Kovacliska - Dust To Dust Part 9

Ibsen had cracked an eye partially open and moaned. The medical staff of the Hennepin County Medical Center ICU had responded by pumping him fiill of morphine.

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He looked small and fragile and pathetic in the bed, swathed in bandages, wired to an array of machines. No one sat at his bedside praying for G.o.d to spare him. Not one person had come to see him, according to the ICU staff, even though his boss at Boys Will Be Girls had been notified, and had presumably told Ibsen's friends at the club. Apparently, he didn't have any.

Then again, maybe the idea that he had been beaten to a pulp was enough to deter acquaintances from a.s.sociating with him.

"Can you hear me, Mr. Ibsen?" she asked for the third time.

He lay with his head turned toward her, eyes open but unfocused. Some people claimed conversation penetrated the brains of even the deeply comatose.Who was she to say it didn't?

"We'll get the people who did this to you:'she promised.

Cops. She felt sick to her stomach thinking it. Cops had done this damage.

Cops had committed this crime, this sacrilege against the uniforms they wore.

The damage didn't end with Ken Ibsen. It extended to the image of the department, to the trust the public was supposed to have in the officers they paid to protect them. She hated Ogden and Rubel for betraying that trust, and for undermining her belief in the commumity of cops that had been her second family most of her life.

She wasn't naive. She knew not all cops were good cops. There were plenty of a.s.sholes walking around with badges. But murder and attempted murder? At the very core of her being she still didn't want to believe it. Ken Ibsen was barely living proof that she would have to.

"They've got a h.e.l.l of a lot to answer for," she whispered, and turned away.

A uniform sat outside the door to Ibsen's room with a fis.h.i.+ng magazine in his lap. Hess, according to the name tag. A fat guy waiting for retirement or a heart attack, whichever came first. He gave Liska the "Oh, it's Just a girl" smirk. She wanted to kick his chair. She wanted to yank the magazine out of his hands and beat him on the head with it. She could afford to do neither.

"What precinct are you out of, Hess?" "Third.""Do you know why you were pulled downtown?"He shrugged." 'Cause I was available to watch this guy."He didn't seem to have an interest in knowing why someone from236 T A M 1 0 A G the downtown station house didn't get the Job. He was just glad for the timeto bone u p on his knowledge of bait and lures for walleye. Liska hadinsisted on people from outside, fearing that precinct camaraderie among theumiforms could put Ibsen at risk,just as it had compromised Andy Fallon'sdeath scene with the first responding uniform letting Ogden and Rubel into thehouse. She didn't know that having a lump like Hess at the door might not bejust as bad."Has Castleton been by?" she asked. "No.""Anyone else from the department?" "No.""Anyone besides doctors and nurses goes in that room, I'm to be notifiedimmediately.""Uh-huh." "Someone goes in that room with him-I don't care who it isget youra.s.s out of that chair and watch through the gla.s.s. I could have killed himfive times while you were sitting here debatingii9s versus minnows."Hess pouted a little at that, not liking being told his Job by a woman,certainly not one young enough to be his daughter."And see about getting a personality transplant while you're here," Liskamuttered under her breath as she walked away.She rode the elevator down to street level, thinking of Ogden and Rubel, andhow far they would go, whether they would be willing to try something here, inthe hospital. That seemed too great a risk, but if they'd had something to dowith the murder of Eric Curtis, if they'd had something to do with the deathof Andy Fallon, if they were willing to do to another human being what hadbeen done to Ken Ibsen, then there were no limits.I Then again, maybe they didn't want Ibsen dead. He was a more horrifyingsymbol alive, if what they wanted was to send a message to people not to f.u.c.kwith them. She wondered why they had waited till now to do it. Why not whenthe investigation had been hot? Maybe Ibsen didn't worry them so much as didher interest in reopeming the case. After all, no one had given Ibsen muchcredit to this point.Great. That meant Ibsen was made an example for her, and she really was thereason he was now lying in a hospital bed.They had to have been watching Ibsen to catch him in that alley, sheD U S T T 0 D 0 S T 237 thought. They were probably watching her. Omniscience seemed a tall order forthat pair. But then, they weren't simply a pair, she reminded herself.Springer had corroborated their alibi. Dungen, the gay officers' liaison, hadcommented to her there was no shortage of anti-gay sentiment in thedepartment. But how many cops would be willing to go so far as a.s.sault andmurder? Or be wining to look the other way? She wished she didn't have to findout. She left the elevator, head down, lost in thought, trying to prioritize thethings she needed to do. She wanted to call Eric Curtis's last patrol partner.What was his name? Engle. And she had been appointed by Castleton to go to IAto get the scoop on Ibsen's conversations with them. She wanted to call Kovacto update him on Ibsen and get the latest on the search of Neil Fallon'sproperty. He was probably in judge Lundquist's chambers by now.She dug her cell phone out of her pocket and glanced up, looking for a spotout of the traffic flow to stand. Rubel stood not ten feet down the hall,staring at her, blank-faced, out of uniform. The moment froze for a heartbeat,and she registered that he had something in his hand, then someone banged into her from behind. Rubel moved forward, sliding the mirrored shades in placewith one hand and sliding the other into his coat pocket."What the h.e.l.l are you doing here?" Liska blurted, stepping into his path.11 Flu shot.":'Ibsen's under guard."'Why should I care about that? He doesn't have anything to do with me.""Yeah, I guess you're right," she said. "It was your partner he had plenty totalk about."Rubel shrugged." Ogden's clear. I guess IA didn't think the guy had anythingworth hearing.""Somebody thought so. He'll be talking through what teeth he has left for acouple of months.""Like I told Castleton," Rubel said, "I wouldn't know anything about that.Ogden and Springer and I were playing pool in my bas.e.m.e.nt.""That ranks right up there with'The dog ate my homework."' "Innocent peopledon't live their lives having an alibi in miind:'he238 T A M Isaid, glancing over his shoulder back the way he'd come. "If you'll excuse me,Sergeant-""Yeah, you and Ogden and your h.o.m.ophobic pals are a regular bunch ofchoirboys." Liska wished she were tall enough to truly get in his face. As itwas, he was looking over the top of her head."You know, it's not the Eric Curtises and Andy Fallons who bring shame on thedepartment," she said. "It's no-neck thugs like you guys, thinking you shouldhave free rein to crush out anyone who doesn't fit your narrow ideal of humanperfection.You're the ones who ought to be run out of the department. And if Ican find one shred of evidence against you, I'll burn your a.s.ses like ablowtorch.""That sounds like a threat, Sergeant.""Yeah? Call IA," she said, and walked away down the hall Rubel had come from.She felt his eyes on her back until she turned the corner. "Can I help you,miss?"a desk attendant asked.Liska looked around. There was a small area of chairs with people -waiting andlooking miserable. The sign above the desk said LAB."Is this where I get my flu shot?""No, ma'am. Blood tests.You can get a flu shot in the ER. Go back down thehall the way you came and . . ."Liska murmured a thank-you, tuned the woman out, and walked away.I I M S U I N 0 T H E police department!" Neil Fallon ranted, his heavy bootsscreeching on the hard-packed snow as he paced a line back and forth toKovac's left. He wore nothing on his head, and the wind howling across thelake had swept his hair into a frantic mess. Wild-eyed, veins bulging in hisneck, he looked like a madman.Kovac lit a cigarette, inhaled deeply, and exhaled a thin ribbon of smoke thatwas quickly dispatched.The windchill factor had to be fifteen below. "You dothat, Neil," he said. "It's a waste of money you already don't have, but hey,what do I care?""False arrest-""You're not under arrest." "Hara.s.sment-" "We have a warrant.You're basicallyfiicked here, Neil," he said cahrily The sun shone weak yellow light through ahaze of blowing snow.D U S TT 0D U S T 239 The ice fis.h.i.+ng houses that dotted the near end of the lake seemed to huddle together for warmth.

Fallon stopped, huffing and puffing, watching through the wide door as cops combed through the stuff in the cluttered workshop.The. house had yielded nothing but proof that there was no woman living on the prermises. ,

"I didn't kin anyone," Fallon said emphatically.Kovac watched him from the corner of his eye. "Then you got nothing to worryabout, Sport. Go have a beer."Tippen from the SO detectives unit stood to Kovac's right, also smoking, alsostaring into the cavernous mouth of the shed. The collar of his parka was uparound his ears, a s...o...b..arder's red-andwhite-striped stocking cap perched onhis head. "I thought you quit smoking," he said to Kovac. "I did.""You're in serious denial, Sam.""Yeah, well ... Anybody tell you you look like something out of Dr. Seuss withthat friggin'hat?""I do not like green eggs and ham, Sam I Am"'Tippen said, deadpan. "Where'sLiska?" "You've got the hots for her.""I beg to differ. I was merely inquiring after a colleague." "Begging.Tinks'll like that. She's someplace warmer than here, working another angle.""Point Barrow, Alaska, is warmer than here." "What angle?" Fallon demanded."It doesn't concern you, Neil. She's got other cases." "I didn't kill myfather." "So you've said." Kovac kept his attention on the shed. Elwood was coming out,holding a pair of brown twill coveralls by the shoulders. Fallon's whole bodygave a jerk, as if he'd been given an electrical shock. "That's not what youthink." "And what am I gonna think, Neil?" "I can explain that.""What do you think, Sam?" Elwood asked. "It looks like blood to me."The coveralls were filthy. Spattered over the filth was what appeared to bedried blood and tissue. 0 A G Kovac turned to Neil Fallon. "Here's what I think, Neil. I think you're underarrest.You have the right to remain silent ...... C A L S P R I N G E R H A D called in sick. Liska pulled into his driveway andstared at his house for a moment before turning off the engine. Cal and themissus lived in one of a mult.i.tude of cul-de-sacs in suburban Eden Prairie. The house was what realtors would call "soft contemporary," meaning withoutstyle. Anyone coming home to this neighborhood from a night of barhoppingwould run the risk of walking into a neighbor's house and never knowing thedifference until the alarm went off in the morm*ng.Still and all, it was a nice place, and Liska would have been happy to havesomething on a par with it. She wondered how Cal afforded it. He made goodmoney at his grade and with the years he'd put in, but not this good. And sheknew for a fact he had a daughter at St. Olaf, a pricey private college downthe road in Northfield. Maybe Mrs. Cal brought home the big bacon. There was athought: Cal Springer, kept man.She went to the front door and rang the bell, then put her finger over thepeephole.."Who's there?" Springer's voice came through the door. He sounded as if theIRS was waiting to drag him away in chains for living above his means."Elana from Elite Escorts:'Liska called loudly. "I'm here for your fouro'clock spanking, Mr. Springer!""d.a.m.n it, Liska!" The door swung open and Springer glared at her, then scannedfor neighbors. "Could you have a little consideration? I live here.""Well, duhWhy would I try to embarra.s.s you in front of strangers?" She duckedunder Springer's arm and into the foyer, a place of colorless tile, colorlesspaint, and a colorless wood banister leading up the staircase to the secondfloor. "Did you know you shouldn't have a staircase lead right to a door like this?"she asked. "Yourftng shui is thrown all to hen. All your good chi goes rightout the door." "I'm sick," Springer announced."That could be why. Lack of chi. They say that rmight have been D U S T T 0 D U S T 241 what killed Bruce Lee. I read it in In Style magazine." She gave him the coponce-over from head to toe, taking in the mussed hair, the gray skin, the bagssagging under bloodshot eyes. He looked like h.e.l.l. "Or that could just be whatyou get for running with the likes of Rubel and Ogden. Strange company foryou, Cal, don't you think?" "My friends are. none of your business.""They are when I'm pretty sure they beat a man into a coma while you wereallegedly playing pool with them.""They couldn't have done that:' he said, but he wasn't looking at her. "Wewere at Rubel's." "Is that what Mrs. Cal is going to tell me when I ask her?" "She's not home.""She will be eventually!,Liska tried to get in front of him. Springer kept turning. He was wearingbaggy brown dress pants that had seen better days, and an illfitting gray St.Olaf sweats.h.i.+rt with sleeves shrunk halfway up his forearms. He couldn't evenget dressing casually right."What's this got to do with you anyway?" he asked irritably."I'm Castleton's second on this a.s.sault.The vic was supposed to be meeting me.He had something interesting to tell me about the Curtis murder. And you know,now that someone went to all the trouble to shut him up, I'm all the moreanxious to find out what it was he had to say.You know how I am with somethinglike this, Cal. I'm like a terrier after a rat. I don't quit till I get it."Springer made a sound in the back of his throat and put his hand on hisstomach. His gaze strayed to the open door of the half-bath that was tuckedunder the staircase. "What are you doing, hanging with uniforms, Cal? You're a detective, for G.o.d'ssake. And you must have-what?-fifteen years on them? No offense, but why wouldthey want to hang with you?""Look, I told you-I'm not feeling well, Liskal" he said, glancing at thebathroom again. "Could we have this conversation some other time?""After I drove way the h.e.l.l out here?" she said, offended. "You're some host.Nice house, though."She wandered to the edge of the foyer and looked into a hving room with astone fireplace and overstuffed couches. A tall Christmas tree was overlydecorated with artsy-craftsy ornaments and too much tinsel. "Taxes out heremust be a killer, huh?"242 T A M 0 A G "Why would you care?" Springer asked, exasperated."I wouldn't. I couldn't afford a place like this. How do you?"She looked right at him, catching him unguarded for a second, seeing somethingbleak in his eyes. It struck her very clearly at that moment that Cal Springerwas probably always playing catch-up in one way or another, and probablyalways falling a little short of expectations.The sound of the garage door opening caught his attention and he looked alittle sicker than he had a moment ago."That's my wife. Home from work.""Yeah? What's she do? Brain surgery? Oh, silly me:'Liska said. "If she was abrain surgeon, she would have done something about your lack of good sense.""She's a teacher," Springer said, hand worrying his belly."Oh, well, that explains the extravagant lifestyle. Those schoolteachers justrake in the dough.""We do well enough between us," Springer said defensively.Well enough to be up to his a.s.s in debt, Liska thought. "But a promotionwouldn't hurt, huh? 'Course, after the f.u.c.kup on Curtis, that's looking prettydim. So you think to run for delegate and show the bra.s.s maybe you'remanagement material. Right?"

"Calvin? I'm home." The soft, sweet voice came from the kitchen. "I got the Imodium."

"We're in here, Patsy." "We?"

There was a rustle of grocery bags being set down, then a moment later Mrs.

Cal came 'into the foyer, looking like a stereotype of a middle-aged schoolteacher. A little plump, a little frumpy, big gla.s.ses, mousy hair.

"Nikki Liska, Mrs. Springer." Liska held her hand out. "From work," Cal specified.

"I think we met at a function once," Liska said.

Mrs. Cal looked confused. Or maybe apprehensive. "Did you come out to check on Calvin? His stomach has just been a mess."

"Yeah, well, actually, I had to ask him a couple of questions." Springer had moved behind his wife. His flat face looked made of wax. His focus seemed to be on some other dimension, one where he could see his life crumbling like so much old cheese.

Mrs. Cal's brows knitted. "Questions about what?"

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"Do you know where Cal was last night around eleven, eleven-thirty?"Mrs. Cal's eyes filled with tears behind the too-big gla.s.ses. She glanced overher shoulder at her husband. "What's this about?"ust answer her, Patsy," Springer said impatiently. "It's nothing." Liskawaited, a weight in her chest, thinking of her own mother when IA had come tothe house and asked questions. She knew that feeling of vulnerability; thatsense of betrayal, of being turned on by your own kind."Calvin was out last might," Patsy Springer said softly. "With friends."Behind her, Springer rubbed a hand over his face and tried to stifle a sigh."No," Liska said, her eyes on him. "Those people Cal claims he was out with?They're not his friends, Mrs. Springer. I hope for his sake you just told me alie.""That's enough, Liskal" Springer said, stepping between them. "You can't comeinto my home and call my wife a har."Liska held her ground, took her gloves out of her coat pocket, and pulled themon, one and then the other."You'weren't listening, Cal," she said quietly. "Get out in front of thisbefore you get caught in the wheels. Nothing they've got on you is as bad aswhat they've done.""What's she talking about, Calvin?" There was fear in Mrs. Cal's voice now.Springer glared at Liska. "Leave my house."Liska nodded, taking a final glance at the too-nice house, and a finallook at Cal Springer, a man being eaten alive from the inside out. "Thinkabout it, Calvin," she said. "You know what they did tohim. You probably know more than that. They wear the same badge you and I do,and that's just wrong. Be a man and stop them." Springer looked away, handpressed to his belly, sweat misting his pale, ashen skin. He said nothing.Liska walked out into the cold of the fading afternoon, got into the car, andheaded east for Minneapolis, wanting nothing more than to be in her modesthome with her sons.244 T A M0 A QC H A P T EW H AT A R E T H E odds that blood is Iron Mike's?" Tippen asked over a gla.s.sof beer.They sat in Patrick's with the diehards who always gathered after first s.h.i.+ft,and the Friday night get-loose-once-a-week bunch."Shm. to none," Kovac said. He took a handful of party mix from the bowl onthe table and sorted out the peanuts and pretzels. He had long suspected thehard things masquerading as corn chips were, in fact, toenail clippings. "Hehad to be in front of the old man when the gun went off.The mess went in the other direction. I think the blood on the coveralls is Just what Neil Fallon says it's from-gutting fish. But that doesn't mean he didn't kill the old man.And now we've got him sitting in J* ail, where he can sweat and fret anddecide to spill the story.""Being the weekend, we won't get lab results on the blood until Tuesday orWednesday," Elwood interjected. "If he's got something to tell, I believehe'll let it go by Sunday night.""Confession on the Sabbath!' Tippen nodded with the wisdom of experience."Very symbolic.""Very Catholic' " Kovac corrected. "That's how he was raised. Neil Fallon's no hard-case killer. If he did the old man, he won't be able to live with theguilt for long.""I don't know, Sam," Tippen said. "Don't we all harbor guilt245 for something? We carry it around our whole lives like ballast. Something toweigh us down and keep us from reaching for true happiness. It reminds uswe're not worthy, gives us an excuse to underachieve.""Most of us didn't clip our own fathers. That kind of guilt rolls out," Kovacsaid. "Eventually."lie rose from the booth, wis.h.i.+ng he didn't have to."Where are you going?"Tippen demanded. "It's your turn to buy-" Kovac dug outhis wallet and dropped some bills on the table. "To see if I can't hasten theprocess along for someone."SOMEONE D 0 W N T H E block from Steve Pierce was having a Christmasparty. Music and conversation and laughter escaped the town house as a freshbatch of guests arrived. Kovac leaned back against his car for a moment andwatched as he finished his cigarette, then dropped the b.u.t.t in the gutter andwent to the door. Lights shone in the windows of Pierce's duplex. His Lexus was in the drive. Hemight have walked down to the neighbor's party, but Kovac doubted it. StevePierce wouldn't join in the holiday festivities this year. It was d.a.m.n hard tobe merry and bright with the weight of loss and grief and guilt hanging aroundyour neck. Kovac's hope was that the fianc6e would be absent, leaving Piercealone and vulnerable. "Kick 'em when they're down," he muttered, and rang the bell. Time pa.s.sed, andhe rang it again. More guests arrived down the block. One of them, a guywearing a red m.u.f.fler, ran into the yard, threw an arm around a snowman, andbegan to sing "Holly jolly Christmas.""Jesus, you again," Pierce muttered as he pulled the door open. "Have you everheard of a telephone?""I prefer that personal touch, Steve. Shows how much I care." Pierce lookedworse than he had the night after he'd found Andy Fallon's body. He waswearing the same clothes. He stank of cigarettes and scotch and sweat-the kindof sweat from emotional upset. The smell of it was different from the smell ofphysical work, more sour and sharp. He had a short gla.s.s half-fiffl of scotchin one hand and a cigarette hanging from his lip. He looked as if he hadn'tshaved since the funeral. "You care to throw my a.s.s injail:'he said. "Only if you've committed a crime."0 A 0 Pierce laughed. He was close to drunk, but he probably wouldn't allow himselfto cross over, to deaden the pain completely. Kovac suspected he wanted torhurt, and the scotch allowed him to maintain it at a tolerable level."Neil Fallon's injail," Kovac said."It looks like he rmight have killed theold man. Id like to hear your take on that.""Well." Pierce raised his gla.s.s. "That calls for a toast. Come on in,Sergeant:'he invited as he walked away from the open door.Kovac followed. "A toast that Nell's in jail or that Mike's dead?" "Two forone. They deserved each other."They went into the den with the dark blue walls. Kovac pulled the door shut behind him, to buy an extra rminute or two if the girlfriend showed up.How well do you know Neil?"Pierce took another gla.s.s from the small cupboard above the bar and splashedin some of the Macallan, then topped off his own gla.s.s. "Well enough to knowhe's a thug. Angry, jealous, petty, mean. Achip off the old block." He held the new gla.s.s out to Kovac. "I used to tellAndy he must have gotten sent home from the hospital with the wrong familywhen he was a baby. I could never see how he came out of that pack of pitbulls. He was so decent, so good, so kind."His eyes reddened around the rims, and he went to the narrow window thatlooked out on the side of the house.The place next door was dark."He was so much better than they were:' he said, the sense of injustice andfrustration thickening his voice. "And yet he couldn't stop trying to win themover." Kovac sipped the scotch, realizing at first taste there was valid reason itcost fifty bucks a bottle. Molten gold might taste this smooth."He was his father's favorite for a long time," he said, his eyes steady onPierce. He eased around to the side of one of the leather armchairs for a better angle. "I imagine it was pretty hard for him to take rejection from theold man." "He kept trying to make it up to him. As if he had something to be sorry for.He wanted the old man to understand something a guy like that will never graspin a million years. I told Andy to let it go, that he couldn't change someoneelse's mind, but he wouldn't listen.""How was he going to make it up to him? What could be the trade-off?"D U S T T 0 D U S T 247 Pierce shrugged. "There isn't one. That's Just it. Andy thought maybe theycould do something together. Write the old man's memoirs or something. He usedto talk about that sometimes, that maybe if he knew more about the old man, hecould understand him better, find some common ground with him. He wanted toknow more about the shooting that put him in the chair, that being a definingmoment in Mike's life. But the old man didn't appreciate the effort. He didn'twant to talk about what happened. He didn't want to talk about his feelings. Idoubt he had the right vocabulary for it. Personal enlightenment isn't high onthe list for guys like Mike Fallon, or Ne 'i1.""And what about Neil?" Kovac asked." He claims it didn't have any impact onhim when Andy came out."Pierce laughed. "Sure. Smug a.s.shole. He hated Andy already. He thought beingthe straight one gave him an advantage with the old man. He wasn't such ablack sheep anymore. h.o.m.os.e.xuality trumps being a felon in the redneck schemeof things.""Did Andy see much of him?""He tried to do macho, brotherly things with Neil from time to time. Hunting,fis.h.i.+ng, that kind of thing. A complete waste of time. Neil didn't want tounderstand Andy or like Andy. Neil didn't want anything from Andy but money.""He'd asked Andy for money?""Sure. First he put it to him as an investment opportumity I told Andy toforget it. Give Neil the money if he didn't care if he ever saw it again. Asan investment? What a crock. Might as well flush the money down the john.""What did Andy do?""Put him off. Kept saying maybe later, hoping Neil would take the hint." Hedrank some more of the scotch and muttered, "Investment opportunity.""Did they ever fight, that you knew of?"Pierce shook his head. He sucked the cigarette down to the filter and put theb.u.t.t out against a corner of the windowpane. "No. Andy wouldn't fight withhim. He felt too guilty about being better than the average Fallon.Why? Do youthink Neil killed him?"

"That door's still open.""I don't see it. Neil's not that clever.You would have caught him by now."248 T A M0 A 0"We have," Kovac rerm'nded him."Still ... you know what I mean." He went back to the bar and freshened hisdrink for the umpteenth time. "Neil's the messy type, don't you think?Shooting, stabbing, blood and gore, devastation at the scene, fingerprintseverywhere.""Maybe so.""He sure as h.e.l.l wouldn't be sorry. Christ, he probably couldn't spell sorry.Hc's the one who should have died," Pierce said bitterly, and drank more ofthe scotch, stirring up his anger, pouring fuel on the flames. "Worthless.e.xcuse for a human being. It doesn't make sense that someone as good as Andy-"Tears rushed up on him like a flash flood, and he choked on them and foughtagainst them, and lost. He swore and threw his drink. The gla.s.s shatteredagainst the bar top, spraying the immediate area with liquor and shards ofcrystal."G.o.d!" he cried, covering his head with his arms, as if fending off the blowsof a higher power punis.h.i.+ng him for his sins. He staggered from side to side,sobbing; dry, raw sounds tearing at his throat. "Oh, G.o.d!"Kovac waited, let him feel his pain, gave him time to look the demon in theface.After a time, he said, "You loved him."It sounded strange saying it to a man. But as he witnessed the depth of StevePierce's pain, he thought he should be so lucky to have another humanbeing--male or female care that deeply about him. Then again, maybe all he wa.s.seeing was guilt."Yes," Pierce admitted in a tortured whisper.Kovac put a hand on his shoulder, and Pierce shrank away. "You had arelations.h.i.+p with him.""He wanted me to admit it, to come out. But I couldn't. People don'tunderstand.They don't. Even when they say they do, they don't. I've seen it. Iknow what's said behind the back. The jokes, the sruickering, the lack ofrespect. I know what happens. My career ... everything I've worked for ...I-1-" He choked himself off, as if the argument wasn't convincing even to hisown ears. He sank down in one of the leather chairs, his face in his hands."He didn't understand. I couldn't..."Kovac set his own drink aside. "Were you there, Steve? The night Andy died?"D U S TT 0D U S T 249 He shook his head and kept on shaking it, wagging it back and forth as he tried to collect himself.

"No," he said at last. "I told you, I saw him Friday night. Jocelyn's irl riends had a wedding shower for her. I hadn't seen him in a f g month. We had fought about his coming out, and ... We hadn't been together in a long time. Hadn't even spoken."

"Was he seeing someone else?"

"I don't know. Maybe. I saw him at a bar one night with someone, but I don't know if there was anything to it."

"Did you know him? This other guy?" "No."

"What'd he look like?"

"Like an actor. Dark hair, great smile. I don't know that they were really together."

"What happened when you went to see him Friday night?" "We fought again. He wanted me to tell Joss the truth." "You got angry."

"Frustrated." "How long had you and Andy been involved?"

He made a vague motion with one hand. "Off and on since college. At first, I

thought it was just ... experimentation ... curiosity. But I kept ... needing... and living this other life ... and I couldn't see a way out of it. I'mengaged to Douglas Daring's daughter, for G.o.d's sake.We're getting married ina month. How could I ... ?" "You'd had that argument before.""Fifty times.We'd have that fight, break it off for a while, get backtogether, ignore the issue, he'd get depressed . . ."He let the sentence trail off and sat there, slumped over like an old man, his.e.xpression bleak with pain and regret."Would he have told Jocelyn?" Kovac asked."No. He wasn't like that. It was up to me, my responsibility. And I wouldn'taccept it.""Was he angry?""He was hurt:'he said, then fell silent for a moment. "I don't want to believehe might have killed himself, because I don't want to believe I might havecaused him to." His eyes filled again, and he closed- them tight, squeezing the tears outbetween the lashes. "But I'm afraid I did," he whispered. "I couldn't be man enough to0 A G_-admit what I am, and now maybe the person I loved most in the world is deadbecause of that. Then I did kill him. I loved him and I killed him." Silence hung between them for a moment, only the murmur of the stereo in thedistant background. One of those soft pseudo-jazz stations that seem to playthe same song continuously; same beat, same wimpy saxophone, same lazytrumpet. Kovac sighed and thought about what to do next. Nothing, he guessed.There was no point in pus.h.i.+ng Pierce further. This was his secret, the weightaround his neck. His punishment was to carry it around for the rest of hislife. "Will you tell Jocelyn?" Kovac asked."No." "That's a h.e.l.l of a big lie to live, Steve." "It doesn't matter.""Maybe not to you, but don't you think she deserves something more?""I'll be a good husband, a good father, even.We make a stunning couple, don'tyou think? That's what Joss wants-her own life-size Ken doll to dress up andtake out and play make-believe with. I'm very good at make-believe. I'veplayed it most of my life.""And you'll get your partners.h.i.+p at Daring-Landis, and everyone will livemiserably ever after.""No one win even notice." "It's the American way." "Are you married, Kovac?""Twice." "So you're an expert.""On the misery part. I finally figured out it was cheaper and easier to bemiserable alone." They were silent again for a moment."You should tell her, Steve. For both your sakes." "No."Kovac saw the door to the hall swing open slowly, and a ripple of dread wentthrough him. Jocelyn Daring stood in the doorway, still in her coat. He didn'tknow how long she had been standing there, but by the look on her face it hadbeen long enough. Tears and mascara striped her cheeks. All the color haddrained from her lips. Pierce looked at her and said nothing. Slowly her mouthpulled back into a trembling snarl.D U S T T 0 D U S T 251 . "You stupid son of a b.i.t.c.h!" She spat the words out like so many bullets,then flew across the room, shrieking like a banshee, eyes wild with fury.Kovac caught her around the waist as she launched herself at Pierce. Shescreamed and flailed, fists swinging, connecting with his forehead andsplitting open the cut that had begun to heal. She kicked him and twisted outof his grasp, grabbing a pewter candlestick off the end table.

"You stupid son of a b.i.t.c.h!" she screamed again, swinging and hittingPierce--,who hadn't moved-a glancing blow off the side of his head. "I toldyou not to talk to him! I told you! I told you!"Kovac grabbed her again from behind and struggled, dragging her backward. Herbody was taut and strong, and she was tall, and her fury was superhuman.Pierce did nothing to defend himself Blood ran in bright rivulets down theside of his head. He wiped at it with his fingertips and smeared some onto hischeek. "I loved you! I loved you!" Jocelyn shouted, nearly incoherent. "Why did youhave to tell? I could have made it right."The fury ran out of her then, and she collapsed, sobbing. Kovac maneuvered herto a chair and eased her down into it. Body limp, she slipped down to thefloor and curled into a ball, pounding her fist against the chair. "I couldhave made it right. I could have . .Kovac leaned down and pried the candlestick from her hand. Blood dripped fromhis own wound onto her sweater. Baby-blue cashmere."I think you're right, Sergeant:' Pierce said dimly, staring at his b.l.o.o.d.yhand. "It probably is easier to be miserable alone."T H E N E 10 H B 0 R H A D managed to find three square feet of yard notalready occupied, and had added a new display to the montage: a lightedscoreboard counting down the hours and nuinutes to Santa's arrival.Kovac stared at it for an indeterniiinate, length of time, mesmerize- dby theever-changing numbers, and wondered how bad the suspension would be if he wereto be arrested for destruction of private property. How many glowing, garis.h.i.+cons to the overcommercialization of the holiday could he destroy before thedamage toll took him0 A G over the line from petty misdemeanor to something worse? Could he plead afelony down and still keep his badge?In the end, he didn't have the energy for vandalism, and simply went into hishouse. It was as empty as before, except for the stench of garbage that shouldhave been left at the curb that morning. Home sweet home.He took off his coat, threw it over the back of the couch, and went into thehalf-bath off the hall to wash up and a.s.sess the damage.The gash above hisleft eye was angry-looking, crusted and smeared with dried blood. He shouldhave gone to the ER to get it repaired, but he hadn't. He dabbed at it with awashcloth, wincing, then gave up and washed his hands and took three Tylenol.In the kitchen, he opened the fridge, pulled out a half-eaten meatb.a.l.l.sandwich, and sniffed at it. Better than the garbage ...Sandwich in hand, he leaned back against the counter and listened to thesilence, the scene at Pierce's house replaying through his head. JocelynDaring, insane with rage and pain and jealousy, flying across the room.I told you not to talk to him.... Rly did you have to tell? ... I loved you. Iloved you.My did you have to tell? Strange wording, he thought. As if Pierce'sh.o.m.os.e.xuality was a secret she had already known, even though Pierce hadn'ttold her and had had no intention of telling her.He thought back to the night he'd first met her, the way she behaved towardPierce--possessive, protective; the carefully blank look in her eyes when he'dasked her if she'd known Andy Fallon.nat's whatJoss wants-her own life-size Ken doll to dress up and take out andplay make-believe with....She was amazingly strong. Even now, Kovac's biceps ached from the effort torestrain her. Pensive, he raised the sandwich to take an absent bite. His pager went offbefore he could taste-test for salmonella.The display showed Liska's cellphone number. He dialed her back and waited.She answered the phone: "House of Pain. We deliver.""Yeah. I'll take another smack in the head, and a kick in the teeth fordessert."

"Sorry. No time for fun. But this'll make your day. Deene Combs just reachedout and touched someone. One-of Charmiqua Jones's kids is dead."U S T T 0 D U S T 253 C H A P T E W H A T H A P P E N E D T 0 you?" Liska asked, frowning at Kovac as he climbedout of the car. "A woman scorned." "You don't have a woman to scorn." "Why should that limit my chances at suffering?" he asked, taking in the scene. Chamiqua Jones's neighborhood was shabby, the houses sagging old monstersbuilt in the early part of the century and later cut up into apartments. But.i.t was by no means a slum. The families who lived here were poor, but for themost part did their best to look out for one another. The gangs and the crackdealers were far worse enemies to them than to white suburbia. And this was why, Kovac thought as they walked toward the gathering of copsand crime scene techs. A small body lay in the street near a pile of snow. The body had been covered.The mound of dirty snow was splashed with blood. Chamiqua Jones stood off toone side, wailing, screaming, rocking, friends and neighbors trying to comfortand restrain her. "The kids were playing on the s...o...b..nk," Liska said. "According to one ofthem, a car with three or four g.a.n.g.b.a.n.gers pulled up, one254 stuck his head out the window and called the name Jones. When he saw which child reacted, he shot her. Caught her once in the face, two to the torso.""Aw,jeez-" "Not exactly a subtle message." "Whose case?""Tom Michaels." At the mention of his name, Michaels looked up from a conversation with one ofthe uniforms, and immediately came toward them. Stocky and full of nervousenergy, he wore his hair slicked straight back with a ton of goo to combat thefact that he looked about seventeen. It didn't work. He was a good cop."Sam, I knew you and Liska were on the Nixon a.s.sault," he said. "I figuredyou'd want a heads-up on this.""Thanks, I guess," Kovac said. "Any ID on the shooter?" Michaels made a face.Answer: no. And there wouldn't be. TheJones girl was dead because her motherhad been asked to testify against one of Deene Combs's thugs. Theneighborhood's leaders would make an angry show of demanding j ustice anddaring citizens to stand up and fight back, but no one would. Not after this.And who the h.e.l.l could blame them? "I told you!"The shout turned all their heads. Charruiqua Jones stormed toward them, herfocus on Kovac, her eyes full of tears and pain and anger. She thrust a glovedfinger at him."I told you you was gonna get me killed! Look what they did! Look what theydid! They killed my child! They killed my Chantal! What you gonna do for menow, Kovac?""I'm sorry, Charmi qua:' Kovac said, knowing how horribly inadequate theap'ology was.She glared at him and at Liska. "You're sorry? My child is dead! I told you toleave me be, but you had to keep on. Testify, Chanui qua, you said. Tell whatyou saw or we'll put your black a.s.s in jail, you said. I told you what wouldhappen. I told you!"She hit Kovac in the chest with both fists as hard as she could. He let her have her shot. Then she stepped back, glaring at him because it hadn't helped."I hate you!" she shouted.Kovac said nothing. Chanui qua Jones didn't want to hear how rotten D U S T T 0 D U S T 255 he felt, or how badly he wished this hadn't happened. She wouldn't forgive himor absolve him for doing his job, for following orders. It wouldn't impressher that he had become a cop because he wanted to help people, to try to dohis little part to make the world a better, safer place. Charmiqua Jonesdidn't give a s.h.i.+t about him, except to hate him. "Ms. Jones, if there'sanything we can do-" Liska began."You've done enough," Jones said- bitterly. "Do you have children, Detective?""I have two boys.""Then you pray to G.o.d you don't ever have to feel what I'm feeling. That'swhat you can do."She turned away and went to where her daughter's body lay. No one tried tostop her."It's a p.i.s.ser"' Michaels said quietly, watching as Jones pulled the coverback and touched her child's b.l.o.o.d.y head. "If people could stand up and giveus thugs like Combs, this wouldn't happen. But because this kind of thinghappens, n.o.body wants to stand up.""We tried to tell Leonard to back off," Kovac said. "Come up with some otherangle to get Combs. But Sabin thought if we could nail the guy from the Nixona.s.sault, he could turn him for Combs."Michaels sniffed. "Bulls.h.i.+t. No banger's gonna beat a guy's head in with atire iron, then give up his boss.""You know it and I know it." "And Chamiqua Jones pays for it," Liska said, not able to take her eyes awayfrom the grieving mother."Whatever you need from us relating to the Nixon case, just ask," Kovac said."And vice versa:'Michaels said. Kovac put a hand on Liska's shoulder as Michaels went back to work. "Lifesucks, and the night's still young:' he said. "Come on, Tinks. I'll buy you acup of coffee. We can cry on each other's shoulders.""No, thanks:'she said absently, still watching Chamiqua Jones even as theystarted to walk away. "I need to get home to my boys."Kovac put her in her car and watched her drive away, wis.h.i.+ng he had someone toget home to.A T E R R I B L E S E N S E of urgency chased Liska home. A feeling of dread,of impending doom. She couldn't escape the idea that while0 A 0 0 she had been paying her respects to the mother of a dead child, somethinghorrible had happened to her own children. She drove fast, ignoring trafficlaws and speed limits, feeling almost as if Charmiqua Jones's words to her hadbeen a curse. That was stupid, she knew, but it didn't matter.As a horm*cide detective, she encountered death on a regular basis. Like mostcops, she had hardened herself to it long ago. That was the necessary route tomaintain sanity. But there was no immunity to the e4fects of seeing a deadchild. There was no escaping the emotionsthe anger and sadness at how briefthat young life had been, at the things that child would never experience; theheavy sense of guilt that the death could have been prevented somehow, someway. Adults could look out for themselves. Oftentimes an adult victim's lifechoices put the person in the situation that ended his life. But childrennever chose to be put at risk. Children were dependent on the adults in theirlives to keep them safe.Liska felt that burden now, as she turned off Grand Avenue and spotted herhome. It was still standing.That was a good start. It hadn't been burned tothe ground in her absence. It didn't matter that the sitter had told her sojust ten minutes prior when she'd called home on her cell phone.I She pulled in the driveway, abandoned the car, and hurried to the house,fumbling with her keys.

The boys were in their pajamas, stretched out on their bellies in front of thetelevision, mesmerized by the video game they were playing. Liska dropped herpurse, toed her shoes off, and hurried across the room to them, ignoring thesitter's greeting. She fell down on her knees between them and scooped a boyinto each arm, earning howls of protest."Hey!" "You ruined my chance!" "I was winningf""You were not!" "Was so!" Liska pulled them close and breathed deep the smell of clean hair andmicrowave popcorn. "I love you guys. I love you so much!" "You're cold!" R.J.exclaimed. Kyle gave her a speculative look. "Do you love me enough to let me stay overat Jason's house tonight? He called and asked."D U S T T 0 D U S T 257 "Tonight?" Liska said, hugging him tighter. She closed her eyes against silly,sudden tears of relief and joy. "Not a chance, Sport. Tomorrow, maybe. Nottonight. Not tonight."T H E S I T T E R S A w herself home. Liska played with the boys until theycouldn't keep their eyes open anymore, then shepherded them off to their bedsand lingered at the door, watching them sleep.Calmer, rea.s.sured they were safe and sound, she checked all the locks, thendrew a bubble bath-a rare, feminine treat. The warmth penetrated muscle,easing out the tension, the anxiety, the feeling of toxicity that alwayslingered after working a murder scene, as if evil hung in the air. She closedher eyes and rested her head on a rolled-up towel, a steaming cup of tea onthe edge of the tub. She tried to clear her mind of everything and just drift,Just be for a few minutes.What a luxury.When she was completely relaxed, she opened her eyes, dried her hands, andreached for the stack of mail she'd piled on the edge of the vanity. No bills.No junk mail.just a small stack of what looked to be Christmas cards. Onceagain, she wasn't going to get her cards out until G.o.d knew what holiday.There was a card from her Aunt Cici in Milwaukee. A photo card of cousin Philthe dairy farmer and his family all in matching "Got Milk?" T-s.h.i.+rts.Hallmark's finest from a college friend who had otherwise lost touch so longago she still addressed the envelope to Mr. and Mrs.; why did people like thatbother? Was it really so much trouble to cull out the database?The last of the envelopes was addressed only to her. Another computer label,no return address. Odd. Obviously a card. The envelope was red. She slippedthe letter opener under the flap. A simple business-type card with "Season'sGreetings" on the front. Something fell from it as Liska opened the card, andshe swore and grabbed the dark square as it hit the surface of the bathwater.A Polaroid snapshot. No. Three photographs stuck together. Photographs of herchildren. Liska's blood ran cold. Goose b.u.mps pebbled every inch of her skin. Her handsbegan to tremble. One photograph had been taken as the boys stood in line toget on the bus at school. The second showed them playing with a friend as theschool bus drove away from the stop258 T A M 0 A 0 down the block. The third showed them walking up the sidewalk to the house. Oneach photograph, someone had drawn a circle around each of the boys'heads witha black marker. Inside the card, the only message was a phone number typed in black.Setting the card and photos aside, Liska hauled herself out of the tub,wrapped her dripping body in a towel, and grabbed the portable phone. She wa.s.shaking so badly, she misdialed the number twice. On the third try, the callwent through, and she waited. A machine answered on the fourth ring, therecorded voice sending a bolt of fear straight through her.

"Hi. This is Ken. I'm out doing something so exciting, I can't take your call right now...."

Yeah. He was lying in a bed in a surgical intensive care unit. Ken Ibsen.

0 U S T.

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D U S T 259.

A P T E.

FAM OUS LAST WORDS: Itseemed like agood idea at the time. Kovac rang the bell before he could change his mind. He knew the minute she looked out the peephole in the front door. He could feel her presence, could feel her scrutiny, her indecision. Finally, the door opened and she looked out at him.

"Yes, I do have a phone," he said. "I have several, and I do know how to use them.,, "Then why don't you?" Savard asked. "You mi*ght have said no."

"I would have said no." "See?"

She didn't invite him in. Her eyes narrowed as she stared at his forehead.

"Were you in a fight?"

Kovac touched his fingers to the spot, remembering that he'd never finished was.h.i.+ng the blood off. "An innocent casualty of someone else's war."

:,I don't understand."

'No. Neither did I," he said, recalling the scene at Steve Pierce's house. "It doesn't matter."

"Why did you come here?"

260.

"Mike Fallon was murdered." Her eyes widened. "What?"

"Someone killed him. I've got his son, Neil, sitting in the pokey now, reflecting on the cleansing power of confession."

"My G.o.d:' Savard murmured, opening the door a little wider. "What have you got on him?"

"Nothing, really.We did it with rMirrors. If it weren't the weekend and if he had a clever lawyer, he'd be sitting in his bar by now," he admitted. "On the o;her hand, he had opportunity, motive, and a bad att.i.tude."

"You think he did it."

"I think Neil is proof there should be a lifeguard at the gene pool. He's a small, mean, angry person, bitter over the fact that people don't love him in spite of himself His father's son:'he added, an ironic twist to his mouth.

"I thought Mike Fallon was your friend."

"I respected what Mike represented on the job. He was an oldtime cop."

He looked back out toward the street, where a car was going by slowly. A couple checking house numbers. Normal people looking for another Christmas party. They probably hadn't come to this neighborhood from a murder scene.

"Maybe I had a soft spot for him because I want someone to have a soft spot for me when I'm that old and that resentful."

"Is that what you came here looking for?" Savard asked. "Sympathy?"

He shrugged. "Id even settle for pity tonight." "I don't keep much of that around."

He thought she was almost allowing herself to smile. There was something softer in her eyes than he'd seen before.

"How about scotch?"

"I don't keep that either." "Neither do I. I drink it:'he said.

"That's right, you're a stereotype. The tragic hero."

"The twice-divorced, smoking, drinking workaholic. I don't know what's heroic about that. It reeks of failure to me, but maybe I have unrealistic standards."

"Why did you come here, Sergeant? I don't see what the news about Mike Fallon has to do with me."

D U S T.

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D U S T 261.

"Apparently so you could make me stand in the cold while you chip away at myself-esteem with your blunt indifference."Almost-amus.e.m.e.nt to go with the almost-smile. "Laying it on a little thick,aren't you?""I find subtlety is -a waste of time. Especially when I've been drinking. I'vealready been indulging in that scotch we were talking about." "Drinking anddriving? I guess I'd be doing a public service if I invited you in for a cupof coffee." "You'd be doing me a service.The only thing that overheats in my car is theradiator." Savard sighed and'opened the door wider.Kovac took advantage of the opportunity before she could change her mind.Winning the war of attrition. The house was warm and smelled of a wood fireand the aforementioned coffee. Homey. His house was cold and smelled ofgarbage."I think maybe you're developing a soft spot for me, Lieutenant." "Mmm ... inmy head '" she said, and walked away.Kovac toed off his shoes and followed her through a small formal diming roomto a country kitchen. She was dressed for lounging in a loose, flowing outfitthe color of sage. Like something an old-time Hollywood star would wear, hethought. Her hair tumbled around her head in soft, silver-blond waves. A veryalluring picture, except that there was a stiflhess in her back and neck a.s.she moved that hinted of pain. He wondered again about her story of a fall.Obviously, there was no one living with her, no boyfriend hanging around on aFriday Might."How are you feeling?" he asked. "I'm fine."She took a stoneware mug from a cupboard and filled it from the pot simmeringon the coffee machine. The room was lit softly, by small yellow lights mountedunder the cupboards and on the ceiling. "I take it Neil Fallon doesn't have a.n.a.libi." "Not that stands up in court," Kovac said, leaning against the island. "Peoplenever believe anyone else was home alone in bed. They always suspect everyonein the world is having s.e.x or committing crimes but them.""Milk? Sugar?" "Black, thanks."."No physical evidence?"0 A Q"None I believe will hold up past the lab "He didn't leave any prints on thegun?" "No.""What made you decide it was murder, then? Something the ME came up with?""The scene.The position of the gun. It shouldn't have fallen where it did.Couldn't have, if Mike pulled the trigger."She handed him his coffee, sipped her own, and made a thoughtful sound."That's sad his life had to end that way. His own son ... imagine . . ." shesaid, staring at the floor. "I'm sorry.""Yeah.You know, he had a chance to make things right with Andy and he didn'ttake it. Then everything went to h.e.l.l on a sled." He tasted the coffee, alittle surprised there was no exotic flavor to it. It wasjust coffee."Apparently, Andy wanted to do something with Mike in relation to the Thornehomicide. Write down Mike's story or something.""Really? Did Mike tell you that?""No. A friend of Andy's mentioned it. Mike didn't want to do it. I guessstewing in the memories and sharing them were two different things. Did Andyever say anything about it to you?"Savard set her cup aside and crossed her arms as she leaned back against thecounter. "Not that I recall.Why would he?""No reason. I thought he might have mentioned it in pa.s.sing, you being friendswith Ace Wyatt. That's all.""We're not friends. He's an acquaintance. We have people in common. 11 "Whatever. I guess he must have dropped it, anyway," Kovac said. "I didn't seeanything in his office relating to it. No file, no clippings or anything likethat. Unless all that stuff is in the same place as his copy of theCurtis-Ogden file.The same place as his laptop.Wherever that nuight be.""What do you think he hoped to gain by looking into his father's past?"Kovac shrugged. "Understanding, I guess. What Mike was these last twenty yearsstarted the might of that shooting. Or maybe he was just a brownnoser, tryingto win the old man over by pretending interest in his father's life.You couldsay better than I-was Andy a kiss-a.s.s?"She thought about it a moment. "He needed to please. He needed to succeed.That's why he took it so hard when the Curtis-OgdenD U S T T 0 case closed. He wanted to be the one to say it was over, not J ust have it endbecause Verma copped a plea.""I guess I know what that's like," Kovac said with a sheepish smile. "I'm notsupposed to be spending time asking questions about Andy Fallon's death-or hislife, for that matter-but I want to know. I want to feel satisfied. It ain'tover till I say it's over.That's the way I am." "It makes you a good cop.""It makes me a pain in the a.s.s. I once had a captain tell me that I'm paid toinvestigate crimes, not solve them.""What did you say to that?"He laughed. "To his face? 'Yes, sir.' My bank account couldn't handle asuspension. Behind his back? I called him something I shouldn't say in frontof a lady."Savard picked up her coffee again and took a sip, looking at him from underher lashes. The almost-amus.e.m.e.nt, a shade of speculation. s.e.xy, he thought,fora lady u4th a beat-up eye. Beautiful, bruises or no.She glanced away. "I went over the case file, by the way. Ogden was verballyabusive to Andy several times during the investigation, but that's notunusual. He made a couple of vague threats-also not unusual. Then Verma madehis deal and it was over. There were no addendurns to the file after the case closed. Ogden had no reason to continue contact.""What about Ogden's partner? Rubel?""Nothing about him. I don't think that was the name of his partner at the timeof the incident. I think it was Porter. Larry Porter. "For what it's worth,"she added, "I personally believe Ogden wasdirty. I believe he planted Curtis's watch at Verma's apartment. There justwasn't any way to prove it. We'd taken it as far as we could go based on whatwe had." "And afterVerma copped, you would have had the union on you for hara.s.singOgden. And the bra.s.s on you for p.i.s.sing off the union," Kovac said. "You'repaid to investigate, not to solve.""And I have to live with the idea that Andy might have killed himself in partbecause of that," she said quietly."Maybe," Kovac conceded. "Or maybe he killed himself because his loverwouldn't come out of the closet. Or because he thought his father might neverlove him again because he had come out of the closet. Or maybe he didn't killhimself at all. "See, maybe it wasn't your fault at all. But you'll let the idea hurt264 T A M you anyway," he said. "You'll punish yourself and think of a dozen ways youmight have stopped it from happening-if only you'd been quic k enough, sharpenough, or able to read the future in tea leaves." "I guess I'm an easy read.""No, you're not," he said quietly, thinking she was one of the toughest peopleto read he'd ever come across. So guarded, so cautious. And that made her allthe more intriguing to him. He wanted to know who she really was and why shehad become that person. He wanted to be allowed behind the walls."That's just what I'd do, that's all," he said. "It's what my partner would do too. I try to tell myself it's proof we haven't entirely detached from thehuman race. Though sometimes I think I'd be better off if I did."The weight of the evening rolled up against him, the emotions pressing againsthis own walls. He had successfully kept it at bay for a little while: theimage of the street full of emergency vehicles; of the child's small body andthe bloodstained snow. He wandered to a set of French doors that looked out on a deck. A securitylight illuminated a wedge of backyard.The moon brightened what lay beyond,reflecting off the snow in a way that gave the landscape a blue cast.Dreamscape. Trees edged the property, keeping the neighbors from looking in."I lost one tonight," he confessed. "The child of a witness to an a.s.sault Iwas working. A little girl shot to death just to send a message to theneighborhood.""How is that your fault?"He could see her edging closer.The filtered light from outside fell across herface, a gossamer veil that made her skin look pearly. Softness, he thought.Soft skin, soft hair in soft waves, lips that looked as soft as satin. Hedidn't try to see the walls and sharp edges; he wanted to pretend they didn'texist. He shook his head. "It's not. Not really.You look at a situation llike that,an innocent child shot dead in the street. The shooter's probably fourteen andgot the job handed to him on account of he's a juvenile, and he took itbecause a kill makes him with the gang. They shoot the little girl to scarepeople who are already on the edge of thinking life's too d.a.m.n hard to careabout anything but their own hide. They do it to scare the mother who didn'twant to see a drug dealer getting his head- beat in and wouldn't havetestified anyway 'cause herD U S T T 0 D U S T 265 first concern is to stay alive long enough to raise her children not to besociopaths.11 You look at all that and there's plenty of blame to go around. But in apart of that picture too. I'm supposed to protect people, not get them killed.And I had to stand there tonight and look in that ' f ik woman s ace and offer an apology, Ii e that would make it all right.""Blarming yourself won't make it right either," Savard said.She stood just to his right. She could have taken his hand in hers. He heldhis breath as if she were some wild creature who would bolt at his slightestmovement. "We do the best we can," she said softly, looking inward. "And punishourselves for it. I've tried to make my choices with the idea that I've madethose choices for the greatest good. Sometimes someone suffers in the process,but I made the decision for the right reason. That should count for something,shouldn't it?" Kovac turned slowly to face her, a part of him still afraid she might runaway.The need for rea.s.surance was so clear in her eyes, it hurt him to see. Aglimpse over the wall."It should," he said. "What is it inside us that doesn't let it?" "I'm afraidto know, 11 she confessed, eyes bright with tears. "Me too, I guess."She stared at him for a moment, then whispered, "You're a good man, SamKovac." Half a smile curved his mouth. "Would you say that again?" "You'reHe touched a forefinger to her hps.They felt exactly as he had imagined. "No.My name. Say it again. just so I can hear how it sounds." He moved his hand tocup her face. A single tear slid down herface, silvered by the light. The word slipped from her lips on a tremblingbreath. "Sam . . ."

He bent his head and captured the word in his mouth as he touched his lips tohers. Hesitantly. Asking. Holding his own breath tight in his lungs, even asdesire swept through his veins in a warm rush.Her hands came up slowly and rested on his forearms, not to push him away b.u.t.to connect. Her mouth trembled beneath his, not out of fear but out of need.Accepting. Wanting. Her tongue touched his.The kiss went on.Time suspended. He lifted his mouth a scant inch from hersand whispered her name. He took her into his arms asT A M 0 A 0 carefully as if she were made of gla.s.s.When he raised his head again andlooked into her eyes, she said one word:46stay" Except for the pounding of his heart, Kovac went absolutely still."Are you sure?"She leaned up and touched her lips to his again. "Stay ... Sam Please .He didn't ask again. Maybe her life was as empty as his. Maybe their soulsrecogni* zed the same pain in each other. Maybe she just needed to be held,and he needed to hold, to care for. Maybe it didn't matter why.She led him up the stairs to a bedroom that carried a ghost of her perfume inthe air and on the sheets. Pieces of her lay scattered on the dresser:earrings, a watch, a black velvet hair band. The lamp on the nightstand glowedamber, the light bathing her skin as he undressed her. He'd never seenanything so exquisite, had never been so moved by a woman's gift of herself tohim. She handed him a condom from a drawer in the nightstand; he tore open thepackage and offered it back to her.They didn't speak. Everything was said witha touch, with a look, a shuddering breath, a trembling sigh. She guided him toher. He entered her and thought his heart had stopped. They moved together,and it beat like a drum. Ne Ied. Heat. Pa.s.sion. Immersion. Languor. Urgency. One melded into the nextand back again. The tastes of salt on skin, coffee on tongues. The feel ofwarm and wet, hard and soft. When she came, it was on a crescendo ofhard-caught breaths and the wordless, desperate sounds of need. Release forhim came like a bolt of lightning. His body jumped and jerked, and he thoughthe cried out but he wasn't sure. He never stopped kissing her. Even after. Even as she fell asleep in his arms,his lips moved over hers, against her cheek, on her hair. In his heart was thefear the chance might not come again and he had to get his fffl now, tonight.Then exhaustion swept over him like a blanket, and he closed his eyes and fellasleep.W H E N K 0 V A C C A M E around, he thought he'd had one h.e.l.l of a dream.Then he opened Ihis eyes.Amanda. She lay on her side, curled toward him, sleeping quietly. He pulledthe covers up over her bare shoulder, and she sighed. The lamplightU S T T 0 D U S T 267 fell across her face, drawing his attention to the raw burns and bruisesaround her eye and cheekbone. His stomach clutched at the thought that hemi*ght have-must have-touched those places as they'd made love, and caused herpain. The idea of hurting her made him sick. If he ever found out a man hadmade those marks on her, he would track the guy down and beat him.He rubbed a hand against his sternum, feeling as if he'd been kicked. Jesus,he'd slept with a lieutenant.He'd fallen for a lieutenant. You sure know how to pick 'em, Kovac.What was she going to think when she opened her eyes? That she'd made amistake? That she'd lost her rm'nd? Would she be embarra.s.sed or angry? Hedidn't know.What he did know was that what they had shared was pretty d.a.m.nspecial and he wouldn't regret it.He slipped from the bed carefully, pulled on his pants, and went down the hall in search of a bathroom, not wanting the sound of running water to wakeAmanda. He found a guest bath with fancy towels and decorative soaps that wereprobably not intended for use. He used them anyway. The reflection that staredback at him in the mirror looked tough, beat-up, showing age and the effectsof a life with more disappointment than fulfillment. What the h.e.l.l would awoman see in that and want? he wondered. He washed up and went back into the hall, catching the smell of burning coffeewafting up from downstairs. They'd left the pot on. He went down to thekitchen and turned it off, pouring himselfhalf a cup of what was left. Sipping at the coffee, he began to wander throughthe house, turning off lights as he pa.s.sed through the rooms. Amanda Savardhad created a nice retreat for herself.The furniture looked comfortable, inviting. The colors were soothing and quiet. Odd, though,that there was nothing of her-no family photos, no snapshots of friends or ofherself. A lot of framed black-and-white photographs of empty places. Heremembered seeing some of those in her office, and he wondered what they meantto her. He wanted to see something that spoke about her life. But maybe thatwas what he was seeing. G.o.d knew there wasn't much evidence of who he was inhis house. A stranger would have learned more about him in his cubicle atwork. In the living room, he took a poker and stabbed at the dying embers0 A G of the fire, breaking them up, pus.h.i.+ng them apart. He closed the gla.s.s doorsand went to turn out the ginger j