“Something like that.”
Chapter Seventy-four
AFTER REGURGITATING EVERY DETAIL OF THE past twelve hours for Nolan and Crawford, and clarifying some things preceding the ignominious visit to the Hesse mansion, Melody was dozing restlessly on an unyielding vinyl sofa in the conference room. Sam was somehow still upright, sitting across the table from Nolan. Crawford hadn’t returned after the last break, which gave him hope that things were coming to a close and he could go home soon.
He felt delirious, but not crazy, hallucinating, blackout delirious. He wasn’t stupid or insane enough to believe that another trauma was the remedy to healing from a previous one, but he felt a little better in spite of everything, like he’d reclaimed a small piece of himself that had existed before a roadside bomb had shredded bone and flesh and his tether to this world. He’d made it through this nightmare without falling apart when it really mattered. He’d won the fight. Melody had saved him; he’d saved Melody; and in the end, Yuki and Nolan had saved them both.
For the first time in a long while, he wasn’t worried about what would happen tomorrow. He was alive and that was good enough for now.
One day at a time.
He’d have a chat with Melody about that. She was incredibly resilient, incredibly strong, but nobody got through something like this unscathed.
Crawford had seemed a lot warmer now that he knew he wasn’t staring down Public Enemy Number One, but either way, Sam had nothing but respect for him. He’d just been doing his job, providing a necessary counterpoint to Nolan, whose perception probably was skewed because of her brother.
In spite of Crawford’s new affability, Nolan’s presence through the questioning had been the sole comfort. Tombstone eyes, strawberry blond hair, and a chilly demeanor contrary to her compassion. Cold and warm, all at the same time. Like Yuki. Poor Yuki, alone in a morgue. “I need to see my wife, Detective. Would it be possible to do that when we’re finished here?”
Nolan looked up from her computer. “Of course.”
“Through all this, it’s like she was forgotten.”
“You didn’t forget her, and neither did I. I never will.”
“Do you remember every victim?”
“By the time an investigation wraps up, I know everything about them, sometimes much more than their own families. You form a bond with them, so you never forget. And they deserve to be remembered.”
“That must be difficult.”
“I owe it to them.”
“What do you remember most about them, their lives or their deaths?”
The surprise registered conspicuously on her face. It was the first time Sam had been able to read her with any confidence.
“I’ve never thought of it that way. But life and death are equally significant parts of a single continuum, so I guess I remember both with the same clarity.”
Sam thought that was a good way to look at things. “You still haven’t told me how you pulled things together.”
“Consuela Ortiz. I saw her on traffic cam footage getting into a Jeep Rubicon parked near your wife’s house the day she was murdered. I followed a whim.”
Sam tried to squeeze a cogent thought out of his weary brain. “How do you know her?”
“She cleaned for Ryan Gallagher. She was the one who found his body. We think Rolf drove the Jeep to your wife’s neighborhood yesterday and left it there after he killed her, probably figuring we’d be looking at traffic film and paying close attention to any vehicles leaving the area around the time of her death.”
“So he had Consuela pick it up for him later.”
She nodded. “He made up a yarn about having some kind of emergency and told her to take a bus to Marina Del Rey to get the Jeep.”
“He was smart, but you’re smarter. That wasn’t dumb luck.”
“Things fell into place when we needed them to.”
Her comment was terse and dismissive, and Sam knew it was an attempt to place some distance between herself and what had happened, just like he’d always done. No need to dwell, everything turned out peachy, no big deal. But the truth was, tonight had been a very big deal, more for Nolan than anybody else because she’d killed somebody.
“How are you, Detective?”
“I’m fine.”
“You don’t have to say that to me. I know. I understand.”
She looked at him with sadness and maybe even a little trust. “Mr. Easton, before tonight, I’d never even discharged my weapon in the line of duty, let alone used deadly force. None of this seems real right now, but it will.”
Sam nodded. “Yes, it will, and it’s something you’ll learn to live with because there’s no other choice. You’re intelligent and brave, Detective, and you made Max proud tonight.”
Her cheeks colored and she looked down and started shuffling papers around on the table unnecessarily. “I think we’re finished here, Mr. Easton. Just two more things before we go. My colleague Remy Beaudreau would like to speak with you. He’s working the Miracle Mile cases.”
“Sure. What’s the other thing?”
She handed him her phone. “Call your mother, she just left a message.”
Sam felt his stomach clench. Of course they’d been in contact with her while he was missing; it was the obvious thing to do. And she’d had no way to reach him. He should have thought of that earlier. Shit, he’d put the lovely Vivian Easton in yet another hellish holding pattern, waiting for news. He hoped she’d had some wine.
“Thank you, Detective Nolan, I’ll call her right away.”
“I’ll give you some privacy.” She stood and walked toward the door, then paused briefly and turned around. “And thank you, Mr. Easton, for what you said earlier. I hope Max is proud of me.”
Chapter Seventy-five
SAM FELT SICK WITH GUILT AS he listened to his mother sob. He’d only seen her cry once, at his father’s funeral, and it had been a very collected display of emotion because Vivian was a stoic, dignified woman. But now she seemed frantic, and when she finally calmed down enough to speak coherently, Sam understood.
“I thought something horrible had happened, Sam, with the shock of Yuki’s murder. I thought you might have … I thought I might have lost you.”
Sam closed his eyes. “Mom, I’d never do that to you. I’m so sorry you had to go through this. I’m okay.”
“You’re not in trouble?”
“No. I’ll call you when I get home and explain. It’s a long story.” He thought of her alone in that big house. She’d gotten used to being a widow, but he knew she didn’t like the solitude. “I’m going to be tied up here for a while longer, are you going to be alright?”
“Sam, I’m fine now, and I’m sorry I can’t stop crying. I’m just so relieved. And Lee is here with me. I called him when I couldn’t reach you.”
“God bless him. Mom, I have to go, but I’ll talk to you later. And I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“I’ll cancel the dinner.”
“Please don’t. The company would be nice. Maybe just what I need.”