“The more I drank, the more the memories came back and stayed. It seemed like a simple solution—stop drinking and the memories would go. But they didn’t. Also, the alcohol seemed to enhance my problem-solving skills, at least that’s what I believed.”
She nodded. “I always believed alcohol impaired analytical thinking and jumbled up rational thoughts, but maybe it does help you think, by allowing you to focus on things that need to be addressed. Interesting thought. Do you think avoiding alcohol is working … helping?”
“Not sure. I’d started to believe the drinking helped, but I seemed to be continually rehashing the same things in my mind. Now I’m not drinking, yet they still crop up for analysis, but not as often.” He paused. Was he making sense? “So how are we going to solve Jack Kinnaird’s problems?”
“You seem sharp today, Jack. Things seem to be in focus, which is a good thing. You planning on getting back home?”
“I would love to, but I’m still under probation with the wife. She calls it tough love. And I understand. Alcohol does … did strange things to me. I was taking my work into the home environment, and that was when I did get home. A few of us had developed a culture of ending shifts and putting our demons to rest down at the pub. I prefer Erica not to have to deal with those things.” Although he did feel he was moving forward.
“Yes. The demon drink.”
Jack nodded. He didn’t want to bring demons into this. The one positive thing about being separated was getting away from all the religious talk that had taken over his wife’s life. And it was a reason why he has stayed away from AA—their talk of a higher power. “Funny you say that. I saw alcoholism referred to as a ‘spiritual disease’ recently.”
“Could be in reference to AA. They bring God, or a higher power, into the twelve steps. People getting trapped in addiction. Are you religious, Jack?”
She was reading his mind. He remembered standing at the church entrance with the large white cross towering over him. “For a little while. The supernatural touched me. For a little while. Then religion came into it.”
Jack had even considered changing work partners, as he knew Cath had a religious side. But she’d kept it close to her chest, and although he preferred not to admit it, he liked the thought of having some unseen protection walking and working with them. He wanted the best of both worlds: visible and invisible, even if he didn’t believe in the latter. Or maybe he did. Maybe that summed up society: God on our terms.
She nodded. “Yes. Religion. It’s hated or loved. I heard there’s a church in the States called Church without Religion.”
He hadn’t heard that before. “Church without Religion? Interesting. I’m not into religion. Just thinking about it leaves a bad taste in my mouth.”
He saw depth and caring in her eyes. “Do you blame God for what’s happening in society?”
That question always confused him. “I don’t. Or maybe I do. I often wonder if God really exists, why do we have all this bad stuff? Maybe there is an evil force at work, and we’re blind to it.” He glanced towards the window. “Erica says it all comes back to love, that God is love. Treating people the way we want to be treated. It makes sense but few put it into practice—it always seems to be driven by the ‘what’s in it for me’ attitude, not in the ‘love thy neighbour’ spirit.”
Doc Cop nodded. She wasn’t going to tell him the answer. Not sure if anyone could. Her hand went to the top of her shirt to make an adjustment. Jack followed her hands but quickly refocused his gaze back to where it should be. Her eyes tantalised him, but he wasn’t going to make a move on his counsellor. Wake up, Jack.
“But I’ve seen the church do good things. I think of my wife and son and others in need. Not that my family was in need—I think it was more of a way of dealing with me.” Erica’s smile came into his mind’s eye. “But something is off with me. I think it—something spiritual—was there. I tasted it briefly, but it’s been blown away. Maybe by the constant interaction with the real world—the darkness. It hardens you. Desensitises you.”
“Do you need a break from work, Jack?”
“I’m thinking about it. But I feel I’m managing. We’re short-staffed, and although I can put a negative spin on things, I joined the police force because I wanted to help society, and that’s what I want to do. I don’t believe my work is being affected.”
She made some notes and then leaned a little too far forward. Jack looked away.
“Okay. I’d say you’re thinking reasonably well and have a good situational awareness, but let’s meet next week. This sounds like a nasty incident you’re having to investigate.”
“It is. Same time?” he asked.
“Yes, and keep in mind that sometimes we avoid pain through distraction.”
The last comment came as a little jab. “All good. Thanks for your time.” They stood up.
She reached out to shake his hand. “Jack, I sense a vulnerability there. Keep staying away from the alcohol.”
Jack sensed the vulnerability as well. He also noted a vulnerability with the counsellor. He reached for her hand and looked down at her left hand resting on her waist. There was a ring there. He was thankful.
He walked out into the corridor. He wanted a drink badly. It was arrogant to think he could make a hit on Doc Cop, but he needed a woman and one came to mind.
5 - Sally and the cat
A couple of hours later, Jack sat in his car outside Sally-Anne Richmond’s heritage apartment complex, sipping a coffee and battling his inner demons. She wasn’t at the coffee hangout this morning. He’d asked one of her work companions where she was, in a manner that he hoped hid the real meaning of his question. They said she was sick and went home early.
He could use her sickness as an excuse, say he was in the area. Yep. He was convinced. He finished his coffee, placed the takeaway cup in the car’s cup holder and stepped out of his car.
He’d never been here before, but Sally’s place of abode was well known since an incident with a rowdy neighbour that was briefly the talk of the office. The police officers had mistakenly knocked on Sally’s door. As she politely redirected them, a man wearing nothing but a hat on his head came screaming down the passageway, removed his hat to cover his genitals, and ran into Sally’s apartment. She had no idea who he was. It became known as the Mad Hatter story, so he looked up the incident and found her address. That was against policy, a no-no. Now, as he headed towards her apartment entrance, he sensed his chest tightening. Could he be naughty?
Jack tried Sally’s apartment’s intercom, but it wasn’t functioning. The security door opened with ease—the door wasn’t performing its function well either. The stairwell smelled of concrete. Did such a smell ever leave? He climbed the stairs to the first floor, opened the stairwell door, entered the passageway and headed towards her apartment. The thick carpet in the passageway gave a sense of comfort. The Mad Hatter story came to mind as he paused at Sally’s door. He forced a smile and looked at the door. Would she appreciate someone calling on her if she was sick? The occasions when he’d been sick, the last thing he wanted was someone to drop in on him. No, this wasn’t a good idea. He turned to leave.
Crash!
Jack returned his focus to Sally’s apartment. What was that?
Thud!
That sounded like a body hitting a hard floor. He knocked again, harder. He pressed his ear to the door and heard a soft moan.
“Sally. You okay?” He waited. “It’s Jack Kinnaird.”
Another soft moan. Quieter. It sounded like whoever had fallen was losing consciousness.
“Sally?” His voice raised louder.
Nothing. A car drove by. A bird squawked. Then came a meow from Sally’s apartment. A cat. More meows. The cat was after attention and wasn’t getting it. Something wasn’t right. He tried the door handle, but it didn’t budge. More meows, which now sounded closer to the door. He had a lock pick gun in the boot of the car. He had no choice but to go and retrieve it, and quickly.
A door opened. Jack turned.
