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  As she contemplated what would bring a person to that point in their life, the door opened, and Dr. Winger walked in.

  “You’re early,” she said.

  Kate sat up straight, but didn’t stand, because she didn’t want to assume she’d be going right into the doctor’s office. “Have you ever known me not to be?”

  Dr. Winger walked past Kate and unlocked her office door. “You got me there. Come on in.” She opened the door and held it for Kate.

  Kate stood, picking up the notebook she brought with her, and entered Dr. Winger’s office for what she hoped would be the last time.

  The first time she visited the small space, she was struck by the lack of personal items. No picture frames on the desk with photos of family, no artwork on the walls. Though the room had the same rustic décor of the rest of the facility, it felt sterile, like she didn’t plan to stay for long. But she’d been there ten years.

  Kate settled into the wooden captain’s chair. The chair wasn’t made for long-term comfort, with its rounded wood back and lightly padded seat, but she did her best to look cozy and at ease.

  “Is Payaso with us today?” Dr. Winger asked as she sat down. She asked the question casually as she arranged a legal pad and pen.

  “I haven’t seen the prick in weeks,” Kate said. She opened her own notebook.

  “You keep saying that, but I see a haunted look in your eyes.” She looked Kate in the eyes.

  “Oh, that look is me thinking about making amends with my ex-husband. I wasn’t very nice to him before I came here, and I’ve refused to see or talk to him.”

  “Speaking of which…” Dr. Winger grabbed a set of keys and reached into her drawer. She pulled out a cell phone with a bright pink sticky note with Kate’s name on it. Placing it on the desk, she said, “I’m sure your mailbox is full and your battery is dead. You want to charge it while we talk?”

  Knowing the meeting wouldn’t be a quick twenty minutes, she nodded.

  Dr. Winger reached down for a cord and plugged Kate’s phone in. “Please tell me you changed the outgoing message, so people weren’t panicking these last few weeks.”

  “Few weeks? Is that what you call two months of grueling psychological torture?” Kate laughed. “And no, I didn’t change the message to what you wanted me to say. I left my brother’s number in case of emergency, and he knew what to say.”

  “That’s at least something.”

  “I didn’t want my chief to know where I was. That’s the only way I could do it. He probably called at least once a week to see if I remembered anything yet.”

  Dr. Winger scribbled a note. “Are you going to tell him?”

  “Eventually, maybe. It’s not his business anymore, is it?” Kate said.

  “Well, this does fall under disability. I know workman’s comp rejected your claim, because even though you were in uniform, you weren’t on duty.”

  “That sucks, right?” Kate made a face.

  “Well, at least you have good health insurance,” she said.

  “Yeah, about that disability thing. I had to tell Bryce to tell Zane to tell Rambone I’d be back after I finished physical therapy and got cleared for work. That killed me. I don’t want him to know I’m coming back.”

  “He’s not stupid; he knows it’s for the disability, I’m sure.”

  “But I am going back, just not until I’m good and ready. I have a long road back. The horseback riding you offer here isn’t the same as distance running, or the shooting range.” Kate shifted in her chair.

  “You okay?” Dr. Winger asked.

  “Fine, just ready to go home and restart my life.”

  “Well, then, let’s get to it. You need to answer my original question honestly. Have you seen Payaso lately?” Dr. Winger didn’t back down from the tough ones.

  “I promise, he’s gone. At first, he just avoided the horse barn, but gradually, he left me alone in group, and now he doesn’t even visit me when I’m alone in my room. And the numbers out of order thing really helps with anxiety. I used it last night.”

  “You were anxious?”

  Kate grinned. “Wouldn’t you be? I mean, I’ve been gone from the real world for eight weeks. And I was in the hospital more than a month before that. Getting back to real life, well, real life as an invalid, is scary. Of course I’m anxious.”

  “Invalid? Where does that come from?”

  “I’m not the same person I was before that night. And I’m okay with saying ‘that night’ now. I don’t have to say attempted rape and murder anymore. The incident no longer needs to be validated. I can’t run, lift weights, shoot my weapon, or anything like I used to. I have a long road back, and as soon as I get home, I take my first steps on that road. Not to mention, again, facing Zane and apologizing.”

  “Let’s look at some of the other issues that have come out of your therapy.” Dr. Winger placed her pen on the desk.

  “Like what?” Kate didn’t want to be the one to start the ball rolling.

  “Like the one-night stands. That’s destructive behavior. Have you found a way to love yourself? Are you okay with being alone?”

  Kate breathed a deep breath. “I like sex, is that so bad?”

  “You know that’s not the response I’m looking for,” Dr. Winger frowned.

  “I know. And I haven’t really had a one-night stand since I divorced Zane. I tend to go to him if I need to be satisfied.” Kate’s face flushed.

  “That’s no longer acceptable. You can’t keep doing that to him. He needs to move on, and so do you. And I’m not talking about moving on to a new lover, I mean a new relationship. But you’re not even ready for that. You need to learn to be happy in your own skin.”

  Kate rolled her eyes.

  “I’m serious. We’ve fixed a lot of issues, but that one still lingers. I know it’s because it’s been with you the longest. That feeling you have because of your mom. I promise she didn’t abandon you because she didn’t love you. She did it because she loved drugs more. Leaving you behind was the best thing she could have done. I’m sure you’ve heard it a million times, but you need to hear it again and again.”

  Kate waved her hand at Dr. Winger. “Seriously, I’m so over that. I found love with my adoptive parents. It’s the commitment thing I can’t handle.”

  “Don’t you think that goes back to your mom again?”

  “Not sure, because she was completely committed to ruining her life, so that’s something.” Kate shrugged and looked out the window at the blue sky. “I wonder if it’s hot outside today.”

  “Deflecting.”

  “I know. I promise to continue with therapy when I get home.” She wasn’t lying; she planned to get in the best shape of her life, and continue physical therapy.

  The next two hours went pretty much as Kate expected. Dr. Winger read through her file and they discussed every item she’d ever mentioned in their appointments or group therapy. She was asked how she’d handle them once she was home and on her own.

  In the end, she was told she needed to find a psychologist or psychiatrist in Peculiar, or close by, and Dr. Winger would send a copy of her file. What were they going to do if she didn’t, commit her? She could get by on her own, but she said all the words Dr. Winger wanted to hear. Not saying them would just delay her call for an Uber driver.

  “Is your brother coming to pick you up?” Dr. Winger asked when they were almost finished.

  “Nope. He has a job. He cuts into dead people for a living.” Kate sat forward in her chair, ready to leave.

  “Yes, you’ve mentioned that a few times.”

  Had she? She couldn’t remember. She loved telling people what Bryce did for money. She’d chuckle, but Dr. Winger had lost her sense of humor this morning.

  “I know you plan to continue your investigation into Geo Newton’s death—”

  “Murder,” Kate interrupted.

  “Yes, murder. So I want you to be very careful, please. I don’t want to see you in h
ere again this year, and I don’t want to read your obituary.”

  Kate asked, “So we’re done now?”

  Dr. Winger had a few more questions. When she finally put her pen down, unplugged and handed Kate her phone, and stood, Kate was afraid the woman would come around the desk and try to give her a hug. Kate jumped up from the chair, nearly running to the door.

  “No offense, but I hope to never see you again. It’s been a pleasure, and it’s been a pain in the ass,” Kate said, then walked out the door without looking back.

  Back in her room, Kate flopped down on the bed. For the first time, she realized she was afraid. Afraid of what the future held. Afraid of what being home would be like. And mostly afraid of what she would do for a job if she couldn’t go back to being a cop. She didn’t know how to do anything else. And that terrified her.

  Chapter 10

  Zane was glad the only thing in his stomach during the press conference was toothpaste, and only a small amount if that, because he was nauseous the entire time Rambone was in front of the cameras. He explained that the department was investigating the death of one of their newest police officers, saying, "No, he was not killed in the line of duty, though he did die while in uniform. We are not ruling out homicide at this time, but it is an active investigation, so we cannot comment further."

  The kicker was when the newswoman from Channel Four asked, "Who is the lead investigator?"

  Zane held his breath.

  "As you know, our department doesn't have a full-time detective squad." He looked out over the throng of reporters from as far away as Sacramento. "Our officers with more than five years on the force, and at least two years of college education, rotate through our detective unit. I'd like to tell you who the detective on duty was last night, but I don't want to interfere with his ability to do his job in a thorough and diligent manner. Once we have more information, and feel that we've gathered enough evidence, I'll be happy to give you the detective's name, and maybe we can answer more questions at that time. I do ask that you respect the privacy of the slain officer's family."

  Zane breathed a sigh of relief, and then frowned. He heard the word slain come out of Rambone's mouth. He all but told the media that Sousa had been murdered. And his family? What family? He'd checked Sousa's personnel file first thing when he arrived, and he'd pretty much shown himself to be an orphan. No immediate family, no next of kin listed, and no one to contact in case of death or injury. Or maybe it’d been taken care of, and that information had been removed. Zane couldn’t imagine it would be. His stomach knotted. The whole thing was beginning to stink. No one to contact. Nothing much in his house. He'd mentioned an ex, but as far as Zane could tell, no one knew her name. When he searched Sousa’s vehicle, there had been no cell phone.

  Was that it? Was that what the killer was after? Was there incriminating evidence on Sousa's cell phone? If so, Zane needed to get that damn phone. But where to start? If he at least had the number, he could get the carrier.

  After the press conference, his stomach settled, knowing he wouldn't have to face the cameras and all of those damn microphones. He approached Rambone on the way back to his office.

  "Chief? Got a minute?" He turned with a smile on his face, which instantly vanished when he realized it was only one of his employees.

  "What is it?" The question wasn't snappy, but there was an edge.

  "I looked through Sousa’s personnel file for a phone number, but the one listed is out of service. I was wondering if you had another phone number to reach him."

  He looked down the hall toward the dispatch office. "Check with Polly. She's got the current contact information on all the officers on duty."

  He turned away and continued into his office. He started to close the door, then for some reason thought better of it, left it open, and went to his desk.

  Under his breath, Zane said, "Sorry to bother you."

  As long as Rambone had been with PPD, he'd given Zane the creeps. He hated answering to him. Thank goodness he had a lieutenant and a captain to answered to on a daily basis, and rarely had direct contact with the chief, except on occasions when cases crossed his path, like a murder.

  Speaking of lieutenants…Lieutenant Theo Moore came charging toward Zane.

  "My office, now!" His face looked like he'd spent a day in the desert with no sunscreen; even his ears looked ready to explode.

  Zane changed course from the dispatch office to Moore’s office.

  "Take a seat."

  Great, Zane thought.

  “What the hell happened?"

  "Sir?" Hell, as far as he knew, Moore had been on vacation. “Didn’t you get my message last night?”

  “I got the message. And when I got into the office this morning, I was grilled by Rambone.” He opened the center drawer on his desk, pulled out a can of Skoal, and slammed the drawer shut.

  Chewing tobacco on duty was frowned upon, but within the privacy of his office, who the hell was Zane to complain?

  "Weren't you out of town?"

  He pinched such a tiny amount Zane barely even saw the tobacco between his fingers, and tucked it in his lip. After pushing it in place with his tongue, he continued, "I was home last night. We weren’t supposed to be back until today. But one of the boys was sick, so we came home early, and I was sleeping in his room. I didn’t have my damn phone.” He squeezed his eyes closed and opened them. “The one damn time I’m not glued to my phone.”

  “I arrived at Sousa’s place a little after midnight.” Zane pulled his phone out and looked. “I called you around twenty after.”

  “Yeah, I know. I need the details. What happened, what have you found so far? Estimated TOD?” He blew out a breath. The chief must have been all over his ass this morning before the press conference.

  "We’re still waiting for the report from the M.E.’s office, but he was dead when I got there, and that was after midnight. And he’d logged Code 7 around ten-thirty p.m. The chief was there; I figured he'd have passed on the information. I was conducting the investigation with Trevino and Gonzales."

  "That asshole wasn't going to call and update me. He's so paranoid, he probably thinks I want his job."

  "Do you?" Zane thought the answer was probably yes.

  "That's neither here nor there. One of my officers is dead. I need to know what you have so far." He pulled out a file, a sheet of paper, and a pen. Old school. His personal assistant would transcribe and put it all in the computer later.

  Zane told him what had happened, and what information and evidence he had up until then, which was squat. "I'm looking for his cell phone number."

  "He was one of your officers." Moore pulled his cell phone out and swiped the screen. "I'd think you'd have his number."

  Zane felt like an idiot. His thought process was that he could get in touch with any of his officers through dispatch, and if he needed to talk to them off the radio, then he'd figure it out. Experience told him to have everything on record, that way nothing can come back to bite him in the ass if ever it ended up in court. Though he did have most of his fellow officers in his contacts on his phone.

  "I'm sorry, Theo, I don't have it. And the weird thing is, he didn't have a cell phone on him. It wasn’t in the patrol vehicle or the house, at least that we could find. Gonzales said she’d message me if they found anything when they finished printing the place, but I didn’t hear from her. Maybe something on his phone was a motive for the murder."

  Moore stopped swiping. "Murder, not OD?"

  Zane scowled. "Where did you come up with that?"

  "Rambone said he'd OD'd." Moore leaned back, finding the lack of a phone number secondary now.

  "He may have. I guess we’ll see when we get the results from the M.E. yet. It looks like he either had a bad reaction to shooting up, or someone held him down and shot him up. We took a lot of prints, and the place looked like a brawl had gone down. I’m calling it a homicide.”

  “This is your investigation, you call i
t homicide, it’s homicide.” He swiped at the screen on his phone again. "Got it."

  Zane pulled out his phone and copied the number by dialing it. It rang a few times before going to voicemail. There was no personalized message; it was the digital kind that came with a new phone before you made it your own: You've reached (insert phone number here), please leave your message at the sound of the tone, or press one to leave a call back number.

  At least Zane had a number. He’d look it up, find who it was registered to, and the name of the carrier. Maybe this would make it easier to find out what Sousa did in his personal life.

  "You think I'm going to need a warrant for the phone records?" Zane asked.

  "Fill out the affidavit and don’t waste time." Theo put his phone on the desk. "I want everything you find to go through me first. You said you’re working with Trevino on this?"

  "Yeah."

  "Good, Trevino is a good officer, and he's one of yours. He's loyal."

  Zane caught something in his words, but he couldn’t quite place why it made him leery.

  It had been months since the M Street raid, and they still didn’t have any idea who’d tipped off the dealers. When they busted down the door and searched the house, they found nothing more than a few ounces of weed.

  "He had a rough night, never having worked a murder. We’re talking to the neighbors again today," Zane said.

  "Did you get any sleep?"

  "Enough. Right now, I need to eat."

  "Go."

  Zane stood.

  “Fuel up, then get on it."

  Zane hesitated, then decided against saying anything more.

  "And shut the door."

  He pretended he didn't hear him and kept walking, leaving his door open. He could shut his own damn door.

  The general area of the squad room was U-shaped, with Formica countertops lining the perimeter, and files and computer monitors every ten feet or so. The patrol officers shared the main space, and the superior officers had private offices off the corridor from the main room. Around the corner, they had a unisex locker room, with the men on the left and women on the right. A unisex bathroom right outside the dispatch office had the occupied button on. He walked past it to the locker room. He’d hit the head in there.