Read Online Burying Ben by Ellen Kirschman - Free Book Online

I wake just before the w aves crash, gasping and panicked, m y nightgown twisted around m y legs like seaweed.
     
    I arrange the chairs for the debriefing in a c i rcle and then go to the cafeteria for coffee, cookies and a box of tissues. By the ti m e I return, several officers have pushed their chairs out of the circle, up against the wall. So m e are wearing sung l asses or pretending to be absorbed in their ne w spapers. The room is totally s ile n t e x cept f or the rustle of pages being turned. I take a seat and ask for everyone ’ s attent i on. I explain the ground rules f or a debriefing: you have to be here, but you don ’ t have to talk. Anything said should stay in the roo m . They look skeptical.
    Eddie is a no show. His absence hangs over the m eeting as heavily as Ben’s death. The only free flowing conversation ce n ters on his whereabouts. He’d been seen drinking at his favorite bar the night before. Someone said he was so drunk that if he opened his eyes, he would have bled to dea t h. So m eone else reports that as of this morning, his car was still in the parking lot behind the bar. For the rest of the debriefing, they just sit, wrapped in e m otional Kevlar, staring at m e, answering m y questions with one word sentences. There is nothing to talk about – no war stories, no one in custody, and no suspects – just a dead cop hardly anyone kn e w and the stench of a preventable tragedy. It doesn ’ t help that I am the person w ho m ight have prevented it, and I am running the debriefing.

Chapter Nine
     
     
    There is a n ear Oly m pic co m petition to police d e ath. Dying in the line of duty while doing battle with a crook gets t h e gold. The silver goes to t h e accide n t al o n-duty deat h s. On-duty deaths from he a r t attacks m e rit bro n ze. Suicide ran k s a p i tiful fourth – no honor guard, no 21 gun salute, no m issing m an f l yover, no black ribbons on badges, no bagpipes, no flags at half m ast, no fire t r ucks lining the overpasses and no m ile-long cavalcade of patrol cars and m otorcycles, flashers blinking, to acco m pany the casket.
    April has chosen a funeral parlor in an industrial area south of Kenilworth. The walls are m a de of painted cinder block. Artifi c ial flowers, their leaves weathered to an iri d esce n t green, fill the window boxes. W ithout the usual funeral b enefits accor d ed to line of duty deaths, this is app a re n tly all s h e can aff ord.
    The funeral director stands at the front door handing out progra m s. His f i ngernails are as long as a wo m an ’ s and his hair curls below his col l ar in lank, greasy strands.
    “There will be no rece p tion after the ser v ice,” he whispers. “ T he Patcher fa m ily plans to lay the deceased’s body to rest later in the day in a private” — he emphasizes the word ‘private’ — ”graveside cere m ony at an undisclosed location.” He is pro f oundly solicitous of everyone’s understanding as though the decision is his, not the f a m ily’s, and a bad one at that. He stands too close and nods his head con s tantly, obliging the listener to nod back reassuringly in order to esca p e into the cool qu i et of the chapel.
    Eddie is standing in the narrow space bet w een t h e la s t pew a nd the wall. He is in uni f orm wearing his su n glasses and holding an u nlit cig a r. He gives no i n dication th a t he sees m e. The room is barely half full. I see Baxter sitting by hi m self. When he sees m e, he pats the p lace ne x t to him and m o t ions for m e to slide in.
    Across the aisle, an older wo m an is sobb i ng softly into a white handkerchief. The m an next to her rests his arm across her back and pats her rhyth m ic a lly without turning to look at her face. There is so m ething fa m iliar abo u t his profile and the an gl e of his long thin nose. I wonder if the s e are Ben’s grandparents.
    The older m an ’ s eyes fix forward on t h e cl o sed metal casket d raped with an A m