“And Mitchell’s in custody?”

“Christ, yes. He’s got a lawyer out of Kansas City. Thompson wouldn’t touch him; nobody local would. Meanwhile, Engels called down just about every kind of hell getting a bomb squad out there, and they’re tearing apart the Empire Fruit building. They’re pretty sure they’ve got a few partials where Mitchell got careless.”

“Good. Nail that fucker into a coffin and bury him deep.” Hazard’s big fingers drifted through Somers’s hair, followed the curve of his ear, and scratched the nape of his neck. His eyes looked heavy. “Am I going to have to plan on conjugal visits?”

Somers raised an eyebrow. “I’m facing felony drug possession charges, and you’re worried about getting laid?”

His fingers were still scratching lightly. “I like to have a plan.”

“Daley dropped the charges. Thompson was going to head over to the county prosecutor’s office with the recording of Mitchell talking about planting everything, but apparently someone had gotten there first.”

“Who?”

Somers shrugged.

“You know the real problem?” Hazard said.

“Neither Dulac nor Darnell is the Keeper, so they will probably still end up being our neighbors?”

Groaning, Hazard shook his head. “Don’t remind me. No, I’m talking about the colossal fuckery of Mitchell being tied up in our social lives.”

“It’s not like we knew he was a killer.”

“It’s embarrassing.”

“Are you worried you won’t get invited to tea parties because you had a serial killer over for a barbeque?”

“I’m a detective,” Hazard mumbled. “I have a reputation to maintain.”

He looked like he could barely keep his eyes open, so Somers pressed his head gently down onto the pillow.

“M’alright,” Hazard mumbled.

“I know,” Somers said, scooting toward the edge of the bed.

Hazard’s arm tightened.

Sighing, Somers squirmed until he found a semi-comfortable spot, his head pillowed on Hazard’s shoulder. Within minutes, Hazard’s breathing had evened out again into sleep. The sound of those slow, even breaths, and the heat of Hazard’s body, the smell of clean linens and Hazard’s hair—they all combined to lull Somers into a doze as the exhaustion from the past few days caught up with him.

He woke to the sound of the door opening. Blinking to clear his eyes, he pressed a finger to his lips and pointed to one of the molded plastic seats.

“Pass me my book, please,” Somers whispered.

His father, the Right Honorable Glennworth Somerset, mayor of Wahredua, handed over the book and laid his briefcase on the empty chair. He crossed his legs. He had a mayoral look—the gray hair, the confident bearing, the obvious self-satisfaction. Over the last few months, Somers’s difficult relationship with his father had steadied somewhat; Somers attributed much of that to having watched Hazard lose his own father, and Somers’s renewed desire to make things right. But sometimes, Somers thought as a tiny knot of dread tightened in his gut, the past was hard to forget.

“I understand he’ll make a full recovery,” Glenn said in a quiet voice.