Kovac knew the journal would be valuable to the profilers and the psychologists, who were always looking for more insight into the minds of murderers. But if not for them, he would have thrown the thing in an incinerator. The book was tainted with the evil that lived in Bobby Haas, and he, for one, wanted to put it somewhere that evil could never escape.
Processing the Haas scene had gone well into the next day. By five o’clock that morning, the story had broken locally, then hit the news networks. By eight, the media feeding frenzy was on.
The chief and Lieutenant Dawes, along with Chris Logan, had handled the press conference. Kovac and Liska had gone to their respective homes for a few hours of much-needed sleep. Not even his neighbor’s hammering had stirred Kovac.
He’d never felt so exhausted in his life. The job was sometimes, but not often, physically demanding. But it was the emotional exhaustion that left him feeling drained of all energy.
Why did it seem like the only time he spent with his emotions was during a crisis?
Because after the crisis had passed, he didn’t want to feel very much at all. It seemed the safest way to be. And the easiest. If he didn’t want to expend emotional energy interacting with people, it was easy for him to retreat. Being single had a great many advantages that way, compared to being married-at least compared to being married to the two wives he’d had.
Love just never worked out for him. His last wife had not only left him; she’d left the state, left the Midwest. At the time, she had only recently given birth to their first child, a daughter. But the marriage had been over long before the baby was born. Heartbroken, he had relinquished custody and had never seen his child again.
It wasn’t often he allowed himself to think about it, and he never spoke of it. What was the point?
It was only when he got a little too close to other people’s happy lives that he acknowledged the emptiness of his own.
His thoughts drifted to Carey. To Carey and Lucy, and what it would be like to be a family with them- something David Moore had stupidly thrown away with both hands. But he cut the thought short, because that wasn’t his reality.
Around nine in the evening, he dragged himself from bed, showered, put on some old sweats, and went downstairs to forage for something to eat. He sat down in the living room with nuked leftover pizza and turned on the Travel Channel so he could take a vacation without leaving his sofa.
Cabo San Lucas was looking pretty good. Of course, the show had been shot at a fabulous five-star resort. Kovac pictured himself crashed in a chair on the beach under a big umbrella, listening to the surf, bikini-clad senoritas bringing him exotic drinks all day long.
He had turned off his cell phone as soon as he had arrived home that afternoon, so as not to be disturbed. According to the voice mail woman, he had twelve new messages. He started to play each, deleting most of them before the message ended. Reporter, reporter, reporter. How they always managed to weasel out his phone number was beyond him. He had the number changed after every high-profile case, and still they managed to find him.
The PR person from the chief’s office called to tell him how he should dress while the world had its cameras trained on the department.
Jesus.
“Sam, it’s Carey.”
The final message. Kovac sat up straighter. Cabo faded into the background.
“I just wanted to check in with you.”
She sounded tired and sad.
“I saw the news… Just when I think this sordid case can’t get any worse, it does.
“Anyway… I’m home,” she said. “And I don’t know what to do with myself. Are you sure there isn’t a
She tried to laugh, but failed miserably.
He played the message three times.
Just to hear the sound of her voice.
69
IT SEEMED STRANGE to be in the house. David was gone. Anka was gone. Carey felt their absence, listened to the silences where their voices should have been. With just Lucy in the house with her, she felt as if they were the last two people on earth.
She wouldn’t be able to sleep in her bed, the bed she had been dragged from in the middle of the night by Karl Dahl, the bed she had shared with a man she didn’t know. Lucy wouldn’t want to sleep in her own bed either. She had clung to Carey like a piece of Velcro since Kate had brought her home.
Carey had dragged pillows and blankets into the family room. Lucy liked to pretend she was having a sleepover or going camping. Playing pretend didn’t sound like a bad idea to Carey either.
Her daughter had yet to talk about what she had seen that night. Usually a chatterbox, Lucy hadn’t had much to say at all. Kate told Carey not to worry, but she worried anyway.
Carey knew how what had happened would affect her own life, make her see things through a different filter, temper her feelings. Her sense of safety and security had been blown out of the water. So many things about her life she had once believed in so strongly had dissolved beneath her feet.
If she felt that way, she could only imagine how helpless a child would feel.
And Lucy had the added upset of not having her father there, and not understanding why.
How was she supposed to tackle those questions? Carey wondered.
What was she supposed to say? And how would any part of this make sense to a little girl who only wanted her mommy and daddy, and for her world to be safe and secure?
Lucy slept now, curled up on the couch in the family room, a blanket covering her, her thumb in her mouth. She hadn’t sucked her thumb in two years.
Carey touched her daughter’s dark hair and hoped she was having good dreams.
Restless, she went to the window seat that looked out on the front yard, sat down, and curled her legs beneath her like a cat. A police cruiser still sat at the curb, watching.
The police wouldn’t be able to give her this kind of special treatment for long. Even though she knew the three people she had reason to fear-Karl Dahl, Stan Dempsey, and Bobby Haas-would never be a threat to her again, she still felt afraid. She felt exposed. All the world knew where she lived now. Her sense of privacy was gone.
Maybe she would sell the house. Too many unhappy things had happened here. The good memories had been pushed out by the bad. Making a fresh start sounded like a smart thing to do. She wanted to feel anonymous. She didn’t want to turn on the news and see her own home fill the screen.
She wanted to be nobody, wanted no one to need anything from her. And she wished very much she had someone to understand those needs in her.
Out on the street, a car pulled up in front of the police cruiser, and the driver climbed out. Kovac.
Carey opened the door before he was halfway up the sidewalk.
“This is a surprise,” she said. “I figured you would have been catching up on your sleep.”
He shrugged it off as he came inside. “Nah. Sleep is highly overrated. And I would have figured you would be staying someplace else.”
“Kate and John offered, but I just didn’t want to be with people,” she said. “Turns out I don’t want to be alone either. And I didn’t want to drag Lucy to a hotel…”
Kovac scrutinized her appearance from head to toe. Messy hair, battered face, a T-shirt and red plaid flannel pajama bottoms. She felt like a grubby-faced waif.
“You’ve certainly seen me in my finest moments, Detective,” she said dryly.
“Have you eaten anything?” he asked, and answered himself. “No, of course not. Why would you eat anything? You’d only get blown over by a stiff wind. I brought food.”
