He shrugged, drank more coffee. “If Lincoln Blake wants to push it to trial, it won’t hurt my feelings. Make a nice splash. He’s charged with solicitation of murder for hire of a police officer. They’re going to want to deal before it’s done. Any way it’s sliced, he’ll do time.”
“I can live with that, too.”
“Good enough.” He unfolded his six-foot-six-inch frame. “I’ll make the deal with the boy’s lawyer. You did good, clean work with both these arrests.”
“Good, clean work’s the way it’s supposed to be.”
“Supposed to and is aren’t always the same. I’ll be in touch.”
No, they weren’t always the same, Brooks thought. But he’d like to get back to that good, clean work. Just that. He wanted the rest over and done, however intriguing parts of it were.
The everyday, Abigail called it. It surprised him how much he’d learned to value the everyday.
He stepped out of his office. There was Alma at dispatch, a pencil behind her ear, a pink tumbler of sweet tea at herelbow. Ash at his desk, brows knitted as he pecked away at the keyboard, Boyd’s voice over the radio reporting a minor traffic accident off Rabbit Run at Mill’s Head.
He’d take this, Brooks realized. Yeah, he’d take just this. Every day.
Abigail walked in.
He knew her, so he saw the tension, though she kept her face impassive.
Alma spotted her. “Well, hey, there. I heard the news. I want to say best wishes to you, Abigail, as you’re family now. You’ve got yourself a good man there.”
“Thank you. Yes, I do. A very good man. Hello, Deputy Hyderman.”
“Aw, it’s Ash, ma’am. Nice to see you.”
“It’s Abigail. It’s Abigail now. I’m sorry to interrupt, but do you have a moment?” she asked Brooks.
“Or two. Come on in.”
He took her hand, kept it after he closed the door to his office. “What happened?”
“It’s good, what happened.” The good made her a little breathless. “Garrison contacted me. Her report was very brief, considering, but inclusive.”
“Abigail, spill it.”
“I’m—oh. Yes. They’ve picked up Cosgrove and Keegan. They’re interrogating, and that may take some time. She didn’t mention the blackmail, but I’ve followed some of the communications in-house, so to speak. Naturally, they believe Keegan blackmailed Cosgrove, and they’ll use that to pressure each of them. More. More important. They’ve arrested Korotkii and Ilya Volkov. They’ve arrested Korotkii for the murders of Julie and Alexi, and Ilya as accessory after the fact.”
“Sit down, honey.”
“I can’t. It’s happening. It’s actually happening. They’ve asked me to meet with the federal prosecutor and his team to prepare me for testifying.”
“When?”
“Right away. I have a plan.” She took both his hands now, held tight. “I need you to trust me.”
“Tell me.”
* * *
On a bright July morning,one month and twelve years from the day she’d witnessed the murders, Elizabeth Fitch entered the courtroom. She wore a simple black suit and white shirt, and what appeared to be minimal makeup. A pair of pretty dangling earrings were her only jewelry.
She took the stand, swore to tell the truth. And looked directly into Ilya Volkov’s eyes.
How little he’d changed, really, she thought. A bit fuller in face and body, his hair more expertly styled. But still so handsome, so smooth.
And so cold under it all. She could see that now, what the young girl hadn’t. The ice under the polish.
