Murph stopped, though he didn’t look happy about it. Jessie didn’t care. She needed a few minutes alone to collect herself and it looked like the ladies’ room of a cop bar was the only place she’d be able to get it.

She walked to the very back of the bar and pushed open the door to the ladies’ room. Mercifully, it was empty. Even though she didn’t need to use the bathroom, she went to a stall and sat down, allowing herself a few seconds to let the ache of her most recent loss rise up in a few brief hiccupping sobs and then, ever so slightly, dissipate.

She would have liked to have stayed in there longer, alone with her thoughts. But she heard someone else come in and get in the other stall. The last thing she needed was a stranger hearing her cry. So she got out and went to over to the sink to wash her hands and throw a little water on her face.

She looked at herself in the mirror. The day had taken its toll. She was already sleep-deprived and stressed. But the mental exhaustion of the investigation seemed to make her skin sag more than usual. Only her green eyes, which had been so dull of late, actually looked better. Maybe it was the thrill of being on a case. Perhaps it was the dampness from her brief cry. But they sparkled with an energy that hadn’t been there in recent days.

She heard the flush of the other stall and dabbed at the edges of her eyes quickly so whoever came out wouldn’t notice. It was an ungainly woman in an ugly pantsuit with an unflattering perm. She looked like she’d already downed a few too many. A bit wobbly as she made her way to the sinks, the woman reached out to the counter to steady herself.

“You okay?” Jessie asked, glad the woman wasn’t in any condition to notice somebody else’s personal issues.

“Yes, thanks,” the woman said wearily. “Long day. I may have overdone the whole ‘taking the edge off’ thing.”

Jessie chuckled slightly.

“Believe me, I understand,” she said as she leaned back in toward the mirror, making sure the tears from earlier hadn’t left any smears from her minimal makeup.

“Thanks for not judging,” the other woman said, glancing over and giving a half-smile as she touched up her hair in the mirror. “We all have burdens to carry that others can’t comprehend, am I right?”

Jessie nodded in agreement. She was just tossing her paper towel in the trash slot on the counter when a tingling sensation ran down her spine. Something about the woman’s half-smile caused a delayed flash of recognition, like an intense sense of déjà vu. It was familiar.

It was only as the woman reached into her purse that Jessie was able to place where she knew the smile from. It was a smile she’d seen so many times through the glass of a cell at the NRD prison facility. It was Bolton Crutchfield’s smile.