“You didn’t do anything wrong.”
When I don’t look at him, he wraps both hands around my wrists and gently pulls them from my face. When I still don’t make eye contact, he puts his hand beneath my chin and forces my gaze to his. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” he repeats. “You got that?”
I look into his eyes. He stares back. He’s so solid and unflinching and kind. It’s a huge comfort knowing that he’s not judging me, that he doesn’t blame me. “It feels like I did,” I say.
“I know it does. It’s not easy taking another person’s life. But that’s part of the job sometimes.”
“I don’t know if I can handle that.”
“You can.”
I feel the burn of tears behind my eyes. The last thing I want to do is cry. Talk about bad form for a female cop. I swipe frantically at my eyes. “How are Ike and Samuel?”
“They’re going to be fine. Ambulance took them to the hospital. They’ll probably spend the night.”
When I close my eyes, I see their small bodies floating in the manure pit. “How could Mose do that to his little brothers?”
Tomasetti shakes his head. “That’s probably something we’ll never know.”
“I didn’t see this coming,” I tell him. “Why didn’t I see it coming?”
“Because you’re human.” He sighs. “None of us saw this.”
That’s not what I want to hear, but I let it go. “I want to talk to Salome.”
“Glock is with her.”
“I need to talk to her.” I start to move around him, but he stops me.
“Kate, paramedics are going to check you out, then I need to take you to the sheriff’s office. Rasmussen is obligated to talk to you.” He sighs. “So am I.”
Only then does it dawn on me just how difficult the next hours will be. There will be interviews and forms and a thousand questions. I don’t care about any of it. All I want to do is see the children, Ike and Samuel and Salome. I want to be the one to tell them what happened to their brother. At the very least, I want to be there when they get the news. But I know that won’t be the case. As of five minutes ago, I’m no longer a cop. Not until the shooting is fully investigated and I’m cleared of any wrongdoing.
I barely notice when the young paramedic crosses to where we stand. While Tomasetti looks on, he runs through the standard emergency medical protocol, taking my blood pressure and asking about any pain. My collarbone hurts plenty, but I don’t mention it. There’s no way I’m going to the hospital.
When he finishes, he looks at Tomasetti and proceeds to talk about me as if I’m not there. “She looks fine, but you might want to run by the ER before taking her home.”
“I’ll do that.”
I wait until the paramedic is out of earshot before saying, “I’m not going to the hospital.”
Tomasetti sighs. “Why am I not surprised?”
“I want to see the kids,” I say.
“I know. You can’t. Not right now.”
“I’m fine, damn it.”
“We need to talk to Rasmussen. File a report.”
When I don’t respond, Tomasetti motions toward his Tahoe, which is parked haphazardly twenty yards away. “Come on. I’ll drive you to the sheriff’s office.”
That’s the last place I want to be. Of course, I don’t have a choice. They’re going to take my badge, my weapon. Strip away my title. They’re going to pass my caseload to my subordinates. I know it’s temporary. But it doesn’t feel that way.
“I hate this,” I say.
“I hate it, too,” Tomasetti concurs. “But it’s going to be okay.”
As we walk toward his Tahoe, I glance over at Salome. She looks like a sad little ghost sitting in the passenger seat of Glock’s cruiser, a blanket around her shoulders. Her eyes meet mine, and I see a clutter of terrible emotions in their depths: grief, betrayal, hopelessness. But there are other emotions, too—thoughts and feelings I can’t even fathom—too many for me to sort through at the moment. For a crazy instant, I’m tempted to break free of Tomasetti, run to her, and tell her I didn’t have a choice.
Instead, I get into Tomasetti’s Tahoe, and we start toward the sheriff’s office.
CHAPTER 18
Killing someone changes you in ways most people can never understand. It stains your soul with an ineffaceable darkness. It burdens your psyche with a weight that will crush you if you let it. It adds a disconsolate component to your persona that shadows every facet of your life, like the total eclipse of a good sun by a bad moon, and you’re stuck in that darkness forever. And no matter how much good you do in an effort to make up for that black transgression, you know it will never be enough.