“You got it.”
I press him forward against the car. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you. Do you understand these rights as they have been read to you?”
He doesn’t respond.
“Not a problem,” I reply. “We’ll make sure you have a clear understanding. Do you have any weapons on you?” Again, no answer. “Guess I’ll be finding those, too.” Quickly, I pat him down, withdrawing a set of keys and a wallet from his pocket. No weapons, though. After handing those to the uniform, I pull him back and wait for the uniform to open the door. “Watch your head. I’d hate for you to get a headache,” I snap as I press down on top of his head and guide him into the car.
“Yeah, you sure seem like you care.” He spits at me, and it’s all I can do to rein in my temper.
“That’s assault, wouldn’t you say so, Detective?” my partner asks.
“Something like that.” I close the door, then use the sleeve of my jacket to wipe the spit from my cheek. “I’m going home to shower. I’ll be back soon. Let him sweat.”
“You got it,” Redmond replies. “I’ll catch a ride back with this guy.” He clasps a hand on the uniform’s shoulder, then climbsinto the passenger seat while I finish the walk down toward where I left my car.
Once behind the wheel, I take a moment to breathe before pulling away from the curb.
Some morning.
After a sleepless night, combined with not getting a chance to have my coffee this morning, I recognize that I’m in a less-than-stellar mood. So as I make my way back home, I dial up the one person who always puts things into perspective for me.
“Well, hello, darling,” a soft, feminine voice greets.
“Hey, Ma,” I reply. “I just wanted to call and see how your morning was going.”
“Not too bad. I spent the morning in Bible study, then had brunch with some friends. How about you?”
“Caught a murderer,” I reply. “Got spit on.”
“Oh, honey. Congratulations on one, sorry about two.”
Chuckling, I pull down my street. “Thanks. Headed home to shower now, so I figured I’d call and see how you were doing.”
She’s quiet for a moment, and I know it’s because she’s reading through the real reason I called. “Honey, I’m doing just fine. Feeling back to my old self again.”
I can hear the smile in her voice, and it brings one to my face, even as the all-too-familiar worry creeps in. She’d felt fine before the diagnosis, too. It was just a routine appointment that turned into a two-year nightmare.
“When’s your next checkup?”
“Three weeks,” she replies. “But, honey, I’m telling you, I’m fine.”
“I know you are. It’s just important to make sure.” I pull into my driveway and park my issued car beside the truck I rarely get to drive. “Dinner tomorrow?”
“I’ll see you then. Love you, honey.”
“Love you, too, Ma.” After ending the call, I climb out of my car and head straight inside, more than ready to get cleaned up so I can get back to the precinct and put this case behind me.
After unlocking the door, I step into my house.
It’s so quiet.
Too quiet.
I used to love it, but then my mom moved in, and I got used to having her here. Now that she’s back in the house I grew up in and I’m alone, the quiet is unsettling.
A small meow catches my attention, so I smile down at my cat as he rubs against my legs. “Hey, there, Trigs.”
As desperate as I am to shower, I’m even more desperate for coffee, so I head into the kitchen to start the coffee pot before finally heading into the bathroom and turning on the water.
