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“I’m sorry you feel that way,” Faith said coolly.
“This isn’t just what I feel,” Michael said. “Be honest with yourself, Faith. Look at your behavior the past several months and tell me you don’t notice a change. Ever since I told you about the copycat killer case, you’ve been losing more and more control as time goes by.”
Faith didn’t answer right away. Most of her seethed at Michael’s statement, but a part of her couldn’t run from the fact that he was right. Still, he was way out of line to suggest that she was losing control.
“Michael,” she said evenly, “I appreciate your concern for me, and I know it comes from a good place, but you’re way off base here.”
“I know I’m being … direct … about this, Faith, but—"
“No, listen for a moment,” Faith said, “I won’t pretend that what happened to me didn’t affect me, and I won’t pretend that knowing that someone else is out there doing the same thing to people that Trammell did to me doesn’t affect me now. That being said, I have contributed significantly to this case and the previous two cases since leaving the hospital. I discovered the pattern that led us to Eric Malvern. I identified Horace Greenwood as the Weed Killer. The most serious of my mistakes have been procedural lapses. I let it slip to Lucinda Holland that we suspect that her husband was a victim of the same killer that murdered Katherine Navarro and Amanda Montgomery. I take ownership of that, and when the Boss wants to string us both up, I’ll make sure it’s my neck that gets the rope. But to go so far as to say that my moodiness after a sleepless night and a day full of investigation and the police mishandling Doctor Porter’s interrogation is somehow a result of me losing control is unfair.”
Michael lowered his eyes. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’ll back off of what I said, at least the part about your effectiveness. But you are suffering, and it is affecting you, and it will affect your performance soon enough. And I care about you, Faith. I know you don’t like hearing me say that, but it’s true. I care about you, and I don’t want you to suffer.”
“I appreciate that, Michael, but we’re here to do a job. Look …” She hesitated a moment, then sighed. “Look, I’m going to get help, okay. I’m going to take care of myself, but right now, I would love it if we can just focus on the case.”
“Will do,” Michael said. “Thank you for listening. Sorry you have to put up with me.”
“Oh, enough with the pity party,” Faith said. “If you’re going to talk smack on me, then you can deal with my attitude.”
“Fair enough,” he said, lifting his hands.
“So,” Faith said, “speaking of the case, there is one angle we haven’t looked at.”
“What’s that?” Michael said.
“The wedding rings.”
Michael thought a moment, then chuckled. “It would make sense that as soon as I call you out for making mistakes, you point out something I didn’t notice.”
“Just be grateful I agreed to focus on the case for now,” she replied with a grin, “because for the rest of your career, I will never let you live this down.”
“Well, I was thinking about early retirement anyway,” he quipped.
“Anyway,” Faith said, rolling her eyes, “the killer takes the wedding rings as trophies. We don’t know if he keeps them or if he gets rid of them, but if he gets rid of them, then we might just be able to find a lead by talking to jewelers and pawnbrokers.”
“There’s no way we’re going to canvass every single jeweler and pawnbroker in the Tucson area,” Michael said. “It’s like Morgan County all over again, just digging through wells at random hoping we find something.”
“No,” Faith agreed, “but we can recruit Travis and Derek to get some uniforms on it. It can be their penance for going cowboy on Doctor Porter yesterday.”
“I like the sound of that,” Michael said.
Detectives Brown and Chapman, needless to say, were not pleased to hear that their day would be spent managing uniforms investigating every single pawn shop in Tucson and its suburbs, but when Faith gently reminded them that they were responsible for yesterday’s debacle, they grudgingly accepted.
“Well,” Michael said, “that’s that. What do we do while we wait?”
“I’m going to take Turk for a walk,” Faith said. “Clear my head a bit and see if something sticks.”
“Well, that’s worked for you in the past,” Michael said. “I’ll follow up with the spouses and see if any of the rings have magically turned up.”
“You do that,” Faith said. “Call me if you find anything.”
Turk was eager to get out of the hotel room and explore. He was seven years old, but Faith was pretty sure he didn’t know that. When he was working, he was the picture of professionalism. But when he wasn’t working, he was just a giant puppy. He flitted around Faith, sniffing at every bush and tree and chatting politely with the squirrels and birds that occasionally revealed themselves.
Watching him enjoy himself calmed Faith. She understood now why single women often had dogs as companions. It was hard to feel depressed when you were watching a puppy play.
Single. She wasn’t single. God, David. She sighed, and her momentary burst of joy vanished. She rolled her eyes and pressed her palms to the sides of her head. Turk, sensing the change in her mood, immediately trotted to her side. She smiled down at him and reached down to ruffle his fur.
“Sorry, buddy,” she said, “just thinking about Dr. Friedman.”
