I nod because I don’t know what else to do.
He’s right. And I hate when he’s right.
2
ELY
“Sarge, this coffee tastes like burnt cat piss. Who made it this morning?”
I wheel around in my chair as Officer Jake Denny comes into the office, scowling at his cup of black coffee. He takes a sip and groans, pulling a face, but doesn’t set the cup down and instead takes another drink, like the second one will be better.
“You want better coffee? You make it.” I say with a grumble.
Jake rolls his eyes and sits at his desk across from mine, taking the third sip from his cup. He’s still a rookie, barely a year in, but I know he’ll go far. He’s a good kid, Jake, if not a bit rough around the edges. It doesn’t matter, though, because he’s been an excellent asset to Denver PD. I know that someday he wants to be a hostage negotiator. If he keeps up the hard work, I know damn well he’ll excel.
“I’m just saying, it’s been good all week,” says Jake. “Up until this morning. Then suddenly it tastes like somebody took a dump in the filter.”
“Charming, Denny.”
Behind us, Officer Katie McCully speaks up. “Hill usually makes it,” she says. “But he was out this morning on a family emergency, so I don’t know who made it. It’s pretty gross, I agree.”
“Is everything alright?” I ask Katie. “What happened in the ER?”
“Wife had an accident,” Katie says. “Fell on the stairs or something. He spoke to Chief Cowden about it already.”
“Is Tara okay?”
“Yes, just a little banged up.”
“Damn.” I finish the remainder of my cup and get up for a refill, ignoring the tight sensation that seems to smother me from the inside. Jake follows me, making faces at his own cup. Once we’re in the lounge, Jake glances over his shoulder and then approaches me, abandoning his still-full cup of coffee in the sink.
“So what does this make, Sarge?” he asks, and for a moment, I don’t know what he’s talking about.
“What does what make?”
“Kasper’s wife. In the ER. This is gotta be the third or fourth time she’s landed in the ER in, let’s see, the last six months?”
Silence settles over us. I abandon my cup of joe and lean back against the counter, turning to face Jake. He’s staring at me, waiting for an answer, so cocky, so arrogant, and yet I know he’s right.
“I don’t know,” I say, and that's God's honest truth. “I don’t have that answer for you, Officer Denny.”
“Right,” Jake says, nodding his head quickly. “Forget I asked.” He smiles, but it’s fake, a grin pulled over his teeth in utter bullshit. I open my mouth to say something, anything at all, to reassure him, maybe, or put his mind at ease. But nothing comes. I close it again. “I have some paperwork to do,” he continues. “I’ll see you around, Sarge.”
I nod at him, still speechless, because this relatively new kid has just asked the question we’ve all silently wondered for not just months but years. And all this time later, I still don’t have an answer for Jake, myself, or anyone else.
“Fuck.” I turn back to the counter to make a fresh pot of coffee, Jake’s words ringing in my ears. I hate that he’s right, and I hate even more that I don’t have a single answer for him or even reassurance. Rumors have been flying about Kasper Hill for years, but nobody’s had the evidence to pin it on him. He’s good like that, a real sly professional.
Before I can ponder this further, Kasper Hill himself walks into the lounge. He is such a put-together man on the outside, but I know there’s so much more going on in his head. The jacket was thrown over one arm, slacks, and button-up shirt wrinkle-free and flawless.
“Detective,” I say with a nod. “I heard about Tara. Is she alright?”
“She’s fine. Clumsy as always, but fine.” Kasper flashes me one of his million-dollar smiles, the same one I’ve seen almost every day for six years, then hangs his jacket on a hook near the door. He goes to the cupboard for a mug and helps himself to the hot brew. I watch him in silence, wondering how fine Kasper’s wife really is. Fine now, fine again, but maybe not fine for too much longer.
“Maybe she should get looked at,” I say, and I regret the words that slip from between my lips for a split second. Kasper stops what he’s doing to look at me, eyebrows shooting up in an expression I cannot quite read, one I’m not sure I even want to.
“How do you mean, Sarge?”
“I just mean that it sounds like there could be some serious issues with her health. Maybe she should speak to a doctor before one of these accidents injures her real bad.”
