For someone like TJ, getting a break from being on the streets 24/7 wasn’t as bad as it sounded. Pushing papers with no mandatory overtime right around the corner from the holidays was a blessing in disguise when you had a family to go home to at the end of your 9-5 like he did. Aside from boredom, there was no reason for my partner to be looking like he was three days overdue for an actual restful night’s sleep.
Unless IAB was on everyone’s asses with an impending investigation and causing a whole lot of restlessness.
“They’ve been snooping around the past few days,” he said, shrugging. “Not much is being said but there’s whisperings that the girlfriend might be looking to bring about a lawsuit.”
“The girlfriend?” Not what I expected. Thomas’s family? Sure, absolutely. Most parents would want justice for their child, even while they were well aware of the crimes committed. It was a natural instinct to want to protect the person you raised. Even in death. “Why?”
“She thinks we escalated the situation. Provoked her boyfriend into feeling the need to defend himself from us being violent.”
How in the world did she come tothatconclusion?
“By him trying to steal a gun from a cop and then stabbing another one?”
If anything, that made Thomas look a hell of a lotworse. Going up against a grand jury or a judge with a case like that was looking to be laughed out of the courtroom. Naomi, while during my brief meeting with her that night, hadn’t seemed like the type to blow things out of proportion.
From what I’d observed, she seemed fairly levelheaded.
TJ’s face slipped into a grim frown. “She’s alleging that since she disclosed he may have been on drugs, we used more force than necessary, which is what ended up provoking him.”
Sighing, I leaned back against my bed, my fork dropping down onto my half-eaten pile of food. What a bunch of bullshit.
I wanted to feel surprised, but in reality, this was pretty typical in cases of Domestic Violence—a victim wanting to protect the image of their abuser, even in death.
My mom had been the same way with our step-dad, constantly being beaten by him and treated like garbage, but clinging to those small scraps of love and stability he sprinkled at her every once in a while. It had been enough to keep her right where he wanted her, and by extension, Amelia and I, too.
Naomi might feel some sort of relief later on down the line once her grief finally let her see past her trauma, but that was a long road of recovery she had ahead of her. Until then, we were stuck dealing with whatever guilt she felt for calling us that night and the residual anger of us getting involved in the first place.
It was a sad situation for everyone involved. Even Thomas, who, at one point, was no doubt a decent person. People were seldom born with their screws loose. Whatever happened to encourage him to turn to drugs and alcohol to help cope with the world around him was a demon he hadn’t been able to face on his own.
I only hoped that with death, his release had at least been peaceful.
I blamed him for his actions but that didn’t mean I had to hate him. Empathy wasn’t so black and white.
“I’m guessing you were already brought in for an interview?” I asked.
He nodded. “They’re going to want you to come in once you’re able to. Capt’s already got our reports from that night good to go and ready to be filed with the court if this thing goesto trial. But that’s a long way from now. You just focus on your recovery. Don’t worry about what’s going on with the precinct until you can actually walk up a flight of stairs without wanting to die first.”
Easier said than done.
It wasn’t like there was much of a case ruling in Thomas’s favor at this point to make this situation look anything close to negligent. If anything, I was going to look like a complete dumbass for not handling the situation like I’d been trained to and getting myself hurt in the process. I would be lucky if IAB didn’t send me off for a couple of training seminars in the city to keep me from pulling another stunt like that again.
“Thanks for bringing some goodies with you.” Rummaging around in the bag, I tossed him one of the fortune cookies and ripped the other one open myself. “Let’s see if we got anything good this time.”
He let out a snort but indulged me, snapping open the plastic easily. We broke our cookies apart at the same time—him setting the two halves down on the armrest while smoothing out the slip of paper and me, shoving one of the halves into my mouth to chew while doing the same with my own slip.
Usually, we were both notorious for getting nonsense, but today I had a good feeling.
“Enjoy life. Too many days are wasted thinking about the past,”he read. “Lucky numbers: 8, 5, 4, 11, 12.”
“Well, as the fortune speaks, you should listen to it. Might do you some good,” I teased, looking down at my own.“Don’t expect romantic attachments to be strictly logical or rational. You will miss out on something grand.”
I stared down at the slip, re-reading it again in my head a few times, each pass feeding into my growing confusion more and more.
What the hell kind of fortune wasthat?
TJ shoved a part of the cookie into his mouth. “You got someone I don’t know about?”
“No.”
