I called out Gina’s name as I treaded down the hall toward the garage area. I saw overhead work lights. Ahead, the steel shaft of a car lift. The front end of a wrecked Honda Accord. I was keenly aware of my .38 pressing against my hip as I went through the door. I took in a dozen details at once. To my right, two plainclothes cops stood in front of a male subject, his hands cuffed behind his back. The man’s face was bloodied, scraggly blond hair, his shirt nearly torn from his body. Ahead, a uniformed patrol officer leaned against a nice-looking Toyota, his arms crossed, toothpick in his mouth, staring at me. I glanced left to see Gina and a young man in grease-stained coveralls standing at the counter. A small, newish cash register stood open in front of them. She looked up, spotted me, and visibly jolted. Surprise. A mishmash of emotions I couldn’t quite read flashed across her face.
For the span of several heartbeats, I stood there, knowing in my heart what I’d walked into, my brain scrambling for explanations that suited the narrative I wanted to believe.
Gina started toward me. “Kate…”
“What’s going on?” I managed.
The two officers who’d been beating the man looked at me, expressions impassive. Unmoved by my presence. Annoyed that I had the gall to interrupt.
The older of the two detectives started toward me, his eyes flicking to my badge. “You’re a long way from your subdivision,” he said.
I’d seen him around the precinct a few times. A dozen names scrolled through my memory, but I couldn’t recall it. He stopped a couple of feet from me, gave me a once-over. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m looking for Colorosa.”
“You found her.” He motioned toward Gina. “As you can see, she’s busy. So get lost.”
I’d been a cop long enough to take the insolence in stride. I’d learned early on that most cops don’t pull any punches when it comes to driving home a point to some underling. If you can get it done with some badass attitude or humiliate someone in the process, all the better.
I knew first impressions weren’t always right. But I’d learned to trust my gut. I knew what I’d walked into, and I was rattled by it.
The garage went silent, save for the tail end of “Freebird” wafting out from the front office. I looked around to find everyone staring at me, their expressions running the gamut from amused to annoyed to downright hostile. When I looked at Gina, her eyes skittered away from mine.
What the hell?
I looked at the man who’d been beaten. He was bent at the hip, a string of bloody drool nearly reaching the floor, immersed in his own misery. I turned my attention back to the cop who’d approached me. “What happened to him?” I asked.
“We executed a warrant.” He motioned toward the bloodied man. “Cool Hand Luke there decided he didn’t have to cooperate, so we reminded him that he does.”
I kept my eyes on the detective, but I was keenly aware of all the other eyes in the room on me. The guy-wire tension running between my shoulder blades. It was the first time in the course of my career that I felt I was being lied to about something important by a fellow cop. I didn’t believe this detective. Worse, I didn’t trust him. Judging from the length of bloodied air hose in his hand, he was as far outside police protocols as I’d ever seen.
“Looks like you have everything under control.” I turned my attention to Gina. “You got a minute?”
The detective’s teeth ground. He stepped toward me. “Why don’t you be a good little rookie and get the fuck out of my crime scene?”
I held my ground, but my knees had begun to shake. I stared at him, my heart pounding. I didn’t know what to say or how to react. This was one scenario the academy didn’t prepare me for.
After a moment, he raised his hand and stabbed his index finger into my chest. “Out. Now.”
No one said anything. No one moved. Gina held her ground at the cash register.
I backed up a step, made up for the lost ground by swatting his hand away. “See you around.”
Taking a final look at Gina, I turned and started for the door.
We never made it to the lake that weekend. When my shift ended, I went home, packed my things, and moved out. It was one of the most painful things I’d ever had to do, but I’d realized she wasn’t going to change. A few weeks later, I heard through the grapevine that she’d filed a complaint with Internal Affairs against the detectives on scene that night. I’d almost gone to her to rekindle the friendship that meant so much to me. In the end, I let it go, hoping the incident had set her on the straight and narrow.
I didn’t hear anything else about Gina or the things that went down that night, and I never saw her again.
CHAPTER 31
I bolt upright, my breaths coming fast. For an instant, I’m back in that warehouse. The dream scampers back into its hole, but the pain lingers. I’m not sure what woke me. Not the dream. My heart is pounding. The back of my neck is sticky with sweat. My hands aren’t quite steady.
Around me, the air is cold and pitch black and for a moment I don’t remember where I am. Then I hear the rustle of wind outside the window, the scrape of branches against the glass. The hiss of the woodstove in the corner, and everything that’s happened in the last forty-eight hours comes flooding back.
I’m on the sofa in the living room of Adam Lengacher’s farmhouse. I relax back into my pillow, staring into the darkness, listening. Whatever sound jerked me awake doesn’t come again. I reach for my cell on the coffee table, check the time. Almost one A.M.
“Great,” I mutter, knowing sleep will not come again.
Moonlight slants in through the windows, diluted light dancing on the floor, telling me the snow has stopped. I wonder if Gina is awake, too, dreading the day ahead, bothered by the unknowns, and everything she faces in the coming weeks. I’m thinking about checking on her, seeing if she wants some company, when a sound from the front porch gives me pause. Something moving around outside. A raccoon raiding the bird feeder the girls hung on the eave? A deer nibbling the seed strewn about on the ground? Another part of my brain lands on a darker possibility.
I sit up, swivel, set my feet on the floor. I’m reaching for the Maglite I keep next to the sofa when the door explodes inward, swings wide, bangs against the wall. The sound is a thunderclap. Glass shatters, tinkling onto the plank floor. In an instant, I’m on my feet, bringing up the Maglite. Simultaneously, I’m blinded by dual beams.
“Police! We’ve got a warrant! Get your hands up! Police Department!”
Two men rush inside, shadow figures moving fast, feet heavy on the floor. It’s too dark to make out details, but I see the silhouette of a shotgun. Flashlights. I feel a burst of cold air on my feet. One of the men comes at me, reaching.
I step back, bring up the Maglite, tap his hand away with it, and I blind him with the beam. “I’m a police officer!” I shout. “Show me your ID! I’m a cop!”
My mind flits to my .38 in the mudroom. I glance that way, consider making a run for it. The sound of the shotgun being racked stops me cold.
“Police! Do not move.” The man keeps coming, swiftly, aggressive, shotgun leveled on my chest. “Get your hands up! Keep them where I can see them.”