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Holder hates making phone calls. Especially ones where he has to talk to strangers, explain himself, ask for stuff. He has to do it a fair bit, but that hasn’t made any difference. He hates it.
He’d really thought the Regi one would do it, and if he’s honest her attitude left him more than a bit freaked. It never occurred to him that she wouldn’t want to help. If he’d known he would have been better prepared to deal with her, would have approached her differently. He could usually do pretty well with the social services types, they’re pushovers, mostly – but leave it to Linden to have a hard-ass social worker. Forced him to get creative.
A favour, a stroke of luck, a flying trip tackle and a surprise attack on the boss finally get him what he needs – the name of Linden’s shrink.
Carlsen said he’d tried already – yeah, bull-fucking-shit, he did – and of course he told Holder that he’d had no luck.
“Look, you can try if you want,” Carlsen, offers, all gentle and benign now, like a favourite uncle in somebody else’s life, “But you won’t get anywhere either. You know he’s the guy she was going to marry, right?”
“Whaaa…?” It’s like a kick in the stomach. Her shrink? Linden was going to marry her shrink? That’s who “Rick” is? Oh fuck fuck fuck. No wonder she could never get on the damn plane.
“Yeah. And even he gave up on her.” Carlsen goes to lay a hand on his shoulder, then thinks better of it. “So you should be taking something from that, Detective.”
Holder just stares him down, watching as the older man’s face eventually softens, his body sagging a little before he reaches in his desk drawer for a manila folder. He opens it, removes what looks like a business card that has been stapled inside the front cover.
“I know you’re in a tough position,” he begins, and for some reason this sets Holder back for a second. But only for a second.
“Fuck off,” Holder tells him, grabs the scrap of paper out of his hand, and is gone.
He takes the stairs down. Somehow, he has to keep moving. He doesn’t want to be in an elevator, doesn’t want to have to see anyone, talk to anyone. He can barely believe they’ve put pretty much the whole case together now – the whole multi-layered, multi-playered mess – and Linden’s seen the proof. But he doesn’t care about the case right now. Rosie’s fucking dead. She can’t be brought back, end of. None of the other shit matters – who did it, who all’s involved in covering it up – none of it. Amazing how things can suddenly become so clear, he loves it when he gets to a place where he understands something perfectly. Only one thing matters to him now.
He lets his still-concussed brain trip out for a minute – gets a fantasy going where he gets her out of the looney bin and they take off. Just go – somewhere – anywhere - hole up for a couple of days. Let the case go to hell. And sleep. She could sleep their mind-fuck pharmaceuticals out of her system. He could sleep off this ruthless headache, rest the ribs, the fucking ribs. He can picture the motel room queen-size, the rough sheets, the pillows, and the heavy quilted bedspread. It looks like heaven. If it didn’t hurt so much to laugh he would – at himself – for being so pathetic that if he could have anything right now – anything – that’s what he would choose. And he’d laugh at the fact that as lame as it is, it is a total fantasy – because never in a million years would Linden ever go for that, no way, no how, no sir. He decides he’s going to suggest it though – when he gets her out of there. It’ll be worth it just to see the look she gives him.
She’d looked so small. Childlike, almost. And even through her drugged-out haze he could see how scared she was. They’d roughed her up, he could tell. Taken her clothes, made her walk around like that. And all of this is after they forced her to send her kid away. They let him see her – which surprised him, actually, then only gave them maybe three minutes together before the nurse came and told him to leave. That bitch didn’t know that her touch on his shoulder had almost unleashed a crazy man.
If this doesn’t work, he’ll try something else.
Sneak her out, pay somebody off, whatever.
He’s getting her out.
And so he calls. Hears the guy’s sigh as soon as he says who he is.
“Look, Detective, I’m sorry but I’m not able to…” The authority in the voice, the disdain.
“Just listen for a sec,” Holder takes a breath, jumps in, he’s going to be honest, he’s going to be respectful, he’s going to be professional. He’s going to impress this guy. He promised himself.
“I saw it, okay? I was … sort of there. She didn’t try to go over any damn balcony. She didn’t assault anyone. They whacked her over the head and got her on the 72-hour thing to stop our investigation. Now they’re telling her they’re going to keep her in there even longer.”
Holder hears nothing, just silence. “Look, I know how it sounds…”
Another heavy sigh. Yeah, the guy was just so put-upon, poor bastard. Having to take time away from his busy day, to have to talk to some random cop about his fiancée, or ex-fiancée, or patient, or whateverthefuck it is that Linden is to him now.
“What, you couldn’t do anything?” The guy finally asks, and Holder knows that he really doesn’t even want an answer, it’s just a tactic to get him off his back, “I mean, how did she get herself into that situation to begin with? That’s a perfect example of why…”
Because she’s unstoppable, is what Holder wants to say, but doesn’t. And yeah, he knew it was a bad idea for her go in there, but…
“They almost fucking killed me the other night, is how.” He says instead. “The only thing that I could do, is what I’m doing now. You know what she’s like…when she…” His voice is breaking, dammit. This is not how he wants it to sound. How the hell did he end up on the defensive?
He tries again, “Look, man, they got her in there, she’s all drugged up, I know she’s…she’s…” He feels like a traitor now, a begging rotten lame-ass traitor, “I know she takes this shit too far, sometimes, I know that. But there’s nothing wrong with her. This ain’t like what happened before.” Whatever that was. He still doesn’t really know.
“See, the thing is, you’ve no knowledge of her clinical history.” The doc says patiently, as if he’s speaking to a guy with a seventy IQ, “You’ve known her what? Two, three weeks…and…look, this is a pattern with her…the lack of insight…” Big dramatic sigh, then, because, clearly, this is just too much effort. “I’m not going to discuss my patient with you, sir, there’s issues of confidentiality here, I don’t care what you think you saw, or what you think you know. I’m afraid this conversation is over.”
Holder hates this guy. It doesn’t matter that he’s never met him - he can picture him anyway and he can’t fucking stand him.
Little Man’d said the boyfriend was “Kinda old – like fifty-something.” He’s probably tallish, Holder figures, six feet, maybe six-one, but starting to shrink already. Tries to stay in shape though, plays tennis or squash or some shit, chases little balls around. Wears glasses, at least some of the time. Always up early, feeling great, never sleeps in. Good haircuts, shaves every morning, or maybe he does the supermodel-stubble thing, because, you know, he’s just so good-looking. He’s a clean and healthy guy, he’s never thrown a punch in his life, never taken one either. Probably still has parents, sweet little old people who love him and are just so, so proud of him. They’ll kick off soon and leave him a pile of cash. Oh yeah and he drives a Merc…no, a Beemer, probably, 7-series. Thinks he’s a good person because he gives money to some charity or other. Help the poor kids. Yeah.
Holder knows about guys like this. Guys with money and influence. He knows what guys like this can do, he’s met them before.
The thought of Linden with a guy like that puts his stomach in knots. It’s true that he’s jealous. But that’s not what’s bothering him now. It’s that he knows she deserves better.
He can literally feel the guy’s annoyance coming through the phone. Time to cut the crap, then, sir. Holder’s not annoyed, he’s pissed, big time. Okay.
“What?” Holder asks the guy, “Your patient? You’re gonna start playin’ by the rules now? Doctor? Listen, I didn’t call you to ask for a favour.”
He literally bites his tongue, makes it bleed. He wishes he could deal with the guy face to face. He really needs his body, needs his hands, for this stuff.
“See, what it’s startin’ to sound like here, Ricky, my friend, is that you’re in on it too. Yeah, you’re a powerful man, I know. Maybe this thing is even bigger than she thinks it is, huh?”
More silence. That’s fine. Holder waits. He knows the guy won’t hang up now. He pulls out a cigarette. Lights it. That’s better.
“Look,” Rick starts, and Holder cuts him off. No, Buddy, you’re not allowed to speak.
“Okay okay – I’m sorry - I get that you just… changed your mind, you don’t want to marry her anymore…” Holder pauses for effect, then hits him again, “She’s…she’s a bit of work, I get that, and you had enough…that’s fair…”
Even this fabricated disloyalty is enough to send a tremor up his spine, make the ball of guilt settle into his stomach, but he’s already decided - he’s going to let the guy have it. He takes a drag off the cig, exhales, forces a smile onto his face because he knows the guy will be able to hear it,
“She might be a pretty okay piece but she don’t exactly toe the line, now, does she?” He throws in a sleazy laugh, for good measure, “She’s gonna do what she’s gonna do…she’s one of those, I know…won’t give up the goddamn job, won’t move to sunny paradise…and then there’s her kid…damn…that’s, that’s a lot for you to think about. A man can only take so much, I get that, believe me. And I’m bettin’ she never had your dinner ready on time…am I right?”
Holder thinks he can hear something in the guy’s voice, what it is, he can’t tell, doesn’t care either.
“It wasn’t my decision…” Whoa - who sounds like the lame assed traitor now?
Holder feels like puking, the taste of blood still in his mouth, but he keeps it up.
“Yeah it was…still is, man, maybe.“ Shit, there goes his voice again, but whatever, “But if you ever gave a shit about her…she really thought that you did, didja know that? And if she’s still your patient, like you just told me she is, then get your ass up here. If you ain’t got the balls to see her, just get here and sign your name. I can take it from there. Doctor. Just get on a plane, okay? I’ll be there.”
He hangs up now. He has to. He can’t speak, can’t think, snaps his phone shut way too hard, his hand shaking so much it takes about three tries before he can get it into his pocket. He leans back against the brick wall of the station, seeing stars, gulps down the wet air. He hadn’t noticed the rain starting. He squints upward at the sky and the miserable grey drops actually feel good against his face.
He’s going to go back to that hospital and he’s going to sit there and he’s going to wait, wait, wait for this asshole to show up. Maybe they’ll let him see her again, tiny and terrified in that papery yellow gown, with her bare feet and her hair all messed up. And he’ll look into those flat listless blue eyes. He has absolutely no idea what he’ll say.
Hang on, Linden.
I’m sorry, Linden.
Just…Linden.