Full Circle
by Pho
Karen Simms walked away from the insolent young detective in the parking lot. Well, perhaps insolent wasn't the right word … intolerably confident. That was better. Her turn into the lot had been ill-timed, but definitely not illegal. So that was the Detective Peter Caine she'd heard so much about. He was handsome, but that ego…. Yes, Detective Caine needed taking down a peg, and she was just the person to do it. She'd come a long way from the crushed young woman who had arrived in town, what fifteen years ago? Her mind raced backwards in time.
************
"Hey Lady! If you're gonna stay on the bus, you gotta buy another ticket."
The young blond stared bleary-eyed at the driver; even the three-hour nap had done little to lessen her exhaustion. She watched as his mouth said words that her ears could not comprehend. "W..What?"
The exasperated driver huffed out an angry breath. "I said buy a new ticket or get off, and lady, don't be all day about it."
"Oh. I, uh, okay." Her wits finally returning, she gathered her few belongings and walked to the front of the bus. Karen Simms hesitated briefly on the bottom step before taking the final plunge into her new life. It had been less than a week since the legal separation had become a reality and her life had ended. The judgment had been swift and heartbreaking. Todd would go home with his father. Her blond-haired, blue-eyed toddler, heir to the Simms' legacy, was deemed to be the exclusive property of her estranged husband. The ruling had not entirely taken Karen by surprise, but the expectation did nothing to alleviate the heartache. The Simms' family was wealthy, with plenty of influence in her former home. Influence which had cost her her job, her home, and worst of all, her child. As she fingered the locket containing small, blond curls, she took a deep breath and stepped onto the sidewalk.
She'd wandered aimlessly for a short time after the decision that granted her only limited visitation. All that was left of her life fit beautifully into a single suitcase. A blaring horn had startled her and she realized that she'd made it to the bus station. Staring for a moment at the blinking sign with the burned out 'B', she made a sudden, radical decision. Squaring her shoulders she'd sailed through the revolving doors and used her last remaining funds to purchase a ticket to wherever sixty-five dollars and ten cents would take her. Now she'd reached her destination, and she wasn't even sure she really wanted to be here, but it was much too late to go back now.
The bus station was in the middle of what appeared to be Chinatown. Cultures clashed with amazing absurdity as the locals dodged the arrival of the invaders of all races and sexes. Karen retrieved her solitary bag, turned and was promptly knocked down by a young teen. Her purse disappeared with the boy. Leaping to her feet, the furious young woman gave chase to the teen. Her wallet might be empty but it contained something of much more value to her than money. Her baby's pictures filled almost every plastic casing. Granted they were only copies of the larger originals safely stored in her suitcase but they were still hers.
"Stop, thief!" She screamed as she ran. The suitcase proved to be a burden she could neither deal with nor shed. Stumbling over a curb she would have fallen into the street but for the firm hand on her arm.
"Miss, be careful. You almost ran into traffic."
"I've got to catch that kid. He's got my purse." Karen struggled to free herself from the masculine grip.
"What did he look like? I may be able to help."
Karen started to respond negatively, then realized that the man with the iron grip was a cop. "Oh! You're a policeman." Damn it, Karen, that sounded really stupid.
Grinning, the older patrolman replied, "Yes, Ma'am. Have been for years."
Blushing in embarrassment, Karen proceeded to describe the boy, "He was about five-two, around thirteen, maybe fourteen. Brown, almost black hair, dark eyes, either really dark blue or hazel. He was wearing jeans and a cream colored shirt with red buttons. Oh, and his sneakers were very old with mismatched laces."
"Is that all you can remember?"
"I'm sorry, wasn't it enough?"
"Actually I was trying to get a smile on that pretty face of yours. You gave a very detailed description of the kid. Much better than the other victims, although the general details match well."
"General details being hair color, approximate age. That sort of thing?"
"You've done this before."
"Let's just say I'm familiar with the process."
"I see. Well, I hate to sound pessimistic but I'd suggest you write off the purse. Even if we do manage to find it, it's usually picked clean. I'd cancel all the credit cards you had in it and your money is just plain gone."
"Oh, don't worry. The little thief didn't get anything of value to anyone but me. Baby pictures, other personal stuff."
Taking note of her suitcase, the man replied, "My name is Nathan Adams. I take it you've just arrived in town and have no place to stay."
"How did..."
"I'm a cop - it's my job."
"Oh." God, Karen, stupid, stupid, stupid. Man probably thinks you're a dumb blond.
Laughing, Officer Adams said, "Miss, eh, …"
"Simms, Karen Simms."
"Right. Miss Simms, I was pulling your leg. You've got a bus ticket in your pocket, a suitcase by your side and a purse with no money was stolen. If you had friends or relatives here, they'd have met you at the station. So, you're starting fresh and need a little help. Does that pretty much describe the situation?"
"Yes, actually it does." Smiling now, Karen added, "Any suggestions?"
"Father Murray at St. Stephen's will put you up for a while. You'll have to help around the church, housework, that sort of thing, but he'll do everything he can to help you get a start in this town."
"Where is St. Stephen's?"
"Three blocks north of here. You can see the steeple."
"Thanks very much, Officer Adams."
"You're welcome, ma'am. I'll look for you there if your purse turns up." Nodding politely, the cop walked away. Karen Simms eyed her suitcase distastefully and headed for St. Stephen's.
*******
Karen sighed as she approached the church. Obviously old, it had seen better days. Just like me. The paint was peeling around the window casings and cracks in some of the stained-glass windows were evidence of either a lack of money, or perhaps just general neglect. As she watched the elderly man raking the leaves, she discounted the neglect theory.
"Excuse me. I'm looking for Father Murray."
A wrinkled hand shook slightly as it was pulled away from the rake handle, and pointed a too-thin finger in the direction of a wooden door.
Karen waited a moment, expecting something more, and watched, stunned by the old man's rudeness, as he returned to his chores. Squaring her shoulders, she walked purposely to the door. The red paint was peeling badly, and the knocker was held in place by a single screw. She frowned, and lifted her hand to knock.
"It's open."
Startled, she whirled around to see the elderly man leaning on his rake. "W..What?"
"What are you… deaf? I said it's open. It's a church, ya know."
"Oh, yes, well thank you very…" Her mouth dropped as the man ignored her and went back to his raking.
"Don't mind Albert. He's harmless."
Gasping, she spun quickly, only to have the handle of her suitcase snap off. The dilapidated bag hit the walkway with a dull thud, forcing open the latch, and spilling its contents onto the grass. "Oh, no!" She dropped quickly to her knees, and tried to pull all of the fallen pictures into her arms at the same time.
"Here, lassy, let me help." A shock of silver hair dropped into the stranger's eyes, as he joined her on the ground.
"Oh, thank you so much, but I really think I've… Oh, Blast!" Karen's attempt to collect all of the pictures simultaneously resulted in the smaller pictures falling again to the ground as she struggled to hold onto the larger ones.
"Let's get a little order to this, Miss." Large, callused hands pulled the suitcase upright, and held it open for the young woman. "Put them in a few at the time. I believe you'll find it works better that way."
Karen felt her face grow warm as she looked up to meet a pair of ice-blue eyes. The warmth and humor she saw there belied the color. Ducking her head in embarrassment, she caught sight of the collar. "Father Murray? I mean, you must be Father Murray." She quickly deposited the last of the photographs in the suitcase as she spoke.
"Indeed I am, but you have me at a disadvantage…" The smile on his lips matched the one in his eyes.
"Karen, Karen Simms. I, uh…"
The priest rose quickly and offered the young woman his hand. "Need some help getting up? Or perhaps I may offer you assistance in some other way?"
Gulping, she took the offered hand and stood upright, the suitcase momentarily forgotten at her feet. "Thank you. Again. Um, Nathan Adams, the policeman down the street, I mean, said you might be able to ..." She took a deep breath, before forcing the words out in a rush. "I…I don't have any money, and I've got nowhere to go."
Squeezing her hand gently, the priest replied. "Yes, I know Nathan. Come inside, lassy, and we'll talk."
*******
"Karen?"
"In the kitchen, Father."
The priest pushed open the swinging door, and grinned broadly at the sight before him. The petite blond was on her hands and knees in the middle of what could only be termed a mild disaster. Soap bubbles concealed the floor behind her from his sight, and a thin film of … something … was on the floor in front of her. Her knees were protected by plastic storage bags held in place by rubber bands, as she crawled across the floor wielding an overlarge scrub brush more like a weapon than a cleaning tool. "Lassy, this floor has been beyond hope for years."
"Mrs. Wu says this stuff works." Karen scrubbed furiously at a stain on the linoleum, turning the filmy substance into a mass of foam.
Father Murray crinkled up his nose, and moved quickly to open a window. "Did she say anything about ventilation?"
Karen sat back on her heels and stared at the older man. "Uh, no. Does it still smell bad? I thought the odor had disappeared."
"Incredibly bad."
"I'm sorry." She frowned as she looked at mass of foam on the floor. "Doesn't look like much now, does it?"
"I'm afraid not, but if Mrs. Wu says it works then I'm guessing that it stands a better chance than any of the industrial strength cleansers I've tried through the years." The man turned to leave.
Karen spoke up quickly. "Father, was there something you wanted?"
"Oh dear, I am getting old. I came to tell you that I've found you a place to live. No more musty cellar rooms for you, my girl."
"Father, I still haven't gotten a job. Even the fast food restaurants don't seem to be hiring."
"Can't quite see you spending your life tossing French fries, my dear, you're much too intelligent. No, you really need to go back to school. Ah!" He held up a hand to silence her usual protest, "I know, the time's not right. But back to your new home. Father Phillips at St. Augustine's has arranged for you to stay with Mrs. Celia Andrews. She's in need of a live-in, I guess companion is the best word for the position."
Karen made a face. "Father, I really appreciate it, but I don't know anything about taking care of an invalid."
"Mrs. Andrews isn't really an invalid. She's old, and lives alone since her husband died last year. Needs some help around the house. Errands run. That sort of thing. Father Phillips says she'll pay a fair wage, including room and board."
"Father, I don't…"
"Not scared are ya, lassy?"
Her eyes flashed. "I'm not scared of …" The glare in her eyes faded, and she smiled at the priest. "Baiting me again, I see."
He wagged a finger at her. "Just helping you work on controlling that temper, lassy. You start with Mrs. Andrews on Monday."
"Yes, Father."
He suddenly frowned and eyed the floor suspiciously. "Uh, the suds will be gone by then, right?
*******
Not being Catholic, the intricacies of Mass continued to fascinate Karen. Her own Presbyterian upbringing had not prepared her for the amount of sitting, standing, and kneeling that was required for the service. As she helped Celia Andrews rise from the kneeler once more she caught a glimpse of Albert Huston. His dirty overalls stood out badly among the more decorously dressed worshippers. Not that the handyman ever seemed to mind, or even notice, the meaningful glances of the adults or the snickers of their children.
The Mass ended and the priest, led by the two altar boys, left the sanctuary. Karen steadied her charge as she rose from the pew. Celia smiled gratefully at the young woman. "Thank you, my dear. All this up and down plays havoc with my knees."
Karen laughed lightly. "To tell you the truth, it's not too good on mine either. Shall we go?"
"You go ahead, my dear. I need to find Father Phillips. It's time to start planning for the fall bazaar, and he's been ignoring my phone calls. That man has a terrible memory."
"Do you need my help?"
"With the bazaar or in finding Father Phillips?"
"Both."
"Bazaar, yes. Father Phillips, no. He'll sneak back in the side door, hoping to avoid being captured by Mrs. Masterdon. The old toad wants him to speak at the Ladies' Auxiliary meeting next week."
Karen's eyes twinkled with laughter. "A fate worse than death?"
"Ha. Worse than purgatory, if you ask me."
"I'll wait for you by the stairs then, and before you ask, I don't want you navigating those stone steps without help."
Celia absently nodded her agreement as the familiar form of Father Phillips slipped in the side door. Karen watched amused as the old woman set about intercepting him, then turned to head for the door. A movement to her right caught her eye, and she turned slightly to look. The youngest of the altar boys, out of his robes, and into fashionably ragged jeans had returned to the sanctuary. The youngster walked toward the front of the sanctuary, freezing in place as the door from the hall between the sanctuary and the parish offices started to open. To Karen's surprise, the boy turned quickly and moved to the altar area, heading straight for where he'd been sitting during the service. He then dropped to the floor, and groped underneath the pew, apparently searching for something. Keeping one eye on the child, Karen nodded a greeting to the handyman, who'd reentered the sanctuary from the hall, toting a ladder. The man frowned absently, before walking out the main doors, leaving Karen shaking her head. Strange man. Definitely anti-social.
"Karen?"
The young woman whirled to find an obviously upset Celia heading her way. "Good heavens, Celia, what's wrong?"
"Father Phillips just told me that poor box collection is disappearing from the church office. He's not sure how, but everything points to Albert Huston."
"What? Whatever gave him that idea?"
"The good Father asked a few of the police officers in the church to look into the matter quietly. Albert's the only person who's had the opportunity, and Lord knows he could use the money. Poor man, he'll lose his job over this."
Celia walked quickly toward the heavy oak doors, Karen trailing closely behind her. As Karen pulled open the solid door for the old woman, she looked thoughtfully back at the sanctuary. The altar boy was now nowhere in sight. Frowning, she turned to help Celia down the steps. Albert's not the only one with the opportunity, Celia. Not by a long shot.
*******
"Karen?"
Karen turned to face the elderly woman in the over-stuffed rocker. "Yes, Celia?"
"When are you going to get a real job?"
"W..What?"
"You're far too intelligent to be an old lady's companion forever. You need a real job."
"Celia, we've had this conversation before. This is a real job."
"No, actually it's not. You're what, twenty-five, twenty-six?"
"Twenty-six."
"Okay, now unless the modern math has changed things that means you've been out of high school for eight years. Don't tell me you flipped burgers for a living."
"Uh, no, not exactly."
"Then what exactly."
"I got married right out of high school."
"Ah. I see. Pregnant?"
"Actually, no, just, uh, involved. With the richest kid in town."
"And now?"
"Legally separated. Since neither of us had a playmate, we'll have to wait the required amount of time for the divorce to be final. If he signs it. That could take some time."
"Why?"
"No Simms in modern history has ever been divorced. His own parents were legally separated for twenty years."
The old lady's eyes widened as she grinned broadly. "Sounds like a unique relationship."
"Unique's a good word."
"Okay, I really don't give a whit about the Simms and their inhibitions. What about you?"
"I played housewife."
"So you flipped burgers at home for a living."
"Good Lord, no. I should have said society housewife. We, he had a cook. And a maid."
"I see. Garden clubs, society events."
"Yes." Karen replied with distaste. "Not my cup of tea, so to speak."
"So, what did you do?"
"Tried going back to school. Studied history for a while, thinking that I'd become a teacher."
"But you didn't?"
"Not hardly. Oh, the classes were fine. Then I did the student teaching assignment and found out that teaching was not what I wanted to do."
"I can understand that. Wasn't for me, either. Tried teaching Sunday School for a few years. Awful. I can only imagine how much worse a real classroom would be."
"Right. Well, I did get my degree. So there I was. All educated and nothing to do with it. Then I went to the annual Gala Ball and met some undercover policemen and women who were guarding the jewels in the room. Small fortune floating around on old ladies' necks… Oh, God, I'm sorry."
"Don't be, Karen. I've been to a few of those myself."
"Right. Turned out that the undercover security paid off. A world-class jewel thief was among the guests. He made the mistake of taking a bracelet from one of the undercover cops, and was promptly nabbed. Watching those cops in action was a real thrill. I'd never seen anything quite so, so exciting."
"Hooked on police work, eh? Bet your husband loved that."
"Not exactly, but he went to Argentina for a few months, sooo…"
"You got admitted into the police academy."
Karen grinned and nodded. "He hit the roof when he got back, but I loved the whole thing. God help me. I even loved the guns. So I simply ignored him and finished the academy. Then I really pissed him off, and actually got a job on the force."
"Is that what broke up your marriage?"
"Probably started us on the down-hill slide. Then …"
"True confession time, Karen, what happened? And yes, I'm a busybody. At my age, it's the only fun I have. Indulge me."
"I got pregnant."
"I see."
"Do you? Do you really?"
"I think so. You kept working, and lost the baby."
"Yes, but not the way you think. My son, Todd, was born, happy and healthy almost two years ago. He had a nanny, so working didn't seem to be a problem."
"But your husband didn't see it that way."
"No. He wanted a picture perfect marriage, with a stay-at-home wife, babies and a nanny for each so that my nails wouldn't get dirty. He really wasn't happy when I got a commendation for bravery during a bank heist."
"Jerk."
"Yeah. Well, it went downhill from there. Suddenly, I got reassigned to deskwork. Couldn't figure out what I did wrong, until I found out his family was behind it. From that point on, nothing I did was right. At home or at work."
"Didn't take the interference well, I see."
"Not at all. I pitched a few, shall we say tantrums, both at home, and at work. In the end, I lost. My job, my home and my child."
"I'm sorry."
"Me too."
Celia waited a few moments to give Karen a chance to speak, but the younger woman remained strangely silent. "So, Karen, why haven't you applied for a job on the force here?"
"Because I've lost the edge. I haven't been on the streets in so long, I'd probably get someone killed."
"Karen, my husband was a policeman for over twenty-five years when he became the police commissioner. You don't stay married to a policeman for that long without learning a few things."
"And now you're going to share them with me." Karen's voice held a note of dismay.
"Actually … yes." Celia grinned at the look of chagrin on the young woman's face. "You're intelligent, in great physical condition … I see you jogging daily … and you've got great instincts. And apparently great powers of observation."
"What do you mean?"
"Father Phillips told me how you figured out that it was the altar boy, not the handyman stealing the collection from the poor box."
"Oh, that was easy."
"Karen, three cops who are members of the parish couldn't put it together, and you did. Thanks to you, the handyman still has a job, and the, uh, child's parents have reimbursed the parish the money, and have put their son into counseling. Your quick wits may have saved him from a life of crime."
She blushed a deep red. "Oh, well, I didn't…"
"Might as well get used to the praise, Karen, Father Phillips was much impressed. And so was I. Think about it, my dear. Doesn't sound like you've lost the edge to me."
*******
Karen dropped wearily onto her bed, and mentally reviewed her conversation with Celia Andrews. Go back to being a cop? No way. It wouldn't work. Like she'd told the old woman, she'd lost the edge. Probably get someone killed. But what if she did try again? Wouldn't that show the Simms' family what she was really made of! Not that it mattered. There was no way she'd get her baby back. The Simms were far too powerful for her to ever win that particular battle.
She turned to stare at the images of Todd lining her bedside table. Such a very little boy. So sweet, so innocent, so … untouched by evil. Where had that thought come from? Oh. Yeah. The thieving little altar boy, and the purse thief. Two boys much too young to be stealing, but there they were. One fully engaged in a life of crime and the other on his way. Hopefully she'd made a difference where the altar boy was concerned and she had to admit that the thought felt really, really good. Making a difference was why she'd become a cop to begin with. Shit!
*******
"I'm glad you got the little thief - any sign of my purse?"
"I'm sorry, Karen, no. Like I said before, it probably won't ever turn up."
"Where'd you get him?"
"He was in a mall with some other kids. A woman's purse was stolen and he matched the description. She couldn't make a positive identification on this boy, so we thought we'd get you in. Your description was so much more complete."
"Thanks, I'm sorry it took so long to find me. I didn't think to register a change of address with you when I moved out of St. Stephen's. Actually, I didn't really think I needed to. I mean, nothing of monetary value was taken from me."
"No problem and normally it wouldn't have mattered, but you don't have a driver's license, so we had to wait for Father Murray to return in order to find you."
Karen looked around the precinct and asked curiously, "Where are his parents?"
"Kid's an orphan, lives over at Pineridge Children's Home. "
"Oh, so they brought him over."
The older detective laughed, "No, the kid's been at juvenile hall for three days. The attorney at Pineridge chose to leave him there. Said something about him not being able to cause trouble in juvie."
"I see. What's his name?"
"Sorry, he may be a thief, but he's still a minor, so I can't give out his name."
Karen followed the older man into a small observation room. The two way mirror displayed only a small conference table and two chairs. Karen cast a confused glance at the man beside her, who smiled briefly. "Won't be long now. The little punk is on his way up."
The intercom picked up the squeak of a door, and Karen's attention was captured by the sound of metal scraping across a well-worn tile floor. From her hidden vantage point, Karen spotted a slight figure, about five-two, with dark hair, and pale skin. Too pale. No one had skin that white. Not with hair that dark.
The detective accompanying her spoke to the officer following the boy into the room. "Brad, have the kid stand up straight and face the glass."
Karen frowned as Brad pushed the boy across the room and none-too-gently forced him to face the mirror. The expressive hazel eyes that stared at his own reflection spoke volumes about the boy's intelligence, and absolute terror. Karen shuddered inwardly at the expression in those dark orbs. The terror was bad enough, but the loneliness behind it echoed the ache in Karen's own heart. Terrible. This was absolutely horrifying. If anyone had asked ten minutes ago, she would have denied the possibility. This child was much, much too young to have experienced the same sort of heartache she'd experienced. As her eyes traveled down the trembling form, she fought down the urge to rush into the room, take the boy into her arms, and rock him into peaceful slumber. Instead, she concentrated on the task at hand. "That's not him."
"What! Look again."
"I've seen all I need to see. That's not the boy who stole my purse."
"Karen..."
"I'm not blind. That's not the boy and nothing you do will convince me he is."
The furious detective studied her face, then replied, "Fine. Well, thank you for your time."
Realizing that she'd angered the man, Karen strove to correct her mistake. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to sound so brusque. I was hoping the thief had been found, but I can't say he is when he isn't. What will happen now?"
"We'll go back to the drawing board on the thefts."
"No, I meant to the boy."
"Oh, him. We'll call the orphanage and tell them to come get him."
"And they'll do that quickly?"
"I don't know, maybe, why?"
"Detective Brinner, that child has been under detention for three days because you couldn't find me. I'd just like to make sure that he's released as quickly as possible."
The man smiled, "Karen, you're a very caring person, but you really don't understand, do you?"
"I'm sorry?"
"He'll be back. I've seen a lot of his kind and they all come back. Sooner or later we'll pin something on him, but for now, he'll go home."
Not home, she thought, an orphanage isn't home. "Thank you, Detective Brinner."
"You're welcome, ma'am. Can you find your way out?"
"Yes, thank you."
Karen looked around the interrogation area. Not much different from the one she'd been used to. Paint was a little newer back home, but the atmosphere was always the same. Cold and sterile. Smiling slightly she realized suddenly that it was designed that way. A psychological game played by cops everywhere. A familiar voice caught her attention even though it wasn't directed at her. Was that…? Yes, Detective Brinner. Feeling only slightly guilty, she moved closed to the door in an attempt to understand his words.
"Brad, get someone to take that Caine kid back to Pineridge. The Simms woman said he's not the one, so no charges will be filed."
Pleased that the child was being freed, she moved quickly out of the interrogation area, grateful that no one questioned her presence. As she made the long walk toward the exit, she studied the people in the precinct. It felt just like back home. She was astonished to find that the faces merged; that it was difficult to tell the difference between arrestee and arrestor. There was cynicism and pain to be found on both sides of the badge.
Karen thought about the police department job application that she'd been carrying for days now. She'd almost trashed it on the way to the station but something had stopped her. That something took full hold of her emotions now. She might never know the final destiny of the terrified child in the interrogation room, but perhaps if she went back to being a cop, she could prevent another innocent from knowing that fear. With one last glance around the chaos of the squad room, she squared her shoulders and walked resolutely into her future.
************
Karen suppressed a smile as she watched Peter Caine stalk through the squad room. She knew she'd made an impression on the precinct, and on him, but exactly what kind was still in doubt. This was her dream assignment - the first woman captain in the history of the hundred and first. The Chinatown precinct was a legend within the force.
As she sank gratefully into the over-sized desk chair, she wondered idly how many others in her new command she'd have to sit on. Blaisdell had been a good commander, from all accounts, but had never been known for running a 'by the book' precinct. While the method had obviously worked for the man, it would not work for her and she was intelligent enough to know it.
Life had a funny way of coming full circle. Her salvaged life had begun here, in the one place where past and present blended. Her best, and from all reports most troublesome, detective had ties to both Blaisdell and the most colorful local character she'd ever heard of, the Shaolin priest, Kwai Chang Caine. Odd that the fates had worked to throw all of them into this mysterious corner of the world at the same time.