A chore sometimes, having a sister married to his closest friend on the force.
A friend he’d let down. Just like he’d let down Captain Wagner and all the rest of them. He’d known on Saturday night when he brought in his suspect, Liam Price, that there wasn’t enough evidence to charge him for the string of Westown burglaries. The chances of obtaining said evidence in the time they were allowed to hold the man before recommending charges? Slim to none.
The thing was . . . he hadn’t cared.
And Captain Wagner knew it.
“I could lecture you, Hawkins. I could tell you how stupid it was, hauling in that kid. The son of a council member? Really?” Captain Wagner stood, not a single crinkle in his starched navy blue suit nor any hint of the exhaustion he must be feeling. He’d spent the bulk of his past two days here too, working just as doggedly as everyone else to fix Marshall’s error.
Error? More like outright failure.
“I could go on and on about how the last thing we need right now is a PR scuffle.” The captain rounded his desk, the steps of his polished shoes clacking. “I could waste time I don’t have yelling ‘til I’m blue in the face.”
Marshall’s gaze traced the groove in the floor, trekked the diagonal line until it crossed with another and then trailed that one. A habit he’d picked up in the hospital, following lines or tracing patterns wherever they appeared—floors, ceilings, walls.
In the quilt over Laney’s hospital bed. He’d memorized its every patch.
A too-familiar buzz lurked near the back of his brain. It would turn into an all-out pummeling if he didn’t get out of this office soon, rummage through his locker until he found the spare pill bottle he hoped to high heaven was there. He hadn’t allowed himself so much as Tylenol in the past two days, needing full alertness for the impossible task in front of him.
Lot of good that’d done.
“Marshall.”
He forced his attention to the captain, the stern but kind man who’d mentored Marshall since his earliest days with the precinct. Alex might be his closest friend on the force, but there were times when Elias Wagner bordered on father figure.
“I could lecture you,” he said again, lifting one hand as if to comb his fingers through nonexistent hair. His palm stayed there, resting on the back of his bald head until he let out a sigh. “But I don’t think you’d even hear me.”
Marshall shifted in his chair at the sudden softening in the captain’s voice. No. No, not this. He knew what was coming and this was worse. “Cap—”
“Alex reminded me of the date. I’m sorry I didn’t realize it on my own.”
“Please. Don’t.” He spoke through gritted teeth.
“I won’t try to imagine what you must be feeling, Marsh—”
“I said don’t.” He pitched from his chair so quickly that it swiveled behind him, knocking into the closed office door and rattling its glass pane. Too far. “I’d rather have your lecture.”
He spun, facing away from Captain Wagner, accidentally catching Tracy’s eye as she watched from her desk in the bullpen. There was pity there. He yanked his gaze away only to see Alex leading Liam Price down the hall, on his way to freedom. Liam would pick that moment to look up, glance Marshall’s way, flash a smug grin.
“Fine then. Three months.”
At the captain’s voice, he whirled. “What?”
His boss had moved behind his desk, sitting once more. He held up the letterhead, a lingering drip of coffee dangling at the corner. “Administrative leave. You say one word in argument or hit my desk again, I’ll retype this myself and replace ‘leave’ with ‘suspension.’”
“I—” He clamped his lips at the tick in Captain Wagner’s jaw. But no, he couldn’t just stand here, defenseless. Three months’ leave? He’d go crazy.
Or worse. With that much empty time, the quiet, the despair . . . he’d be helpless against it. And he’d rather feel a frigid nothing than feel helpless.
“Please, Captain.” He didn’t so much sit as wilt, limbs heavy and head cloudy.
“I wish you would’ve taken some extended time off two years ago. Right after . . .” The captain shook his head. “Perhaps I should’ve forced it on you then.”
“You don’t understand—”
“What I understand is you’re not capable of doing your job right now, son. You haven’t been for some time.” He steepled his fingers atop his desk. “And I won’t have the rest of the team paying for your stubbornness.”
“My stubbornness?”
“Figured if I said pain or grief or depression, you’d jump out of your chair again.”
“I’m not depressed.” Mumbled words. Dishonest ones.
“I don’t think you know what you are. But you are on leave. Starting now. Clean out your locker. Turn in your badge and firearm on the way out.”
“Captain—”
“I meant what I said about changing this to a suspension.”
Did it really matter, though? Call it administrative leave, call it a suspension, the end result was the same. Humiliation and far too many hollow days.
But the flint in Captain Wagner’s expression, even rimmed as it was with compassion, warned him into silence. What more was there to say, anyway?
He rose, wordless, and moved in a bleary-eyed trance. Out of the office, past the bullpen, down a hallway to the lineup of officer lockers. Wouldn’t take more than five minutes to empty his own, nothing more than bare essentials inside. No school pictures or crayon drawings anymore.
“Marsh?”
Alex had finished the paperwork for Liam’s release already?
Marshall kept his back turned on his brother-in-law, yanking his duffel bag from the locker and stuffing in a pair of spare shoes. “Go home, Alex. Beth keeps texting.”
“Keeps texting me too. I’ve been trying to convince myself it’s because she loves and misses me, not just that she wants a hand with the twins.”
Marshall hadn’t seen his niece and nephew in weeks. Sometimes he wondered if Beth and Alex thought it was better that way. Better they not see the man he’d become. He stared at the small, square mirror on his locker door. Bloodshot eyes. Stubble, yes. But other shadows, too, darkened his face.
Beth and Alex were probably right.
“Listen, Marsh, I’m sorry if—”
He gave his locker a shove. Refused to look at his partner and friend. “You just had to remind him.”
The lack of sleep, the headache on its way to a migraine, the thought of three months without even the shallow solace of work—all of it churned in his empty stomach. He had to get out of here.
He turned but Alex blocked his path. “Cap needed to know. The way you’ve been cutting corners, storming around for weeks . . . and arresting the Price kid? I was legit scared he was going to fire you.” Alex threw up his hands in a show of exasperation. “So yeah, I reminded him of the anniversary. Maybe I overstepped.”
Two years. Two years to the day since Laney’s eyes closed, since his little girl . . .
“Maybe you overstepped? Maybe?” His voice was too close to a snarl.
“Beth is worried. I’m worried. You aren’t yourself, man. What would Laney think if she could see you—”