Part 31 (1/2)
I don't know who called Tomasetti, but he's waiting for me when I walk out of the sheriff's office. My stride falters when I spot him, leaning against the Tahoe, his cell phone against his ear. He watches me approach, mutters something into the phone, and hangs up, all the while his eyes never leaving me.
I greet him with, ”Who are you talking to at two o'clock in the morning?”
”My mom.”
The sound that escapes me sounds nothing like the laugh I intended. His mother pa.s.sed away some ten years ago. I suspect he was getting a quick update from Rasmussen.
He rounds the front of the SUV and opens the pa.s.senger door for me. ”Everything go okay in there?”
”I'm probably off the case.” I slide onto the seat and fasten my belt.
”You're too close to it. Might be a good thing.”
”I wanted to finish this.”
”Imagine that.” His voice is teasing, but a thread of gravity comes through. ”Just so you know, Kate, I'm not going to let you go home and lay into that bottle of vodka.”
”The thought never crossed my mind.”
He gives me a knowing look before slamming the door.
We don't speak on the drive to my house. He doesn't bother parking in the alley this time, but I don't remind him about small towns and gossip. The truth of the matter is, I don't care. I'm like a zombie as he guides me to the front door and takes my key to open it.
It's strange, but my own house feels alien to me. After the last hours, it seems too normal and homey, as if I don't belong in such a place after everything that transpired tonight. Tomasetti takes me to the bathroom off the hall, shoves open the shower curtain, and turns on the water.
”I'll get you some clothes and a plastic bag for that hand,” he tells me.
My uniform smells of lake water and sweat. When I look down at the front of my s.h.i.+rt and slacks, I'm shocked by the sight of blood. I don't know if it's mine or Armitage's. Tomasetti returns with a plastic bag, which he places around my bandaged hand and secures with a rubber band at my wrist. Then he's gone and I'm alone again. I try to avoid the mirror as I undress, but it's a small room and I catch a glimpse of myself as I peel off my s.h.i.+rt. I see a pale, bruised face and haunted eyes and all I can think is that I don't know this woman. She can't be me because she looks like a victim and that's the one thing I swore I'd never be again.
Turning away, I drop my clothes on the floor and step into the shower. I turn the water on as hot as I can stand and spend ten minutes scrubbing my skin pink. I don't let myself think as I go through the motions. My mind flatlines. When I'm finished, I emerge to find sweatpants, underwear, and a tee-s.h.i.+rt on the counter.
I find Tomasetti sitting at the kitchen table, texting. He looks up when I enter and puts away his cell. He's got a good poker face, but I don't miss the quick flash of concern at the sight of me-or the wariness that follows.
”Texting your mom?” I ask.
He withholds a smile. ”How's the hand?”
”Hurts.”
”Are you hungry?”
I shake my head. ”Any word on David Borntrager?”
”I talked to Glock while you were in the shower. David's fine. He's going to spend the night with a foster family. It's still early in the game, but the social worker thought they'd eventually place him with his grandparents.”
”He's only eight years old. In the last week, he's lost his entire family. His datt. His siblings.” I can't bring myself to say Mattie's name. ”Have they taken Armitage's statement?”
”He's asking for his attorney.”
”We've got him dead to rights.”
”I think you're right.”
”Did they find the pin?” I ask. ”The piece I found?”
”Rasmussen didn't say.”
”They're still processing the scene?”
”Probably going to be there all night.”
”What about the quarry?”
”Highway patrol and a couple of your guys are out there now. First light, they'll send in a couple of divers, get a wrecker out there to pull out your Explorer.”
For an instant I'm back in the vehicle. Black water closing over my face. Like ice against my skin. The stink of mud in my nostrils. The need for a breath an agony in my chest ...
The sound of my name snaps me back. I think about the Explorer sitting at the bottom of the quarry, and I choke out a laugh that sounds slightly hysterical. ”The town council is going to have to buy me a new vehicle.”
Tomasetti smiles, but it's a polite gesture. He's worried about me and trying to get a handle on my frame of mind. Good luck with that.
We fall silent again. To my right, the faucet drips into the sink. The vent at the bottom of the refrigerator rattles when the motor kicks on. ”Did Rasmussen find the truck parked in the barn behind the clinic?”
Tomasetti nods. ”It's already been towed to impound for processing.”
”It's the vehicle Armitage used to killed Paul Borntrager and his two children. Tomasetti, there was a snow blade attached...” I lose my breath and can't finish the sentence.
”I know,” he says gently.
”That son of a b.i.t.c.h murdered those two sweet children,” I tell him. ”How could someone do that? How could Mattie allow it?”
He stares at me. ”I don't know.”
For the span of several minutes neither of us speaks. We contemplate each other. I can only imagine how I must look to him. Emotionally shaky. Too involved. Slightly off. I feel like gla.s.s that's been blown too thin and will shatter at the slightest touch.
”She almost killed me.” I try to swallow, but I don't have enough moisture in my mouth. ”I loved her like my own sister. What in the name of G.o.d happened to her?” It hurts to say the words, and for the first time tears threaten.
Tomasetti looks away, sighs. ”I don't know, Kate.”
”Have her parents been told?”
”I don't know.” He glances at his watch. ”Probably by now.”
”I should have done it. I should have been the one to tell them.”
”You're the last person who should be talking to them about their daughter. You're exactly where you need to be.” He walks to the refrigerator, pulls two bottles of Killian's Irish Red from the shelf, turns back to me, and holds them up. ”In lieu of the Absolut.” He sets the bottle on the table and pulls out my chair. ”Sit down.”