Chasing the Monsters: 65

"How did ya find the place?"  Timothy asked Ribsky, who was in the driver's seat.

"I contacted some old chums.  Most didn't know a thing, or maybe didn't want to.  The last one finally ran a DMV for me in all the surrounding states.  So here he is, in Ohio, and what a small, quiet town."

"He wanted to disappear, ya say?"

"Seems like he did.  Which makes me think more than ever he's in on this.  Otherwise, why bother?"

"Likely he wanted to fade away, and if so, he may be guilty.  Could be.  But how will ya ever get him to own up to it?"

"Not sure," Ribsky said, getting out of the car, "but I'm going to try like Hell."

Timothy also got out.  It was a quiet, suburban neighborhood, not unlike the street where Peter Manning's house was.  He swallowed, thinking of it again: the dark cellar, his son, shot, Blair, crying, Bitsy, holding Ray . . .

They walked to the first small house, and Ribsky knocked.  "Excuse me, sorry to disturb you.  I'm looking for the Miller house?"

"Three down, on the left," the woman said, and promptly closed the door.

Ribsky reacted with a slight pull-back.  He looked at Timothy.  "Well, a little uptight, maybe."

"Just a bit," he agreed.  They headed back to the car.  "Shall we walk, Mate?"

"We can, if you want to."

Both older men headed down the street, according to the directions provided by the woman at the door.  The sun was high in the sky, and both of them labored a bit.  Timothy said, slightly out of breath, "I suppose we should have driven, eh?"

"Maybe.  It's not much further."

They continued on.  Then, Ribsky stopped, a short way from the slate path leading to the doorway.

Timothy said, "Is there something . . ."

"Thinking of what to say.  The man was my mentor, my idol at the time.  I hung on his every word."

"Was he a good man?"

"Seemed to be, at least then."

"Are ya having second thoughts, then?

"No."  He looked at the door.  "I've gotta do this.  Maybe he didn't do anything himself, but knows something.  Whatever it is, I have to find out."

***

Todd and the boys were in the living room, with Jewel, sleeping on his chest.  The pizza was all but gone, and Jack and Jenna were snuggling on the couch.  Todd said, "Time for bed for the little ones," he said, carefully standing up and cradling Jewel lovingly.  Ray ran away, and Sam said, "I'll get him, Dad," and went after him.

Todd looked at his oldest son and said, "Hey, not too much longer.  Jenna has to get home."

"Okay, Dad."

"Williams can drive you, if you want."

"Can we copter?  Jenna loves it."

"Sure," he said, "just not too late, okay?"

"Okay, Dad.  Should I tell Perzno?"

"Yep."  He went up to the second level.  Sam and Ray ran after him.  Ray said, "Dad, when I grow up, will I be big?"

"Yeah, you will."

"Can I be wike you, Dad?"

"Yep, you can, if you want to."

"Okay!"  He raced to his room and changed into his pajamas.

Sam went to his room, and did the same.

Bitsy, who had retired earlier so she could paint, stuck her head out of her room.  "Todd?  Can I help put the children down?"

"Yeah, sure, Momma.  Blair's on teen duty.  She's cleaning up the kitchen and watching those two."

"Well, let me help, then.  I love putting them to bed," she said, taking Jewel from him.

Todd watched her go, and went to Sam's room.  He said, "Hey."

"Hey, Dad.  Thanks for helping me with the Zeus thing."

"You helped yourself.  You really are growing up."

"Well, you went all the way there, to tell him to leave me alone, right Dad?"

"Yeah," Todd said.  He couldn't break Sam's heart by telling him the truth about his trek to Greece.

"Well, thanks!"  he said, "Night."

"Night, Sam," he said, and went to the bedroom to start a bath for them.  

He didn't realize she'd followed, but Bitsy was at the door.  "Todd?"

"Hey, Momma, what's up?"

"Todd, can I come in?  I want to talk to you.  Are you all right?"

"Yes, Momma, I'm fine."

"The way you ran off, I was . . . afraid . . ."

"I'm okay, Momma.  I'm not Peter's son, and I have no need to be acting like it anymore."

"Well, I know," Bitsy said, "you never were.  You bucked him from the start.  Even as a baby.  Something in you, was . . . well, rebelling from day one."

"He had me, at one point.  I wanted to be accepted by him more than anything when I was a senior in high school and then in college.  But it was all a lie.  Everything about me, wasn't the real me, I guess.  Maybe I was trying to prove something, and at the same time, trying to deal with my rage.  Whatever it is, it's done, Momma."

She smiled, tears, welling in her eyes as well, and walked closer to him.  "I'm glad.  So many times, I prayed you wouldn't think the way he treated us was the way to treat people."

He breathed in and out, and said, "I think I was confused along the way.  Not anymore, though."

"Yes, I know.  You're a father, Todd, and these children are so filled with love for you that you can't do anything but let them know they're right for it.  And they are, my son, they very much are.  And that's why . . . I need to tell you something."

***

Ribsky rang the doorbell, and a woman answered.  She was, Timothy estimated, about ten years older than Jack, and seemed sullen.  She said, "Yes?"

Ribsky said, "Tricia, don't you remember me?"

She squinted, and slight recognition passed over her face.  "You look familiar."

"It's been a lot of years," he said, "It's Jack Ribsky, I was Ben's partner, for a short time, a long time ago."

She turned and walked away from the door, leaving it open.  Timothy and Jack took it as a sign that she was inviting them to follow, so they did.

The house was modestly decorated, with family photos along one wall: Ben, in his police uniform, graced many of them, and Tricia, at different stages of her life; two young families, complete with children; Tricia and Ben on vacation.  She sat on the chair, and they both sat on the couch across from her.  She said, "What is this about?"

Jack found her response odd, and Timothy said, "Well, if ya don't mind, Mrs. Miller, we would like to speak to y'ar husband."

"I'm afraid that won't be happening," she said.

"Tricia, it's important.  I have to find out . . . I have to talk to Ben about something.  A case, from a while back."

"I know, and I'm pretty sure which case," she said, looking to her hands.

Again, both men were puzzled.  "If he's not here, we can surely come back," Timothy said, "or ya can tell us where to find him, and we'll be on our way."

"Hmf.  Find him," she said, pulling her sweater closed, as if a chill passed over her.

Jack took a risk.  "Is he missing?"

"Missing?" she paused.  "He's dead."

Timothy saw Jack's reaction out of the corner of his eye, and said, "Oh, goodness, we weren't aware.  We're very sorry, we are."

"It hasn't been long," she said.  Her affect was flat.  "He's been dead three months."

"Tricia, I'm sorry to bring up any painful memories," Jack said.  "We just needed some answers . . . I . . ." Jack's voice trailed off, and Timothy took the lead.

"We had come to find out about a specific case, and we won't be keeping ya," Timothy started to rise from the sofa.

"A specific case.  As I said, I'm pretty certain which one.  We watched the news, both of us.  We kept up with things from Chicago.  He obsessed that this day would come, expecting it, and so did I."

Timothy slowly sat back down.  He said, "Do ya have something ya want to say to us?"  Jack was there, but unable to speak.  Timothy understood, and pushed forward.

"It's about Peter Manning, isn't it?" she announced.

Jack nodded, and Timothy said, "Yes.  Y'all have to excuse Mr. Ribsky, he just lost his wife.  Last week."

She looked to Jack and said, "I'm sorry for your loss.  It's very hard . . ." she slightly faltered, but Timothy was amazed at how she had kept a porcelain sheen over her emotions the entire time, and the only crack, thus far, was what he just saw in her offering her condolences.

"Mrs. Miller," he started.

"Call me Tricia," she said.

"Then ya must call me Timothy," he offered his hand.

"You're Irish, or Scottish, I can't tell which anymore."

"Irish, born and bred."

"My family, as well."

He let the pleasantries fade between them, and then said, "What did ya want to say?"

"This is about Peter Manning, isn't it?" she repeated.

"Yes."

"Well, Ben was waiting for this day, and not happily.  It haunted him every day for years.  He left the force years back, and we sort of lived in hiding ever since.  He was afraid . . . he feared this day would come.  He could never have lived through jail time, or even a scandal."

"I see."

"When we were first married, Ben did everything to keep me happy.  This included buying me everything I wanted, without care or concern for the expense."

Jack suddenly came to life, "You were always beautifully dressed.  I remember."

"Yes.  Well, there came a time when we were about to lose everything.  Bankruptcy.  He didn't tell me.  We were to lose our home, the one my family left to me, that we lived in.  He'd accrued too many bills, and was scrambling to keep it quiet.  I'm sure you know what's next?"

"Ya need to fill us in, if ya can," Timothy kindly prodded.

She sighed, getting up and walking around the room.  Both men had their eyes glued to her.  "He met someone, a man, a business man.  This man offered him a great deal of money."

"Where did he meet him?" Timothy asked.

"On a case.  Suspicion of child abuse.  It was reported by a teacher.  A child in her class . . . unsettling drawings.  Ben was sent to . . . that house.  He was sent away, the first time, because of a technicality with a warrant.  When he returned, Peter Manning had done his research and knew the trouble that Ben was in, got him talking."

Timothy could imagine the scene; he had a clear picture of "Calvin" in his mind.  For a reason unknown to him, that was the name that stuck and resonated with Peter every time he thought of it; a human falsehood, a name associated with an emptiness . . .

His thoughts were interrupted by her voice, "The long and short of it was that Ben was to look the other way.  If he did, Manning would rescue the home from foreclosure, and pay him handsomely.  He agreed, as Manning explained that he was just disciplining the boy, and  was a wretched and spiteful bad seed with terrible behavior.  This of course was not the end of it.  He was continually assigned to the Manning case, throughout the years, and was paid handsomely.  He told me . . . his excuse was winning at gambling."

Jack said, "Is he the one who . . . took the 9 -1 -1 calls from the boy?"

"Yes.  The director got a kick back for filtering the calls.  The dispatcher was threatened with being fired.  She only knew that a certain officer had to take the case incidents.  Ben was the man on the phone."

Timothy sighed out.  It was over.  At least, for Todd.  There was no grand conspiracy beyond the director, Molly and Ben Miller, who systematically had kept Todd and his mother in torture for years.  He said, "Those are the answers we sought.  Ya see, the boy is my adoptive son."

"My God.  He lived there until high school was over, with Manning.  In fact, Ben was the arresting officer when he tried to kill his father.  I believe he was fourteen.  I'll have you know, Ben told me nothing of all this until much later in life.  Every detail, repeatedly.  He kept it all a secret until last year, when we read that Peter Manning had someone's baby."

"That someone was my son and his wife," Timothy said.

"I'm sorry.  Then, Ben knew it was coming, and he told me all of it,. every day, over and over.  He'd been plagued with it for years.  He let me in on small fragments of it, but when the dam burst, finally, it was as if he couldn't stop talking.  Most of the end of his life was spent rehashing all of it.  And I heard every moment."

Timothy swallowed.  Should he press on?  What further answers did he hope to gather?  "When he was fourteen, then.  Ben was the arresting officer."

"Yes.  He knew why Todd tried to kill that man.  He told me right out what it was.  And he lived with the disgusting truth of it, for years, if you want to call it living."

Timothy swallowed.  "So did my boy."

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