بخش 04 - فصل 25

25

Hodges crosses the Detective Division bullpen, fielding the curious glances and leading questions with a stone face that only breaks once. Cassie Sheen, with whom he worked most often when Pete was on vacation, says, “Look at you. Still alive and uglier than ever.” He smiles. “If it isn’t Cassie Sheen, the Botox Queen.” He

lifts an arm in mock defense when she picks a paperweight up off her desk and brandishes it. It all feels both fake and real at the same time. Like one of those girl-fights on afternoon TV. In the hall, there’s a line of chairs near the snack and soda machines. Sitting in two of the chairs are Aunt Charlotte and Uncle Henry. Holly isn’t with

them,

and

Hodges

instinctively touches the

glasses case in his pants pocket.

He asks Uncle Henry if he’s

feeling better. Uncle Henry

says he is, and thanks him. He

turns to Aunt Charlotte and

asks how she’s doing.

“I’m fine. It’s Holly I’m

worried about. I think she

blames herself, because she’s

the reason . . . you know.”

Hodges knows. The reason Janey was driving his car. Of course Janey would have been in it anyway, but he doubts if that changes the way Holly feels. “I wish you’d talk to her. You bonded with her, somehow.” Her eyes take on an unpleasant gleam. “The way you bonded with Janelle. You must have a way about you.”

“I’ll do that,” Hodges says, and he will, but Jerome is going to talk to her first. Assuming the number on the glasses case works, that is. For all he knows, that number rings a landline in . . . where was it? Cincinnati? Cleveland? “I hope we’re not supposed to identify her,” Uncle Henry says. In one hand he holds a Styrofoam cup of coffee. He’s

hardly touched it, and Hodges isn’t surprised. The police department coffee is notorious. “How can we? She was blown to bits.” “Don’t be an idiot,” Aunt Charlotte says. “They don’t want us to do that. They can’t.” Hodges says, “If she’s ever been fingerprinted–most people have–they’ll do it that way. They may show you

photographs of her clothes, or personal pieces of jewelry.” “How would we know about her jewelry?” Aunt Charlotte cries. A cop getting a soda turns to look at her. “And I hardly noticed what she was wearing!” Hodges guesses she priced out every stitch, but doesn’t comment. “They may have

other questions.” Some about him. “It shouldn’t take long.” There’s an elevator, but Hodges chooses the stairs. On the landing one flight down, he leans against the wall, eyes closed, and takes half a dozen big, shuddering breaths. The tears come now. He swipes them away with his sleeve. Aunt Charlotte expressed concern about Holly–a

concern Hodges shares–but no sorrow about her blown-tobits niece. He guesses that Aunt Charlotte’s biggest interest in Janey right now is what happens to all the lovely dosh Janey inherited from her sister. I hope she left it to a fucking dog hospital, he thinks.

Hodges sits down with an out-of-breath grunt. Using one of the stairs as a makeshift desk, he lays out the sunglasses case and, from his wallet, a creased sheet of notepaper with two sets of numbers on it.