Part 17 ~ Saturday 30 April 1994

“And when I think about it I can see what Benny’s saying. It’s obvious that nobody else in the department was offering to help when it was just about Joey’s death. Now there’s all these other cases opening up, everyone’s willing to put in the hours. How many has Welsh reassigned?”

“What?” Stan asked absently as he peered down the office.

“People not helping, and now they’re helping.”

“Oh, that, yeah.”

“I mean…” Ray dropped his voice. “It was exactly what we needed, no-one else sticking their nose into the murder enquiry, and…”

“You know what?”

“I’m sure you’re gonna tell me, Stanley.”

“I think I need glasses.”

Ray over-dramatically rolled his eyes and threw his hands up.

“Finally! How many times have I told you?”

“Is that the kid we were tripping over last week at the burglary?”

Taking a look down the office, Ray nodded.

“Yup.”

“I’ve gotta find out why he’s been brought in. Hold that thought.”

“Which one?”

“Any. Like I care, picking holes in me, saying I need glasses…”

With a smile, Ray watched Stan move in on last week’s kid like a heat-seeking missile. The kid looked justifiably worried and Ray left them to it, flipping open his notebook and pretending to work. Too conscious now that, every time Welsh reassigned a case they’d inadvertently reopened during their enquiries, he was unknowingly leaving Ray and Stan free to concentrate on what needed to be covered up, rather than exposed, a sudden wave of despondency hit him, the present bad cop wishing he was the past good cop. It clearly showed on his face just as Lieutenant Welsh was passing by.

“Vecchio, you need to stop beating yourself up.”

“I wasn’t, I… Was,” Ray admitted, although he’d never admit what he was beating himself up for.

“You’re a good cop dealing with an impossible case, it happens to the best of us. Give yourself a break.”

“What if I can’t…”

“Here’s what you do,” Welsh interrupted. “You learn to accept. Whether it takes booze, or prayer, or therapy, you have to learn to accept defeat sometimes. This case… Maybe you’ll never put it to bed, maybe it will always be the one that got away, and yes, I know how that would hurt in these circumstances, but if you do your best and it comes to nothing… Forgive yourself. I don’t say that lightly. Forgive yourself.”

Welsh carried on to his office, Ray staring after him in confusion. Was he a mind reader? Did he know? Ray went cold. Welsh seemed to be saying exactly what Ray needed to hear, and it scared the hell out of him.

Right now he had to pull himself together and re-focus. Think about his priorities, what mattered, concentrate on his girls and—

“You’ll never believe what that piece of shit tried next,” Stan announced as he fell into his chair. He did a double-take at Ray.

“What’s wrong?”

Ray looked at him in stunned amazement.

“I’m going to be an uncle.”

“You finally figured that out? And you reckon you’re the brains of this team?”

“I’m going to be an uncle.”

Stan’s stance softened as he watched this piece of rare good news sink in.

“Yes, you are. Uncle Ray. Has a good ring to it.”

Abruptly too emotional to speak, Ray opened the file on Joseph Vecchio and started to rifle through the pages. Having been reminded of the importance of closing Pop’s case down, he started to scrutinise everything with fresh eyes, checking and double-checking every detail to ensure nothing had been given away, and nothing was being left to chance.

…

Back at Frankie’s, the boss carefully situated in his favourite armchair in the study, Al Caruso took a good look round at what he used to think were friendly faces. In his mental ledger, the column entitled ‘who we can rely on’ was looking pretty empty, and he could feel the metaphorical eggshells beneath his feet cracking with every step.

Acting as comically mama bear as he could get away with, he managed to shoo everyone out into the hallway. Charlie took some doing, but Al was more determined, and could convincingly appear too dim-witted to notice the chill atmosphere his actions invoked.

Locking the door behind him, he was finally able to relax a little, but that lasted as long as it took to meet Frankie’s eyes. The phrase ‘dead man walking’ popped into his head, immediately corrected to ‘dead man sitting’, because this was Al.

 “Get me a drink,” Frankie said brusquely, reading Al’s mind and accepting the likely truth.

“Not with your meds. The doc said…”

“Well, the doctor thought I was walking out of the hospital into a long life and we know better.”

“Hey, no giving up.”

“Yeah, right.”

Al brought Frankie a drink and watched it go in one hasty gulp. Frankie handed the glass back and nodded towards the drinks cabinet.

“Nu-huh.”

“Al…”

“Do I call Ray?” Al whispered, glancing at the door before going back to check he’d locked it.

“No,” Frankie snapped.

“But…”

“I said no.”

“He’s your pal, Frankie.”

“Which is why I’m saying no.”

“Then… How ‘bout I call a cop who isn’t Ray.”

Frankie’s face momentarily cracked into a smile.

“You think you’re being smart? The scarecrow? Seriously? If somebody wants me dead, he’ll hold their coat while they shoot me.”

“He wouldn’t make it personal.”

“No. Final answer. No Ray, no Kowalski. Al, you understand? Understand?”

Al nodded glumly. No Ray. No Stan. Okay.

A light bulb virtually appeared above Al’s head with a ping. Luckily the devious expression on his face was missed as Frankie hobbled toward the decanter.

No Ray. No Stan. Okay.

…

Ben was lethargically tidying up the file for his latest case, a bar brawl with criminal damage and a razed vehicle. His legendary efficiency and verve had all but deserted him, leaving him dissatisfied with his life and letting frustration bubble up as he mentally pictured Ray having to cope with too much without him. For the twentieth time that day, he pressed the cuff of his shirt to his face and inhaled deeply. A daily splash of Ray’s aftershave was both comfort and torment to him, and he couldn’t wait until—

The phone interrupted his thoughts, with exactly what he needed.

 “Sergeant Ben Fraser.”

“Hey Sarge, it’s me, Al.”

“Al,” Ben acknowledged as he took a split second to squash down the immediate stab of alarm. “Is Ray okay?”

“Oh, yeah, sorry, did I frighten you? Sorry, Ray’s fine, but I have a problem.”

“What can I do to help?”

“Well, you have to have guessed I’m gonna ask you to come here, I mean, what can you do from there?”

“What’s happening?”

“Frankie’s out of hospital, y’see, which should be good but it ain’t. I brought him home, and now… Listen, me and Marco – you know Marco – we’ve been putting out feelers, finding out who we can trust. Who Frankie can trust. No-one notices they’re being scoped out ‘cause, like Marco says, he’s a non-entity and I’m stupid. No-one sees us. And maybe I am stupid, but Marco ain’t, he’s pretty smart and if he thinks you should be here, you should be here. It’s all gonna kick off and Ray ain’t safe.”

“You said Ray’s fine.”

“He’s fine but he ain’t safe.”

“What then? Has he been threatened?”

“He don’t need to be threatened, but things are gonna kick off here and it’s gonna be bad. Ray will hear about it and turn up looking out for Frankie and he’ll end up in trouble. Too damn loyal, that’s Ray, he’s a sweetheart and it’s gonna get him in trouble.”

“Is Stan there?”

“Sure, Stan’s around. But Stan says stop and Ray goes. You say stop and maybe Ray stops.”

“Can you get Frankie away from there? Take him somewhere safe?”

“He ain’t listening, Marco says he’s got a death wish, and Marco’s smart, so I believe him. I can only get in the way so much, and Charlie has a look about him. You know what I mean?”

“I believe so.”

“What do I do, Sarge? I’m trying my best here but…”

“Has Frankie lost the loyalty of all of his men?”

“There’s a few looking sideways at Charlie so, maybe no.”

“Then Frankie may be safe, at least temporarily. I’m going to give you the telephone number for Ray’s precinct. It’s a direct line, you’ll get through to someone who will be able to step in if you give them fair warning.”

Okay, I got a pen, I got… Paper.” Ben reeled off Welsh’s number. “This ain’t going to Ray?”

“No. He’ll find out what’s going on but hopefully he won’t be in a position to make any kind of move on his own.”

“How about you? You coming South, Sarge?”

“I’ll be on the next plane.”

Ben phoned Ray’s office line: permanently engaged, and his cell went straight to voice mail. He didn’t want to leave a message and risk sending Ray into a panic, and going via Stan was less than ideal because he was bound to pass the information on, with the same result. He called Lieutenant Welsh and explained Al’s concerns. Welsh’s response was measured but grim: they’d all known this was coming, and whether it was sooner or later, there was every chance it would happen so fast they’d have little more involvement than picking up the pieces when it was all over.

Suppressing his growing panic, Ben asked Carol to call around to beg, borrow or steal a plane out of Tuktoyaktuk for him, once again leaving Diefenbaker in her care while he dashed home to gather a few necessary items, before racing to the airport for his flight. By now he’d decided that calling Ray would be too risky. Al was right, Ray would go racing to Frankie’s defence, and with the situation so volatile, it was far too dangerous a move; the last thing Ben wanted was to be the catalyst for the oncoming showdown.

…

Blissfully unaware of Frankie’s predicament, Al’s call, and Ben’s race to Chicago, Ray was on the phone to Spinetti, going round and round in circles as he tried to persuade the lawyer to move at a faster pace than glacial on this occasion, and draw up the necessary documents to transfer ownership of the North Octavia house to his sisters.

As he finally threw down the phone, a glance at his watch announced it was time to head out. Unusual for him, but right now he had an urge to find a bar and celebrate his forthcoming niece or nephew. He gathered up Stan and they wandered through the bullpen, Ray announcing his imminent uncle-hood to his closer acquaintances and enjoying the camaraderie borne of knowing these people had put him and his wellbeing before the resolution of his father’s murder.

By the time they left the precinct, and surprised at having found a few more volunteers to celebrate Francesca and Marco’s baby, Ray found himself mentally pulling to pieces the extraordinary, if hugely inaccurate, sense of not having a care in the world. All that was missing at that precise moment was Ben, and he wondered where he was. Probably tucked up at The Point, and maybe, just maybe, thinking about him?

Ben certainly was thinking about Ray, and he wasn’t the only one.

Al was desperate to say hello, and Frankie was wondering how to say goodbye.

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