On Feb’s bed which had been tossed, the mattress askew, there were three plastic bags, all three had white handkerchiefs in them, balled, looking crusty.
Cum rags.
Colt bit his lip and his hands curled into fists.
“Found them tucked between the headboard and box springs,” Chris said. “She wouldn’t find them even if she was changing the sheets.”
Christ. Feb slept in a bed with some sick fuck’s ejaculate tucked close.
“This is good, Colt,” Sully said hurriedly, “DNA. We got DNA.”
Colt stared at the bags.
He probably kneeled on the bed jacking off, thinking of her, looking at that framed photo of her on her bedside table, a photo of her in profile, her face filled with laughter, both Palmer and Tuesday caught in mid-wiggle in her arms. The kids were younger than now, maybe four and six. They looked like they were having a tickling fight.
“Colt, man, come back into the room. This is good.”
“He jacked off on her bed.”
“He’s finally fucked up.”
Colt looked at Sully. “You think that makes me feel better? Or maybe you think that’ll make Feb feel better?”
“We’re closer, you lose it, do somethin’ stupid –”
That pissed him off and Colt felt his body get tight. “I’m not gonna do somethin’ stupid, Sully. Fuck,” Sully studied him and then nodded, Colt looked to Marty who was, in the small space, giving Colt a wide berth and turned to Chris. “You have a word with Marty, this doesn’t get out.”
“I know Marty fucked up tonight, man, but Lore’ll get over it and the town will understand,” Chris said.
“You have a word with Marty,” Colt repeated. “I could report him and I should, what he did tonight. This leaks I’ll have his fuckin’ badge.”
“Colt –”
Colt leaned in. “Have a fuckin’ word.”
Chris put his hands up. “I’ll have a word.”
Colt turned and walked out the door. Sully followed him. They stopped in the grass at the front of Feb’s place.
“You’re not doin’ anything here but makin’ yourself angry. Get home to Feb,” Sully said.
Get home to Feb.
At that moment Colt didn’t think anything would make him feel better, except February’s hand at his neck but, this scenario, it wasn’t her job to comfort him.
Those words made him feel better. He didn’t spare a second to think about why they did, not after all this time, all that had happened. He just knew in his bones they did.
Colt nodded to his partner, walked to his truck with his eyes to the ground, got in and went home to Feb.
*
Colt entered his house and saw Feb asleep on the couch under his blanket, Wilson curled at her feet, Jack sitting at the stool she’d been at earlier that night, his revolver on the bar in front of him, his hair wilder than before but not wilder than his eyes.
Colt walked to him, got close and said low, “I want you and Jackie in here tomorrow.”
Jack kept his face expressionless and nodded.
“Make yourselves at home, you’re gonna be here until this is over. Tell Jackie she has free reign what she wants to do with the shit in that bedroom.”
“She’ll be ecstatic,” Jack said.
She would. Jackie was as tidy as Colt’d learned her daughter was tonight. Never happier than when she cleaning except when she was throwing shit out, usually Jack’s shit which usually drove Jack up the wall. He was a hoarder.
Jack grabbed his revolver, got up, walked to the side door and Colt followed.
Jack turned at the door. “They find anything?”
“They’re still lookin’.”
“They find anything?” Jack repeated, needing something to hang onto before he got in bed beside his wife and put his head on a pillow.
Colt looked at him then said, “Caught a break. We got DNA.”
“How’s that?”
Colt remained silent.
“He leave hairs or somethin’?”
“Just leave it at that, Jack.”
Jack stared a moment then surmised, “I don’t wanna know.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Which means I know.”
Colt suspected he did.
Jack’s eyes shifted to his daughter, his head lifting like a turtle, the muscles in his neck standing out before he looked back to Colt. “You keep her safe, you hear?”
Colt nodded, Jack opened the door and Colt stood in the frame watching until Jack disappeared in the RV and then watching longer.
Finally he shut and locked the door. Then he went through the entire house, every room, even the second bedroom, and checked doors and windows, making sure they were secure, blinds closed, Feb and him shut in tight.
As he did this his mind scanned the quiet, night streets he’d just driven through.
He’d taken his time getting home, cruising the blocks, round and round, looking for a silver Audi which Denny Lowe drove. This wasn’t the neighborhood for Audis, folks around here bought American made and he didn’t find one. Only when dawn was kissing the horizon and he was far enough out that it’d be tough to get to Colt’s on foot, Colt drove home.
When the house was secure, he went to his bedroom and pulled back the covers. She’d made the bed. He didn’t bother except yesterday when he’d made it up for her.
Then he went to the couch and picked up Feb. She was out, dead weight, didn’t even lift her arms to hold on. He carried her to his bed and set her in it. She rolled to her belly, lifted a leg and shoved her hand under her cheek on the pillow. Colt pulled the covers up to her shoulder.
Wilson jumped up and resumed his position at her feet, not picky about where he got his shuteye, just as long as Feb was there.
Colt found he was growing fond of that cat.
Colt took off his clothes, pulled on his shorts, unholstered his gun and put it and his phone by the bed and even knowing there would be holy hell to pay in the morning, he crawled in beside her. He wasn’t going to be far, not even as far as the couch.