"A Risk Worth Taking" - Chapter Five
Once Layla was home around her things - around what felt normal - the shock of seeing the video wore off. She'd planned to tackle some of the unpacked boxes in the kitchen.
A knock at the door caused her to wake with a start. Realizing she'd dozed off, Layla looked at her phone - 7:00 PM. She padded over to the door in her socks and opened it, surprised to see Hank Voight on the other side.
"Hank. Hi." Layla said, immediately aware of her disheveled appearance. She had changed into gray sweats and an old Jimi Hendrix t-shirt, her hair piled on her head in a messy bun.
"Hi," Hank answered, a small smile playing on his lips.
"Come in." Layla said, remembering her manners and stepping aside, opening the door to him.
Hank walked in and stood in the middle of her living room, his hands in his pockets.
"I just wanted to come by and make sure you're okay."
Layla moved boxes out of the way and gestured for Hank to have a seat on the couch. She sat beside him.
"Oh, yeah. I'm fine. A little embarrassed actually," Layla admitted, not meeting his eyes.
Hank reached over and put his hand over hers. "Don't be. We've all been through that at one time or another."
Layla looked up at him and nodded, amazed at how distracted she was by his hand on hers. She was sad when he removed it.
"I also wanted to come by and tell you that, thanks in no small part to your help, we got C.C. He crumbled in interrogation and admitted everything. He's going away for life."
"Oh my gosh, that's so great! Congratulations!" Layla said excitedly, "We should celebrate."
Hank couldn't help but smile. She looked adorable with her messy hair and comfy clothes.
"Actually, the team wants you to join us at Molly's later to do just that. But," Hank's expression turned serious, "I'm going to make a pit-stop on the way there and didn't know if you wanted to join me."
Layla tilted her head in curiosity. "Where to?"
"I'm going to stop by Mrs. Wilson's and let her know we got the man who murdered her husband."
Layla felt her stomach drop but instantly understood why he'd asked her.
Almost whispering, Layla said, "Yes. I'd like to go. Just let me get changed."
As she was changing, Layla thought about the upcoming visit. Though her self-preservation told her to stay away from such a terrible conversation, the thought that she could bring any instance of comfort to the widow bolstered her commitment.
Hank watched as she got up and went into another room. Just from the little he knew about her, Hank had figured she would want to go with him. They both knew that, after losing a spouse, there was a little comfort in knowing that the world hadn't just moved on and forgotten your pain.
Hank looked around her living room. There were a few boxes lying around that hadn't been unpacked yet but the space already felt comfortable. A lit candle flickered on the coffee table, casting a soft glow on the walls. A large cabinet took up almost the whole wall to his left, each shelf underneath filled with vinyl records. A record player and large speakers sat on top.
On the opposite wall, a small table held a folded flag, similar to the one in his office. Hank stood and walked over to the table. Next to the flag was a small black box. Compelled by curiosity, Hank opened it. Inside was a Purple Heart. Gently he closed the box and put it back on the table, wishing he didn't know how much pain came along with medals like that.
When Layla came back into the living room, Hank was thumbing through some of her records. "I'm impressed," he told her as he looked up at her, his next comment falling away as he took her in. She was wearing a black dress that fit her to perfection. It had three quarter-length sleeves and stopped just above her knees. Her auburn hair was down now, flowing over her shoulders. The glow of the candlelight flickered across the silver earrings dangling from her ears. Over her arm was a black leather jacket. Layla figured she could keep it conservative when going to speak to Mrs. Wilson, then throw on the leather jacket for drinks at Molly's.
Hank stood from where he had been kneeling to look at the records and said nothing. Layla's heart rate increased as seconds ticked by and his gaze didn't falter.
"Just let me grab my purse and I'll be ready to go." She said, needing but not wanting to end the moment.
Hank nodded, put his hands in his pockets and walked back over to the door. He hadn't meant to stare but it was damn near impossible.
Layla blew out the candle, grabbed her purse and walked outside, turning to lock her deadbolt. They walked in silence down the external stairs to the parking lot. Hank pointed to his black SUV and opened the passenger door for her when they reached it.
The SUV was high off the ground, and in her heels, Layla was unsure how she was going to get in and keep her "classy lady" facade in place - she'd much rather be in jeans and a t-shirt. But Hank immediately offered her his hand and she took it, using it to balance herself as she climbed in.
As Hank closed her door and went around to the driver's side, she could still feel the warmth of his hand on hers.
Twenty minutes later, Hank pulled up in front of a modest one-story house. The house obviously needed some work. Kids toys were strewn about the yard and Layla felt a somber sadness come over her. Hank turned to her before getting out of the car. "You don't have to say anything if you don't want to." Layla nodded.
As they approached the door, Layla stayed a step behind Hank, mostly from apprehension.
Hank rang the bell and a few moments later a disheveled woman with dark hair and a toddler on her hip opened the door.
"Sergeant Voight," she said, opening the door wider, "Please come in."
"Thank you, Mrs. Wilson."
As they entered the house, Mrs. Wilson put the toddler down on the living room floor in the middle of some brightly-colored toys. Beeps and animal sounds filled the air as the child, thankfully oblivious to what was going on, played contentedly.
Mrs. Wilson led them to the couch and she sat down to Layla's right in a chair.
"This is Layla Martin, she's been helping with your husband's case."
Layla met her eyes and offered a sympathetic smile.
"What brings you here, Sergeant Voight?" Mrs. Wilson asked, the uncertainty causing her voice to quiver.
"We've caught the man that killed your husband," Hank said, wasting no time.
Mrs. Wilson immediately broke down, tears spilling from her eyes. Layla reached over and took her hand as Hank continued. He explained some of the details to her, carefully choosing his words to protect her. Finally he said, "He'll be in prison for the rest of his life."
Mrs. Wilson nodded, trying to regain her composure.
Layla squeezed her hand and told her, "We both know what it's like to lose a spouse," with a glance over at Hank.
Mrs. Wilson looked at them both as if seeing them in a new light. As if she couldn't believe they could still function.
"And I know how bad you're hurting right now," Layla continued. "But that beautiful boy over there needs you and I promise you, if you just keep getting up each day and putting one foot in front of the other, you will get through this."
Mrs. Wilson's crying had stopped. She looked up at Layla and the two just sat there for a moment, still grasping each other's hands. Finally, Mrs. Wilson nodded and said, "Thank you."
She looked over at Hank. "Both of you."
Hank nodded, then slipped his hand into his jacket pocket. Both women were surprised when he pulled out a thick brown envelope, clearly filled with a large amount of cash. Hank sat it on the coffee table.
"This should help you get by for a while, until the military can get your benefits sorted out. Unfortunately, it's a long process."
Mrs. Wilson stood and so did Layla and Hank. With fresh tears in her eyes, she walked over to Hank and hugged him. "Thank you, Sergeant. Layla." She added with a nod and reached over to squeeze her hand.
Mrs. Wilson picked up her son from the floor and followed them to the door. As they walked out she said, "Thank you, both," and placed a kiss on the top of her son's head.
Once they were back in the car, Hank started to crank it but Layla stopped him, her hand on his arm. "Wait. I'm assuming that money wasn't department issued?"
Hank turned to her, no change in his expression. "You'd be assuming correctly."
She didn't say anything else, just held his gaze for a moment. Then she nodded. It dawned on her that she didn't really care where it came from, she was glad Mrs. Wilson had something to help her get back on her feet.
Hank was surprised when Layla dropped it, lifting her hand from his arm and pulling her seatbelt on. He'd been ready with a vague answer, one that wouldn't incriminate her but would quell her curiosity. She hadn't needed it.
"Alright," she smiled, changing the subject, "I need a drink, let's go."