a long moment, his eyes narrowing as they bored right into her. “You add ‘shrink’ to your résumé recently?”
Declan had managed to make a put-down sound almost like a compliment. So for now, she took no offense. She just filed it away for future reference.
“I’m more like a student of the human condition,” Charley said, making a point of ignoring the sarcasm in his voice. It really was getting rather late now. “Okay, we’ve seen, we’ve verified, maybe it is time to call it a night and go home. I’ll take that ride back to the parking lot now, thank you.”
He’d offended her, he realized, taking note of her distant tone. He hadn’t meant to, but he didn’t like being examined under a microscope as if he was some large, single-celled plaything.
They were both tired and it had been one hell of a long day. Two cops had been killed today—and there might be more victims soon. It was way past time to clock out, Declan thought.
“You got it,” he told her.
* * *
Charley didn’t go straight home the way she’d indicated. Instead, once off the rear lot, she took a detour and drove one last time to Matt’s house. Because of the hour, most of the lights in the surrounding houses buffering Matt’s were off.
But she didn’t have another round of questioning in mind, or even a quick reconnoitering of the area again. What she had seen at Fitzpatrick’s mistakenly labeled scene of the crime had gotten her thinking and she wanted to see something for herself.
She wondered if she was going to be the only one who placed one of those candles within a glass container on Matt’s front lawn. To that end, she’d stopped to buy one at a local supermarket.
The store, part of a countrywide chain, sold everything, including foodstuffs, cosmetics, toys and various other miscellaneous items. In the center of the aisle that dealt with things that defied labeling were items with religious connotations—like candles to be lit for the dead.
She bought one as well as matches and brought it over to Matt’s house.
As she turned down his block, lights coming from an unusually low angle caught her attention. Driving closer, she saw not just one or two candles lit but more than a couple of dozen. Mixed in between the candles were cards, letters—some neatly written, most sporting almost illegible scrawl—all conveying sorrow and regret at his death. And love. Love tucked in amid teddy bears with drooping ears and black round eyes that stared back at the person looking at them. But in a good way, stirring up memories of childhood and a more innocent time.
Getting out of her car, Charley took her candle with her, lit it and then stooped down to find a proper place for it. She placed it near the center.
“You made a difference, Matt,” she said in a low voice, tears suddenly forming in her eyes. This time, she didn’t bother trying to wipe them away or keep them from flowing. The tears weren’t hers to wipe away. They belonged to Matt. “And people are going to miss you, really miss you. And I’m going to miss you most of all,” she whispered, her heart aching.
Unable to talk anymore, her throat feeling as if it was closing up, Charley lapsed into silence. She stood there for a few minutes, the lights from the candles gathered before the makeshift shrine to her brother bathing her skin.
“You made a difference,” she repeated when she could, feeling very proud of him.
And wishing with all her heart that he was here.
Taking a deep breath, Charley turned away and walked back to her car, her heart warmed by what she’d seen even as it continued to ache.
* * *
Andrew Cavanaugh pushed himself away from the all-in-one computer in his office. When he had been the chief of police, before he’d retired early to raise his five children and search for his missing wife, computers were just coming into their own as a speedy way to get reports out. They even facilitated tracking fugitives—as long as nothing of a
Declan had managed to make a put-down sound almost like a compliment. So for now, she took no offense. She just filed it away for future reference.
“I’m more like a student of the human condition,” Charley said, making a point of ignoring the sarcasm in his voice. It really was getting rather late now. “Okay, we’ve seen, we’ve verified, maybe it is time to call it a night and go home. I’ll take that ride back to the parking lot now, thank you.”
He’d offended her, he realized, taking note of her distant tone. He hadn’t meant to, but he didn’t like being examined under a microscope as if he was some large, single-celled plaything.
They were both tired and it had been one hell of a long day. Two cops had been killed today—and there might be more victims soon. It was way past time to clock out, Declan thought.
“You got it,” he told her.
* * *
Charley didn’t go straight home the way she’d indicated. Instead, once off the rear lot, she took a detour and drove one last time to Matt’s house. Because of the hour, most of the lights in the surrounding houses buffering Matt’s were off.
But she didn’t have another round of questioning in mind, or even a quick reconnoitering of the area again. What she had seen at Fitzpatrick’s mistakenly labeled scene of the crime had gotten her thinking and she wanted to see something for herself.
She wondered if she was going to be the only one who placed one of those candles within a glass container on Matt’s front lawn. To that end, she’d stopped to buy one at a local supermarket.
The store, part of a countrywide chain, sold everything, including foodstuffs, cosmetics, toys and various other miscellaneous items. In the center of the aisle that dealt with things that defied labeling were items with religious connotations—like candles to be lit for the dead.
She bought one as well as matches and brought it over to Matt’s house.
As she turned down his block, lights coming from an unusually low angle caught her attention. Driving closer, she saw not just one or two candles lit but more than a couple of dozen. Mixed in between the candles were cards, letters—some neatly written, most sporting almost illegible scrawl—all conveying sorrow and regret at his death. And love. Love tucked in amid teddy bears with drooping ears and black round eyes that stared back at the person looking at them. But in a good way, stirring up memories of childhood and a more innocent time.
Getting out of her car, Charley took her candle with her, lit it and then stooped down to find a proper place for it. She placed it near the center.
“You made a difference, Matt,” she said in a low voice, tears suddenly forming in her eyes. This time, she didn’t bother trying to wipe them away or keep them from flowing. The tears weren’t hers to wipe away. They belonged to Matt. “And people are going to miss you, really miss you. And I’m going to miss you most of all,” she whispered, her heart aching.
Unable to talk anymore, her throat feeling as if it was closing up, Charley lapsed into silence. She stood there for a few minutes, the lights from the candles gathered before the makeshift shrine to her brother bathing her skin.
“You made a difference,” she repeated when she could, feeling very proud of him.
And wishing with all her heart that he was here.
Taking a deep breath, Charley turned away and walked back to her car, her heart warmed by what she’d seen even as it continued to ache.
* * *
Andrew Cavanaugh pushed himself away from the all-in-one computer in his office. When he had been the chief of police, before he’d retired early to raise his five children and search for his missing wife, computers were just coming into their own as a speedy way to get reports out. They even facilitated tracking fugitives—as long as nothing of a
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