Fall Guy

at O'Fallon's apartment, was not about the cases he was working on. This one was more like a diary, more personal. I had the feeling that when I read the others, they would be heading down this road, becoming less about work and more about O'Fallon.
    The first surprise was that O'Fallon had recorded money he'd given to Parker, and in some instances, what the money was meant for. He had clearly been trying to see that Parker could earn a living, one essential of being selfsufficient. He had no intention of taking care of him any longer than he had to. He'd given him money for a short course in food preparation, something that would allow him to get a job as a cook. I thought about Parker offering to cook for me. So he hadn't been lying. But then a page later, O'Fallon had written „no go re food course.“ Parker had said he was mugged. „Promised to look for work and pay money back,“ O'Fallon had written, but he had not been fooled. Nor had he given up either. At the bottom of that page, he'd written, „Try harder.“ An admonishment, I thought, to himself.
    And then in the middle of the notes about Parker, about his growing passive-aggressive attitude, his continued use of alcohol and drugs, the petty theft of O'Fallon's possessions and whatever else he could get his hands on, there was a change of topic. O'Fallon had apparently been doing research on police suicide and had been making notes on what he'd read.
    It was one of those notebooks with a marbled cover, a little rectangle where you could write your name and the subject matter, but O'Fallon hadn't written in either space. I wondered if he had carried it with him. Or perhaps he wrote the notes sitting in his car, the windows closed, the air conditioner on, closeted from the rest of the world, but not from his own problems, not that at all.
    I wondered if the notebook was his way of reflecting, of making decisions, because the major issues he was grappling with were all in it.
    „Stress inherent in the work,“ he'd written at the top of one page. Then there was a list: „irregular hours, long hours, rotating shifts, a feeling of uselessness, lack of respect from the public, boredom, secretiveness, loyalty to the club and not the truth“—that last one underlined—“dealing with violence, misery, death.“ There was a blank line, as if he had been thinking, as if, perhaps, he'd been reluctant to continue, and then: „Fear of appearing weak.“ And under that, another list, „Signs of Weakness.“ O'Fallon had written: „Seeking professional aid, letting on that not everything is okay, admitting a lack of control, admitting failure of any kind, any show of emotions, any discussion of emotions, feeling any emotions.“ The last underlined.
    When the phone rang in my quiet house, I was startled. I looked at the clock before I sent Dashiell for the phone. It was past midnight. I'd been reading for over an hour.
    „Alexander,“ I said, expecting to hear someone in trouble, someone needing my help.
    „Did I wake you?“ he asked.
    „No. What's up?“
    „You know the garden around Saint Luke's Church, on Hudson Street?“
    „Yes.“
    „What's Dashiell's command for cadaver work?“
    „ 'Find bones.' Why?“
    „Perfect. Take him there, to Saint Luke's. Tell him that, tell him to find bones.“
    „What are you talking about?“
    „I buried something there for him to find.“
    „You did what?“
    „It's not deep. I know there wasn't enough time for that, for the scent to migrate to the surface. I talked to someone.“
    „What do you mean, you talked to someone?“
    „Never mind that. You said it was difficult getting material for training sessions. I made some inquiries and got you something. That's all.“
    „But why?“
    „Let's say it's a present.“
    I heard him light a cigarette.
    „Isn't the garden locked at night?“
    „Not tonight. The first gate you come to will be open. When he makes his find, leave it there. I j have to“—he paused, cleared his throat—“put it back.“
    „Oh.“
    „Don't forget your slicker. It's still raining.“
    And just like that, the phone went dead.
    I sat there for a moment, stunned. But it was what I wanted. Exactly what I wanted. And it was I already tomorrow, the day I promised myself I'd work with Dashiell. I ran upstairs to the office and got Dash's tracking harness and a long lead. I put on heavy socks and waterproof boots. I took the jar of Vicks and ran down the stairs, grabbed my