Remington was there now. “Matt.” She eschewed the formal salute and embraced him. “I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you!” he whispered into her ear, trying to keep his voice from cracking.
“I want you to go home. Take some time off,” she instructed as they separated. “Paid admin. As much time as you need.”
“Colonel, please … I’ll be ok.” He knew where this was going.
“Maybe. But you’re not ok at the moment,” she replied, mind made up. “We got a dead trooper and over a dozen wounded. That’s a quarter of my patrol force. As such, from here out, this is an IA matter. Captain Warren will be flying in from Atlanta to oversee the investigation.” She saw the look on his face and quickly added, “It’s outta my hands, Matt. Are we on the same frequency?”
“Yeah, I’m reading you loud and clear.” Matt made no effort to hide his disgust.The edict had come down from the top brass. There was egg on their face and shit in their pants. Somebody’s head had to roll. Didn’t matter if it was warranted or how much more damage it did. They needed a scapegoat, a fall guy. That’s why they were bringing in a vulture from the outside, an Internal Affairs ghoul, to pick the bones clean.
“Go home, Special Inspector,” Remington ordered. The discussion was closed. “Get a shower and some shuteye. You look like shit.”
She turned and walked away, her minions heeling like faithful little dogs. One or two gave him a quick glance, but none said anything. They knew better.
The assistant coroners had loaded Stella onto the hover gurney, and they were now guiding her toward the elevator. As they walked by, Matt caught him by the arm. “I want a full report on my PDC as soon as the autopsy is completed.”
“Yes, sir, Special Inspector.” The assistant coroner had the same pale complexion and watery eyes that most people that worked down in the morgue seemed afflicted with. To Matt, they were all just a heart stoppage away from being on one of those cold slabs themselves.
“Nobody sees it before I do. Understood?” Matt’s emphatic tone left little doubt his orders were not to be taken lightly.
“I’ll send the original file to you,” the man told him. “You can do what you want with it.”
“You’re burning daylight then.” Matt nodded his head toward the elevators. He’d conversed with this ghoulish caricature far more than he’d intended.
He needed a cigarette badly now, and he was through here anyway. He followed the coroner to the elevator. He would take one last ride with the woman he loved. It was only right.
Inside the elevator, he reached into his pocket and felt her PDC. It should’ve gone into the evidence bag, but he’d managed to get it off of her before CSI had arrived. There was no way anybody was going through her personal data. He knew he was taking a big chance by appropriating it. He was playing with fire. Not only could it cost him his job, but he could be withholding evidence in a potential criminal investigation. That could mean charges filed against him, even some jail time.
Still, it was a chance he had to take. There might be something there of value. Something that could shed light on who had done this to her. If there was, he planned on meting out justice his way. No arrests. No lawyers or courts. Just due process as he saw fit. Quick, decisive and terrible.
There was also another ulterior motive, just as important. Whatever else he might find, there would almost certainly be incriminating data concerning their illicit affair. Such information would not only be detrimental to his career but could also besmirch her memory, as well. It was just the kind of salacious shit that IA loved to take and run with. He wasn’t about to allow that to happen.
No, when he was done going through it, the PDC would disappear forever, out of reach of anyone that could do them any harm. He’d make sure of that. It might all come out, and the shit might hit the proverbial fan anyway, but it wouldn’t be because he stood by and let it happen.
He looked down at the body bag containing Stella. Reaching out, he placed a hand lightly atop it, where her feet where. He gave one a loving squeeze.
Don’t you worry, baby. I’ll make this right. Whatever went wrong, I’ll make right. I swear to you on my life. If I have to walk across hell to do it.
***
Matt made it back to his car. He climbed inside and calmly lit a cigarette. Leaning back into the faux leather seat, he took a deep drag, sucking the sweet Martian nicotine deep into his lungs. Holding it in for several seconds, he slowly blew it out into a cloud that floated like a wispy halo above his head. Putting his hand to his forehead, he covered his eyes with it, and the dam finally broke.
The sobs came hard and ragged, and Matt Burlington cried like he hadn’t cried since his father had died. It was guttural, messy and wet, as slobber, snot and tears flowed freely and simultaneously. Something inside him gave way, broke … and he let it break him. He no longer cared. Why should he?
On his PDC, all kinds of alerts were going off. A hellacious gun battle had occurred in the southern part of town. There’d been significant casualties and horrific property damage. A strange ship had been spotted emerging from the Tennessee River and was seen circling the city. It had no Universal ID code, nor did it match any known make or model. The Space Guard had dispatched ships to investigate.
And he could’ve cared less about any of it. The whole fucking city … the town he’d once called “his city” … hell,
