strongly than her father did, which made her angry. He was innocent. Why wouldn’t he fight harder to prove it? Why wouldn’t he spit in their faces? Deny, defy, take action. Instead, he went around in public with his head down in order to shield both his shame and the Bell’s palsy the stress had induced. Words like
weak
and
spineless
drifted through his daughter’s mind like dirt in a dust-bowl breeze. As each one crossed her mind, the feeling of guilt deepened and the resentment sharpened.
The investigation had dragged on for nearly eighteen months, petering out to nothing in the end. No charges had been brought. Everyone was supposed to forget and forgive. By then, Thomas Liska’s health had begun to seriously deteriorate. Two years later he died of pancreatic cancer.
It was a very long night.
8
CHAPTER
THE BODY HAS been discovered.
Suicide. Accident. Tragedy.
The word
murder
has not been mentioned.
Is it really murder if dictated by necessity, if accompanied by remorse?
Sorry
. . .
There is a sense of unease from knowing other people are now aware, even though they don’t suspect. As if strangers are invading what should have remained private. The intimacy of death had been shared by just the two of them. The aftermath would be a public event.
That somehow cheapens the experience.
Andy Fallon stares out from the photograph, the last spark of life dying in the half-opened eyes, tongue coming out through the parted lips. The expression seems to take on an accusatory quality.
Sorry
. . .
The photograph, cradled in one hand, is raised to the lips, the image of the death mask kissed.
Sorry
. . .
But even as the apology is offered, the excitement rises.
9
CHAPTER
LISKA STORMED INTO the cubicle, her face pinched with temper, cheeks pink with cold. Kovac watched her with dread because he knew the look and what it meant for the quality of his day. Still, he didn’t move as she bore down on him. She slugged his left upper arm as hard as she could. It was like being hit with a ball peen hammer.
“Ouch!”
“
That
was for ditching me last night,” she announced. “I waited for you, and because I waited for you, Leonard cornered me and gave me the third degree about the Nixon assault and how Jamal Jackson couldn’t be tied to it in any way. Now he’s got it in his head that Jackson can somehow claim false arrest and use it in his suit against the department.”
“What suit?” he asked, rubbing the sore spot.
“The suit Jackson’s threatening. Brutality. Against me.”
Kovac rolled his eyes. “Oh, for Christ’s sake. We’ve got the video of him beaning me. Let him try to sue. If Leonard thinks Jackson has a case, he’s got his head so far up his ass we should call the people at Guinness. It’s gotta be some kind of record.”
“I know,” Liska said, calming. She tossed her purse in a deep desk drawer and dropped her briefcase in her chair. “I’m sorry I belted you. I had a rotten night. Speed came by. I didn’t get much sleep.”
“Oh, jeez. I’m not gonna have to hear about sex, am I?”
Liska’s face went dark again, and she lunged across the cubicle and popped him a second time in exactly the same spot.
“Ouch!”
Elwood stuck his huge head around the side of the
weak
and
spineless
drifted through his daughter’s mind like dirt in a dust-bowl breeze. As each one crossed her mind, the feeling of guilt deepened and the resentment sharpened.
The investigation had dragged on for nearly eighteen months, petering out to nothing in the end. No charges had been brought. Everyone was supposed to forget and forgive. By then, Thomas Liska’s health had begun to seriously deteriorate. Two years later he died of pancreatic cancer.
It was a very long night.
8
CHAPTER
THE BODY HAS been discovered.
Suicide. Accident. Tragedy.
The word
murder
has not been mentioned.
Is it really murder if dictated by necessity, if accompanied by remorse?
Sorry
. . .
There is a sense of unease from knowing other people are now aware, even though they don’t suspect. As if strangers are invading what should have remained private. The intimacy of death had been shared by just the two of them. The aftermath would be a public event.
That somehow cheapens the experience.
Andy Fallon stares out from the photograph, the last spark of life dying in the half-opened eyes, tongue coming out through the parted lips. The expression seems to take on an accusatory quality.
Sorry
. . .
The photograph, cradled in one hand, is raised to the lips, the image of the death mask kissed.
Sorry
. . .
But even as the apology is offered, the excitement rises.
9
CHAPTER
LISKA STORMED INTO the cubicle, her face pinched with temper, cheeks pink with cold. Kovac watched her with dread because he knew the look and what it meant for the quality of his day. Still, he didn’t move as she bore down on him. She slugged his left upper arm as hard as she could. It was like being hit with a ball peen hammer.
“Ouch!”
“
That
was for ditching me last night,” she announced. “I waited for you, and because I waited for you, Leonard cornered me and gave me the third degree about the Nixon assault and how Jamal Jackson couldn’t be tied to it in any way. Now he’s got it in his head that Jackson can somehow claim false arrest and use it in his suit against the department.”
“What suit?” he asked, rubbing the sore spot.
“The suit Jackson’s threatening. Brutality. Against me.”
Kovac rolled his eyes. “Oh, for Christ’s sake. We’ve got the video of him beaning me. Let him try to sue. If Leonard thinks Jackson has a case, he’s got his head so far up his ass we should call the people at Guinness. It’s gotta be some kind of record.”
“I know,” Liska said, calming. She tossed her purse in a deep desk drawer and dropped her briefcase in her chair. “I’m sorry I belted you. I had a rotten night. Speed came by. I didn’t get much sleep.”
“Oh, jeez. I’m not gonna have to hear about sex, am I?”
Liska’s face went dark again, and she lunged across the cubicle and popped him a second time in exactly the same spot.
“Ouch!”
Elwood stuck his huge head around the side of the
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