She might have been able to accept losing one or the other.Could she have lived with neither? I don’t know. I wish she’d been willing toat least try.
XXVI
They let me out of the hospital in time for her funeral.Acres of starched blue standing ramrod-straight, black tape wrapping shiny wornbadges for mourning, bagpipes — bagpipes played well, not like a couple of military and cop funerals I’ve attended— some eulogies that would have embarrassed the hell out of her. More flashingblue lights on silent cruisers rolling behind the hearse than I ever want tosee again, cruisers from six states and two provinces and at least threereservations, with some Federal agencies thrown in. I wonder who stayed home tomind the store.
No, most of them hadn’t known her. Except, deep down, all copsare partners. They even saluted me, as herpartner.
We skipped the graveside service with Taps and rifle volleys.She wanted to be cremated. Whatever she left behind didn’t want to end uptrapped deep in a dark wet hole. Cash told me that a couple of times, duringlong talks in the hospital while we recovered from the bombs. It wasn’t a snapdecision. She’d written it into her Living Will before I even knew she had one.
I guess she had that little bit in common with Sandy. Maybe Ido, too. I’m thinking on it.
After it was over, I crutched slowly over to the colonel. Myside hurt, as well as various parts of my soul, and I didn’t feel like hurryingthis up. But I had to do it. I didn’t want my next moves splattering shit allover those starched uniforms and shiny badges. A space opened out in the crowdaround us, a circle of silence in the murmur to leave us peace for grief.
He nodded to me like a man trying to think of something usefulto say. Judging by his eyes, he’d been crying. I found it hard to fit tearsinto the image I had of him. I took out my badge case, the one Cash had tossedin my lap that day, seemed like years ago.
“Sir, I have to give this back to you.”
He looked down at my hand. He didn’t reach for it. “Captain, Ican’t take that. As far as I’m concerned, that badge is yours for as long as Iwear this uniform.”
Captain?
He turned to his aide, the same lieutenant I’d seen at thehospital after our cars blew up. “Sam, the files?”
The lieutenant had been carrying a briefcase, cheapgovernment-issue type. He handed it to me. I had to put my badge away or dropit — I needed to keep at least one hand on a crutch, and dropping a badge feelslike dropping the flag to me. Neither should ever touch the dirt. So I kept mybadge.
The colonel nodded at the briefcase. “Some files and stuff. Ithink you’ll be needing those, and your badge. Good luck, John.” And hesaluted, the lieutenant saluted, and I managed something that almost qualifiedin return by juggling the briefcase to my crutch hand and nearly droppingeverything. They both turned and marched away to his waiting car.
So much for resigning. Captain?
~~~
Besides other things, the briefcase held the lives ofthose three bodies in my apartment, police records and DoD service records andeven their damned birth certificates. And death certificates. I think thecolonel knew what I was going to do even before I’d figured it out. And tookresponsibility for it, the kind of commander that Nef Cash would admire.
Nobody would accept the bodies of the scum that killed her.They ended up in paupers’ graves, your tax dollars at work. Yeah, they hadnames. They had histories and relatives. Nobody would touch them.
They’d been special ops, members of a unit I’m not going toname because I don’t want to slander good men and women. Bad-conduct discharges— “Conduct detrimental to the service and the unit.” No more detail available,but it must have been something nasty if a man’s own brother wouldn’t bury him.Reading between the lines, I got the sense that they avoided courts-martial andhard time because that would put other stuff they’d done under orders intopublic record.
That may have tied them in with Sandy’s brother’s side ratherthan the Balkans/Caucasus option. Or not. Men like that, they check the moneyrather than the source. I’d prefer the domestic target. Easier for me to huntthem.
Once I’d read their service records, the parts that hadn’tbeen stamped TOP SECRET and just shredded and burned, I was amazed we’d managedto take all three of them down. Even from ambush, even with magic on our side.We were prepared, we were good, we were lucky. Almost.
I found other items in that briefcase — bits of paper withoutany attribution, photocopies with marks where letterheads and signatures hadbeen masked out. Telephone numbers and email addresses and website addresseswith passwords. And a new State Police ID and badge, with my new rank on it,and orders putting me on indefinite detached duty, purpose “national securityinvestigation.”
I stared at that last piece of paper for a while. Just howmuch had Cash told her colonel? I wasprobably better off not knowing.
Besides, I had a job to do. There’s an old, old, famous linein a detective story about what you’re supposed to do when someone murders yourpartner. Yes, wizards read detective stories and watch old movies starringHumphrey Bogart. You think we spend every waking hour immersed in the arcane?Anyway, if someone murders your partner, you’re supposed to do something aboutit. Just because that line is fiction doesn’t mean it isn’t true.
Cash had been my partner. Whatever else she’d been, above andbeyond that, first and last she’d been my partner. I was going to do somethingabout it.
I didn’t know how long I’d last. Sandy’s brother hadn’t beenthe top man, probably not even close. But he was the only hook I had in thewater. Damn sure I
