“Hilarious. Does any of this make sense to you, Cassidy?”
“Absolutely. I think you’re right, by the way.”
“You do? Great!” I started pacing. “I know this isn’t the kind of thing you could take to court. Not that we have anything even remotely resembling admissible evidence at this point, but—”
“Irene,” he said quietly, “I’m afraid I may have misled you.”
I looked up at him.
“I am very rarely interested in the same thing a district attorney is interested in,” he said. “It’s part of why I like my job. I’m almost always trying to help somebody stay alive. I have never had any real hope of seeing this rogue cop convicted for his part in the murders.”
“What?” I said. “I don’t believe this! What have we been trying to do all this time?”
“You want to hear my goals? I want to keep Frank alive. I want him to be located and freed — ideally, unharmed. I want Samuel Ryan and Bret Neukirk and any other members of Hocus to surrender — ideally, peacefully. If they won’t surrender, then I’ve failed, and this becomes a job for the tactical folks on the CIT. The people you know as the SWAT team.”
“But—”
“If I do my job right,” he went on, “and everything goes well, people are alive at the end of the day. That’s it. The DA isn’t saying, ‘Yes, we’ve got enough evidence to go to trial.’ The trial is over. Court is adjourned, one way or the other.”
“Forgive me if I’m missing something,” I gritted out, “but it seems to me that bringing Nathan Cook to justice is going to go a long way toward freeing my husband!”
“Not really.”
I stood there gaping at him for a second before my anger kicked in. “Damn it, Cassidy, what the hell has this been? Busywork? Some project to keep Frank Harriman’s nosy reporter wife out of the way?”
“Now, Irene—”
“Don’t ‘Now, Irene’ me! What have I been running my ass all over Bakersfield for? What would you have done if Tuesday came along and we had no idea who that cop was?”
“I would have lied,” he said.
“Shit.”
“You would prefer that I tell them, ‘Sorry, fellas, Irene can’t figure it out, you win — so feel free to go ahead and kill Frank’?”
I felt a rage so pure, I went deaf, dumb, and blind. I knew my hand hurt before I had calmed down enough to realize what I had done. It was a good, hard slap. My palm and fingers had a thousand needles in them. I was breathing hard, panting, as if I had gone ten rounds with him.
He was rubbing his face with his left hand, but he hadn’t lifted either hand to defend himself. He could have, I realized. He had proven hours ago that he could anticipate my reactions.
“You knew that was coming,” I said, the rage nearly gone, despair ready to step in.
“Yes,” he said, still rubbing his cheek, “but I’ll admit I misjudged your speed and strength. And most women wind up a little — you know — raise their hand up by their shoulder.”
“I shouldn’t have hit you,” I said.
“Was that an apology?”
“Not exactly, was it?”
“No.” He laughed. “I’ll start. I’m sorry I provoked you.” He rubbed his face again.
I was shaking. I didn’t give a damn.
The anger was subsiding, going out like a tide. I didn’t like the sense of despair it was leaving behind. My lower lip quivered, and that was enough to scare me, so I thought of Cassidy letting me spend my morning listening to Cecilia honk her fucking horn, just to make that tide come in again.
But once you’ve hit high tide, the waves never reach the same point on the beach.
“Tell me you won’t say that again,” I said.
“That I’m sorry?”
“No, Cassidy,” I said, feeling an almost pleasant return to being irritated with him.
“Oh, you mean don’t ever suggest that Frank might be killed?”
“Don’t say it,” I said quietly. “I know what might happen. I know.”
“Do you?” he asked, sounding weary. “I was convinced a moment ago that you thought we were almost home free. That if we gave up Nathan Cook to them, they would send Frank out, and that would be that.”
I almost denied it but couldn’t.
“You’re right. I just wanted to believe — Never mind, it was foolish.”
“No,” he said, “just human. And I really do apologize for making you so angry. I would have picked another way to get the point across, but midnight is getting closer, Hocus plans a call, and this seemed like it might be a fast and sure method to get you to change gears. Anyway, I didn’t want you to say anything to them about Mr. Cook just yet.”
