Darkness, Take My Hand (Kenzie & Gennaro 2)

She chuckled. “Never ask a woman her weight or her age, Officer Dunn.”

He nodded. “Just seems like, in either case, the Lord’s been awful kind to you, Miss.”

I rolled my eyes.

She leaned back, took a second look at him.

“You will go far, Officer Dunn.”

“Thank you, Miss. People keep telling me that.”

“Believe them,” she said.

He looked down at his feet for a moment, shuffled them slightly, and tugged on his right earlobe in such a way that I was sure it was a nervous habit of his.

He cleared his throat. “Sergeant Amronklin said the FBI boys would be sending reinforcements by as soon as they get them all rounded up on the South Shore. He said by two or three in the morning, the latest. I understand front and back doors are protected by alarms and the back of the house is secure.”

Angie nodded.

“I’d still like to take a look back there.”

“Be my guest.”

He tipped his hat again and walked back around as we stood on the porch and listened to his footsteps crunch through the frozen grass.

“Where’d Devin get this kid?” Angie said. “Mayberry?”

“Probably a nephew,” I said.

“Of Devin’s?” She shook her head. “No way.”

“Trust me. Devin’s got eight sisters and half of them are nuns. Literally. The other half are married to men who know they take a back seat to the Lord.”

“How’d Devin come out of that gene pool?”

“It’s mystery, I admit.”

“This one’s so innocent and forthright,” she said.

“He’s too young for you.”

“Every boy needs a woman to corrupt him,” she said.

“And you’re just the girl to do it.”

“Bet your ass. Did you see the way those thighs of his moved in those tight pants?”

I sighed.

The flashlight beam preceded Timothy Dunn’s crunching feet as he came back around the house.

“All clear,” he said as we came back out on the steps.

“Thank you, Officer.”

He met her eyes and his pupils dilated, then fluttered to his right.

“Tim,” he said. “Please call me Tim, Miss.”

“Then call me Angie. He’s Patrick.”

He nodded and his eyes glanced guiltily over my face.

“So,” he said.

“So,” Angie said.

“So, I’ll be in the car. If I need to approach the house I’ll call first. Sergeant Amronklin gave me the number.”

“What if the line’s busy?” I said.

He’d thought of that. “Three flashes from my flashlight directed at that window.” He pointed at the living room. “I’ve seen a diagram of the house and that should carry into any room except the kitchen and bathroom. Correct?”

“Yes.”

“And finally, if you’re asleep or don’t see it, I’ll ring the bell. Two short rings. Okay?”

“Sounds good,” I said. “You’ll be fine,” he said. Angie nodded. “Thank you, Tim.”

He nodded, but couldn’t meet her eyes. He walked back across the street and down to his car and climbed in. I grimaced at Angie. “Tim,” I said. “Oh, shut up.”

“They’ll get over it,” Angie said.

We sat in the dining room talking about Grace and Mae. From there, I could see the dot of red light pulsing from the alarm console by the front door. Instead of reassuring me, it seemed only to underscore our vulnerability.

“No, they won’t.”

“If they love you, they’ll see you were just cracking under stress. Cracking badly, I admit, but cracking.”

I shook my head. “Grace was right. I brought it into her home. And then I became it. I terrified her child, Angie.”

“Kids are resilient,” she said.

“If you were Grace, and I pulled that performance on you, gave your child nightmares for a month probably, what would you do?”

“I’m not Grace.”

“But if you were.”

She shook her head, looked down at the beer in her hand.

“Come on,” I said.

She was still looking at the beer when she spoke. “I’d probably want you out of my life. Forever.”

We moved to the bedroom, sat in chairs on either side of the bed, both of us exhausted but still too wired to sleep.

The rain had stopped and the lights in the bedroom were off as the ice cast silver light against the windows and bathed the room in pearl.

“It’ll eat us eventually,” Angie said. “The violence.”

“I always thought we were stronger than it.”

“You were wrong. It infests you after a while.”

“You talking about me or you?”

“Both of us. Remember when I shot Bobby Royce a few years ago?”

I remembered. “You saved my life.”

“By taking his.” She took a deep drag on her cigarette. “I told myself for years that I didn’t feel what I felt when I pulled the trigger, that I couldn’t have.”

“What’d you feel?” I said.

She leaned forward in the chair, her feet on the edge of the bed, and hugged her knees.

“I felt like God,” she said. “I felt great, Patrick.”

Later, she lay in bed with the ashtray on her abdomen, staring up at the ceiling while I remained in the chair.

“This is my last case,” she said. “Least for a while.”

“Okay.”

She turned her head on the pillow. “You don’t mind?”

“No.”

She blew smoke rings at the ceiling.

“I’m so tired of being scared, Patrick. I’m so tired of all that fear turning into anger. I’m exhausted by how much all of it makes me hate.”

“I know,” I said.

“I’m tired of dealing with psychotics and deadbeats and scumbags and liars on a continual basis. I’m starting to think that’s all there is in the world.”

I nodded. I was tired of it, too.

“We’re still young.” She looked over at me. “You know?”

“Yeah.”

“We’re still young enough to change if we want. We’re young enough to get clean again.”

I leaned forward. “How long have you felt this way?”

“Ever since we killed Marion Socia. Maybe ever since I killed Bobby Royce, I don’t know. But a long time. I’ve felt so dirty for so long, Patrick. And I didn’t used to.”