Chapter 3 - My Mother Had One Rule About Walter Hayes
I called my mother from the academy parking lot.
She answered on the second ring.
“Hey.”
“Do you know Walter Hayes?”
Silence.
Not confusion.
Silence.
“Mom.”
“Where are you?”
“At the academy.”
“You’re calling about Hayes from the academy?”
“Yes.”
Another pause.
“Did he approach you?”
“No.”
“Did you approach him?”
“I kicked his cap across a patrol car.”
My mother closed her eyes so loudly I could hear it through the phone.
“Jake.”
“Not the important part.”
“It sounds fairly important.”
“Who is Thomas?”
Silence again.
“Mom.”
“What happened?”
“A man showed up during training. Hayes called him Thomas. Deputy Chief Voss knew him.”
Her breathing changed.
“Was his last name Reed?”
“I don't know.”
“Tall? Dark suit? Walks like his knees hurt but refuses to admit it?”
“Probably.”
She muttered something.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Thomas Reed?”
“Yes.”
“Who is he?”
“He used to work for the state standards commission.”
“Used to?”
“Retired.”
“Apparently not enough.”
She went quiet.
I leaned against my car.
“Did you teach Hayes that control?”
No answer.
“Mom.”
“Yes.”
That single word rearranged twenty-six years of family stories.
Dana Miller was a physical therapist.
That was what I told people.
Sports rehab.
Private practice.
A clinic near Baltimore.
She had never been a cop.
Never wanted to be one.
As a kid I knew she had taught martial arts before I was born.
I knew she disliked police academies.
I did not know those facts touched.
“What were you doing at a police academy?”
“Contract work.”
“What kind?”
“Defensive tactics.”
I laughed.
“You taught cops?”
“For eighteen months.”
“Why did you never tell me?”
“I told you I worked with law enforcement.”
“You said injury consulting.”
“That was part of it.”
“Walter says you hoped I’d stay away from police work.”
Silence.
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
That hurt.
Not because I needed her approval.
Because she'd let me think her objections were generic.
“You knew Hayes was here.”
“Yes.”
“You never said anything.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I did not want Walter Hayes becoming the reason you joined or quit.”
I walked away from the car.
“Too late.”
“Jake.”
“What happened between you?”
“That is not a parking-lot conversation.”
“Then I’ll drive over.”
“No.”
“Mom.”
“Finish your day.”
I laughed.
“My day ended when a retired state investigator walked onto the yard and told me my instructor stole your technique.”
She became very still on the other end.
“Thomas said stole?”
“Not exactly.”
“What exactly?”
“That Hayes learned it from you and your name was cut out of the record.”
My mother exhaled.
“Thomas always liked one clean villain.”
“So Hayes didn’t steal it?”
“I didn't say that.”
“Did Voss?”
She didn't answer.
That was enough to keep going.
“What happened?”
Her voice lowered.
“A recruit got hurt.”
“How badly?”
“Badly enough.”
“Using your technique?”
Another pause.
“Using something with my name on it.”
Difference.
I caught it.
“What does that mean?”
She sounded tired now.
“Jake, listen to me.”
“I am.”
“Do not let Walter Hayes explain my life to you.”
That surprised me.
“Why?”
“Because he will tell you the part where he was trying to protect everybody.”
“And?”
“He was.”
“So?”
“He also protected himself.”
Before I could answer, she added:
“And if Thomas Reed has come back, this is not only about twenty-two years ago.”
My hand tightened around the phone.
“What else?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then why say that?”
“Because Thomas doesn’t reopen old training records for nostalgia.”
She hung up after making me promise to call that night.
I stood in the parking lot staring at the academy building.
Then I saw Hayes through the glass lobby.
He was talking to Deputy Chief Voss.
Voss leaned close.
Said something.
Hayes’s face hardened.
Then Voss put one hand against the folder Hayes was holding and pushed it back toward his chest.
Hayes did not open the folder.
I couldn't hear them.
May you like
I didn’t need to.
Whatever Thomas Reed had brought back into the academy, Voss wanted Walter to keep it closed.
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