by Alex Gates
“Detective McKenna.” Shannon greeted me with a coy smile. “Surprised to see you again so soon.”
“If I remember correctly, you said we’d be seeing each other a lot,” I said.
“I was referring to the Goodman case.”
“I took as an invitation.”
Esposto joined me at the table, his expression deadened and dark. He stared at me, the scowl edging new creases into his face.
“McKenna. This interview is being recorded.”
God only knew who would listen to it. “That’s fine.”
Shannon laid her paperwork out in front of her, pulling a laptop from her bag and setting it up. Esposto brought nothing to record his thoughts or questions, only his piercing stare and growing frown. He hadn’t even permitted Adamski into the meeting.
What sort of trouble did they think I was in?
“We’re going to ask you to walk us through the events that transpired today.” Shannon wore reading glasses, but she pushed them into her hair as she typed. “In your own words. Take your time.”
Time. Reissing said he’d run out of time. Had he meant it literally?
The suicide wasn’t premeditated. A man like him would never have blown his brains all over his holy shine and sanctuary. His office, the court, was too sacrosanct for his blood.
And yet, he’d pulled the gun. Taken his life. Ended it right there.
As if my presence had pulled the trigger.
Too many people were dying.
I cleared my throat, declaring my name, rank, and badge number before beginning the summary of events. “At approximately five o’clock, I entered the courthouse and met with Judge Reissing in his chambers. I’d spoken with him for perhaps five minutes when the victim reached with his dominant hand—his right—and pulled my weapon from my hip holster. He placed the barrel under his chin and committed suicide.”
I said nothing else. Esposto took the initiative first, his eyes narrowing on me.
“You visited Judge Reissing?” he asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“For what reason?”
It wasn’t a lie. “A personal matter.”
Esposto didn’t like the answer. “What specifically did you discuss?”
“As I said—we had a personal, private discussion.”
“Regarding what?”
“Unresolved differences.”
“Such as?”
I glanced to Shannon. “I’ve stated what our conversation was regarding.”
“No.” Esposto interrupted. “A well-respected judge with no prior inclinations towards physical harm or mental instability, serving twenty-plus honored years in family law for this city, just committed suicide in his office. You were there to watch. I want to know exactly what was said.”
Of course, he did.
I wasn’t a fool.
The baby was gone, the girls silenced, the weapons misplaced. As far as Reissing and the other conspirators believed, every loose end had been neatly knotted into a noose specifically fitted around my neck.
But now something didn’t fit. Reissing’s impulsive suicide wasn’t the desperate act of a man suffering from depression or other mental ailments.
It looked like guilt.
And I could trust no one with the truth.
“The events preceding the suicide were brief and unremarkable,” I said. “I don’t recall the exact conversation.”
“What of the nature of the conversation?”
“Amiable.”
Esposto’s voice graveled, harsh and impatient. “Detective McKenna, I’d advise you to reconsider your position regarding these events. A dear, close friend of mine is dead tonight, and you were the last one in his presence—a visit which, quite frankly, concerns me.”
“I’ve met with Judge Reissing on numerous occasions.”
Shannon tilted her head. “And how would you describe your relationship with Judge Reissing?”
Hostile. “I only spoke with him regarding certain cases.”
“Were you discussing a case tonight?” she asked.
I could honestly answer no to that question. Esposto himself had closed that particular file.
“You visited Judge Reissing, unsolicited, for personal reasons,” Esposto said. “And then he died.”
“Yes.”
“Recount for me exactly how he died.”
He expected me to squirm. I stayed still. “My weapon was used.”
“And how did he come by your weapon?”
“He grasped it himself.”
“A sixty-five-year-old man disarmed you during an amiable conversation regarding personal matters of unresolved differences.”
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t stop him?”
I allowed myself a single breath. “I was at ease, unaware of his suicidal inclinations. He lunged for the weapon unbidden.”
“And died.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
I wasn’t a doctor, but I had a good idea. “He shot himself.”
“Why?” Esposto stood. “What did he say before he killed himself?”
“I don’t recall.”
“Are you certain?” A polite way for him to call bullshit. “Think, Detective. You’ve experienced a traumatic event. Perhaps you need to take some time to remember.”
“I’ll take that time, but my statement will not change.”
“So…” Esposto frowned. “You happened to visit Judge Reissing for unspecified reasons unattributed to any case you are working on, and you spoke amiably for five minutes. Then, without cause, Judge Reissing committed suicide with your weapon.”
He could rephrase it ten more times. Inside, I shook like a martini, but on the outside I stayed ice cold. “That’s correct.”
“McKenna, I’m going to be honest.” He folded his hands. “This is a very serious investigation. A good man is dead, and I expect an officer of the law to report the events leading to his death truthfully and without embellishment.”
“Of which I’ve done faithfully, sir.”
“With no prior health issues or suicidal fantasies, I find it unlikely Judge Reissing acted without provocation.”
I tensed, the hair rising on my neck. “What sort of provocation?”
“You tell us.”
“I’ve told you what happened.”
“Tell us again.”
“My statement will not change.”
His voice dropped. “Humor me.”
I leaned away from the table, my words cautious. “You can’t think that I had something to do with his death?”
Shannon gazed over her laptop. “Care to amend your statement, Detective McKenna?”
“No, but I believe the record should reflect the evidence collected at the scene—the gunpowder residue on his hand and ballistic report should indicate the gunshot wound was self-inflicted.”
“No one has questioned the report,” Esposto said. “We just want to ensure our facts are correct—as should you, Detective.”
“I’ve never once been dishonest, sir.” I held his stare. “That’s more than I can say for other members of this department.”
“And yet you’ve consistently performed acts of insubordination and recklessness which endanger not only your life but the lives of the other officers at your side.”
“How is this relevant?”
“You have one chance, McKenna,” Esposto frowned. “One chance to protect your very fragile career. Answer my question—what did Judge Reissing say before he committed suicide?”
I fear them more than I fear a jail cell.
Who did he fear?
And how had I gotten it so wrong?
“Nothing, sir,” I said. “I’m just as perplexed by this tragedy as you.”
Esposto stood, his sudden motion startling Shannon. She joined him, gathering her belongings.
“I’ll prepare a report for the department,” she said. “If we’re done here…it’s late.”
; Esposto dismissed her. I wasn’t as lucky. Shannon left, the door clicking shut behind her.
And Esposto leered at me with an unrecognizable fury.
“I know what happened tonight, McKenna,” he said. “You went to Reissing and confronted him about Grayson House.”
Not true. I went to discuss the baby and girls.
I said nothing, meeting his stare.
“I specifically ordered the case to be closed,” he said.
“I wouldn’t dream of disobeying an order.”
“And you won’t, McKenna. I’m placing you on administrative leave.”
“What?”
“Go home. Stay there. You’re traumatized from the events tonight. You’ll need some time off to recover.”
I seethed. “I’ll appeal it.”
“You won’t, because it’ll be your hand signing the request.”
My rage sizzled under my skin, flushing me hot. “And if I refuse?”
“You won’t.”
“You don’t know me very well.”
“I know plenty.” Esposto’s smirk was cold enough to sink me under the river once more. “I know just how long you can hold your breath.”
22
“What is it about you, London?
Why can’t I kill you yet?
-Him
My personal gun rested on the coffee table.
Without the regulation weapon at my side, I broke out the .45. I bought it for myself after the kidnapping. It didn’t help me to feel safe, but at least I was prepared. Especially for times like this. I’d accidentally opened a portal to hell, and God only knew what demons would pour out.
I leaned against the couch and pushed the laptop away. The time blurred in the corner. Was it after two AM? Did it matter? I wasn’t sleeping anyway.
The goosebumps finally got to me. I pulled the blanket from the arm of the couch and rested it over my bare legs. It’d probably get lint and fuzzies all over my dress, but, until now, it hadn’t occurred to me to take off the mourning blacks from Reissing’s funeral.
I’d been too busy downloading the pictures I’d taken from the event.
The men who worked hand in hand with Reissing had attended his memorial service—some from the courts, others of a more personal nature. I made sure to create a subtle catalog of most in attendance.
Despite the family’s hissed whispers and the gossip which shadowed an untimely and tragic suicide, Judge Edgar Reissing didn’t kill himself because he was afraid of me.
He’d pulled the trigger because he lived in fear of someone else.
But who?
The floorboards creaked behind me. For the first two months after James had moved in, the sound had been unsettling. For ten years, I’d lived only with paranoia, listening to the quiet just to convince myself I was still alone. Now, I didn’t mind the squeak of the old floors. Meant he was checking on me.
Silly, but not unwelcomed.
“You’re still up?” James leaned against the doorway, arms crossed over a bare chest. His sweats hung low over his hips. It might have been inviting, but I was too exhausted and wired to consider following him to bed. “It’s the middle of the night.”
“Not like I have to get up for work.”
“No, but usually this is when people gorge themselves on ice cream and binge watch bad movies.” He stared at my computer. I doubted he could see the images easily, but he was a smart man. “You’re still trying to work.”
“I have to. I gotta figure this out. Reissing was my last option. If he’s dead, I have no way to save the other kids at Grayson House. All I have are dead ends and obstruction, and I can’t barrel my way through any of it.” I kicked the coffee table away, sick of the computer. “And no one cares. No one wants to help. They’ll just…let it happen.”
“London, come to bed.”
Yeah, right. I rubbed my face. “I can’t sleep. Every time I close my eyes I keep seeing it.”
“Seeing what?”
A roulette wheel of tragedy. “Take your pick. Everyone. The baby in the bathroom. The house on fire. Amber in the hospital bed. Emily dying in my arms. Hannah begging for help. A suicide twelve inches from my face.” I rubbed my temples. “How am I supposed to sleep?”
“Blood never bothered you before.”
“It’s not the blood—it’s doing nothing.”
“You can’t help them if you don’t rest.”
“I know. But I’m close. I’m really, really close. Maybe I can start checking on other people associated with the facility. Geralt is my best bet, but he’s lawyered up. I can’t get to him if I’m not represented by the force. I need someone else. And he’s gotta be here.” I pointed to the computer. “He must have gone to the funeral. He must have known Reissing.”
“You do realize you’re obsessing?”
“I hope you don’t expect a consultation fee for that gem.”
James approached the coffee table and did what I couldn’t. He gently closed the lid on the laptop.
“You have to take care of yourself first,” he said. “That’s the only way to help them. Sleep. Make yourself breakfast that isn’t a cup of pudding with a banana. Take a long shower.”
“Every minute I take for myself is another where they might be suffering.”
“And every minute you wear yourself down is another opportunity to make a mistake—and with this case, you can’t afford any mistakes.” He started to clear the clutter from the table, shaking the can of pop to make sure it was empty. “I’d hoped the leave of absence would help you to relax.”
“Relax? Esposto threatened me.”
“No. He saved you, London.”
Well, that was a new theory. “Oh, this I gotta hear.”
“Esposto knows exactly what’s happening—with the rehab facility, with Reissing, with Geralt. He’s not an idiot. He knows his friend was into some shady dealings. And because of that, he shut you down.”
“Why?”
“Because it almost got you killed.” James narrowed his eyes. “Think about the questions he asked you. He wanted to know what Reissing said.”
“He wanted to know if Reissing had revealed anything.”
“And if Reissing had, you’d be in even more danger than you already are. He took you off the cases. Now he’s pulled you from the station completely. It’s not obstruction, London. He saved you. The further you are from the conspiracy, the safer you become. He did you a favor.”
“Even if that is the case…” I kicked the blanket away and stood. “Even if this is all some sort of plan to save me from myself, what good does it do? I’m out of the cross-hairs, but more girls are getting hurt. How do I live with myself knowing that I’m safe but they’re in trouble? It’s selfish. It’s terrible. That’s saying my life is worth more than theirs.”
“But it’s not a life worth throwing away because of pride or revenge either,” he said. “If you want to help them, you need to learn to detach yourself from the cases. The more objective you are, the more lives you’ll save. You won’t go rushing into trouble to save one life when you could close down the entire facility. Yes, people might get hurt in the meantime, but they need you to be patient, not heroic. Take your time and do it right so they don’t end up in a worse situation.”
My head throbbed harder. “And how am I supposed to do that?”
“By going to bed. Putting the laptop away. Taking care of yourself. No more late nights. No more working yourself to exhaustion.”
My eyebrows rose. “And just what are you working on at two in the morning, Agent Novak?”
“London—”
“And where will you be flying to in another eight hours?”
“That’s different.”
“You’re going to tell me to take it easy when you’ve been flying to DC and back twice a week? You’re working your wrists into carpal tunnel every night, even though the doctors said you can’t afford to jeopardize any more of your sight by staring at screens for sixteen hours a day
.”
The muscles in his chest tensed. Usually it looked good. Now it proved I was right. “It’s not the same.”
“And why is it okay that you’re doing it?”
“Because I’m doing it for you.”
“What?”
James stalked to the corner of the living room, flipping on a light I’d specifically left dark because the curtains didn’t block the glow. The picture window was all too visible, too exposed for anyone to drive by on the street.
But the light didn’t soften him. James stared at me—that absolute, unrelenting stare that only he possessed. He saw through me, untangled the worries I didn’t know I had knotting in my chest, and revealed entirely too much.
I hated that look as much as I loved it.
“You know why I’ve been picking up all these extra hours, working additional cases, writing a book proposal?” He didn’t wait for me to answer because he knew I wouldn’t. “I’m doing it for you. For us. For our future.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I can’t work forever, London. Not with my sight already this bad.” He gestured to his face, a motion of self-loathing and resigned acceptance. “There’s going to come a day when I can’t do it anymore. I want to have some money saved so I can provide for you. For our family.”
“Family?”
He spoke the word softly. “Kids.”
The gentleness didn’t help. I leaned forward, fingers twisting in my hair. “I can’t do this now. I can’t think about…about…”
“About what?”
“Babies.”
“You never think about them, but I do.” James didn’t intend to start an argument, but we weren’t all perfect. “I think about you. About our future. About a family we might have. I think about it all the time. Every day, while you head out there and chase some lead that lands you in the river. I think about it. I worry about you. Christ...” His smile was more surprise than kindness. “I’ve always worried about you, London. I love you.”
