who had terrorized several homeowners, burgling them late at night and tormenting the homeowners. The homeowners had formed a little club to support each other and after Hillier found the perpetrators, they'd solemnly decided it was their duty to keep the cops in donuts. Because all cops liked donuts, right? They'd even bought into a donut store together to ensure it would be regular.

While Hillier liked donuts as much as the next guy, he also knew this was going to cost him twenty minutes on the treadmill later. Oh well. What the hell. It was worth it. They were good donuts.

The phone continued to ring and he scooped it up, licking the fingers on his left hand as he did so. "Detective Hillier here."

"Hello, Detective. I understand you wanted to talk to me?" said the voice on the other end of the line.

"And this is?" asked Hillier. He thought he knew, but better to be sure.

"This is Manny Trueso here. I got a call from the VA saying you wanted to talk to me, and you left a message earlier today?"

"Ah yes, Mr. Trueso. Thank you for calling me back so promptly. I hope you can help. I have a John Doe here, and he has a tattoo that I'm having trouble identifying. I spoke to our contact at the VA here in Washington, sent him a copy of the tattoo, and he got back to me an hour later and said I'd probably want to talk to you. Do I want to talk to you Mr. Trueso? Would you know what I am looking at here?"

There was a laugh on the line and Manny answered, "First, call me Manny. Mr. Trueso was my dad. Secondly, hard to know without seeing it. Can you describe it?"

"Yes, it's blue with age. Got a logo with what looks like a serpent, tied around a bullet, and a Latin phrase under it."

"Unum Superesse, right?" said Manny.

"Yes, that's it."

"That's the Cambridge tattoo. Had by the appropriate people to remember the Cambridge event in 1992 in Kuwait. It means 'Survive Together'. It's to remind a bunch of people who survived something really bad that survival comes when you work together. The event itself we called the Cambridge Event. I'd rather not go into why. It just takes too long."

"Interesting. So our John Doe was in Desert Storm and part of this event?"

"I would say so. There were about thirty to forty people involved in that, though. What else do you have that might identify the guy?"

"Two bullet holes, one in the shoulder and one in the pelvis area."

There was dead silence on the phone, then a deep sigh. "Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck."

"Manny?"

"You've got Joe Sullivan right there. No question."

Ambrose Hillier lurched forward and wrote the name down. "How can you be sure?"

"Only one guy came out with those wounds. That was Joe Sullivan. That wasn't his real name though; I think he was Julian or something like that - Joe to all us. What happened to him?"

"I can't tell you much, Manny. He was killed protecting a lady from a mugging that went bad. He just stepped in and stopped someone knifing her, and in doing so, took that knifing himself.

"Goddammit. Fucking Joe. He just couldn't help himself. Always had to be the Boy Scout. Do first, think later." Manny's voice broke, but Hillier could detect a note of pride in it.

"Can you tell me what happened in Kuwait?" he asked, curious about this man, Julian Sullivan.

Manny sighed and Ambrose could tell he didn't want to.

"Long time ago. We were a mobile hospital; Joe was part of the security detachment. We patched up servicemen and also the locals who got caught up in fire fights. Pretty much anyone who needed help, honestly. They'd not seen a hospital out in those areas ever.

"Anyway, one day the local mullahs got angry and came by, demanding tribute. We told them where to get off and three hours later, we were under attack. We tried to tell them we had children and wounded, but no, they kept coming. Joe was one of the guys holding them off.

"After the first attack – there was never just one – Joe ran out and grabbed weapons from the dead. Several AK47's, some pistols and a rocket launcher. He made a point of arming the doctors and nurses. We all figured it was just a matter of time. The initial attack had taken our defensive force down from twelve to eight. One more heavy attack and we were done for. But no one was going down without fighting.

"They came again at dawn. Joe and the other guys mowed them down as much as they could, but some got in. Joe literally took out two guys a foot from me. I was lying in a bed there, holding a rifle and trying to stay awake. I was loaded with morphine from an earlier mortar attack and it was hard to stay in the moment.

Joe took a shoulder wound and was shot in the leg or pelvis right at the point the Blackhawks arrived and made mincemeat of the local thugs." Manny's voice quavered with emotion as he detailed the events.

"Jesus. Was he invalided out after that? I presume he got a medal?"

There was a snort on the other end of the phone. "Christ no. This was Desert Storm. This wasn't the Iraqi invasion. His CO – who by the way, wasn't even present, but was at HQ - wanted to bounce him out for disobeying orders, for abandoning his post. He was lucky to be allowed out without a dishonorable discharge or court martial. The CO was an asshole of epic proportions, but those were the times."

"So, he got wounded, kicked out and no one even said thank you?"

"Mr. Hillier, have you ever been in combat?"

"Not in the way you have, no. I've been shot at, but not like you have."

"Then you'll never know the way we deal with this. The CO might have been an asshole, but me and lots of other Joes and kids are only breathing because he did what was right at the time. I owe Joe my life. Don't get me wrong, he didn't do it all by himself – there were seven other guys there who did as much, if not more. But Joe was one of them. I haven't seen him in a few years, since that bitch Tara did a number on him, then he married Penny. I was best man for that. Penny did him no good either."

"So, married twice then? Do you have any idea where he might be living now? This Penny woman?"

"Oh no, that ended a while ago. She fucked him over too. Joe's life is all about him being fucked over and him just trying to pick up the pieces."

"Do you know where she lives now? Or Joe, for that matter?"

"No, sorry, I wish I did. Like I said, once Penny screwed him up, I lost touch. He just seemed to vanish. I doubt the VA even knows where he is, although they might. They still mail me a check; maybe they do for him too. Detective, can I ask you to do something for me?"

"What might that be, Manny?"

"Let me know where the funeral is. I should be there."

"Of course. As soon as I know, you will too. Do you have any details on this Tara or Penny, so I can find them?"

"Honestly, no. I only met Penny at the wedding and the last time I spoke to Joe, there wasn't much coming from him except how much he hated and loved her at the same time. She led him to believe that they had a child together, but in fact she'd been fucking Joe's salesman, and the kid was his. It destroyed him. That's why I think he went feral."

"Well, thank you for calling me, Manny. I'll be sure and be in touch as soon as I have more details."