Page 30 of Carter

“It’s fine. What’s going on?”

I feel the emotion crawling up my throat and settling there, making it difficult to speak.

This is what I said I wouldn’t do. This is what I need to get over so I can talk and tell him what he needs to know to solve the case. Why is it so hard to just fucking talk about this?

“Sorry,” I say, shaking my head. I take a deep breath, let it out, then face him and tell myself I’m doing this for Ryan. “I’m not happy with how Friday went.”

His eyes narrow just slightly. “Okay. How come?”

“It’s hard to talk about what happened, and both times someone asked, I’ve gotten emotional and couldn’t explain the right way.”

“Understandable.”

“I just want to go over everything again more clearly. Make sure I’m saying everything that needs to be said.” I say the words firmly, having practiced them all morning. I’m proud of getting them out. Now I just need to get the rest out without crying.

“Yeah, of course. Give me a minute to grab my stuff.”

He lifts his bag from the floor and digs through it.

Spread along his desk are stacks of folders with names on them. All unsolved cases, I’m sure. I don’t see Ryan’s.

But that’s because he pulls it out of his bag, and I wonder why that one gets special attention. Not that I’m complaining, but does he always take cases home? There was a comment he made about always working, but then why are some here but some are still in his bag?

He puts the file down in front of him. It’s not as thick as some of the others, and the morbid part of me wonders what’s in there. Probably a lot of things I don’t want to see. The thought makes me sick, so I shove it from my mind, which isn’t easy to do. Until Nash starts speaking.

“Where do you want to start?” he asks, shifting the file and notepad in front of him. He puts his bag back on the floor and moves the other folders aside. I can’t help but wonder how many times someone pushed Ryan’s folder aside for another time.

“Are these all cases that you’ve re-opened?” I ask instead of answering his question.

He glances at them. “Hoping to.”

“What does that mean?”

“It’s not up to me whether or not they are opened again. I’m going through them all, hoping to find enough evidence to support re-opening.”

“So you just look through these files all day? Reading stories of people who were murdered. Seeing photos. Going over statements.”

“That’s part of it. I also call the people involved. Try to get more information. Look over reports and evidence.”

“That doesn’t… Isn’t that a lot?” I ask. “Like, mentally. Seeing all that death. I can’t imagine those photos are pretty. Reports, either.”

I know I’d already asked this… sort of. But I didn’t have a clear head then, and I want to understand why he is so capable of doing this when I can hardly function.

“They’re not. But it’s what keeps me doing this job. A lot of what I see is horrendous. Things no one should ever have to see, and that’s why I do it. It can be a lot. Some cases hit me harder than others, but I use those emotions to push forward and do what I can to solve them.”

“Have you solved any yet?” I ask.

“No,” he says with a slight shake of his head. “But, like I said, I’ve only been here a month.”

“Are you close?”

“Hard to tell, but my boss is already annoyed with how many times I’m begging him to reopen cases and add more people to my team.”

I chuckle. “I can’t imagine you begging for anything.”

He smirks, then grabs a pen, shifting in his seat.

“Where do you want to start?” he asks again.