The Janes Read online

  Nell still wasn’t looking at Cap, gazing over the roof of her car. She’d cut her own hair and dyed it black a few months ago, in the downstairs bathroom. Now it was short, just below the ears, the strands splitting off in different directions like falling fireworks. And her personal dress code had changed too; instead of the sportswear that used to be her uniform—khakis and baggy hoodies—now it was jeans with gaping holes in the knees and fitted tank tops or T-shirts, also with jaggedly ripped seams and edges. Winehouse-black makeup on the eyelids. Cap didn’t have a problem with her dressing more maturely (or so he liked to tell himself) but was periodically disturbed at the signals her fashion choices were sending about her mental state: shredded into strips and pieces.

  “I said no harm in a warning,” said Ralz.

  Cap’s mouth was too dry to form a proper thanks so he put on a tight smile and nodded.

  “I just escorted her here so I could tell you face-to-face.”

  Cap swallowed and finally spoke: “How much would the ticket be?”

  “Street speeding?” said Ralz. “It’s one fifty.”

  Cap glanced back at Nell. She was still doing the freeze-out thing, looking straight ahead.

  “Issue it,” said Cap.

  That got a reaction from her. She jumped back from the car like it was hot and stared at Cap, shocked.

  “What’s that now?” said Ralz.

  “Issue the ticket,” Cap said, slower.

  He and Nell kept their eyes fixed on each other. The same eyes, really, acorn brown with an amber glint in the light.

  “Dad,” Nell began.

  Cap held out a hand to stop her.

  “Don’t,” he said.

  They were all quiet but it didn’t last. Ralz looked from Nell back to Cap and spoke.

  “I’m not going to do that, Cap,” he said. “Nell and I had a talk. It’s a warning this time.”

  “Thanks, Detective,” Nell said calmly. Then, as if she were the parent making an excuse for Cap, she added, “Sorry about all this.”

  “It’s okay,” said Ralz, even keel. “Just make friends with your brake.”

  She nodded quickly, hiked her backpack from her hand to her shoulder, and hustled up the stairs into the house.

  Cap let out a breath and pinched the sweat from his upper lip.

  “I couldn’t give your kid a ticket. Sorry, Cap,” said Ralz.

  Cap shook his head, said, “I appreciate it. I just wanted to make her sweat for a second.”

  “She was real polite,” added Ralz helpfully.

  “Yeah, she can be,” said Cap, looking toward the house.

  Ralz put his hand out to shake Cap’s.

  “Take care, Cap,” he said.

  “Thanks.”

  Ralz got in his car and pulled out of the driveway, drove away. Cap flexed his fists, open and closed, and said aloud to himself, “Watch it, watch it.” He walked up the stairs to the porch and then went inside the house, felt the wave of AC douse him.

  Nell was in the kitchen, leaning into the fridge. She emerged a moment later holding a slice of leftover pizza and glanced at Cap before heading for the stairs.

  Cap summoned whatever scraps of patience he could gather so he wouldn’t yell.

  “Nell,” he said quietly.

  She stopped and turned, had a look that reminded Cap of Jules: it was the I’m-too-exhausted-by-the-day’s-events-to-be-annoyed look.

  “Can you tell me what happened, please?” he said.

  She sighed undramatically.

  “It was just like Ralz said, Dad,” she said. “I didn’t realize how fast I was going.”

  “That’s not good enough,” said Cap. “There’s Jonas Middle on Lowell, do you realize that?”

  “There were no kids around; school hasn’t started yet,” she said.

  “That’s not the point,” said Cap, his voice rising. “You can’t speed ever. Ever. It’s not just about you. There’s a whole world of people you could hurt.”

  “But I didn’t hurt any of them,” said Nell, still calm but growing defensive.

  “No, see, that’s the problem—you get cocky and think, I’ll never hurt anyone, I’ll never get hurt—”

  He realized too late what he’d said, and Nell stared at him, her eyes glassy, perhaps with tears.

  “I said I was sorry,” she said, almost whispering.

  Cap got quieter as well but still struggled to keep it together.

  “That’s not enough,” he said.

  All the features on Nell’s face flared.

  “What’s enough then, Dad? You want me to send written apologies to all the middle schoolers I didn’t hit?”

  “Let’s watch the tone.”

  Nell made a sound of frustration, somewhere between an “ugh” and a scream.

  “You know what?” she said through locked teeth. “I’ve had about a half a beer in my life and a puff of one cigarette. Never tried weed.” She cast her eyes down and added, “Never had sex.”

  Cap was shamed by her honesty. He felt himself begin to calm down. She was fine. She was alive. The evening would turn peaceful, and they might watch some TV. Then there would be tomorrow and the next day. She would not die before him.

  “It felt good to punch the accelerator today,” she said. “So maybe you can give me a little break and let me off with a warning like Ralz.”

  He didn’t know what to say, so he nodded.

  Nell turned and loped up the stairs, and Cap felt like a bunch of shit. When Brad Ralz, who had never been a model of restraint, was the voice of reason, it gave one pause.

  Cap went to the kitchen, got a can of beer from the fridge, and trudged to his office, feeling like he’d been awake for a couple of days.

  The AC was weaker in his office—to save money he’d shut the room off from the central air in the rest of house and used an old window unit instead. He felt fresh sweat gather on the back of his neck and cranked up the AC to ten.

  He went to his desk and sat, finally took the tie off over his head and threw it on top of some papers. He opened the beer and sipped the foam off the top. He tapped the keyboard on his desktop; his computer woke up. He saw that it was 3:22 and could not believe the day wasn’t almost over. He knew he had to wait a little bit before he approached Nell again, figured he would go up at 4:00. For now, just email.

  Eleven new emails since this morning. He squinted to see clearly, trying to remember where he left the reading glasses that Nell had finally convinced him to buy, decided his eyes were just fine without them, and scooted his chair back another inch so he could see the type on the screen.

  Mostly junk. One from Vera with the subject “Great speaking with you.” Cap skipped over it, put a mental bookmark on it. Another from Nell, obviously sent before she’d been pulled over, forwarding him an article from the Denville Tribune about the increase in hate crimes. And then one with a time stamp of 2:54 p.m. from A. Vega. Subject: “Job.”

  Alice Vega, his partner in the Brandt case. The elusive, the conundrum, the deviously lovely. Right after she’d left town she’d communicated through a steady flow of emails for about a month as they cleaned up details, filled out paperwork, answered the FBI’s questions, made statement after statement. But since then, not much, or more accurately, hardly anything at all.

  Every once in a while Cap sent her an email out of desperation for some contact with her, anything, to hear her voice if only in his head as he read the words in front of him. His messages to her were lame ducks, links to stories about missing or found persons, cases that ended unexpectedly or cold cases finally solved.

  MaxCaplan74 thought you might be interested in this story. Cap never knew what to write and usually just added, “Thought you’d like this. Cap.” Her response was always the same. Just “Thanks.”

&
nbsp; But here it was. A. Vega. Job.

  Double-click.

  Cap didn’t realize he wasn’t breathing until his vision began to cloud and then he took a quick inhale and began to read:

  “Hi. Got a job here in San Diego for you. 10K to start. Let me know if you can make it.

  —Vega.”

  Cap read it a couple of times, then stood up and read it again from a standing position. Then he read it aloud. If he’d known another language, he might have translated it and read it aloud in that language. He started to laugh, then covered his mouth as if he didn’t want to wake anyone.

  He took a large sip of beer.

  Then he clicked PRINT on the message and grabbed the sheet of paper from the printer, left his office, went upstairs, and knocked on Nell’s bedroom door. She didn’t answer at first, and he knew she had her earbuds in. He pounded with his fist.

  She opened the door and appeared annoyed, one of the earbud wires thrown over her shoulder. She held a rind of pizza crust in her hand.

  “Hi,” said Cap. “I know we’re arguing, but I really need to talk to you.”

  She raised her eyebrows, her face brightening up.

  “I just got this,” he said, handing her the paper with Vega’s message.

  Nell read it, chewed on the pizza crust. She turned the paper over to see if there was any more.

  “I don’t know if I should do it,” said Cap.

  “Sure you should,” said Nell, holding the crust in the corner of her mouth like a squirrel. “It’s Alice.”

  “Vera Quinn also offered me a permanent position.”

  Nell gaped at him. “When?”

  “Today.”

  “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “We’ve been a little preoccupied.”

  Nell almost allowed a smile, then said, “What do you think you’re going to do?”

  Cap thought for a moment.

  “Vera’s offering a good job with health insurance.”

  “No way,” said Nell.

  “Oh yeah,” said Cap. “Everything. Benefits, vacation, sick days, probably some kind of retirement plan.”

  Nell’s eyes searched the wall behind Cap as she thought.

  “I gotta get some water,” she said, walking past him. “And Alice is offering what—ten K? How long?”

  Cap followed her down the stairs.

  “You read it. She’s not big on details.”

  In the kitchen Nell pulled a bottle of water from the fridge.

  “You should probably call and ask her,” she said, pointing the bottle at him. “And then you should probably take it.”

  “I have no idea how long I’d be gone,” he said.

  Nell shrugged.

  “How long do her cases usually last?” she asked before offering her own answer. “A month?”

  “Something like that,” said Cap. “What about you?”

  “I can stay with Mom. She’ll be thrilled.”

  Cap knew she was not being completely cheeky. Jules actually would be thrilled to keep closer tabs on their daughter, a luxury she couldn’t afford the days Nell was at Cap’s.

  “She won’t be thrilled with me,” said Cap.

  “What else is new?” said Nell, unimpressed by his argument. “Tell you what, I’ll handle Mom if we can maybe keep the speeding thing between us.”

  Cap’s mouth fell open and then he laughed.

  “Are you kidding me?” he said. “Can we just play out that scenario? I don’t tell Mom, and you don’t tell Mom, and then one day she runs into Brad Ralz—”

  “Where the hell would that happen?” Nell interrupted. “Your scenario doesn’t have legs!”

  “Immaterial,” said Cap. “She runs into Brad Ralz somewhere,” he enunciated. “He says, ‘How’s Nell? Still speeding?’ ”

  “So unrealistic,” muttered Nell. “Brad Ralz doesn’t talk like that.”

  “Are you aware of the storm of shit that will rain down on me?” Cap said, running his hands through his hair as if to stretch out his scalp. “They do not make a big enough umbrella.”

  Nell was quiet, tapped her toe against the base of the counter.

  “Withholding information isn’t as bad as lying,” she offered.

  “So not true.”

  “But it will just worry her to death, and you know it,” said Nell.

  Cap knew she was right. But he also knew he and Jules had maintained a relatively congenial relationship since the divorce. He’d seen and heard of so much worse—ugly custody battles, long-term harassment. What a bit of good luck it was that he and Jules just naturally agreed to stay out of each other’s way. But it was a tenuous accord, which had been rattled by the Brandt case the previous year, and every small fracture since felt like a rift in the earth.

  “I’m not trying to snake out of it,” said Nell. “I swear.”

  Cap shook his head, felt himself running out of gas.

  “I can’t keep it from her,” he said. “And besides, that never works. I’m the king of It’ll-just-worry-her-so-don’t-tell-her.”

  Nell looked at him skeptically, knew she was winning a little.

  “Yeah, but you were never good at it. You could never hide it. I’m good at it,” she said.

  “Goddammit, you’re right,” Cap said weakly, rubbing his eyes. “Okay, Bug, just this once I will not tell your mother.”

  Nell smiled now, wide as a lake.

  “But just because I’m not squealing doesn’t mean you’re off the hook. We still have to talk about consequences from today.”

  Nell’s smile dissipated and she furrowed her eyebrows, confused.

  “You mean, like a punishment?”

  “Yeah, like a punishment,” said Cap, sounding unsure of himself.

  “What, like, ground me?” she said, before erupting in laughter.

  Cap felt disarmed.

  “What’s so funny?” he said loudly, over her. “I could ground you. It’s within my rights as a father.”

  “Dad, you’ve never grounded me, ever. I don’t think you’d even know how to do it.”

  “Sure I do. Don’t I just say, ‘You’re grounded’?”

  “Yeah,” said Nell, wiping her eyes. “I think you have to add, ‘Young lady.’ ”

  “Okay, now you’re just making fun of me.”

  “Little bit,” said Nell. Then she breathed deeply through her nose. “How about if I just say I won’t do it again ever-ever?”

  Cap looked at her face. No combination of cop training and dad training would lead him to find a lie in her earnest eyes.

  “I honestly feel like shit about it,” she said. “I wish I could just replay the whole day, you know?”

  Cap nodded. He knew. Wanting to replay the day was a ritual of at least a third of his days.

  Then Nell hugged him around the neck and kissed him on the cheek. She smelled like the oregano from the pizza.

  “Call Alice. Then you should go to California.”

  She let go and went up the stairs, shut her bedroom door gently.

  Cap was cold suddenly, the sweat cooled on his forehead and back. He went back to his office, sat at his desk, tapped the keyboard.

  The message from Vega was still there; it had not evaporated. A thin line pulsed horizontally through the letters in her name. Cap knew it was because the screen was old, something to do with the monitor’s magnetic field, but it made the word look alive, like it had a shaky little heart.

  5

  in el centro, vega drove to a street called apple. there was also a Cherry and a Berry nearby, Vega recalled from the map on her phone. The street was residential, the houses all small ranch styles painted faded pastel colors, sun bleached. There were regular trees with not a lot of leaves and palm trees with crisp brown f
ronds. Across the street was a small, shoddy strip mall—China Buffet, Lucky Upholstery, which appeared closed at the moment, and Cash Advance and Vision Plaza, which seemed permanently closed, façades boarded and signs chipped.

  She typed a quick email to the Bastard before getting out:

  “Hey. Need info on a pharmaceutical accessory company called Health-Guard. Any way to get into their shipping/purchase logs? Let me know.”

  Vega locked her car and walked once up and down Apple Street. She stopped in front of a salmon pink house with a slightly beat-up car in the driveway. There was a light on behind the curtains in the window. She backed up to the curb and then turned around, 360, slowly. When she came to face the house again, there was a boy on the path with a scooter. He had black hair, was a little chubby, wearing a T-shirt, basketball shorts, flip-flops. He watched her.

  “Hi,” she said.

  He didn’t answer, kept watching her.

  “You see anyone steal a car from right here?” she said, pointing down at the curb.

  The boy looked at her finger. He still didn’t answer.

  Vega tried Spanish. She asked the same thing. The boy scratched his ear, then answered in Spanish.

  “No, but a man saw.”

  “What man?”

  “The can man,” he said in English. He pointed to the recycling bin in the driveway behind him. Then back to Spanish: “He takes all the cans. Sometimes he sleeps over there, by the garbage.”

  Now he pointed across the street, to the China Buffet.

  “Is he there now?” said Vega.

  The boy shrugged.

  “Okay,” said Vega. “Thanks.”

  She pulled her wallet from her pocket and took out a ten, handed it to him.

  He stared at it and said in English, “Just ten?”

  “Yeah, just ten,” said Vega. Then she remembered what her old boss in fugitive recovery, Perry, used to say when there wasn’t any money on the table. “This isn’t a charity operation. Take the money.”

  The boy’s eyes widened at her tone but he didn’t seem upset, and he took the bill and held it in his fist, flattened it around the handle of his scooter, waved with his other hand, and away he went.