fic: D is for Dad

[Millijana]

Jo's last memories of her Dad.It rang and I picked up the phone. My life had been pretty normal until that moment. But this phone call should change everything for me and my family. It should destroy what had been my life. It would teach me to fight for what’s normal to others; what had been normal to me.

“Jo?” His voice was hoarse and low. I barely recognized him.

“Dad?” It was no rhetorical question. He was undercover right now. He would never call us. We knew that. It was one of the golden rules when under cover. If he broke it, something had gone wrong in the most terrible way.

“Hit the record button – now. Don’t ask questions, I don’t know how much time I have. I don’t even know if this phone is bugged.”

I swallowed hard. This was important. I had to function for this call; I could fall to pieces later. I remember mum entering the room, and the twins had been there, too. But today, I don’t know anymore if they’d been in the room before, or what we’ve been doing until this call. It’s like everything that’s happened before on that day has vanished.

“Are the others there?”

“Yes.” My voice was thin and hollow. This was not me. That was my anxiously self, which I hide normally, but there it was stronger.

“Fine, let them hear this, too.” He waited until I told him that everything was like he had instructed. “Jo, you know where I have the files. After this call, take them, hide them. Then call Paul, tell him they got me. I made a mistake and the target got wind of it. They try to interrogate me, but until now I could withstand. But no matter what I do, they will kill me.”

Mum shrieked behind me. As I turned my head to look in her direction, I saw her holding her hand over her mouth with a pale face and watery eyes. Bethany was at her side, holding her hand and supporting her.

“Dad, where are…”

“No”, he interrupted me. I heard he was afraid, he was sad. It must have been strange to call your family for possibly the last time in your life and not have enough time to hear at least one more time their voices. It must be strange to know you will never see their faces again, kiss or embrace them. Never tell you eldest daughter to be more like a girl sometimes and your son to be a bit more responsible. To encourage your younger daughter to be more confident. To tell your wife you love her.

It was possibly as strange and disturbing as hearing your dad and husband for the last time and never get the chance to thank him for everything. Thank him for having this life full of love and security, caring and support. A life that was about to break.

“Jo, this is important. Tell Paul it is even worse than we have thought. I wasn’t able to pass them the latest information - I had no chance. But I could hide it. I hid it where we played football when you were a child. Do you remember the place we sat down to make a break?”

“Yes.” My voice was weak. Of course I remembered it. I would never forget those wonderful mornings where it just had been the two of us.

“Good. I hid it there. I’m sure you can show them. But don’t go alone. Promise me you won’t go alone there. They will track you; they will observe you and maybe try to catch you. After this call instantly dial Paul’s number. He will make sure you are safe. Okay?”

I nodded until I realized he would not see it. He would never again see me nodding. “Okay Dad.” My voice was breaking and I felt the first tears running down my face. The first of the many I would shed. Tears I still shed today when I think of him.

“Good. Now listen, I want that all of you know that I love you. I am very proud of each of my children. All of you are special and you will do well. I know this. Leandra, thank you for all these wonderful years we had. I… I am sorry that it had to come to this. I had wished for a few more years.”

We heard a door crack open in the background. And watched in silence how someone asked what had happened. Then we heard my father grunt and the line went silent.

We listened until there was only the sign in the line that told us that there was no longer a connection. Peep-peep-peep. That was all what was left of my father. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I fought the despair back that was about to overwhelm me.

He had counted on me and if I would not do now what he asked of me it was all in vain. They would find us, they would come and kill us, too. They would find the files he kept here and his gathered information would be lost. He would have died in vain. I had to get moving.

It felt like moving through hip deep water. It was difficult and I felt being too slow. It was more a fight for steps than just taking them. I heard my mother crying together with my sister. My brother had left the room. I heard the slamming of the backdoor when he left the house.

I couldn’t see any of their faces, I had to concentrate on my task. The last one I would ever get from my father. I had to take care that the rest of my family would be safe. That’s why he had called; to keep us safe. Not to say goodbye. A call would always be too dangerous. But he had to warn us, and he had to keep me moving. A task or an order would keep me sane enough to care for our family as long as it was needed. He thought me capable of this. I would not belie his expectations.

In his office, I found the phone numbers I needed. Paul was alerted as soon as he heard my voice. I told him what happened. And he immediately sent officers to collect us and bring us to a safe house.

Mum was the hardest to get moving. She yelled at Paul, when he arrived, why he didn’t do anything and that he should know where Malcolm was and send help.
But all he could do was to tell her that he didn’t know where Malcolm was and that it would be too late. After this call they knew where to look for the information and there would have been no need to keep him alive. Mum was not herself. She hit Paul and yelled at him that he had killed her husband, when he gave him the order to do this job.

I, and possibly she too, knew Dad had volunteered. He was after this gang for 14 months now. And this should have been the last investigation before they had finally enough evidence for taking someone into custody bigger than just a sidekick.




Three days later I went with a team of sixteen Officers, Detectives and Agents to the place where Dad and I had spent the Saturday mornings of my youth – back when Carver had been too young to accompany us. When I had been too young to imagine that I would think back to these times one day.

I showed them the place he had told me and then watched them searching for the hidden information. They found a buried tin can with a memory stick inside. And a note, just in case someone found this who was not me or the police. It would have told the finder to hand it over the police.

It would not have been likely that one of the suspects would have found this. He hadn’t been here in years. We never have even spoken of this. Even today, I don't think often about this place. Even less; it hurts too much.




We buried my father seven weeks after his call. We didn’t identify him. They told us he was in a too bad condition. Only by his dental information and the DNA he could have been identified.

There were many people at his funeral. Most of them were colleagues, but also some friends and us. The superintendent had sent his condolence the day before.

We had mourned my father for weeks. Bethany took care of mother, and Caver and I took care of everything else. We accepted the condolences given to us, organized the funeral, chose the flowers – everything.

Caver was no person of many tears, though he had shed them. But now he was only grim and bitter. It would be a hard time with him in the future.

And me? I felt numb. I could not even listen to the speech, even less understand or memorize it. I don’t know what happened in what order. I can just remember his casket being let down to the bottom of his grave. The gunshots. The flag handed to my mother. And handshakes; so many of them. I remember a blur of faces - some more familiar, others less. There have been some hugs. But I didn’t want them. That’s something I can remember well. I wanted them to leave. I didn’t want to be there. All I wanted was my Dad back.

I did not know by then that the hardest part of losing him was not the grief. It was getting back to life. Work, getting the bills paid, and making my mother live again instead of just breathing. Taking care that Caver did not kill him in his attempts to handle his anger and grief. Making Bethany smile again, instead of just pretending to do so.

You ask who took care of me? Them - my family - all of them. They kept me whole, when I would have broken apart without them needing me. I had chances to cry, to be angry or sensible.

And there was this goal. Paul gave me my father’s files back. The FBI had the copies of them. Since it turned out to be no local problem it was their case now. I didn’t want to join the FBI then. Today it’s something I think about sometimes. But since I have my own track now I suppose there is no need to make haste in this topic. I still have time. When he is locked up for the rest of his life I still can enlist me for the training. Maybe they don’t want me, but I’m sure they would take care that I am far away from this case that revolves around my father’s death. Now I can do whatever I like. In the department for gang crimes our cases often cross his wheeling and dealing and I gather information until I have enough to actually investigate. He just needed to give me a reason.

Now that you are here, I have one.