“You really should not be on this case anymore. And I’m placing Lucy on administrative leave for at least a week.”

“You won’t pull me off this case,” I told her. “Not in this life.”

“You’re not in a position to be objective.”

“And what would you do if you were me?” I demanded. “Would you go home and do nothing?”

“But I’m not you.”

“Answer me,” I said.

“No one could stop me from working the case. I would be obsessed. I would do just what you’re doing,” she said, getting up, too. “I’ll do what I can to help.”

“Thank you,” I said. “Thank God for you, Teun.”

She studied me for a while, leaning against the counter, her hands in the pockets of her slacks.

“Kay, don’t blame yourself for this,” she said.

“I blame Carrie,” I replied with a sudden flow of bitter tears. “That’s exactly who I blame.”

18

SEVERAL HOURS LATER, Marino was driving Lucy and me back to Richmond. It was the worst car trip I could remember, with the three of us staring out and saying nothing, an oppressive depression heavy on the air. It did not seem true, and whenever truth struck again, it was with the blow of a heavy fist into my chest. Images of Benton were vivid. I did not know if it were grace or a bigger tragedy that we had not spent our last night together in the same bed.

In a way, I wasn’t sure I could bear the fresh memories of his touch, his breath, the way he felt in my arms. Then I wanted to hold him and make love again. My mind tumbled down different hills into dark spaces where thoughts got caught on the realities of dealing with his possessions at my house, including his clothing.

His remains would have to be shipped to Richmond, and despite all I knew about death, the two of us had never devoted much attention to our own or the funeral service we might want and where we should be buried. We had not wanted to think about our own, and so we hadn’t.

I-95 South was a blur of highway running forever through stopped time. When tears filled my eyes, I turned to my window and hid my face. Lucy was silent in the back seat, her anger, grief, and fear as palpable as a concrete wall.

“I’m going to quit,” she finally said when we passed through Fredericksburg. “This is it for me. I’ll find something somewhere. Maybe in computers.”

“Bullshit,” Marino answered, his eyes on her in the rearview mirror. “That’s just what the bitch wants you to do. Quit law enforcement. Be a loser and a big fuck-up.”

“I am a loser and a fuck-up.”

“Bull fucking shit,” he said.

“She killed him because of me,” she went on in the same heartless monotone.