“The lab isn’t exactly lightning fast to begin with, but this storm has slowed everything down to a crawl,” he tells me. “People can’t get to work. Like everyone else, the lab is operating on a skeleton crew.”
“Anything on the vice unit?” I ask.
“I’m not getting much. Either there’s nothing there, or they keep their secrets well guarded. I did speak to a guy I used to work with in Cleveland; he was a sergeant with the Columbus Division of Police. Retired now. Off the record, he says the vice unit has had an integrity problem for years.”
“Anything specific?”
“He either didn’t know or wouldn’t say.”
“Interesting that he wanted to keep it off the record.”
“Retired or not, no one in law enforcement wants to point a finger at another agency unless he’s damn sure he’s right.” He pauses. “Look, if the roads are open, I’m going to try to get out and make the drive to Columbus tomorrow. I set up a meeting with Denny. Closed door. If there’s an investigation and BCI is involved in any capacity, he’ll know about it.”
“Weather app says the storm will end in the morning.”
“True. But there’s a narrow window. Polar vortex is supposed to arrive by afternoon.”
I groan. “Tomasetti, you’re a fount of good news, aren’t you?”
“DOT says I-71 will be open tomorrow. One lane, but the plows will be out in full force throughout the night and working on all major thoroughfares. If I can make it to the interstate without getting blocked by a wreck or a stuck vehicle, I should be able to reach Columbus.”
“If it’s not too much trouble would you be careful?” I say.
“I’ll wear my superhero suit.”
“You don’t have a superhero suit.”
“That you know of.”
I’m feeling more optimistic when I end the call a few minutes later. My cell battery is low and, of course, there’s no electricity in the house, so I make a mental note to charge it in the Explorer come morning. I’m about to turn off the propane lamp and call it a night when I hear the shuffle of feet against the floor. I look up to see Gina emerge from the hall. She’s got a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. Hair smushed on one side. Stocking feet. Her face is devoid of makeup, but somehow it only makes her look prettier.
Careful not to jar her injured shoulder, she settles into the chair across from me. “What the hell do people do around here at night without electricity?”
“Read. Sleep.” I shrug. “Talk to each other.”
“That’s a scary thought.” She hefts a cynical laugh. “If memory serves me, insomnia was one of the things we had in common.”
Leaving the lamp burning, I settle back onto the sofa and tug the blankets over my legs. “Doesn’t help that we have a lot on our minds.”
For a moment we listen to the wind rattle a loose pane of glass in the front window and the thump of something that’s been torn loose outside.
“House smells like … frickin’ cows,” she says quietly.
I smile. “Sammy’s sleeping in the mudroom with that calf.”
Her expression softens. “He is cute. I mean, Sammy. For a kid. I’m not usually a fan of, you know, little people.”
“I recall your aversion to children,” I say lightly.
She turns thoughtful. After a moment, she chuckles. “Do you remember that first big call we took over on Avondale?”
I’m not in the mood for a jaunt down memory lane. There’s too much history between us and not all of it is good. Still, it would be disingenuous of me not to admit there was fun, too.
I nod, let the memories rush over me. “The home-invasion call.”
“We’d been on the job for what? Six months?”
“One of the rare times we got to work together.”
“We were dying to see some action, make that first big arrest. Make a name for ourselves.”
“We definitely made a name for ourselves.”
“Not the kind we had in mind.” Gina chortles. “I’ll never forget the way that dude looked, running down the alley, buck naked, trying to pull up pants that were two sizes too small. One leg in, one leg out.”
“Some things can’t be unseen.”
She throws her head back and gives a raucous laugh. “Our big home-invasion arrest turned out to be a husband walking into his house with no idea his loving wife was upstairs doing the wild thing with another dude.”
“In his haste to get out of the house, Romeo grabbed her clothes instead of his own, and jumped out of the upstairs window.”
“Thinking there’s an intruder, the genius husband called 911.”
“His wife couldn’t exactly tell him what she’d been up to, so she let him report it as a home invasion.”
“Colorosa and Burkholder to the rescue.”
“Talk about a couple of geniuses,” I say. “Took us a while to straighten that one out.”
“First time I had to cuff a naked guy.”
We look at each other, grinning, and for a moment we’re partners again, best friends with no emotional baggage between us, no experience, and just enough youth that we’re not afraid to charge into our lives no holds barred.
“The detectives made fun of us for months,” I mutter.
“Called us the Naked Squad.”
“Title justifiably earned.”
Caught up in the memory, we look at each other and break into laughter. The release of tension that follows is palpable. But we’re older now, more than a little cynical, and we quickly fall silent, lost in the thoughts and memories compressing the space between us. We listen to the whistle of wind, the quiet patter of snow against the glass, trying not to acknowledge that the silence isn’t quite comfortable.
Gina turns her gaze on mine. “Those were the best days of my life.”
“We had some good times,” I concur.
“I didn’t appreciate it.”
“Young people never do. That’s part of youth.”
She nods, her expression sober. “Did you hear from Ken Mercer after you left?”
The muscles between my shoulders go taut at the mention of Mercer. I’d worked with him dozens of times in the years I was with the Columbus Division of Police. He was older. An experienced cop. A mentor. We were friends first and then lovers. We were only together a handful of times. But it was a handful of times too many.
“Never heard from him,” I say.
She tilts her head, her eyes probing mine, looking for something I’d prefer she not see. Like maybe she isn’t the only one who’s not proud of certain elements of her past. “He was crazy about you,” she says quietly. “Talked about you months after you left.”
“He was also a liar and a cheat.”
A smile plays at the corners of her mouth. “A charming liar and cheat. Not to mention good looking.”
I say nothing, holding her gaze. She stares back as if I’m some human contradiction that must be made to make sense. “Did you tell Tomasetti about him?”
“There’s nothing to tell. Mercer is ancient history and got filed under Mistake.” I shrug, trying to look nonchalant, not quite sure I’m succeeding. “It never came up.”