Closer Than Blood

him. Kaminski smiled.

“Long story. But, yeah. Want one?”

“Pass. Water is fine.” Kaminski retrieved a bottle of Dasani and a notepad.

“You said something was bothering you when you called me.”

“Right.”

“And what is that?”

“This isn’t easy. I feel pretty stupid. And it might not be anything. But you know I’ve been thinking a lot about what happened over at Tori’s place.” Tori’s place. The words resonated in an exceedingly familiar way.

“You have? Good. You should. You, Ms. Connelly, and the shooter are our only witnesses.” Darius nodded.

“Yeah, that night.”

“Have you remembered something new?” Sweat collected above Darius’s eyebrows.

“It isn’t that. It’s, well . . .” An attractive female officer walked by the sliver of a window in the door and Darius used the pleasant visual distraction to stop the conversation. His eyes met Kaminski’s and, if he had expected some kind of vague semblance of male bonding, it was not the right time or place. Not in the middle of a murder investigation, for sure.

“Dude, get to it,” Kaminski said.

“What are you trying to tell me?” Darius looked down. His eyes were awash with worry.

“I don’t want to get involved in this mess. But I don’t think I have any choice. I’ve weighed the implications of my silence and, well, I guess I have to come out with it.” The detective set his pen down. His eyes fixed on the man on the other side of the city-issue, Formica-topped desk.

“You involved in this?” he asked. Darius waved his hands as if pushing away the accusation.

“Oh, hell no. Not at all.”

“Then what is it?”

“I had an affair with Tori. I mean, it really wasn’t an affair. We messed around a little. Only once.” If Eddie Kaminski or any other cop had a five-dollar bill for every time someone said whatever they had done was “only one time,” they’d be on the beach in Maui with a mai tai and a beautiful babe at his side.

“Can’t say as I blame you,” Kaminski said.

“She’s easy on the eyes.” Darius nodded.

“Tell me about it. I mean, yeah, she is, and that’s probably the biggest part of it. You know, look at me, I’m not young. I’m not really handsome, though I looked a lot better in my day. I’m just a big fool.”

“You aren’t the first, and you won’t be the last. Tell me, if it only happened one time—”

“Yes, that’s what I said.” Kaminski leaned back; he hadn’t been trying to push the guy, but it was clear that’s how he’d taken it.

“Okay. Tell me.”

“She invited me over to help her with some bogus project. She gave me the look, you know.”

“The look?”

“The look—I’m lonely and you’ll do.” Kaminski took a drink.

“Yeah. I know it.”

“We ended up having sex right then and there, but that was it. I wanted seconds the next day—like a dumbass thinking all of a sudden I had something some woman wanted other than my wallet.” Darius talked about how they’d met at the lecture at the museum, how she’d told him that her husband hadn’t been paying attention to her.

“She flat-out said she wanted some fun, no strings.”

“But you wanted more. You wanted a repeat.” Darius looked away, briefly.

“Yeah, but she didn’t,” he said.

“End of the story. I thought you’d want to know. You know, in case she tried to pawn herself off as the poor widow. Missing her man.”

“I get that. I need to know something else. I need you to be straight with me.”

“I have been.”

“Maybe so.”

“No maybe. I have been.” They talked about the specifics of the crime scene, a subject of keen interest to Kaminski.

“Are you remembering anything different about that night?”

“Look, I resent what you’re trying to imply.”

“Not trying. Just asking.”

“No, nothing different. She arrived on my doorstep bloody and crying, and I called nine-one-one.”

“Did you kiss her?”

“What kind of a question is that?”

“Just asking, remember.” Darius Fulton’s face went white, then red.

“No, I did not. She was hurt. I called for help. Your guys came.” The detective leaned closer, pushing the limits of the man’s personal space.

“Did you have anything to do with her husband’s death?”

“Hell no! That’s why I’m here. I knew that if the word got out that I tapped her, I’d be on the chopping block.”

“Tapped” her? It was like an old man using a younger person’s vernacular. It didn’t fit. It made him look older and more foolish. As Kaminski saw it, the move on the woman across the street was probably as much about being still in the game as it was about having sex. Darius hadn’t wanted to be left behind, thrown away. It was a scenario that mirrored his own. Though he had a ten-year cushion, he was damned if he was headed that way.

“I’m going to need to write this up,” Kaminski said.

“You’re going to need to sign it.” Darius Fulton nodded.

“Yeah. I’ll sign it. But this isn’t going to be in the papers, is it?” Kaminski shook his head.

“Not hardly. Last time I looked it was legal to mess around with a neighbor’s wife. Tacky, sure. But, yeah, totally legal.”

Lindsey Kaminski knew her father didn’t take care of himself when he was deep into a case. She remembered when growing up that she and her mother had more than their share of meals without him. He’d be out on a case, at his office, and, at the end of his marriage, away in some bar drinking too much.

“Daddy,” she said, when she reached him on the phone that evening, “want to get some Chinese?”

“You know I would love to, babe, but I’m up to my neck in alligators.”

“How’s that case going?”

“Making some progress,” he said. She knew when her dad did and didn’t want to discuss a case. Usually it was because it wasn’t going all that well.

“Good,” she said.

“But you have to eat sometime, you know.” He let out a sigh.

“I’m going to be at the office for a while. I’ll get something later.” When Lindsey hung up, she went about the business of putting together a care package expressly for her dad. The year before her mother dumped him, he’d tried to get back into the fatherhood role in earnest. Trying so hard to win over his daughter. He used to make care packages for her when she had a big calculus test. She hated calculus, and her dad’s thoughtfulness made it a lot easier to endure. Her mother was out with her boyfriend, and Lindsey went through the fridge and pantry to try to put together something he’d like. She knew he was working on losing weight, but he also loved Fig Newtons—and since she hated those cookies above all others, they were easy to part with. She added a couple of bottles of water and an “encouragement” card that she’d bought for a friend whom she no longer wanted to encourage. She’d never seen the inside of his apartment, but maybe he’d invite her in. Just before she started to knock, she heard voices. Her father’s and the softer voice of a woman. Lindsey was thrilled that, just maybe, her dad was seeing someone. It was about time. She left the package by the door and stepped quietly away. Later that night, she texted him