Justice took a pass on this one. I have no choice but to move on to the next, and hope for a better outcome. At least I have my hope. If that ever wanes, then I know it’s time for me to hang up my law-enforcement hat.
McNarie’s Bar is the last place I should be on a night like this, when I’m disheartened and thinking about things like a lack of justice and the end of hope. It’s not exactly the kind of mind-set that’s conducive to responsible drinking. I haven’t forgotten about Tomasetti’s warning to be careful with the booze. He doesn’t broach a subject like that without serious forethought. Maybe I’ll heed his advice, maybe not.
I’m into my second tonic and lime when movement at the door catches my attention. I look up and see Tomasetti and Rasmussen enter. The men saunter to the booth. Tomasetti slides in next to me. Rasmussen takes the seat across from us. I know they just came from the police station; there’s a certain kind of energy that comes with the end of a big case, especially one like this. They’ve gotten Salome handed off to the appropriate juvenile authorities and the immediate paperwork taken care of. For the first time in the course of my career, I’m glad I wasn’t there.
“I think I owe you an apology,” Rasmussen says without preamble.
I make eye contact with him. He’s talking about our exchange at the station. “You mean for telling me I was too emotionally involved in the case and that I was wrong about Salome?”
“That would be it.” He offers a white-flag smile, and I can actually see him swallowing his pride. “I was wrong about the girl, and I came down on you pretty hard. I was out of line.”
The words quash my earlier ire, leaving me feeling strangely deflated, and I reluctantly decide I like him again. “I wasn’t one hundred percent certain myself,” I admit.
Rasmussen’s eyes sharpen. “Are you saying the two boys didn’t confide and tell you they overheard Salome and Mose discussing the murders?”
“They told me Salome had put them in the pit and promised to come back for them.” I sigh, wondering if I’m going to have to defend my actions. “The rest was guesswork.”
“You didn’t have Mose’s prints on the ball,” Tomasetti says.
I shake my head.
“Big risk.”
“Calculated risk,” I reply. “But one I had to take because I felt she was a danger to the two boys.”
Rasmussen whistles. “Damn, Chief, that’s good.”
Tomasetti isn’t so easily pleased. “Could have backfired if Salome had stuck to her story.”
“I was counting on her losing her cool.”
Tomasetti looks at the sheriff. “In case you haven’t noticed, Kate’s good at provoking people.”
“I’ve noticed.” But he softens the words with a half smile and addresses me. “You’ll be happy to hear we cut Coulter loose.”
“How was he?” I ask.
“Relieved,” Tomasetti says.
“Seems like a genuinely nice guy,” Rasmussen puts in.
Tomasetti all but rolls his eyes. “Maybe he really is rehabilitated and we’re a bunch of cynical assholes.”
“Speak for yourself.” Rasmussen chuckles.
I smile, too, but I’m distracted, thinking about the case, about the kids, Salome and the baby.… “Any idea how the rifle got into Coulter’s closet?” I ask.
“Salome denied any knowledge,” Rasmussen tells me.
Tomasetti grimaces. “But she and Mose knew Coulter had done some work for their father. It’s common knowledge he’s an ex-con. All those kids had to do was plant it in Coulter’s house, and suddenly we have a suspect.”
McNarie hustles over to the table holding a tray containing two Killian’s Irish Red, two shot glasses—and a lone highball glass. A pack of Marlboro Lights peeks out of the top of his apron pocket.
I see Tomasetti eyeing the glass, wondering. “What are you drinking tonight, Chief?”
“Just tonic.”
He looks up at McNarie. “I’ll have the same,” Tomasetti says. “I’m driving. Kate’s on the wagon. And the sheriff was just leaving.”
Across from me, Rasmussen arches a brow, and I know he just connected the dots, made the link between me and Tomasetti. McNarie doesn’t even look surprised. His eyes skate to mine. I give him a minute nod, and he carries the tray back to the bar.
Noisily, Rasmussen clears his throat. “I just remembered I have something to do.”
“You sure you won’t stay for a drink?” Tomasetti asks.
“You asshole.” Grinning, the sheriff slides out of the booth.
Tomasetti rises and the two men shake hands. “Agent Tomasetti, it was a pleasure meeting you. Can’t thank you enough for your help.”
“The pleasure was all mine,” he says, and I wonder if Rasmussen knows he’s referring to me.
The sheriff glances my way, and I think I see a smile in his eyes as he turns and heads toward the door.
Tomasetti settles in across from me. “You think he got the message?”
“Hmmm, I don’t know. You were pretty subtle.”
We grin at each other across the table. I know he’s leaving tonight. And even though he’s so close that I can reach out and touch him, I already feel him slipping away. Already I miss him.
“How are you?” he asks after a moment.