"Yes, Chief."
"You took the woman out of the fire."
"Yes, Chief."
"You have been fucking the woman you took out of the fire ever since.”
"Yes, Chief."
"In the cabin you go to when you do not want to be seen."
"Yes, Chief."
"And you are in love with her."
"Yes, Chief."
She lets the count go.
She lets the count go a long beat. The chopping block is cold under my hand. The pines are black and the sky between them is full of stars now and the small moon is over the ridge, and Val Mercer is standing in front of me at the chopping block in my own woodlot saying the sentence I have not said, and I am sitting still under the sentence and I am not moving and I am not lying.
"Hale."
"Chief."
"This is the worst thing you have done."
"Yes, Chief."
"This is worse than the house."
"Yes, Chief."
"This is worse than Pittsburgh."
"Yes, Chief."
"You understand?”
"Yes, Chief."
"If this comes out, you are not a lieutenant. You are not a firefighter. You are a woman in a federal courtroom in a chairnext to me, and the chair next to me is the chair I will not be able to keep you out of. The widow in your bed is the chair I cannot keep you out of. Do you understand?”
"Yes, Chief."
"Lena cannot keep us out of it. The mayor cannot keep us out of it. The investigation cannot be redirected away from a missing widow being found in the bed of the lieutenant who arrived first on the scene of her husband's fire. Do you understand?”
"Yes, Chief."
"Tuesday at ten you sit across from Elise Warren."
"Yes, Chief."
"If she has the cabin, you are done."
"Yes, Chief."
She is quiet a count.
