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“She’d be so proud of you,” Dr. Trulo said.
“I hope so.”
“Thank you for sharing your story, Detective,” Dr. Trulo said.
“My grandfather was a pharmacist,” Detective O’Brien said. “He was killed in an armed robbery in his store. They wanted drugs. He wouldn’t budge, even when they said they’d kill him if he didn’t give them what they wanted. I was eleven, but I never forgot the detectives who worked his case, how much they cared about us and him, even though they’d never met him. I’m here for him and for other victims of senseless crime who count on us to get them answers.”
“I’m so sorry, Matt,” Sam said.
“Thanks. Like Neveah said, it was a long time ago.”
“But you never forget,” Gonzo said.
“No, you don’t,” Matt said.
“Thank you for sharing, Detective O’Brien,” Dr. Trulo said. “We’re sorry for the loss of your grandfather. The Blanchet family and the others you encounter in your work are lucky to have you working on their behalf. I won’t keep you any longer, because you have important work to do, but I’m here if I can help. Please don’t hesitate to ask for it if you need it.”
“Thanks, Doc,” Gonzo said as he led the exodus.
“Was it something I said?” Trulo asked Sam when only the two of them remained.
“Shut the door, will you?”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Dr. Trulo reached behind him to push the door closed. “What’s up?”
“I’m not sure,” Sam said. “I’m off my game.”
“How so?”
She shrugged. “Can’t find my mojo. We caught a hot new case, and I just feel… numb. I saw those kids… dead in their beds, took note of the facts and went on with my day. I want to know who killed them, but I’m not feeling the usual rage on behalf of my victims. It’s weird.”
“How much time off did you take after your brother-in-law died?”
“This isn’t about him.”
“Are you sure?” Before Sam could reply, he said, “No one I know has ever been murdered except for people I’ve worked with here. I’ve never had a close family member killed that way, thank God, or even a friend or acquaintance. I’ve been extraordinarily blessed to avoid that hell.”
Sam wanted to ask what his point was, but she’d learned to let him get to it on his own.
“You, on the other hand, have lost your father, your brother-in-law and one of your detectives to murder, all within the last couple of years. You’re still getting over a major injury. That’s a lot by anyone’s standards. Now, add to it your husband has gone from the Senate to the White House, and you’ve taken in three children, all while juggling multiple jobs. I’m surprised you haven’t gone numb long before now.”
“I don’t like being numb to the job.”
“No, you wouldn’t care for that at all.”
“So what do I do?”
“You can power through, like you always do, or you can take some time away.”
“I can’t take time away when we have six new bodies in the morgue.”
“Sure, you can. Your very competent team can handle the investigation.” He got up, came around the table, took the seat next to her and turned to face her. “You know what happens when we push the boundaries of what we can handle?”
“What?”
“We make mistakes. Big mistakes.” After a pause, he said, “I don’t want to see that happen to you, Sam. I also don’t want to see you burn out to the point where you can no longer do the job.”
