Simplicity
AUTHOR: Kristin.
DISCLAIMER: Most Characters belong to ABC and the talented writers of NYPD Blue.
FEEDBACK: To Kristin
Sitting in her car, Diane paused to slow her breathing and steel herself before opening the manila envelope on her lap. Her thoughts were everywhere and several worst case scenario's came to mind. Harry the kidnapper. Harry the drug pusher. And most of all, Harry the suicidal, possibly homicidal, psycho who played her like a fiddle. What revelations awaited in this little package?
She shook her head and said firmly,"Innocent until proven guilty", and opened the little metal prongs on the back flap. The contents slid out in a neat pile on the passenger seat. Out of habit, she instinctively inventoried the evidence before her; a newspaper clipping, two photographs, a sheet of NYPD notepaper and several spent lottery tickets with writing on them.
Snatching up the photo's, she recognized the people in them immediately. The first captured Don Kirkendall on the steps of a small, run down house with Frankie next to him. Standing in the doorway, looking tired and disheveled was Lauren. The second photo showed Don making some sort of deal with a Dominican on the street. It was a different location from the first, and as she looked closer she could see Jill sitting in the driver's seat of the car he was leaning on. Both photo's seemed to be taken from across the street...possibly from a car window.
Harry had a camera.
Next, Diane picked up the sheet of paper. It was personal stationary from Harry's desk at the Narcotics Division, and all it had was a single case number written on it. She folded it and tucked it into her pocket. Counting carefully, she stacked the nine lottery tickets. Each had an amount circled and an address and date written in the margins. Evidently, these were receipts that Harry was keeping on Don's dealings.
Diane grinned, "Well, I never would have guessed that you were such a neat bookkeeper, Harry."
"Now, what have we here?" she sighed as she unfolded the old newspaper clipping and read it out loud; "New York Daily News, blah,blah,blah...May,16th, 1997....hmmm. Two killed in freak accident. Police Department divers today retrieved the bodies of two victims of last night's accident on the 3rd Avenue bridge. Their 1996 Volvo was involved in a head on collision with a moving truck at 5:30 PM last evening. The driver of the truck, who authorities confirm, lost control due to a blown tire, was treated for minor injuries at the scene. Services for Susan Denby, 29 and her son, Robin Denby, 4, will be held at St. Mark's Cathedral on March 20th at 1:00 PM."
"Oh my god..."
She sat stunned for several minutes, feeling horror and pity and rage all at
the same time. Her hands stuck to the steering wheel with sweat. All she
could hear echoing over and over again was her own voice saying, "Hurt
anybody I care about and I'll kill you" and Harry's desperately empty voice
saying back to her, "Do you really think I'd care?"
In the file room, of the 10th precinct Diane pawed through the overstuffed cabinets with Harry's note in her mouth. Every five minutes or so, she popped it out and read the case number again. With a satisfied grunt, she pulled out the matching file and tucked it under her arm, closing the bin with a shove from her hip.
There was a small table by the window, and she opened the file on it, laying the pages in the afternoon light. She didn't recognize the case, which involved an undercover narcotics arrest from almost three years ago, or the name of the arresting officer, Roberta Gould.
"What is it, Harry? Why am I here?" But as she read through the details of the case, it became clear. The undercover officer, Roberta, had been rescued by a daring, but controversial shoot-out started by none other than Officer Harry Denby.
"A couple of lucky collars in narcotics, huh? So this is what got you upped you to Detective." She stuffed the folder back in place and headed for the offices.
"Could I speak with officer Roberta Gould? Is she in today?" Diane asked the desk clerk.
"And you are..." she responded with practiced politeness. Her teased hair and manicure gave her the look of a beauty salon gossip.
"Detective Russell from the 15th."
"Oh, yes, I'm sorry, Detective. I mean, no. She's not in. She's on assignment."
Diane frowned a bit and scratched the back of he head. "Well, could you point me to her desk? I'd like to leave her a note, if I may?"
"Second on the left," the clerk pointed and handed Diane a pad and pen.
"Thanks."
Diane made her way to Roberta's desk. She fully intended to leave her number for a call back, but stopped short when she saw the framed photograph's next to officer Gould's phone. There, standing with her husband and wearing a crisp new uniform from the academy was a younger, beaming...Lauren. Her hair was dark and pulled back, but it was unmistakable.
'Very clever, very clever." Diane mumbled as she made her way back to the the clerk. "Um, excuse me again, will she be back anytime soon?"
"No, sorry," the clerk leaned forward and put her hand over the receiver. "She's deep under. You'd hardly recognize her."
Harry checked his watch for the third time. He'd been pacing along the side walk next to his car for twenty minutes. Diane had left a message on his machine asking to meet him here at 5:30, and he had hurried to arrive early, just in case. The red silk tie he wore flapped gently in the breeze of the early evening and he forced himself to lean casually against the newsstand and watch the boats. The river wasn't the Nile, but he thought it was a little romantic, and he hoped Diane had chosen this spot for that very reason.
He hated waiting. It was better to be in control and make the first, unexpected move. Keep your opponent off balance and occupied with wondering what will happen next. But this was the lady Diane, herself. Not a contest. What would she make of his offering? Had he just set himself up in the worst way?
Too much time fed Harry's very vivid imagination and he began to convince himself that Sorenson was about to deliver another raincheck for her. When she suddenly appeared, walking swiftly toward him, his reflexive smile of relief was a little too broad, and he hid it as best he could. She was dressed in a dark slacks with a red sweater, and her hair flew back from her stern face like a banner.
"Miss Russell."
"Why did you give this to me?" Diane held out the newspaper clipping.
Thrown off balance by her direct plunge into offensive mode, he fumbled, "I don't know."
"Yes you do. Tell me."
"I don't know! I guess, maybe I thought it ...might explain a few things."
Unwilling to show him any measure of the sympathy that tore at her heart, Diane let stinging words fly instead, "What? That personal tragedy gives you a right to jerk people around the rest of your life?"
Harry leaned down and faced her squarely, "Look who's calling the kettle black."
"What?"
"Ask Danny if he's feeling a little jerked these days."
Her eyes narrowed, "You have no right..."
"Absolutely no right to say the truth to your face," he interrupted. "Come on, Diane. You've always felt free to lay it all out plainly for me, offering me immeasurable advice from your stores of wisdom."
"So that's what this is about, huh? A little payback for all the assumptions that you led me into with your clever crap."
"If you say so, beautiful."
"Well, as long as we're being completely honest, why in the hell did you decide to give me, all this incriminating information? If you're so convinced of my moral failings why didn't you give the information to Andy Sipowitcz or Lieutenant Fancy...they certainly could have passed it onto to Cohen and cleared us with IAB."
"I said you had deep unmet needs, not moral failings."
"Are we gonna do this dance again? I asked you a question."
"But I already answered you."
"When?"
He shrugged, "Months ago, when I wrote my letter."
"Harry, you sent me on a mother of a scavengerhunt with the contents of your little package. Now, I'm supposed to congratulate you on the clever twist of sending an undercover narc to babysit Frankie, and , and ...and proclaim the resourcefulness of keeping accounts on the back of lottery tickets? You're making my head hurt."
She rubbed the little crease between her eyes, and Harry backed down. He was tired of the subject, and wanting nothing more than to simply pretend they were on a date. That was impossible, of course. He always made it, too hard. Too much work. The last remnants of the day were fading along with his hopes of ever getting through to her.
"It's a nice view. Let's walk, come on."
She didn't answer, but had no choice but to follow as he stepped out. The boats passed by them in the opposite direction giving them the illusion that they were walking at a rapid pace. Diane hesitated to keep up with him, but felt even sillier hanging back like a coward.
Glancing over his shoulder, he could see that his diversionary tactic had worked. Harry concentrated on developing a comfortable pace, so they could stroll together without having to work at it awkwardly. Like a skilled dancer taking the lead, he brought her along smoothly without her even noticing it.
"I have needs too, Diane. Don't you remember? Love is a crime that needs an accomplice."
"What are you talking about?" she replied in exasperation.
"I think you know, but neither of us wants to be the victim of the other."
"Stop it. That's not what I asked."
"Isn't that what you tell yourself all the time..'It's not fair?' But what you really mean is that you don't deserve love twice. You should be grateful for what little measure you had because it was real and most people don't even get that."
Diane stopped and shouted, "Shut up, Harry!"
Undaunted, he moved in closer with a few steps and cocked his head to the side, "You wanted to believe that you could relive it easily...in the exchange of a momentary desire and the contact of two skins, but it didn't work, did it?"
She shivered involuntarily and turned away. "I'm nnn-not talking to you about this."
"Don't you remember what passion was like, Diane?" Taking her arm firmly as he came up beside her, "Don't you ever go there in your head just to make it hurt so you know that you're still among the living?"
"Let go of me," she ordered.
Ignoring her, Harry had her by both arms now and none to gently prevented her escape. "Well I remember, and it's torture. Everytime I look at you, I feel it."
"It's not the same!" she practically had her hands over her ears to keep him out of her head.
"LOOK AT ME!" he demanded, shaking her with his volume. "It's worse! You don't believe it, but it's worse than losing out to something like a random accident or an act of fate. I was nor about to let a low life, waste of flesh like Don get Jill or Robin, or you, blown away because of his great schemes.
Diane froze. "Harry, you just said Jill or... Robin."
"Shit," he threw his hands up, and stomped ahead at full speed.
He did, with a flourish of disgust, and stood with his hands on his hips while she caught up. Diane caught her breath as she faced him and folded her arms against the chill.
"I need...nnnn-need to know why. Help me make sense of this past year with Jill, and Don and, and... you. Tell me."
He waited for a couple of joggers with dogs to pass them before answering. "I was out of it a couple of times, Diane, but I still knew when I was committing a crime and when I wasn't. Did you?"
"I was helping my partner out of a bad situation," she replied defensively.
"What did you think I was doing when I let Don go? That was her chance and yours to turn that bastard in and show IAB that you were willing to give him up, no matter what.
"You staged the black-out at the hotel?"
"And it would have worked. I never thought you would help her keep that worthless prick on the run. Next thing I know, Don's got cash, a ring connected to you, and he's knocked off some bum to use as a body double."
"Great, that's great. Why didn't you just turn him in? You knew where he was the whole time."
Harry shook his head, "How many times have you asked yourself the same question, Detective?"
She knew he was right. Each of them had screwed up and had taken matters into their own hands. If they had worked together from the start instead of trying to outplay the other, things might have been different for everyone.
They walked in silence, each lost in thought and afraid of what the other might say next. Harry's stride was longer and he reached a lonely looking bench before she did. As a series of small waves began to break on the rocks from the swell generated by a passing boat, he sat down with a loud sigh and massaged his temples. Diane stopped, considered her options, then carefully joined him on the bench. She shivered again, and before she knew it Harry had draped his jacket over her shoulders.
The well defined muscles of his arms were visible beneath the fine cloth, and his shirt stretched taut across his back as he leaned forward into his hands. It was a silky weave, fine and expensive. At that moment, it occurred to Diane that he had dressed for her.
"Does it bother you, coming to the river?" she asked quietly.
Harry smiled and caressed the waves with his eyes. "He loved the water, you know. Even when he was teething and crying all the time, I could put him in a warm bath and he'd just break out laughing and splashing. I'd always end up having to change my clothes."
Diane turned toward him as he talked and made herself look deeply into his eyes. Harry could see that she wanted him to say more, and for the first time he spoke of a lifetime ago.
"Rudy was there. You remember him, Rudy Russo? At the last minute before we left for dinner, I decided to ride with him and his wife, so we could talk about a take down we were setting up for the next day. Susan didn't want us talking shop in front of Robin cause it gave him nightmares. We were behind them, and we saw the truck cross the center line and force them off of the road. They just knicked the corner of the bridge and went...right over the edge."
Diane felt her heart in her throat as Harry's eyes glazed, and he continued in soft, reverent tones. "I made into the river first. We dove down to where the bubbles were coming up, but it was so black we couldn't see, and the current kept taking us down stream." He lowered his head and barely whispered, "I tried, I tried so hard, but couldn't find them."
Diane heard his voice change with emotion, and winced in empathy. He kept a mask of control over his face. "The coroner said that Susan had a massive contusion on her forehead from the crash. Probably knocked out. But Robin..." he paused and swallowed hard, "Robin didn't have a scratch on him. He was still in his car seat when the divers found him. He....uh, he had ttt-time to be scared."
Diane's eyes were hot with tears, but she could still see the horrible controlled grief that Harry wore. The sound his voice made when he said his son's name was sorrow itself. It resounded with the pain of her own loss and, for a moment, they were connected in the truth of a shared bereavement. When she reached over and placed her hand on his knee, she realized that his whole body was trembling. It was frightening, seeing him like this.
Harry cleared his throat and fought to maintain his composure, "See, it's not fair, is it, my dear? Life? God? Fate? And even when we try to do something good like be a cop, there are no spectacles or feasts of victory, just one predicament after another." He quickly wiped his swollen eyes with the back of his hand.
"No, it's not fair at all." She looked away, for several minutes, giving him a chance to reapply his poker face if he wanted to. The moon was waxing and it's presence was reflected in the river by the dim light of early evening. Diane wondered how many times he had shared that beautiful sight with his family.
Finally, when Harry's breathing returned to normal, she continued, "I haven't got it figured out yet either. Some people think it's all matter of paying the fiddler, you know? There's a price for every small moment of good."
"Well, then..." he furrowed his brow in concentration, "in my case, it so happened that a whole symphony needed to be subsidized."
She let out a lyrical laugh and smiled a smile that infused Harry with strength. "So, there is some memory of good hiding behind all that brilliant self reproach?"
"Yes, good memories." He conceded finally and sidled imperceptibly closer to her, "There is luxury in self reproach, though."
"Really?" she raised her brows, and wondered if he had moved closer.
"Oh yes..."
He loved to leave her hanging with an unfinished phrase. The expectant look on her face thrilled him to his toes. In so many ways, Harry wanted to take Diane to the edge and hold her there with those eyes and lips pleading for more.
He smiled at the thought and finished his sentence, "The luxury of self reproach is, when we blame ourselves we feel quite certain that no one else has a right to blame us. I'm afraid it can lead to complications like a displaced guilt mechanism, though. Or so I've been told."
"Very funny, Harry."
"Thank you."
He was closer. Diane felt a giddy nervousness building from deep within her. She never realized how much a man's aroma turned her on, and the combination of his jacket around her shoulders, and his body inching ever closer was an olfactory assault of major proportions. All sorts of sparks and synapses were firing in her as if controlled by an omnipotent force.
She stood abruptly, and handed the jacket back to him. Harry opened his mouth to protest, but opted to remain silent and compliant for once. It was wonderful just to look at her.
"So," her eyes darted back and forth over the river. "That's it then."
He slowly rose to his full height, as close to her as he dared. "Yes, it would seem so."
"Okay then...I, uh...guess I'll be going." Diane nodded in an uncomfortable attempt to say good-bye and began to back away. Harry stopped her by reaching into the space between them. She thought his outstretched hand looked strong but very aristocratic in the moonlight. How small and delicate her own hand would look in his...
"Diane? Grant me a last request." There was no trace of sarcasm or self reproach left in his voice. "Do you forgive me?"
He was tall and true and looked strangely open to accept whatever answer she gave. Moved beyond her walls of fear by that omnipotent force again, she stepped forward, stood on her toes and kissed his warm cheek.
Then she whispered ,"I do."
Continued in Part 4.
