Cap waited for Vega to say something. Her face again a blank sheet.
“I don’t have witness statements, Ms. Vega,” said Cap. “I don’t have access to witness statements. I literally can’t walk into the station or else I violate the terms of my agreement with them, okay? What I’m telling you is you have a broken arm and you need a paramedic, not a guy in an alley with a box of Band-Aids.”
They were quiet. Vega cocked her head a small bit to the side and then reached for an inside pocket. Just for a second Cap felt his legs tense up, the back of his head tingle. Old reflex.
She pulled out a sheet of paper folded into quarters and unfolded it. She leaned forward on the tip of her chair and placed the paper on Cap’s desk so he could read it. It was a printed copy of one of the articles from the Trib. Cap forced a laugh.
“You know, I’ve made a great effort not to look at this stuff. I know you just met me, Ms. Vega, and I know you’d never guess this about me, but I don’t have the greatest self-esteem to begin with, and this just makes me feel bad about myself.”
Vega held her hand over the paper like it was a Ouija board.
“This says that you resigned less than twenty-four hours after this kid, Ron Samuels, died in police custody. Less than twenty-four hours. That makes me think you did it quick to make it go away, to avoid criminal or civil litigation. It says you were on track to become sergeant. In less than twenty-four hours, you decided to crash the career you’d been building your whole life without a fight. There’s only one reason anyone does that.”
“Why’s that?” said Cap.
“To protect someone. Probably a friend, colleague. Probably someone else was in the room when Ron Samuels died. Someone who made the wrong call, didn’t call an ambulance when he should have. Maybe there was negligence, maybe not. Sounds like the kid had a drug problem. But something happened in that room. If you were culpable, maybe you would have tried to negotiate at least to get some part of your pension, something. But you didn’t. Because you were protecting someone else.”
Vega was so calm when she spoke that Cap couldn’t quite be angry. Hearing her recount the experience just made him tired.
“Hey, what do you want?” he said.
“Witness statements.”
Cap held out his arms to show how empty they were. No witness statements here.
“I don’t have them. I don’t know what to tell you.”
“Someone in the Denville Police owes you a favor. I propose you call it in. I will give you half of whatever I make from this. Jamie Brandt’s aunt has a lot of money, and I don’t work cheap. If I work a month on this case, your half could be upwards of twenty-five K.”
Who the fuck are you? Cap thought. Where did you come from? He tried not to imagine putting twenty-five thousand dollars into his anemic share of Nell’s college fund. Which would probably cover book costs, but it was a start.
“What if I said I don’t care about the money?” he said.
“I don’t care,” said Vega. “I don’t care about you and your personal needs and wants. I don’t care that you feel bad about yourself or that you have or haven’t come to terms with your former career—I don’t care. I am looking for these two girls, just a little younger than your daughter, Mr. Caplan, and you could help me do that. You have the capacity to do that. So why wouldn’t you do that?”
Her eyes searched his face. He felt like he was in a dream state, like he would look down and suddenly realize he had the body of a horse.
“I don’t do police work anymore, Ms. Vega,” he said. “I don’t associate with police. I have my own business, my own clients. I’m working on something right now,” he said, tapping the Brandon Haas folder. “I’m sorry, I can’t help you.”
They stared at each other for what felt to Cap to be about thirty minutes. Then Vega nodded and finally took her eyes off him. She looked at the floor.
“Okay,” she said quietly.
She finally sat back in the chair, and Cap relaxed his neck and exhaled. She looked up at him and smiled. It was not what he would call genuine but it was respectful. It made him want to tell her more.
“I’m sorry,” he said again. “I admit the things I work on are not as serious as this.”
“Skips and cheaters?” she said.
“Skips and cheaters,” he said.
“So if this one,” she said, pointing to the Brandon Haas folder, “were out of your way, just disappeared, you would reconsider?”
Cap laughed. “I don’t know. I’d love to say to you, No way, but I’m getting that you probably don’t hear that a lot.”
Cap’s cell buzzed on his desk; the photo of a pug dog came up, the one that Nell had set as her profile picture.
“I’m sorry,” he said, holding the phone. “Will you excuse me?”
“Yes, please,” said Vega.
Cap tapped Accept and headed out of the office, through the door into the hallway of the house.
“Hey, what’s wrong?”
“Dad, nothing’s wrong. Don’t panic,” said Nell.
“Worst possible thing you could say to a parent. What’s up?”
“Mom’s car broke down at her work, and she was going to pick me up from practice, but now she’s got a class this afternoon, and then she has to wait for the tow, so could you pick me up and take me to Carrie’s?”
“Sure, what time?”
“Like five-fifteen-ish.”
“Yeah, that’s fine. How are you getting from Carrie’s house to Mom’s if Mom has no car?”
“Carrie’s mom can take me.” Then Nell whispered, “After we eat quinoa cakes and barley salad.”
Cap smiled.
“Thanks, Dad.”
“No prob, Bug. Hey, does your mom need…is she okay?”
She’s not okay, Dad; she needs you to save her. And she says she’s sorry about all the fights that you had at the end and that nasty voice mail she left you that time, and she’s really grateful you never called her an asshole. And she wants you back and wants us to be a family like we were, three against the world.
“She’s fine; she has Triple A. I gotta go. See you later. Thanks, Dad, I love you.”
“Love you too,” said Cap.
He hung up and went back into the office. Vega was sitting where he had left her, hands in her lap.
“I’m sorry about that. It was my daughter. And you know, if she calls instead of texts, I know something’s up.”
“Of course, it’s no problem.”
“Where were we?”
“You don’t want the job,” she said. She was not angry.
“Right,” Cap said. “I’ve just got too much on my plate right now.”
Vega nodded. They were quiet for a moment. Then she stood.
“Sorry to bother you.”
“Not at all, thank you for coming by. I hope everything works out.”
Cap walked her to the door.
“Nice to meet you,” he said, extending his hand.
“You as well,” she said, shaking it.
He opened the door for her, and she stepped out.
“Hey, Ms. Vega?”
She turned.
“How did you know I had a daughter? It wasn’t in any of the articles about me—I went through a lot of trouble to keep it out.”