Sugar and Spice Chapter 6

 

Chapter Six

October 17 Friday Morning

Cambridge Police Headquarters

Cambridge, Massachusetts 

MIRACLE OF MIRACLES, Patrick Kelly found a parking space with only a short walk to the Cambridge Police station. The multi-storied building was more glass than brick but impressive.

Between his home office being close to Harvard Square and most of the things they needed nearby, the Kellys could go a week or more without ever having to drive.

Patrick glanced at his watch: 9:59. Bill Reardon had said ten. He asked a woman police officer at the reception window for Lieutenant Reardon.

The woman was already in the fall uniform of long-sleeved blue shirts. Nicole often mocked him for noticing things like that to which he always answered that was what made him a good shrink.

Even if Patrick had been on time, Bill didn’t appear for 15 minutes, with apologies. The two men stood awkwardly. Had they been at their parents they would have done the short masculine hug, the kind with two back pats.

“Sorry, I was in the middle of something.”

“No problem, Billy,”

“Bill.”

“Bill, my turn to say sorry.” Patrick had expected Bill to be in uniform, but he wore a regular shirt and tie but no suit jacket. He followed his childhood buddy down a corridor to an office with Lieutenant William Reardon on a plaque next to a closed door. Inside the missing suit jacket was over the back of the office chair behind the desk piled with folders.

Two chairs were in front of a desk. On a shelf were more folders and books. Patrick couldn’t read the titles. He saw a photo of Bill’s wife and his kids sandwiched between the books. The kids looked much younger than when he had seen them last Thanksgiving, almost a year ago.

He wondered how his friend was doing, not professionally, that was obvious. Was his marriage good? What was his relationship with his kids? How did he handle the long hours, many of which would be making the family change plans? “What’s up?”

“Let’s get coffee first. I need it,” Bill picked up his desk phone.” A policewoman poked her head in. “Two cups of coffee. Still take it black?” Reaching into his desk, he pulled out something. Patrick couldn’t see it. Bill gave it to the woman waiting at the door. “I had a Nespresso machine installed in the conference room, but I have my own stash.”

“You said when you called me, I might be here all day. Is there a budget for my time? Or am I here under the buddy code of helping when needed?”

“There’s a budget.”

Patrick was relieved. He did do pro bono work for kids in the twins’ school and/or for families that were strapped and needed help. His twins were at St. Peter’s, not far from their home. It was the last Catholic elementary school in Cambridge. Boy, had he and Nicole fought over that one. Nicole had lobbied for the Friends School, but tuition was double: he preferred the structure of St. Peter’s. The Howard James Private School was even higher priced. No way.

Because the academics were stronger than the public schools, Nicole assented to the religious education, but counteracted it whenever she could so much so that Ethan asked once, “Will Mummy go to hell?”

Patrick tried to simplify how there were many religions in the world and each blah blah blah until Ethan asked, “Can I go play now?”

“You only told me a little last night?” Patrick asked as soon as the coffee had been delivered in Styrofoam cups. So much for responsible use of materials to fight climate change.

“As I said, I think we’ve a case of attempted murder or rather a planned murder that didn’t happen.”

Patrick leaned forward. “You said as much when you called me, but details were in short supply other than the plotters are all fourth graders.” His pause went on longer than Patrick thought necessary.

“And girls.”

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph.”

“That’s what I said.”

“Did they fail? Wait. You said planned murder.”

“They never got a chance to try. One of the other students overheard them plotting and went to the principal or headmistress. She called us immediately. That was yesterday. Last night my two detectives visited the four families, and they are due here . . .” Bill looked at his watch . . . in about now. The interviews will be staggered. Of course.”

“So, what do you want from me?”

“I’ve handled all kinds of crime, domestic abuse, delinquents, a murder, but this . . . this has me stumped. These are loved girls from good families. They have everything a kid could need. I want to understand.”

Shit, Patrick thought. “You want me to do what?”

“The families and girls: I want you to observe them. Tell me your impressions. Professionally.”

Double shit, Patrick thought.