All the Tired Old Men
Previously: Jeannie asks an important question.
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5:41 AM Monday, November 10, 2014
Lower Pacific Heights, San Francisco
Jeannie lay wide awake staring at the stripe of light cast on the wall from the streetlamp outside. Every so often the whoosh of a car went by, but she marveled at how silent the street was otherwise. Something had jolted her eyes open a bit after 5 and she was trying to remember what it was in her dream; it was similar to the one before where the little girl with curls was pointing her in directions telling her she had to find something in the mess of mud and papers. You have to find it. She’d forgotten about the dream in the last few days, but now it had her strung taught in the bed with Chris’ warm torso against her back. She felt the even swell of his chest rising and falling with his sleeping breath, her right foot folded between his ankles. She didn’t want to move.
If I can just stay right here everything will solve itself.
She tried to suss out any sounds in the quiet, almost waiting for some loud noise or alarm to explode. Something to give meaning to the alert tension that made her brain jump out of sleep so early. Closing her eyes again, she tried to match Chris’ breathing and felt her heart’s pounding start to slow and soften. She listened to the silence, letting it fill her.
You have to find it.
The voice was loud in her ear, twitching her awake again. She exhaled a startled breath as Chris stirred next to her. The feather of sleep she’d had a second before was gone. She slowly extricated her foot from his warm legs and moved to sit up on the edge of the bed, the night’s chill settling over her bare skin, rattling her frame slightly. There was something she was missing, something to remember — a party, people…people she knew but didn’t know. It was right there but she couldn’t suss it out, couldn’t even identify what would be a starting point. In the bathroom she wrapped herself in Chris’ thick robe and crept downstairs in the dark to find her laptop in the kitchen.
The bright blue light of the screen shocked her irises in the dark as the computer came to life. She scrambled to find the switch for the over-counter lights, first turning on one series of overheads and then the pendants, switching both off quickly as though the bigger lights would interrupt the whole neighborhood’s last hour of sleep.
Finally finding the switch, the warm light from the hidden fixtures under the cabinets reflected the deep green of the tile backsplash that she loved so much. Deep green — like Ireland. Flashes of her mother came to her: her kind brown eyes, her favorite diamond shamrock brooch, her mother giving it to Orla, Orla wearing it in her hair on her wedding day in Ireland. The green of the fields against the rainy sky. Jeannie smiled slightly remembering helping her pin it into her golden hair. Orla is having a baby, Mama. Then it was Orla wearing the brooch on an emerald green velvet dress — when was that? Green velvet? It was long after Brandon and Orla were married — she remembered their faces being sad, placid even. Gorgeous green velvet sadness. Jeannie stared at the deep ombre green tones of the handmade tile and let her mind wander. A few seconds later she turned to the computer and began hunting.
Chris slept through her showering and dressing in the dark room. She went downstairs again around 6:15 to make coffee and fixed him a large cup. Placing it on his nightstand, the aroma mixed with the sleepy warm scent of his skin as she nuzzled him awake. He grunted a little, eyes beginning to open as she kissed him softly.
“Why are you dressed?” Chris asked, his voice throaty, his palm running over her thigh. She chuckled a little.
“I have to follow up on something at the station and then get to work.”
“Work before work? That’s too much work. You’re newly engaged. You have far more important matters to attend to —” He pulled her in for another kiss.
“Well, I did make you coffee,” she said, sitting up again with a smile. Sleepy Chris was her favorite, and very hard to resist. “I’m already doing wifey things.” She reached up to push his hair back and stroked his face, his dark whiskers already shading his cheeks. “And I’m going to get time off — later this week and next. I’m getting married, you know.”
“Hmmm. You’re a rookie — you’re going to get time off?”
Jeannie leaned over him, watching his mouth stretch into a smile. “I’m gonna make him an offer he can’t refuse,” she whispered before giving him a slow, lingering kiss. She smiled and stood quickly before he could convince her otherwise.
“You’re good at that.”
She let out a deep chuckle and trotted down the stairs.
Fillmore was still empty at that hour, but for the moan of a street sweeper wiping out the fall leaves from the gutters. Swooping in behind it, she parked Martha in front of the dilapidated old brick building right across the street that used to be a powerhouse for MUNI. The station would be quiet, with the first shift having gone out an hour before.
The watch commander gave her a smile as she flashed her badge and ID, moving to type in an access code at the door that would let her into the bullpen and offices. Desks were sitting empty and the phones were silent. She moved through to the back of the room, seeing the Captain at his desk through the glass office door. Tapping lightly, the Captain looked up in surprise which quickly registered her face, waving her inside.
“Hagen, what are you doing here so early? What’s the latest on the case?”
“Good morning, sir. Do you have a few minutes to chat?”
“Of course — have a seat.”
“I’ll stand.” She said firmly which made him do a double-take. “I won’t be long.” The Captain leaned back, eyes assessing her.
“What can I do for you?”
Jeannie looked at him for a long second and then reached into her bag, pulling out her phone. She opened up a photo and leaned over the Captain’s desk to hold it up so he could see it. His eyes went from slight confusion to clarity to cageyness in seconds.
“Do you know when this was taken?”
“It says it right there, Hagen, the American Ireland Fund Dinner in March of 2013.” His jaw was firm as he leaned back again, looking up at her.
“I was at that party too. I didn’t remember it until this morning — my mother had just died before Christmas and my father was trying to get us all out and about again, so he bought a table. He was trying to get the Hagens to seem normal again.” The Captain considered her. “I wasn’t a bit normal again though. I barely remember that night, but I remember seeing you there. I knew who you were because I saw my Dad talking to you, but I didn’t know you at all. I had no idea I’d be working for you eventually — that wasn’t even on the horizon.”
“But here you are.”
“Here we both are.” Jeannie’s eyes were wide as she looked him over. “This whole time I’ve been wondering if my being on this case was just a coincidence or something else.”
“Something else like what — some kind of conspiracy? It’s just a photo from a party, Jean.”
“It’s Officer Hagen.”
“Very well, Officer Hagen, why don’t you tell me your concerns about that photo that bothered you so much that you had to come in here so early in the morning. What’s on your mind?”
“You’re in this photo with Con Sullivan.”
“I know Con Sullivan. I’ve known him for years.”
“He’s a known associate of Jim Hartman, who happens to be of interest to multiple federal agencies, federal agencies whose investigations are running tandem to the investigation I’m working on. In fact, some would say that Jim Hartman owes all of his success to Con Sullivan. His law practice, the investments he puts his clients’ money into —”
“It’s a small town, Jean. You should know that better than anyone.”
“Yes, just 49 square miles. And every one of the ethnic groups that have settled here have their own little hierarchies of power, don’t they?” She scoffed, shaking her head slightly. “It’s an Irish tradition: get men into police work and then they can run the neighborhoods and then the trades and unions and then elections and then the whole city.”
The Captain chuckled at her, tucking his hands behind his neck as he leaned back. “Maybe in the old days, but not any more. If you’re trying to say that Con Sullivan is some kind of Irish Mafia boss —”
“You said it sir, not me.”
“He has no bearing on your case.” He said tersely.
“How do you know?” She fired back. “His name has been mentioned.” The Captain sat perfectly still, staring at her. “It’s out of my hands, sir. We’re giving our evidence to the Grand Jury and the DOJ will be handing down indictments.”
“That’s usually how it works,” he tossed back coolly.
“Sir, both you and the Lieutenant are known associates of men related to this case —”
“Believe what you want to believe about me, Jean,” he almost shouted over her, “but if you go purity testing everyone in the department we won’t have anyone working here.” He glared at her, rocking slightly in his chair.
“Belief and trust are two very different things.” Her voice was dangerously low. Anyone that knew her would have kept their distance. “I, for one, would like to know I can trust my leadership.”
The Captain’s nostrils flared. “You think this was a set-up? You think I picked you specifically out of everyone in your class so you could somehow — what, exactly? We didn’t even know the Hartman kid was involved. Has anyone asked you to do anything differently? Offered you a bribe? What are you getting at Hagen? My patience for this conversation is running very thin.” Jeannie knew he had a point. No one had told her to change the investigation, to look the other way — even the Lieutenant. He didn’t like it, but he didn’t directly ask her to compromise anything.
“So is mine.”
“You think too highly of yourself, Hagen. You’re smart and you know the law but you seem to forget the main thing: this is a small town. Law enforcement, politics, prominent people — these people all know each other.” He paused. “You know that. You’ve lived it.” Jeannie let out a slow, shaking breath, trying to hide her nerves. “As you’ve noticed and no doubt leveraged to your advantage, your experience in this city and your own relationships are what make you a good officer. But don’t for one second think I sent you over to Greenberg for any reason other than I thought you’d represent us well.” He huffed a sigh and stared at her for a long moment. “I’m trying not to be insulted here.”
“I had to ask, sir.”
“Debatable.” He answered, shrugging. “You did right by keeping it with the feds though. We don’t want this mess.” He pulled himself closer to the desk top. “You know, Hagen, you need to sort out what kind of an officer you want to be.”
“Why would you say that, sir?”
“Because sometimes I don’t think you get what this is about.” He growled. “You have a mind for the law but not necessarily for the politics. Police work is both.”
“You forget, sir, that I’ve also seen politics at the highest level.”
“It’s that you’re arrogant, Hagen.” He continued, ignoring her. “Not all the time, but there’s something about you that keeps you above everyone else.” Jeannie huffed a bit and tried not to smirk. “Maybe a few weeks cleaning up The Tenderloin would bring you back to earth, as Lieutenant mentioned.”
“I’ve never shied away from any assignment, sir, not even the one I’m on now which I approached with zero training or guidance. You threw me in and let me figure it out. I’m sure Greenberg and Mayfield can give you a full review of my capabilities. If you want to waste them, that’s your call.”
“You’re insolent.”
“I’ve proven what I’m capable of. I’d say that in 5 years I’ll be a Lieutenant.”
He laughed a little. “Maybe in ten years, if I make it happen.”
She stepped closer, leaning her hands on the desk to meet his eyes. “No, in ten years I’ll have your job.” She said quietly. “That is, if I decide to stay on which I’m not sure about.” His eyes grew wary, calculating what it would mean to lose one of his best assets. “As soon as we hand off to the Grand Jury I’m taking time off.” The Captain’s eyebrows shot up. “I’m happy to work Thanksgiving week if people need to be off on the holiday, but I won’t be in next week.” She kept her face impassive, chin set.
“Oh really? That’s quite an assumption.”
“Yes really. No, not an assumption, sir. I’m exhausted and I’m concerned about my mental health given the additional workload I’ve had lately.” She fired back. He could tell her mental health had nothing to do with it. “I’m sure the department therapist will agree with me, even if you don’t.” She tilted her chin at him. “I’m sure I could convince them to give me even more time off if I wanted — paid time off — enough to take a proper honeymoon.” She held her hand up so he could see the ring sparkle in the harsh overhead lights.
“You’re getting married?” He scoffed. She nodded once. “What’s the rush? Are you pregnant or something?”
Jeannie glared at him. “That, sir, is an inappropriate question. I could make a complaint of sex discrimination against you just for asking it.” Her throat was tight, voice edgy.
“Is that what this is, Jean? Just you against the tired old men? It’s all some big conspiracy against bright young women and you’re fighting your corner?”
Everything is a conspiracy against bright young women. The face of Alexa Thomas spattered with pink spring water popped into her mind’s eye.
“I’ll let you know when we file with the Grand Jury.” She stood up in full and moved to the door. “I’ll call the department therapist now to see how much time I should take. Maybe I won’t come back until December. That works for you, doesn’t it?” She glared at him from the door. “Seeing as how all the tired old men have everything well in hand?”