Chapter 5

FIVE

18 MONTHS AGO—FEbrUARY 2023

Whatcom County

Dr. Stephanie Wright looked way too young to be a shrink. In fact, she looked way too young to be out of high school without a note from the principal. But then, looks can always be deceiving. After close to thirty years in the Whatcom County Sheriff's Department, Sergeant Michael Lucas knew that better than most.

The slim, blond-haired counselor made another lengthy note on the yellow pad in front of her, taking her time, seemingly impervious to Lucas's gaze. She seemed to finish, then her perfectly smooth brow creased a little and she made a correction before putting the pen down on the leather-topped desk. She let out a long sigh, adjusted the position of her red-framed glasses and looked out of the window of her small office at the rows of markers in the cemetery across the road.

"Nice view," Lucas had said when he had entered the office more than an hour ago, though right now it felt closer to a decade. "Must help put things in perspective."

Dr. Wright had acknowledged the crack with a polite and perfunctory smile. She hadn't repeated the smile since.

Lucas restrained himself now from making another comment, or even from prompting Dr.Wright to speak. If there was anything that he had learned in the past hour and change, it was that nothing he could say would hurry this process up. Quite the reverse. Any unguarded comment had seemed to prompt another line of questioning, another page of the notebook flipped over. So instead, he adjusted his position in the seat and looked expectantly at his interrogator, his face carefully devoid of expression.

After what felt like another decade, she sighed again and turned back from the window to look at him. She didn't say anything at first, simply examined him like he was a normally docile lab rat prone to the occasional urge to bite.

Lucas placed his palms down on top of his knees, trying to look as relaxed and unflappable as possible, and smiled back at her. Perhaps being a counselor wasn't so different from being a detective. Both professions taught you to deploy strategic moments of silence that your subject would want to fill; to tell you more about themselves than they might want to.

Good luck with that , Lucas thought. I've been doing this since you were an embryo, Dr.Wright.

Eventually, she spoke. "I'm not convinced."

"I don't know what you mean," Lucas said. "I'm not trying to convince you of anything."

"You don't think this is a little soon to be contemplating a return to work?"

Lucas took a deep breath through his nostrils and breathed out. He shook his head.

"No, I don't. If anything, it's been too long."

"My job is to make sure you're not making a mistake. If you come back before you've had a chance to process your trauma, it won't be good for anyone. Not for you, not for the department, and not for the public."

If Lucas had known her better, or even if he had gotten the impression there was a sense of humor buried somewhere behind those cold, sea-green eyes, he might have said something like, I'm not going to go straight to the workplace shooting on my first day back, I promise. Maybe day three . But he knew that would have been the quickest way to another five pages of notetaking, and almost certainly his request to return getting declined.

"I appreciate that, Doc, and I wouldn't want it any other way. If you don't think I'm ready, then I'm not ready."

Dr. Wright sat back and loosely folded her arms. "And what do you think?"

Lucas paused for a moment to give the impression he was giving this careful thought. "I think I've taken a few weeks and I've come to terms with what happened. Sitting on the couch watching home-makeover shows isn't doing anybody any good, and I think it would be of benefit for me and for the department if I could get back to work."

Dr. Wright looked down at her notes again.

"My recommendation would be a phased return. Not rushing back. And we would have to schedule a regular session. Twice a week, at first."

"I have no problem with that." He had a big problem with that. But if it was the price that had to be paid…

Dr. Wright bent her neck a little and peered at Lucas over the rims of her glasses, in the manner of someone not entirely sure if they're being conned.

"I hope I won't regret this, Sergeant Lucas."

Lucas took a breath of the cold, fresh air as he stepped outside and loosened his collar. Being in that overheated room, answering Dr. Wright's incessant questions, had been tougher than he had let on.

He walked across the parking lot to where his car was parked and got in, massaging his eyelids with his thumb and index finger. The moment he closed his eyes he saw flashes of the scene. Blood pooling on the hardwood floor. Matted hair and splayed limbs and the smell of gunsmoke.

His eyes snapped open and he stared himself out in the rearview mirror for a minute.

Get it together.

There was a sheen of sweat on his brow, cooling in the air. He wiped it off and turned the key in the ignition. He drove the four miles to the Sheriff's Office. The sun was still low in the sky, the trees lining the highway still shrouded in mist. It had been a drawn-out winter, and spring seemed a long way away.

He parked in his usual spot and walked into reception. Kelly on the desk looked up and blinked in surprise as Lucas entered, then said hello, tilting her head in a way that was probably supposed to convey sympathy.

"The boss in?" Lucas asked.

She nodded and gestured at the door marked Sheriff Longbow .

Charlie Longbow looked up from his desk as Lucas knocked and entered. Longbow was in his late fifties, with hair that was more gray than brown now, and a paunch that spoke of too many years behind the desk. A worn black Stetson sat on the desk beside a nicotine-stained desk phone that was probably an official antique. The office was smaller than the shrink's had been, and with cheaper furniture. The view was of the diner across the street, instead of a graveyard. Longbow glanced at the phone on his desk, then back at Lucas.

"Dr. Wright just called."

Lucas smiled. "Oh yeah? She give you the good news?" He pulled out one of the rickety wooden chairs on the visitor side of the desk out and took a seat.

Longbow steepled his fingers on the desk. "She's not convinced, Mike. Tell you the truth, I'm not either. It's barely been a month since?—"

"How long does it need to be?" Lucas asked. "You think six weeks will make it all better? Eight?"

"No, but?—"

He leaned forward. "Charlie. I'm ready. I need to come back. And you need me."

Longbow stiffened slightly. "We're doing fine."

"Sure you are."

Longbow almost smiled at that. He shook his head.

"Believe it or not, you are not indispensable." He sighed. "But it will be good to have you back. If you're ready."

"What did I miss?"

"Nothing much. You might have heard that Larry Stroud quit."

Lucas nodded. "I'll try and contain my disappointment."

"I know you two never saw eye to eye, but he really blew up after…" He stopped and reconsidered.

"It's all right," Lucas said. "And let's face it, he saved you the trouble of firing him for drinking on the job. And worse."

Longbow bristled a little, which was weird because Lucas knew there was no love lost between his sheriff and his former partner. "He was a decent cop."

"Maybe once."

Longbow gave Lucas a rundown of the current caseload. Nothing out of the ordinary. When Joyce had…when Lucas had had to stop work abruptly, he had been working a case involving a narcotics gang from a neighboring county making incursions beyond their turf. Pete Stimpson had taken over and resolved it in his absence. Stroud's departure had left a pile of work on the desk, which Lucas surmised was a big reason Longbow was willing to welcome him back a little sooner than expected.

"Why don't you come back in tomorrow?" Longbow said. "You can take a look at Larry's backlog, see if we can close anything off. We'll keep you riding a desk for a little while, let you take it easy."

Lucas was opening his mouth to say that easy was the very last thing he wanted, when the phone on Longbow's desk rang and took that decision out of their hands.

Longbow picked it up on the second ring and said his name. He listened, his eyes narrowing. Lucas couldn't make out the individual words, but whoever was on the other end of the call was talking quickly.

"Yeah…no, tell them to sit tight, we'll be there in ten. Yeah. Okay, thanks, Arnie."

He replaced the phone on the hook and picked up his Stetson from the desk and got up, digging in his pocket for the keys to his SUV.

"That was Arnold Cooney. They just found a body in a gully. A woman."