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“I can understand that. When I got back to D.C. I was stationed at Fort Myer in Arlington for a couple of months. I came home in my dress greens one Saturday. I got off a bus in downtown Washington. A white girl in bell-bottom jeans and sandals came up and spit on my uniform. She called me a baby murderer. I’ll never forget that for the rest of my life. I was so angry that I turned and walked away as fast as I could. The hippie girl had no idea what was happening over there, what it’s like to get shot at, to lose friends, to fight for your country.”
Billie clasped her hands together and slowly rocked back and forth. “I don’t know what to tell you about Laurence. I think you probably would have liked him. Everybody did. He was very responsible, a good father to our children. He was a thoughtful, loving husband. Before h
e died, and I’m talking twenty minutes before he was executed, I sat with him in the prison. He stared into my eyes and said, ‘I did not kill that young man. Please make sure our kids know that. Make sure, Billie.’”
“Yeah,” Sampson said. “Ellis Cooper said something like that too.”
It got quiet in the living room. A little uncomfortable for the first time. Finally, Sampson was compelled to speak. “I’m glad you called, Billie. Tonight was great for me. Thank you. I need to go now. It’s getting late.”
She was standing beside him and she didn’t move. Sampson leaned down and kissed her cheek. God, she was tiny.
“You do think I’ll break,” she said, but then smiled. “That’s all right.”
She walked him out to his car. They felt compelled to talk again — mostly about the night sky over the ocean, how expansive and beautiful it was.
Sampson got into the Cougar and Billie started to walk back to the house. He watched her, and he felt sorry that the night was ending and he’d probably never see her again. He was also a little worried about her. How had the straw doll gotten into her house?
She stopped at the stairs to the house, one hand on the banister. Then, almost as if she’d forgotten something, Billie walked back to his car.
“I . . . uhm . . . ,” she said, then stopped. She seemed nervous for the first time since they’d met. Unsure of herself.
Sampson took her hands in his. “I was wondering if I could have another cup of coffee,” he said.
She laughed lightly and shook her head. “Are you always this gallant?”
Sampson shrugged. “No,” he said. “I’ve never been this way in my whole life.”
“Well, c’mon back inside.”
Chapter 56
IT WAS ALMOST midnight, and Jamilla and I were up to our necks in the shimmering mountain pool that looked down on Phoenix in the distance and on the desert up closer. The sky over our heads seemed to go on forever. A big jet took off from Phoenix, and all I could think of was the tragedy at the World Trade Center. I wondered if any of us would ever be able to look at a jet in the sky without having that thought.
“I don’t want to get out of this water. Ever,” she said. “I love it here. The desert sky goes on and on.”
I held Jam close to me, felt her strong heart beating against my chest. The night desert air was cool, and it made being in the pool feel even better.
“I don’t want to leave here either,” I whispered against her cheek.
“So why do we do what we do? Live in the big city. Hunt killers? Work long hours for low pay? Obsess over murders?”
I looked into her deep brown eyes. Those were good questions, ones I’d asked myself dozens of times, but especially during the past few months. “It always seems like a good idea at the time. But not right now.”
“You think you could ever quit? Get past the adrenaline? The need to feel what you do matters? I’m not sure that I can, Alex.”
I had told Jamilla that I was probably going to leave the police force in Washington. She nodded and said she understood, but I wondered if she really did. How many times had she faced down killers? Had any of her partners died?
“So,” she said, “we’ve been beating all around it. What do you think about us, Alex? Is there hope for two cops off the beat?”
I smiled. “I think we’re doing great. Of course, that’s just me.”
“I think I agree,” Jamilla smiled, “too early to tell for sure, right? But we’re having fun, aren’t we? I haven’t thought about being a detective all day. That’s a first.”
I kissed her lips. “Neither have I. And don’t knock fun. I could use a lot more of it in my life. This beats solving homicides.”
“Really, Alex?” She grinned and pulled me close against her. “Is this good for you? Well, it’s good for me too. That’s enough for right now. I love being here. I love tonight. And I trust you, Alex.”
I couldn’t have agreed more.
