Anger and frustration burned my stomach as I followed Catherine and Vega down the hall. I listened to their banter from two steps behind, my concentration centered on the diary in my left hand. I kept my arm down at my side, trying to convey a casual attitude about the book that was bumping against my leg with each step, coinciding with drumbeat of my blood as it rushed through my ears. My head hurt.
"So she wasn't his girlfriend?" Catherine asked.
"No. Guys a looser. I'm going to check with his employer, but my guess is that our vic was encouraging Mama's Boy to move out on his own, so Mama kept showing up at his work, got him fired."
"No job means no apartment." Catherine interjected.
"Yeah."
They stopped when they reached the doorway to Catherine's office. Vega pointed a thumb over his shoulder, "I'm gonna go interview the co-workers." He looked at me for a moment, trying to judge my state of mind. "You wanna go with?" His face told me he didn't want me along. Catherine noticed it too, and she began to scrutinize the look on my features.
I shook my head, watching something like relief dawn over Vegas face. "No. No, you go ahead." I forced a smile and nodded for some reason, agreeing with myself, maybe trying to assure him and Catherine both that I was ok. I didn't feel ok. Vega gave me a short nod of his own, a gestured that said ok then and slid his eyes to Catherine. I saw the exchange, and Catherine lowered her eyes as a response to his unspoken concern. With another glance at me, Vega turned and made his way down the hall away from us.
"I'm ah…" I paused trying to think of a decent reason to get away from her analyzing gaze.
Catherine wasn't having it. She tossed her hair over her shoulder and gestured with her head. "Come inside before you do that." She said as though I'd offered an itinerary of my day. Without waiting for a response, she walked inside her office. I had no choice, I followed her.
"Have a seat." She held out her hand toward the couch I'd fallen asleep on as she slid behind into the chair behind her desk. I shut the door behind me, and did as she asked, plopping down into the cushions, the overstuffed black material puffed out around me, surrounding me in a comforting embrace.
Catherine studied me for a long moment; I tried to keep my face neutral, stuffing my anxiousness down into my stomach. She cleared her throat. "I can read a calendar too" she said quietly.
I hadn't expected that, and caught by surprise, I lost the neutral look on my face. "What?"
"I had to pull the case file to be sure. . ." she opened the bottom desk drawer on her right, pulled out a light brown file folder and set it down in front of her, on top of all the other paperwork laid out on the desk. She flipped the file open, and looked at me. I couldn't help but stare at the paper lying on top, a pre-printed outline of a body, something we use for every case. Handwritten notes and arrows dotted the white paper; most of them concerned the neck of the victim. It could have been Kelly's file, but I knew it wasn't. It was Kristy's.
"Nicky." Catherine's voice broke though the mingled images of Kristy and Kelly that were running though my head, a slide show of snap shots, two broken women. I blinked, surprised to find tears in my eyes. "Nicky" she repeated, calling my name softly. I looked up, meeting her eyes. She tilted her head; compassion blanketed her features. I must have looked as pathetic as I felt because she muttered "Oh Nicky" as she stood up and came out from behind her desk. The sofa cushions shifted with her weight as she sat down next to me. I rubbed my eyes, drying the wetness and trying to stave off the exhaustion that had been hovering just behind my eyes for two days now. Sinking into the back cushions, I laid my head back and stared at the ceiling.
I felt Catherine's hand on my shoulder. "Tell me about Kelly." She said.
Lifting my head, I stared at her for a moment, trying to figure out what she'd said. "What?"
"I already know about Kristy. Tell me about Kelly." She glanced down at the diary I'd wedged between the arm of the sofa and my thigh. "You've read that, you've been to her house. Tell me about her."
I didn't know what to say. "I ah… I think I would have liked to have known her."
I told her all I knew, interspersed with my own opinions, I went so deeply into my own thoughts and mind, I felt as if I was actually at Kelly's side, watching her as she sat on her bed, writing in her diary. I heard the click of her teeth against the pen as she paused, searching for what she wanted to tell her diary. I could smell the soap she used, smelled the remnants of the dinner she'd made, I felt the air shift as she tossed her long brown hair over her shoulder. When I finally stopped to take a breath, I was surprised to find myself in Catherine's office. I looked at her, my boss, my friend, my confidant. She had a look on her face that I couldn't decipher, a mix of horrid realization and a sympathy that stung me.
"What?"
Catherine shook her head, clearing away that look on her face. She blinked and licked her lips. "I think I have to remove you from the case." Her voice was soft, almost a whisper, like she knew she was tearing my heart out of my chest.
"No." I protested, wishing I could take back the whine I heard in my own voice.
"Nick. . . you're. . ." her eyes moved back and forth, as if her choice of words was printed on the air in front of her "Involved." It wasn't what she wanted to say, I could tell, but I didn't push it, if 'involved' was her second choice; I didn't want to know what she was really thinking.
I swallowed hard, pushing my resentment down, it tasted exactly like bile. Controlling my voice, I objected again. "No, I'm not."
"Solving Kelly's murder isn't going to ease your guilt over Kristy."
I was dumbfounded. "I know that." Changing tactics I pointed my finger at her, jabbing the air. "If you want me off this case, you're gonna have to fire me." My mind flashed on when I was eight and threatened to run away from home when my mom wouldn't let me ride my bike to my friends house two blocks away.
I put my hands on my waist, ready to hand over my weapon and credentials that hung from my belt. I watched her search my face, so I took all the anger and frustration that I'd been swallowing and moved them into my eyes, steeling my resolve, knowing she'd see it. After a moment, she said "Alright. You stay on the case." I felt my body relax just a little when I exhaled. "But" It was her turn to point her finger at me. "I'm working it with you now. And if I see anything…" she let the word hang in the air, it was up to me to decide what 'anything' could mean. "Then I will take you off the case, no matter the consequences."
