The screen goes black. We stare for an instant, unspeaking. Tomasetti is in the process of reaching for the mouse when abruptly the screen jumps back to life. Same lighting. Same bed and sheets. Same bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. A man sits on the side of the bed. He wears the same jester mask, but this time I’m sure the man is Todd Long. My chest tightens when Mary Plank kneels between his knees, her head bobbing as she performs oral sex.
“She’s been drugged.” Tomasetti’s words come to me as if I’m hearing them through cotton. “I’ll bet the pills we found are some type of barbiturate. Or Rohypnol, maybe.”
I want to respond, but feel as if there are two hands around my throat, squeezing my larynx, and I can’t get any words out. I glance at the screen, and see yet another twisted scenario playing out in terrible black and white. I feel Tomasetti’s gaze on me, but I don’t look at him. I don’t want him to see what I know is in my eyes.
This case isn’t about me, but it hits home in ways I never expected, and with a force that leaves me gasping for breath. Tomasetti knows what happened to me seventeen years ago, but he doesn’t know all of it. He doesn’t know the deepest, darkest secret of all.
“Kate.” He says my name gently, like a horse trainer trying to calm a frightened colt. “You don’t have to watch this.” He starts to close the laptop.
But I stop him. “Yes, I do.” The words are little more than croaks, but I force them out. I can feel my emotions winding up. I know if I don’t get a grip they’re going to spiral out of control. My brain chants Danger, danger, danger! But I don’t stop. “She was in love with him,” I grind out. “She wanted to marry him. Have his child. Spend her life with him. She was willing to leave everything she’d ever know. And he did this to her.”
The muscles in Tomasetti’s jaw flex, and he looks away. “He got what was coming to him.”
“That’s not justice.”
“Maybe not. But it’s about as happy an ending as you’re going to get with a case like this.”
It’s a hard, cynical view. But then John Tomasetti can be a hard, cynical man. At this moment, staring at the cruel realities playing out on that laptop, the world feels like a hard and cynical place.
I don’t want to look at that awful screen, but my eyes are drawn to it. Another unspeakable scene stares back at me. I see the glazed eyes of an innocent girl. A young woman full of goodness and life. I see evil in its most insidious form. He raped her body, her mind, her heart. He committed upon her the ultimate betrayal.
I stand so abruptly, my chair nearly falls over backward. Tomasetti looks uneasily at me. “Kate . . .”
“Can you get this stuff to the lab?” I hear myself say.
“Sure . . .”
Before even realizing I’m going to move, I’m heading toward the door. I hear my breaths rushing out as I shove it open. It bangs against the wall, and then I’m running down the hall. I hear John say my name, but I don’t stop. I see the dispatcher’s concerned expression as I cross through the reception area. I’m aware of T.J. standing in his cube, staring at me. Glock calls out my name as I yank open the door. Then I’m outside. Only then do I realize I’m crying. Giant, wracking sobs that rip out of me with a force that makes my entire body shudder.
Relinquishing control of your emotions is the ultimate bad form for a female cop. Especially a female in a position of command. I need to get a grip. Suck it up and get the hell back in there. Start the paperwork that will close this godforsaken case once and for all.
But I’m in no condition to go back inside. I can’t face my team. I’m too raw. Too far gone. Already over that precipice and tumbling down the mountain. I know Tomasetti will take care of any evidence that needs to be sent to the lab. The paperwork can wait until in the morning. Climbing into my Explorer, I back blindly onto the street and head for the nearest haven I can find.
CHAPTER 21
I find refuge at McNarie’s Bar. I didn’t know where I was going until I turned into the gravel lot. It’s the last place I ought to be. Not only am I the chief of police and still in uniform, but I’m in no frame of mind to be anywhere near alcohol. Or other living creatures. I suspect Tomasetti might be out looking for me, so I park in the rear lot, out of sight.
I’m not a self-destructive person. I learned that lesson at a relatively young age. But at some point during the drive from the police station to the bar, I stopped thinking. I stopped being reasonable. I stopped being so goddamn responsible. Sometimes none of those things make a damn bit of difference. Just look at the Planks.
It’s seven P.M. when I walk in the front door. Happy hour has given way to the pool players and football-game watchers and the guys that just want to get out of the house for a little peace and quiet. It’s another kind of peace I’m shooting for tonight.