You left me, Lila. And now I’m a ward of my dolt uncle and boring aunt, executors of Kirk’s will. I have to leave my school and town and friends and move to another.
You did this to me.
His eyes fell on the crucifix hanging above the casket.
Jesus. For eternity he was going to hang in her dead cleavage in mute fourteen-carat gold while she shriveled to a mummy.
Jesus.
What the hell did Jesus ever do for you? He didn’t get you the big break you’d prayed for all your life. He didn’t get you a husband who fulfilled your needs. He didn’t stop his hand from smashing your dreams. He didn’t grant you peace from what your father did. He didn’t end your suffering. Jesus had nothing to do with you, just dangled false hopes around your neck until you got so weighted down you made yourself a noose out of your love toy. But you let Jesus get the best of you like a jealous lover. And here you are.
And now what? What happens to me, Lila? You’re dead forever. The ultimate silent treatment. And I’ve got to go on living with nothing—nothing but a black lace stocking.
Bitch. You heartless, selfish bitch. You left me in the cold forever.
He slammed the casket with the flat of his hand and walked into the night.
67
“Then maybe it was Pendergast after all. But, you know, I really don’t give a shit.”
But I do, Neil. Oh, boy, do I.
Over the two days following the break-in, Neil’s computer hard drives had yielded no incriminating evidence connecting him to Terry Farina or the Novak woman, although that case was still being considered coincidental. Likewise, the Wolford stockings had, in fact, been purchased by his daughter and were found in their still unopened packages in her room.
Although Neil’s suspension from duty was now officially over, Steve and he had not crossed paths at headquarters. But he did leave a message on Neil’s cell phone apologizing for the break-in. He explained the circumstances behind the unwarranted search. “It was a desperate measure, and I’d understand completely if you reported it to the captain,” he added, knowing that the consequences could mean his and Sergeant Dacey’s suspension from the force.
But Neil did not return the call, nor had he apparently reported the incident, since Steve had not been red-carpeted. He also had not reported his suspicion that Steve had been with Terry Farina in Conor Larkins before she was murdered.
Maybe it was Pendergast after all.
And maybe he’d dig a little deeper on the guy before he went to Reardon and fessed up. Back to door one.
That was what Steve told himself as he drove to visit Dana.
He had not seen her since the operation. Nor had they talked. But she had left a brief message that it had gone well but that she didn’t want visitors until the discomfort and draining was behind her. Then today she left a message to drop by that evening after work.
“It looks much worse than it feels,” she said when she met him at the door.
Her face was heavily bandaged, with a thick packing running down her nose and tape crisscrossing under her eyes and across her brow. The flesh of her upper face was swollen and purple and her eyes were bloodshot. Once again, Steve could not help but see Terry Farina’s choked-up purple face. “I certainly hope so.”
She led him into the kitchen where she had been sipping a milkshake through a straw. The doctor had put her on a liquid diet for a few days. While she described what little she recalled, Steve was having difficulty imagining how different she’d look once the dressing came off. In fact, he was having difficulty trying to remember her old nose.
“What time’s the appointment?”
“Eleven tomorrow morning.”
“Excited?”
“Nervous. He said he took off the hump and thinned it down. Which means I’m probably five pounds lighter.”
Steve laughed.
“And you’ll be happy to know he gave me a break on the fee—four thousand.”
“That’s nearly half. How come?”
“He had another operation that same day and didn’t need to double-book the OR team.”
“Two in the same day?”
“He’s trying to get all his commitments behind him before he leaves for vacation.”
“There was something on him in the paper the other day, something about an award.”
“Yeah, he’s pretty high-profile.”
“Do we know if he’s gay or not?”
“I don’t think he is. He was married before. His wife died some years ago.” She got up and rinsed out her glass. “I’ve got to get to bed.”
He got up. “I’m still hoping we could talk.”
“About what?”
“About what I said on the phone the other day. For lack of a better phrase, I’ve done some soul-searching and I wanted to tell you that I think I’m ready to you know what. C-c-c-c-commit. K-k-k-k-kids.”
Her face contorted under the dressing. “Please don’t make me laugh.”
“I think I’m ready.”
“Nice timing.”
“Well, you can’t rush into these things. When can we talk?”
“I’m really not ready for this.”
“You mean I’m seven months too late.”
“I didn’t say that. Let me just get through this.”
“What are you doing next Sunday?”
“What’s next Sunday?”
“July first. Our anniversary. Maybe a nice quiet dinner somewhere.”
“Steve, we’re separated, remember? Besides, I’m going out with Lanie and some other friends.”
“Then how about the fourth? I’m off-duty. Maybe dinner at Flora then drive up to the river to catch the fireworks.” He tried to read her face, which was impossible with all the dressing.
She processed the suggestion, which seemed to take an hour. “All right. Okay.”
“Try to control your enthusiasm.”
She didn’t respond and walked him to the front door. “How’s sobriety going?”
He checked his watch. “Two hundred and fifty-three hours, eleven minutes.”
“Good. Keep it up.”
“How’s the dating going?”
“I’m not.”
“Good. Keep it up.”
“You’re impossible.”
“Only because love is blind.” He kissed her lightly on her cast and opened the door. “Call me after the unveiling.”
“Okay. Any breaks on the Farina case?”
“No.”
Steve arrived at home a little after nine. He took a shower and was just heading for bed when he heard the doorbell ring. He slipped on his jeans and a shirt and went downstairs. Standing in the foyer on the other side of the security door were Dacey and Hogan.
“Hey,” said Dacey. “How ya doin’? Can we talk?”
“Yeah, sure.” They had never been to his apartment before, and their expressions said their mission was serious. Before he closed the inside door, he spotted two squad cars double-parked across the street. Their lights were off, but he could see two uniforms in each. Instantly he felt a hot wire glow in his gut.
He led them upstairs. Dacey sat on the sofa while Hogan stood with his hands loose by his sides, looking as if he were ready to snap for his piece.
“Got something of a problem you might help us with,” Dacey said.
“Must be pretty big with the backup outside and him poised like High Noon.”
She opened up a pocket notepad. “The name Thomas Sena ring a bell?”
“Who?”
“Guess some time back you’d gotten into a fight with someone…a Thomas Sena in a bar in Chicopee.”
It took him a moment for the name to register. “That was twenty years ago.”