“Fine,” she said evenly.
“No nightmares at all?”
“No.”
“No flashbacks of the attack?”
“No.”
“And your emotions? Have they been steady? No outbursts? No unexplained tears?”
“No.”
His eyes pierced hers in analysis but she held his stare evenly. “So you believe, in your gut, you’re ready to face whatever may come at you out there on the street?”
“Yes.”
“You’re mentally prepared for someone to come at you with a gun? A knife? Their fists?”
“Yes.”
“And how do you think you will react when they do?”
She eyed him carefully. “Well, it depends on the situation, but I will defer to my training and do what I need to do to ensure everyone’s safety.”
“And if you can’t? Ensure everyone’s safety?”
She stared at him. “Then I will do whatever I need to do to stop whoever is threatening everyone’s safety. As is my job.”
He continued to study her, as though she was a painting and he was trying to ascertain the artist’s meaning behind the work.
“You’re very stoic, detective,” he said eventually. “I know it comes with wearing a badge, that need to be strong, to be invincible, but it takes a much stronger person to admit weakness. To admit they need help. So if you feel any–”
“I don’t.”
He stared at her.
“I know that’s not what you want to hear,” she said, “but it’s the truth. My… my upbringing… I grew up fast and strength was required. Mental strength–”
“You’re referring to your sister’s suicide?”
Salvi paused. An image of Faith hanging from the ceiling fan flashed inside her mind. “Yes,” she said. “Among other things. I left home young, fended for myself. I learned resilience a long time ago. It’s a part of who I am now. I’m not a weepy little girl. If I was, I wouldn’t last a day in this job. You know that. You know it takes a certain type to do what I do. I like my job, Doctor Marr, and I would like to get back out there and do it. I want to keep people safe and take down the ones who threaten their safety.”
“You faced a serial killer, detective. He almost killed you.”
“Yes. Almost. But he didn’t. And you’re wrong.”
“I’m wrong?” his thick brows furrowed. “About what?”
“I didn’t face a serial killer, technically I faced two. And I am still standing to tell the tale.”
“Yes, you did,” he nodded. “And one of them is still alive. Edward Moses, Subjugate-52. How does that make you feel?”
“He’s locked up in the Solme Complex. I feel fine about that.”
Marr nodded again. She could see his mind ticking over as he scrolled through the data once more.
“Come on, Doctor,” Salvi smiled playfully. “I know you’re looking for a reason to find something wrong with me, but you won’t, and you know it.”
He returned his analytical eyes to her.
“I took down a serial killer,” she said. “There is nothing more cathartic than that.”
She watched as his mind seemed to circle around some more, before he sighed and held the data pane out to her. “Sign at the bottom and you’re free to go.” She reached for the pane but he quickly pulled it away again. She looked back at him, curious. “But the second you feel any cracks in this stoic façade of yours, detective, you call me. Understand?”
She contemplated his words for a moment, then nodded. “Of course.”
It was mid-afternoon when Salvi entered the large, gray-walled and mirror-windowed building that was the home of the San Francisco Police Department’s hub 9 precinct. She gave a nod to those manning the reception desk behind blast-proof glass windows, flicking her eyes to the data screens behind them displaying all the alerts. Though the past few weeks had been busy, especially with her being desk-bound, nothing looked out of the ordinary on the list of current call-outs.
She swiped the iPort strapped to her wrist over the console on the wall, to obtain the necessary clearance to access the back of house offices. Once her ID and badge number were confirmed, the door unlocked and she passed on through.
She made her way down the corridor, passing digital screens displaying images of past department heroes, health and safety bulletins, the latest social news that celebrated all the recent hatches, matches and dispatches, and a call out for volunteers to assist in organizing the Christmas party, just several weeks away. When she arrived at the homicide bullpen, she saw it was empty and Ford’s office door was closed. She moved to her desk and shed her jacket, placed her gun in her drawer and studied her cast-free forearm.
Sadie, the robo-cleaner, swished past on its way back to its containment cupboard, swiveling its head her way.
“Good afternoon, Detective Brentt,” the computerized voice said.
“Afternoon, Sadie,” she said, checking the time on her iPort screen as she sat down at her desk and logged into the SFPD hub 9 homicide portal.
Riverton, the department’s dedicated AI, appeared on her screen, shimmering slightly in its golden androgynous form, pictured from the shoulders up.
“Good afternoon Detective Brentt,” it said. “I see you’ve been cleared for active duty. Congratulations.”
“Thank you, Riverton,” she said, then suddenly wondered whether Riverton had been tasked to watch her and report back to Doctor Marr. “Has Detective Beggs advised if we’re okay to close the Kelto’s Diner case yet?”
“Yes, detective,” it answered. “I’ve completed the report and it is ready for your review and sign off.”
“Great,” she said. “Please load it. End request.”
As the file appeared in her portal on screen, Mitch entered the bullpen. Dressed in his usual black, with his long coat swishing behind him, he carried two coffees her way and held one out to her.
“Detective Grenville,” she smiled, taking the coffee as the aroma of arabica beans filled the air around her. “What’s this?”
“It’s celebratory, I hope,” he said, dark green
