So calm. She makes it sound like housekeeping chores. Sarah yawned a couple of times to pop her ears and get some of her hearing back. She tried to monitor events in DeShawn’s room while she stayed busy in the hall, going through the pockets of the man she’d shot. The other pocket, that didn’t hold the knife, had something else heavy in it, didn’t it? She felt cold metal and pulled it out: a ring of small burglary tools, thin metal devices for opening locks. I’ve killed a common thief, she thought, feeling oddly diminished. She sealed the cluster in an evidence bag, dated and timed it and dropped it in her day pack, thinking, Too late to charge him, but I’ll turn them in anyway.
She could hear DeShawn babbling questions – he was deeply confused, his life support ripped off by a stranger. Then he’d been abandoned for a quarter of an hour while a small war apparently took place outside his room. His body hurt all over, so much he couldn’t say, when Judy asked him, what hurt worst. But in the next few minutes the kindly nurses Judy summoned soothed his injuries and calmed him down, and his charm began to come back. He thanked everybody who came to his bedside, so sincerely that they began to empathize with him – they asked Sarah, does he really have to be handcuffed to the bed?
‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I’m afraid he must.’ But she helped them find the most comfortable position for his arms, and the nurses added padding for his elbows. They put nutrition and a sedative in his IV and began to call him their favorite criminal.
Sarah found no wallet on the body of the dead man, no store receipts or bar tabs – the pocket that had held the knife was empty. He wore briefs under the blue scrubs, nothing else but cotton socks under his Nike racers. ‘Wait, though, what’s this in the shoe?’ She pulled it out from where it was wedged between the tongue and the laces, a torn slip of notebook paper with a name in block letters: Russell Sexton.
She asked Jason, ‘Your man got any ID on him?’
‘Haven’t found anything yet,’ Jason said. He was down on the floor again, busily patting down his man. ‘He’s not being a bit of help.’ He added, over a howl of protest from his prisoner, ‘Relax, I’m too busy to make love just now, Baby Cakes. But you wouldn’t be the first genius I ever busted that tried to hide his goodies in his drawers. Look here!’ He stood up crowing, waving a set of car keys.
‘Oh, good for you,’ Sarah said. ‘That’ll have all their clothes and ID. I found some keys too, see? Burglary tools, actually. Soon as we get some help in here let’s go find that car and see where it leads us, won’t that be fun?’
Firm footsteps came through the swinging doors then, and Delaney said, ‘Sarah? What happened?’ He scanned the scene quickly, saw Jason’s prisoner slumped against a wall in cuffs, Sarah’s opponent stretched on the floor in a pool of blood, and Sarah standing there blinking in bandages. ‘You hurt bad?’
‘Nah,’ she said, ‘scratches.’ Trying to look better organized, she straightened her shirt. ‘It happened so fast, boss, he came right at me with this weird knife …’
‘But you did what you had to do, good for you. You just got these cuts, you’re not shot?’
She shook her head. ‘I’m deaf is all. Am I yelling or – no? He didn’t leave me any other choice, boss. I warned him twice but he wouldn’t stop.’
‘I hear you. Jason, you’re all right?’
‘Not a mark on me,’ Jason said, holding his arms out, flashing a dazzling smile. ‘Both these wingnuts were high, boss – this one I’ve got here isn’t even talking to Planet Earth.’ He stooped to prop up the chin of the man he’d hit with the taser. ‘See?’ He dropped the head and it flopped back against the wall, the shoulder-length dark hair hiding his face. ‘I was too busy getting the cuffs on this dude to help Sarah, but I saw her fire, she was right under that knife. I can testify it was an absolutely righteous shot. Good thing she was quick or she’d have been dead meat.’
Judy came limping out of DeShawn’s room and added her endorsement. ‘Of course it was justified,’ she said in response to Delaney’s question. ‘That crazy man knocked me down twice. If Sarah hadn’t shot him I believe he’d have killed us all.’
‘With this ridiculous-looking thing? This is what he was carrying?’ Delaney pointed, but did not touch the weapon on the floor. ‘I hate these trick knives. What’s it called?’
‘A balisong,’ Jason said. ‘Here, you want me to—’ He held up an evidence bag and started toward the knife, but Delaney said, ‘No, don’t touch it!’
Both his detectives looked at him, startled. Sarah said, ‘What?’
‘Crime scene unit’s coming right behind me. I’m sorry to mess up your hall for a while longer, ma’am,’ he told Judy, ‘but we have to get everything measured and photographed.’
‘Oh, boss, listen,’ Sarah said, ‘we can do that ourselves. It’s just these few square feet – I can do the whole thing with my phone.’
‘You crazy? This isn’t just some little thing like jaywalking. Two wounded and one fatality, in the intensive care unit of the hospital? You’re damn lucky it hasn’t already turned into a mob scene.’
‘But that’s what I mean, we don’t want a lot of people milling around in here—’
‘The crime scene unit does not mill around. As you well know. Step aside, here they come now. Good, the steno’s here to take your statements. Why don’t you three step out in the hall there?’
Which they did, for the next hour, fidgeting in the hall outside the double doors, stopping to peer through from time to time as they fed their stories to Polly, the young newbie with the clipboard and all the forms. Inside the ICU the work went on, weighing and measuring, testing and charting and taking dozens of digital pictures.
Gloria was the first criminalist out, pulling her wheeled camera cart. She paused to give Sarah a squeeze and murmur, ‘Don’t let the bastards make you sweat, hear?’
Delaney had concluded that the usual arrest procedure was out of the question for DeShawn – he was already dozing off again, courtesy of the drugs in his IV. Declaring the twice-injured ex-driver a person of interest, Delaney clipped the arrest warrant to the chart at the end of his bed and arranged for his transport tomorrow to the prison hospital on Kolb Road. The two extra detectives he had brought with him took charge of the car keys Jason had just found, and the body of Sarah’s attacker.
Then he turned to Sarah and said, ‘Ready to go?’
‘Well … I feel bad about leaving such a mess behind,’ she said. ‘Blood all over the floor, and every call light in the hall blazing – shouldn’t I stay a while and help out?’
‘Detective, this is an ICU, remember?’ Judy said. ‘The blood on this floor is probably the least vile substance we’ll deal with today.’
So they shook hands and Sarah said, ‘Thanks for the bandages.’
‘My pleasure,’ Judy said. ‘Thanks for saving my life.’
They bagged the casing for the bullet she had fired, and found another bag for the weird knife that had come so close to killing her. ‘Why does anybody carry one of these things instead of a good strong switchblade like a respectable criminal?’ Sarah said, holstering her weapon, strapping on her day pack.
‘I have no idea,’ Jason said. ‘Is that going to be on the quiz?’
‘You better believe it,’ Delaney said, ‘that and everything else that happened here today. So hold your sarcasm, you two, and remember the story you just told that steno. This incident is probably going to have the shit queried out of it before it’s done. Let’s take it seriously.’
‘OK, I’m serious,’ Jason said. ‘Am I riding back with Sarah?’
Delaney said, ‘No, you ride in with the meat wagon that’s coming to pick up your prisoner. Forget about guarding the one we got in bed in there – I got another man coming for that job. You check your prisoner in at County and you’re done for today, but see me first thing Monday morning – we’ll debrief your taser technique. Congratulations on using it, by the way, you saved yourself the big shitstorm Sarah’s got to face. OK, Sarah, y
ou need to follow me downtown.’
‘Don’t I need to sign off on the body on the floor, though?’ she asked Delaney. ‘At the morgue?’
‘Not your problem,’ Delaney said. He had been through this ritual with many a nerve-wracked officer before, and he knew it wasn’t going to get any easier. So without wasting time on sympathy, which risked an emotional response, he asked her if she felt up to driving, which predictably made her declare that yes, she could drive, she even had a license. Then he led her downtown to turn in her weapon and shield.
She knew the process was totally routine. She had helped explain, to other officers after other shootings, how reasonable and necessary it was. But now that it was her turn to go on leave she hated it, felt insulted, and wanted to cry out at the injustice of being judged by people who hadn’t even been on the scene when it happened.
Eyes bright with unshed tears, she confronted the lined face of Chief of Police Fabian Moretti, whose Sicilian features wore his usual expression, firm resolve overlaid with inexpressible sorrow. ‘Zorba the Wop,’ Jason called him. ‘He was born looking sad.’
Just before he signed the order that put her on paid administrative leave until further notice, he patted her shoulder and mumbled, ‘I know how you feel.’
She was not sure she believed him because she wasn’t sure, herself, how she felt. Angry, breathless, glad to be alive, spoiling for a fight, longing for peace and quiet – take your pick.
She left her two superiors there in the chief’s office, assuring them she was fine to drive home. Still a little deaf if the truth be told, but that was surely temporary.
The lights were coming on all over town. It was just dusk, not even full dark yet. That seemed amazing, but her watch agreed with a wall clock that it was still a few minutes before seven. Shouldn’t it be midnight, at least?
She had phoned home as soon as possible after the shooting and told Aggie, ‘Please go ahead with dinner and don’t wait up, I’m in a situation here that’s going to take some time.’ She didn’t want to talk about the shooting until she was home with them. She knew Will would tap his sources at the County Attorney’s office, and get the bare bones of her story, but she trusted him not to tell her mother and Denny much before she got home.
They were all in different rooms, busy doing work to convince themselves they were not just waiting for her arrival. As soon as they heard her car turn in they came to the kitchen, Aggie to warm up her dinner, Denny to set up her place at the table and then sit next to her, close enough to occasionally touch her arm, pat her shoulder – she had a need to touch. Will brought her a glass of wine and then her slippers, saying, ‘Let’s get those shoes off.’
She said, ‘Doesn’t that look good,’ and sat down in front of a plate of food. With a forkful of sweet potato halfway to her mouth, she put it down and said, ‘I’m on paid administrative leave because I had to shoot—’ And then the tears she had not been able to shed at the station cascaded down her cheeks. She covered her face with her napkin and wept for a full minute while her family circled around her, making little comfort sounds and patting her shaking shoulders.
When she could stop crying she wiped her face and blew her nose, got a fresh napkin out of the holder on the table and cleared her throat. Took a swallow of ice water and said, ‘I want to tell you how it happened, so whatever comes out in the news tomorrow you won’t let it bother you – you’ll know the truth.’
‘No hurry, honey,’ her mother said. ‘Eat your dinner while it’s hot.’
‘I can talk while I eat. Don’t we always?’ She ate a bite of pork chop. ‘I’m lucky to have all of you to talk it over with.’ She ate some peas. Sat a minute, chewing and thinking, and began. When the food was gone and she had finished her story, she said again, ‘He didn’t leave me any other choice.’
Denny cleared away her plate and said, ‘You were awesome, Aunt Sarah.’
Aggie said, ‘Thank God you’re home safe now. Oh, Sarah. Oh.’
Will said, ‘How about a dish of ice cream?’
Later, in the warm quiet of their bed, he held her close and told her, ‘Remember this extra part I’ve got in my hair? I think I know exactly how you feel tonight.’
They had fallen in love during his long recovery from a near-death shooting, and she well remembered how his hands had trembled when she shook them to welcome him back. He and his partner had killed three men fighting their way out of that ambush, were both wounded multiple times and spent a long time in recovery. ‘Listen, Sarah,’ he spoke softly into her ear in the warm dark, ‘what you’re feeling now … it will always hurt, but after a while it will be more like an ache than a pain.’
‘That’s good to hear. It’s still … killing a person, it’s a terrible thing to do, isn’t it?’
‘The worst thing you’ll ever have to do, no question. But you had to do it, Sarah, remember that.’
She made herself stop gritting her teeth and lay very still until her muscles stopped jerking. There was one more thing she needed to say, that she knew she could never say to anybody else. Wasn’t sure she should even say it to him, but she blurted it out quickly. ‘I’m sorry I had to kill that man, and I hope I never have to do it again, but I have to tell you there’s another side of me that’s glad I was able to do it.’
Will made a sound in his throat, somewhere between a chuckle and a groan. ‘I’m glad to hear you say so. That’s the only upside – that now you know. All the hundreds of times we go over it in drills, practice and practice, and every time you wonder if the day actually comes when it’s necessary to kill somebody, will I be able to do it?’
‘Yes. Now I know.’ The words came out blurry; she was too tired to talk any more.
Will made one more soothing sound, ‘Mmm,’ and stroked her gently, and they slept.
Sometime in the still-dark hours of early morning, she dreamed the attack over again. Not exact – it began with a feeling of dread. Something just out of sight was threatening her and then out of the darkness the glittering eyes appeared, and the knife coming at her, gleaming. In her dream she begged, ‘Oh no no please no,’ and then she must have said some of that out loud because she was sitting up in bed, sweating and crying. Will’s arms were around her, he was trying to soothe her with soft words. Then she was fully awake and embarrassed.
‘I’m sorry, babe. Shee, so sorry I woke you.’ She found a tissue, wiped her face, blew her nose. Got out of bed, went to the bathroom without turning on the light because she felt bad enough without seeing her face right now. Washed her hands and face in cold water and scrubbed hard with a towel, trying to get rid of the sick feeling that she had done something unforgivably wrong. Still in the dark, she came back into the bedroom and stood by the bed shivering, feeling utterly bereft. Will came with her robe and put it on her, pulled the sash tight and slid her feet into slippers.
‘You had a bad dream,’ he said. He rubbed her hands. ‘Take your time, let it go away. Would you like some cocoa?’
‘Oh …’ She took a long, deep breath while she got ready to tell him that hauling her tired body to the kitchen for hot chocolate in the middle of the night was the last thing she wanted to do, but suddenly the idea blossomed in her brain like a beautiful flower and she said, ‘That would be nice.’
He even made the cocoa. ‘You better watch yourself,’ she said as he poured it into mugs. ‘You’re beginning to act like the tooth fairy.’
He laughed and spilled some cocoa, said, ‘Oh, damn,’ and then finished pouring while she mopped it up. When he set the pan down he cocked his head and raised one eyebrow – a daffy libertine tooth fairy now – and said, ‘Would you like some brandy in this?’
‘I better not. I’m a little unstable,’ she said, and then, ‘Oh, what the hell. Sure, I’d love some brandy in this.’
He measured an exact ounce in the shot glass and poured it in, and poured another for himself. The aroma coming off the hot drink stopped being merely delicious and became sublime. After
the first sip, she sat very still on the stool and let the pleasure travel over her taste buds and down her throat, easing the tightness in her warming trunk. A second sip sent gratification spreading slowly, no need to hurry, through all her remaining molecules out to her fingertips and toenails. She said, ‘I believe you got this recipe just right.’
‘Good,’ Will said, and settled more securely on his stool. His complexion improved, too, which made Sarah realize her crying had upset him more than she’d had time to notice.
She touched his arm and said, ‘This is hard for you too, isn’t it? Did you have dreams after …?’
‘Yes,’ he said abruptly, his eyes on the sink drain. ‘And I’m sorry, Sarah, but I can’t talk about that.’
‘That’s OK. Listen, you warmed me up, you made the cocoa. It’s what you do that counts, you don’t have to talk.’ Now she was patting his hands, because he looked so devastated.
‘I just … I’m not as good with words as you are. If you need to talk, though, there’s nothing wrong with that. We have counselors, they always offer.’
‘I know. I don’t think I want to talk to anybody in the department. They always say it doesn’t put a mark against you, but I think it does.’
‘Oh, the hell with that. If you need it, go ahead and talk. The important thing is to do what you need to do to get over it, not let it mess up your head. Promise me you’ll do that, will you?’
‘Yes. Whatever it takes, I’ll do it.’
They finished their drinks and went back to bed, and to her surprise she went back to sleep and slept soundly till morning.
Maybe she did still need to talk, though – she was undergoing emotions she didn’t fully understand. At first she thought the guilt she’d felt this morning, after the dream of the eyes and knife, was guilt about shooting a man. But as the morning passed she realized she didn’t feel guilty about that at all – she had just done what any competent cop would do. And it wasn’t guilt she was feeling, it was shame. Because I begged that lowlife … So as she cleaned the kitchen after breakfast she told herself, You didn’t really do that. That was a dream.
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