He’s right, but I say nothing. I’ll close the case. Officially, anyway. But I’ll keep looking. If I find out someone else was involved, I’m going to bring them to justice even if I have to mete it out myself.
I see Tomasetti struggling with something he wants to say, and I get an uneasy feeling in my stomach. “Are you going to let me drive you home?” he asks.
“I’m thinking about it.”
“I’ve missed you.”
For the first time, I’m thinking more about the man across from me than the case or my own woes. I don’t know if it’s the alcohol or the fact that we haven’t been together for two months, but I want to spend the night with him. I want to forget about everything else for just a little while.
“I’ve missed you, too.” I reach across the table and take his hand. “We’re going to be okay.”
“In that case,” he says, “let’s get the hell out of here.”
CHAPTER 22
Tomasetti’s gone when I wake. That surprises me because I’m a light sleeper. But having gone without any measurable sleep for the last few days, I was exhausted. Or maybe I just sleep better when he’s beside me. The thought scares me a little bit.
He never says good-bye when he spends the night. The first couple of times it bothered me. Then I came to realize he doesn’t linger because neither of us is very good at the morning-after thing. We’re too cautious about revealing too much, laying too much of ourselves on the line, keeping all those dark secrets safe from a lover’s prying eyes.
He always seems to leave a small piece of himself behind. I still feel his presence in my bed, in the house, on my body, in my mind. The echo of his voice. His rare laugh. The lingering scent of his aftershave. The softness of his mouth. The urgent touch of a lonely man. This imprint of him stays with me for days sometimes. At first it was disconcerting, but I’ve grown to like it. Already, I find myself wondering when I’ll see him again.
Though it’s only six A.M., I quickly shower and dress. Thoughts of the Plank family don’t creep into my mind until I’m driving to the station. Even then, the hard edges are gone this morning. It’s a step in the right direction.
I arrive at the station to find Mona’s Escort parked in its usual spot. Skid’s cruiser is parked next to it, and I know he’s probably finishing up his reports before he calls it a day. Glock will arrive in an hour or so toting either bagels or doughnuts from the Butterhorn Bakery. Mona will complain about the calories. Lois, T.J. and Pickles will arrive and another typical day will begin. We’ll talk about the murders and deal with the media. I’ll call Auggie and officially close the case. My small department and I will go back to refereeing domestic quarrels, bar fights and corralling wayward livestock. Usually the normalcy, the routine of that would be a comfort to me. This morning, it makes me feel as if I’ve swept something smelly under the rug.
I walk in to find Mona sitting at her station, tapping her fingers to a Gin Blossoms tune that’s cranked up a little too loud. “Hey, Chief. You’re in early this morning.”
“Couldn’t sleep.” I cross to the dispatch station, reach over and turn down the radio. “Any messages?”
“Media mostly. From yesterday afternoon. Wanting to know about the Long thing.” She passes half a dozen pink messages to me. “Sorry about the radio. I didn’t realize it was so late. I mean early.” She grins. “Night shift flew by.”
Since the messages are media-related, I hand them back to her. “Let them know I’ll have a press release later this morning.”
“Sure thing.”
At the coffee station, I pour a cup and carry it to my office. While my computer boots, I go to the record storage box next to the file cabinet and carry it to my desk. T. Long Suicide is written in bold red marker on the side. The box contains only a fraction of what we found at the scene; most of it was sent to the BCI lab for processing. Still, I want to go through everything with a fine-tooth comb before closing the case.
Inside the box, I find the evidence log Mona put together. The preliminary report from Doc Coblentz. A manila folder contains a photo record of the scene. A plastic bag filled with pornographic photos of Mary Plank. In addition, there are two boxes of disks. All are copies; the originals were sent to the BCI lab. The first box is marked Viewed. These are the ones Glock, John and T.J. went through yesterday. The second box is marked To Be Viewed. These are the ones I need to look at this morning.