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Come to think of it, why was Winters so fired up about this B&E when there was a murder to be investigated? Sure IHIT had taken over, but there were only two of them and you’d think they’d need all the help they could get.

She turned the corner into Monroe Street, and into the parking lot behind the station. She’d have time to go to the hospital and visit her dad, have something to eat, and get back to Elm Street when people were settling down in front of the TV after dinner. If she learned anything of interest, she’d eat her hat.

Phone. Adam again. She backed into a parking space before answering. “Hi.”

“Geeze, Molly, I’ve been calling you all day.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“Look, about what happened earlier.”

“Yes?”

“I guess you’re pissed, right?”

“What makes you think that? Why would I care that I am the object of pity amongst my colleagues? And those are the ones who like me. The ones who don’t like me assume I need a big strong man to take care of me.”

“I’m sorry that happened, but I doubt anyone’s thinking much about you this afternoon, Molly.”

“Why?”

“You haven’t heard?”

“Heard what?”

“Not over the phone. Are we still on for tonight?”

“No, we’re not. I got pulled for extra duty. I have to be back at eight. Winters is suddenly in a sweat over a B&E.”

“I guess he would be.”

Dawn Solway waved to Smith before letting herself in the back door.

“Adam. I have to go. I need to pop into the hospital soon as I get off.”

“We can’t leave it like this, Molly. I’ll pick up a pizza and come around to your place before you go back to work.” He hung up without waiting for her to refuse.

***

Andy was sitting up in bed complaining about the food when his daughter walked into his room. His color was bad, skim-milk blue, and his hair was lank and greasy. A pot of miniature roses sat on the window ledge beside a teddy bear with a cheerful red bow around its neck and several get well cards. His roommate’s bed was empty, and neatly made. Molly decided not to ask where he’d gone.

She leaned across the meal tray to give her father a kiss. “That doesn’t look so bad,” she said, eyeing the slice of poached chicken, dab of rice, and string beans on his tray.

“Well it is. Chicken must have died of old age. Which is what’s going to happen to me if I stay here any longer.” He shifted uncomfortably and his face twisted in pain.

“Any news?”

“Surgery’s tomorrow,” Lucky said, coming out of the bathroom. “First thing in the morning. The tests showed negative for a stroke, so that’s a relief. There’s a lot of bruising from landing badly on those skis, but none of that seems to be serious.”

“I’ll be here. I can take the day off, although we’re pretty busy, and I have to go back to work tonight. You heard about the killing at the Hudson?”

Lucky shrugged. “The nurses were talking about it.” Molly wrapped her mother in a hug, realizing how worried Lucky must be. Normally she wanted to know every detail of what was happening in town.

They chatted while Andy poked at his food. She debated telling her parents about that scene between Adam and Dave Evans, but one look at her mother decided her against it. Lucky’s normally cheerful face was drawn into lines of strain and the usual sparkle in her eyes was nowhere to be seen.

“Your brother should be here around midnight,” Lucky said. “Perhaps a bit later.”

“Why so late?”

“He had to attend a meeting this morning, then he couldn’t get a flight, so he’s driving.”

“Are the kids coming?” Smith said, thinking it would do her mom good to have the grandchildren, Ben and Roberta, rushing around the house, filling it with noise. Besides, Smith hadn’t seen them for more than a year.

“He didn’t want to take them out of school, and Judy’s busy with a big project.”

“Dad’s busy with a big project right about now, too.”

Lucky gave her a look.

“Yeah, okay. Whatever.”

“Is the cafeteria still open?” Andy asked.

“I think so.”

“Get me a bag of chips will you, Lucky. A large bag.” He pushed at the plate in front of him. “Not enough food there to feed a kitten. And don’t tell me it’s bad for my heart. I’m not having that hospital muck for my last meal.”

Lucky burst into tears.

Molly put her arms around her mother and pulled her close. Over Lucky’s shoulder, she looked at Andy. His blue eyes, the same shade as hers, overflowed with sorrow. He looked so helpless, pale and frightened, wearing a worn hospital nightgown, his skinny legs outlined by the bed sheets. Frightened as much, Molly realized, for his wife as for himself. He let out a deep breath and their eyes met. She nodded, just a bit, and the ghost of a smile crossed his face.

Lucky freed herself from her daughter, and dug in the pocket of her too-big, not very well made, craft-sale sweater. Andy looked toward the window. Molly handed Lucky the box of tissues from the side table.

“Let’s give Dad some down time. Come on, Mom, I’ll walk you to your car. The chips,” she said to her father, “Can wait until tomorrow. I’ll bring one of those party-sized bags to celebrate a successful operation.”

“Sausage rolls would be nice, too. And maybe some of those frozen pizza roll ups.”

“Done.” She kissed her father’s paper-thin cheek. It was rough with bristles. He smelled slightly sour, of disinfectant and medication and fear.

He stretched his arm out and Lucky took his hand.

“You are my life,” he said, and Smith turned away at such a naked sign of intimacy.

“Try not to worry, eh, Mom?” she said as they crossed the parking lot to Lucky’s car. “Dad’s a tough old buzzard.”

“That he is. How’s Adam?”

Smith took a breath. “Great. He’s great. We’re great.”

“It makes me happy to see you happy.” Lucky stroked her daughter’s arm. “Ask him to come and visit. Your dad likes him, you know.”

“Dad would like anyone who might make an honest woman of me.”

“Everything else going okay?”

“Great, Mom. Life’s just great.” Smith tried to keep her voice light, playful. Her mother could usually read her like a book, but tonight Lucky’s mind was elsewhere.

“I’m happy for you,” she repeated.

Smith barely made it home before Adam was knocking at the door. Balancing a large, flat cardboard box, he followed her upstairs to her apartment over the bakery. The odor of fresh pizza mingled with the smell of the day’s baking, and Smith briefly wondered if that’s what heaven smells like.

“I don’t have long, Adam,” she said, as he placed the box on the coffee table. Underneath the heavy stubble on his jaw, the skin was turning purple from the punch he’d received from Evans. Not wanting to start thinking about that again, she went into the kitchen and ripped sections off a roll of paper towel. As she reached up into the cupboard for two plates, she heard the floorboards creak under his weight. His arms slipped around her waist and his hands moved upwards, feeling for her breasts. Still holding the plates, she wriggled free and turned around. He took the dishes from her and put them on the counter.

“Let’s have dessert first.” He bent down and aimed a kiss at her.

She pushed him away. “I thought we were going to talk.”

“Molly, I’m sorry. I really am. Evans is such a jerk, and what he said about you…”

“I heard, Adam. Everyone in the goddamned station heard. He made some stupid crack about our sex life, way outa line, but it would have ended there if you’d walked away. You’re the one who made it into a big deal.”

“It was a lot more than a joke about sex, Molly. I couldn’t stand there and let him insult you like that, and that smirking bastard McMillan taking it all in.”

She threw up her hands and walked out of the kitchen. “Insult me. That’s what it was about, isn’t it. He
insulted
me. Are you defending my
honor
? I don’t have any goddamned honor to be defended.” She turned and faced him, her anger boiling up inside her.

He looked like a little boy, a six-foot four, two-hundred and twenty pound little boy, trying to explain why he’d been in a fight in the school yard.

“Do you think I don’t know what Dave Evans thinks of me? Do you think he doesn’t know what I think of him? But we go out on the streets every day, and we do our jobs, and we watch each other’s back. Because we’re cops first and being cops is the only thing that matters. Now you’ve gone and made it
personal
.”

“Evans made it personal.”

They’d met at a riot. Not the most romantic of settings. She’d been scared out of her wits, but she’d done her job, and Constable Adam Tocek had done his job and the incident had ended well. She was afraid of what might happen in the same circumstances now. Would Adam be able to take control of the situation, move the officers into position, talk calmly to the crowd, as he’d done that day? Or would he be distracted, concerned about her, too busy checking she was all right? Thus putting them both, and everyone around them, in danger.

Plenty of police were married to other officers. They seemed to be able to work together okay. Maybe it needed more time. It was still so new, and…

Sensing her resistance fading, he took a step toward her. “I love you, Molly.”

…and he was so much in love with her.

“Please, Adam,” she said, knowing her voice sounded small and weak. “Don’t try to protect me anymore.”

He kissed her again, a long deep kiss that went all the way down to her toes, and this time she kissed him back.

***

Molly Smith headed out the door of her apartment, grabbing a slice of cold pepperoni pizza from the unopened box to munch on the way to the station.

Adam was dozing, but he’d be gone soon after her. He couldn’t leave his dog, Norman, at home alone all night.

She ran down the stairs, feeling warm and happy and loved.

But nothing, she knew, had been resolved.

C
HAPTER
E
LEVEN

The IHIT team had taken over interview room two. Every time John Winters had to pass it he felt himself getting angrier. On his way back from the Websters’ house, his kit bulging with fingerprint samples, he’d stopped at the drug store to pick up deodorant, a toothbrush and toothpaste, and an electric razor. He kept telling himself that Eliza had nothing to do with the death of Steiner. But he couldn’t stop wondering, as well as wondering what she’d been doing in the man’s hotel room that night. Whatever it was, she hadn’t said anything to her husband about it, not when she got home nor the next morning when they were getting ready to leave for San Francisco. She’d been edgy and nervous, he remembered, as she’d been for most of the week. He’d put it down to restlessness—she hadn’t had a decent job offer for months—and winter blues.

He trusted her, he loved her, he believed in her.

But he just didn’t want to face her tonight.

He worked alone in the small forensic office, developing the prints and scanning them into the computer for uploading into the national database. If anyone with a record had been in that house, he’d find them.

Once that was done, he spent some time at his desk, typing up notes about the thefts, reading his old notes, trying to find similarities. No matter where he looked, he was coming up blank. The homes and homeowners appeared to have nothing in common. They didn’t know each other, except in that casual way that everyone in a small town seems to know almost everyone else. They had not advertised in the paper for someone to mind their homes in their absence, and had all used a different neighbor, if they used one at all, to check on the house. Some of them took the
Gazette
, some did not; some had cancelled delivery for the time they were away, some had not. They weren’t even geographically close, scattered all over town. They took their dogs to different kennels, and their children went to a variety of schools and played on a variety of sports teams. Not all of the homeowners even had children. A few went to church regularly, but to different churches, and most of the victims didn’t have a church at all.

He looked up to see Molly Smith standing in the doorway. Behind her, all was quiet and the lights were dim. Everyone gone home, IHIT either at the scene or finished for the day.

He waved toward a chair. “What did you find out?”

“Nothing.” He suspected she held herself back from adding, “as I could have told you.”

She shifted her equipment belt and plopped down. “I did hear a lot of variations on what is this town coming to. People have read about the break-ins in the paper and aren’t happy. And, let me tell you, that killing hasn’t helped any. What’s happening with that one anyway?”

He looked at her. Her hat was in her lap, and she rubbed at the short blond hair on the top of her head, and her pretty face showed simple curiosity. Apparently she hadn’t heard about Eliza. The police department grapevine wasn’t as efficient as he’d thought. Then again, she was no doubt avoiding listening in on anyone’s conversation, knowing that after that fight in the lunch room, she herself could be the topic
du jour
. He felt a twist in his gut. News of Eliza being brought in for questioning would have pushed a simple fist fight right off the radar.

“I want a full report of what you heard, anyway,” he said, ignoring her question. “Have it on my desk before lunch. Tomorrow night, go up to Station Street, do the section where last week’s break-in happened. Same questions.”

“Tomorrow’s not good, John. I’m off.”

“I told you, I’ll authorize the overtime. You don’t keep bankers’ hours, Molly.”

Her blue eyes opened in surprise. “My father is having an operation tomorrow. I’ll take the day off I’ve been given, thanks.” She stood up. “I’ll do the report before I leave.”

“You do that.” He hesitated before turning back to his computer. “Give your dad my best wishes.” She nodded, and then her footsteps echoed in the quiet hallway.

He took off his reading glasses and rubbed his eyes. His hand reached for the phone, hesitated, and returned to the keyboard. He couldn’t face talking to Eliza. Not yet.