“I should have known better.”
“Ma’am, allow me to apologize,” Larkin said again, hastily checking his wristwatch to confirm it was 9:22. “I had every intention of honoring our appointment this morning, but—” Offering an excuse made Larkin want to actually vomit, but he’d been trying to get Marco’s mother to speak with him for over a month. Anything to save face was necessary at this point. “I was called to a scene this morning involving a homicide victim—”
“My son was a victim of homicide too, Detective.”
“Yes, ma’am—”
“I was truly starting to believe you were different from all those other cops. That you actually cared about Marco.”
“I do care. With all my heart.”
“Save it. I don’t want to hear it.”
“I can be there in twenty minutes,” Larkin tried.
“No. As I said, I’m flying to California today, and I need to finish getting ready.”
“Mrs. Garcia—”
“Goodbye.” She hung up.
“Fuck,” Larkin whispered as Doyle lowered the phone. “Fuck, fuck,fuck!” His voice grew with each word until he was shouting inside the car.
“Hey.” Doyle put a hand on Larkin’s forearm. “Jesus, Evie. You’re shaking.”
“I forgot. I forgot. I fucking forgot!”
“Pull over. No—right now.” Doyle was quiet until Larkin double-parked and put his hazards on. He undid his seat belt and shifted so he could look at Larkin.
“Don’t tell me it’s okay,” Larkin said before Doyle could open his mouth. “It’s not. It’s not okay at all.” He had to blink back the burn in his eyes. “Look at my phone. Open the calendar.”
Doyle hesitated before he did as Larkin asked.
Larkin could only imagine how…insaneit looked to someone on the outside. Every single meeting he’d organized for the dozens of cases he worked had been methodically inputted with a name, date, time, case number. There were reminders for dry cleaning, groceries, gas, even vacuuming. Everything was color-coordinated. Because nonhabitual engagements or errands were the true Achilles’ heel of Larkin’s short-term memory issues. He could remember talking to Camila about meeting this morning, could recite the conversation almost verbatim, but being able to recall an appointment plan on its own, as a unique memory unattached to anything else, was like smoke in the wind. Hehadto write dates and times down for appointments if they weren’t something worked into his routine. It’d made him obsessive about checking the time, making certain he wasn’t overlooking a place to be, someone to speak to, something to pick up.
And he’d blown it with one of the victims who needed him most.
“All right.” Doyle closed out of the app and returned the phone to the cup holder. “It’s not okay. Is that what you want to hear?”
Larkin leaned forward and set his forehead on the steering wheel.
“You made one mistake,” Doyle said. “You forgot to write down an appointment. Will that stop you from investigating the case?”
Larkin brought his head up quickly. “You don’t understand. I didn’t forget the way other people make a mistake. I forgot because my brain is broken and everyone says I have a gift, that I’m incredible, superhuman, but I’m not! I’m a neurotic, barely functioning nightmare, and if I lost this job, I would have nothing to live for.Nothing!” He hit his forehead hard with both wrists out of pent-up rage.
“Stop it,” Doyle demanded. He grabbed Larkin’s wrists and kept them pinned. “You’re not going to lose your job. You’re a first-grade detective with more commendations than most captains and deputy inspectors. I’ve heard your name whispered down at 1PP more than once, and do you want to know why you haven’t been promoted? I’m pretty sure it’s because people are shit scared of having to take orders from you. Because of your thoroughness and expectations.”
“I don’t want to be promoted!”
“Evie, that’s not the point. You’re not going to be fired because one victim decided not to meet with you.”
Larkin shoved Doyle off and opened the center console. He grabbed the bottle of Xanax and tried to unscrew the childproof top, but his goddamn hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
“What is that?” When Larkin didn’t answer, Doyle reached for the prescription bottle and pried it from Larkin’s sweating hands.
“It’s a legal prescription,” Larkin protested.
Doyle nodded as he silently read the label. He cracked the top with his big hand, shook one pill into his palm, then held it out.
