The Frailty of Flesh (18 page)

What she hadn’t realized was that she’d expected to be home first, for it to be her waiting for him to come back, to apologize. To make the first move.

Now it was up to her to walk to that door and open it. He was the one who’d walked out on her, and she had to make the first move. Was she really going to be so childish that she’d refuse to work things out unless it happened on her terms?

Ashlyn got out of the car and walked to the door.

Inside, the house was quiet. The living room was dark except the shimmering lights reflecting off the walls, which meant that the tree was on and judging from the shadows, the fireplace as well. She went to the kitchen.

Craig’s back was to her, but she could still see the half-empty wineglass in his hand, complemented by the open bottle on the counter. There were two plates of food ready, which sat beside a vase of flowers and a stuffed bear. Another glass of wine.

His apology. Said with gestures rather than words.

When she looked back at him she realized he’d turned and was watching her silently. All day, even in the minutes when she’d been lecturing herself not to think about this moment, her brain had rushed ahead and tried out things to say.

Most of those things that had gone through her mind had been hurtful, biting, layered with insinuations meant to make him feel guilty.

“Where did you go?” She surprised herself. It was something she’d never consciously considered asking, and the words came out with a detached calm that didn’t match the knot in her stomach.

“Does it matter?”

He set the wineglass down on the counter.

“No. I suppose it doesn’t.” She leaned against the doorway but forced herself not to cross her arms. Her gaze drifted back to the flowers, the bear. Proof he was sorry. Or proof that he knew he should apologize. The part of her that had been unable to rationalize his decision to walk out the night before wanted to punish him, to make sure he suffered for the agony he’d put her through, the sleepless night, the heart-pounding fear about what he was doing and the gnawing worry about how they’d work past this.

But the rational side knew that was pointless. She’d heard once that holding on to bitterness was like swallowing poison and hoping someone else died, although she couldn’t remember where that was from. That didn’t matter either. What mattered was that it was true. Whatever regret, whatever pain Craig felt, it couldn’t undo the way he’d hurt her.

“Ash.” He almost choked on her name. The look in his eyes was muddled, a mix of sadness and confusion, shadowed by fear.

She turned her gaze to the floor so that she could focus on her words instead of his feelings. “Are you in some kind of trouble at work?”

“Did Zidani say something to you?”

Ashlyn looked up. “Byron Smythe did.”

“Son of a bitch. If I’d known that last night—” He picked up his glass and drained it, then reached for the bottle.

“What was he talking about?”

“I want you to stay away from him.”

“That’s a bit difficult, considering he represents the family of my murder victim.”

“Then give the case to someone else. Take some sick days or tell Zidani it’s a conflict of interest.”

“A conflict of what interest? I don’t even know what the hell he’s talking about.” She crossed her arms. “And I’m not sick. I just didn’t get a lot of sleep last night, and that had nothing to do with Zidani or Smythe.” Ashlyn realized then she hadn’t eaten all day either. The only thing she’d had was ginger ale. “Craig, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t upset, but I really don’t want to argue with you.”

He started to lift his glass but stopped and set it down. Craig turned, braced his hands against the counter and lowered his head.

“I was late. I was there, looking for you, when that damn reporter showed up. I thought you’d already left.”

“I called you. I left a message.”

“I—” He lifted his head, although he didn’t turn to face her. “I know. And I’d left the cell phone in the Rodeo…” Craig turned and met her gaze. “I’m not trying to make excuses. Just explain.”

“You were pretty angry last night.”

“At myself.”

She paused. “Just yourself? Nobody else?”

He was quiet for a moment, but he didn’t look away. “Okay, yeah, I was angry at myself, and I was mad at Luke for bothering my stepmother and that reporter for following me around all day and Zidani for sticking me on desk duty and Lori for shooting me, and—”

“And me, for killing her.”

“You did what you had to do.”

She rubbed her forehead as a thin smile spread across her lips. “You keep telling yourself that. All this time, we haven’t even talked about it, and I really thought you understood that she would have killed you if I hadn’t fired. She murdered a suspect and as it was, you almost died. But you do blame me. Why don’t you just say it? It’s my fault you’re stuck on desk duty.”

“No. It’s Lori’s. And Zidani’s.”

“Zidani is just following orders. They just sent him in to push us, to see if we were really okay.”

“That’s what the shrinks are for. I went to my sessions and was given the green light to go back to regular rotation.”

She tipped her head toward the counter. “And look at you now. You’re drinking.”

“It’s just a glass of wine.”

“A glass?” Ashlyn walked over and picked up the bottle. “Try three.”

“I thought you didn’t want to fight.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m going to turn a blind eye. We need to work through our problems. Pretending they aren’t there won’t solve anything.”

He leaned back against the counter, hand over his face. She could tell his eyes were closed, see the anger in the twist of his jaw. When she’d first known him she thought his ability to keep a lid on his temper was admirable. Now she wondered how healthy it was. If he bottled everything up inside, sooner or later he’d blow.

Maybe that was what this was really about. Not Byron Smythe or Luke Geller or a missed date or even Lori’s shooting.

She walked over to him, reached up and pushed his hair back from his face. “I thought Zidani would tie you down and shave off this mop himself, the way he carried on about the regulations at first.”

Craig lowered his hands and opened his eyes. Then he took her face in his hands. “I don’t blame you.” Said without blinking or a tremor in his voice. “I blame me.”

“How can you blame yourself for what happened? You did everything possible to keep her away from that case.”

He shook his head. “Not for what happened to her. I shouldn’t have taken you on the arrest. If you hadn’t been there—”

“You might not be here now.” She thought back to when Craig was in the hospital. “I’ll be honest. If I could turn back time and find another way to save your life, I would. But I can’t. You have to let it go.”

Craig shook his head. “Sometimes things happen on cases. You make choices, maybe even think you’ve done the right thing. Or maybe you just need to believe that, while deep down you’re hoping nobody calls your bluff. Ten years from now what if—” He let go of her face.

“Ten years from now we’re still following the evidence and on our way to arrest the man who raped several women, including your former partner, Lori Price. Ten years from now Lori’s still using the fact that she was sleeping with a senior officer as leverage, to find out about the arrest. Ten years from now she’s still choosing to load her weapon and show up at the suspect’s house. She’s still putting a bullet in him and killing him. And she’s still pointing her gun at you and shooting you. And I still raise my gun and shoot her. Ten minutes or ten years, this still stands up because that’s what happened.”

He looked away.

“Unless there’s something you haven’t told me,” she said slowly. “Is that what this is about?”

Craig shook his head.

“Then it’s about something else.” She watched him, the lack of response enough to convince her she was right.

“Just over ten years ago, Steve worked a murder case.”

“I’m sure he worked a lot of murder cases.”

“That call yesterday morning? It was the victim’s mother. Someone broke in to her house.”

“They didn’t catch the killer?”

“No, they caught him. Guy’s still in prison. He’s up for parole this week.” He paused, thinking about what Lisa had told him. “I mean, he got parole. He’s out.”

She held up a hand. “So you’re thinking…?”

“Someone broke in to my parents’ house as well.”

“Aren’t they still in Regina?”

“Alison wasn’t at the time. Steve was supposed to be, but—” Craig scratched his head. “The guy who was convicted? He’s suing Dad, his partner, the department for wrongful conviction. Steve was supposed to be in Regina until today, but he flew back Friday.”

She waited for him to continue. When he didn’t speak she said, “So? He changed his mind.”

“He didn’t tell Alison. Someone messed with his files on the case at the house, then broke into the victim’s mother’s house and was looking through a box of the victim’s stuff there. And Alison still thought Steve was in Regina. The only reason I found out he wasn’t was because I called his office, looking for him. Then I go to talk to the cops who worked on the case out in Aldergrove, and I’m one step behind. Dad had just left the station.”

Her head was starting to spin with the overload. “Wait. You mean, you think there’s something to this? That they screwed up the case and now he’s trying to cover his tracks?” She thought about what Byron Smythe had said the night before. Lawyers keeping cops honest. “You don’t really believe that, do you?”

“I—” He shook his head. “I don’t know what to believe.”

“And is that why this reporter’s following you around? She was at the station Friday night, then the mall yesterday.” She turned away from him. “So that’s what this is all about? The case file, you disappearing for hours on end, not showing up for work yesterday?”

“I was working.”

“Digging up dirt on a case ten years old, for what? To prove that your father made a mistake?”

“You think I’d do that? You think I want to investigate this?”

“Then why are we even having this conversation?”

“Zidani ordered me to review the files.”

She looked over her shoulder at him. “He wants…
you
to handle this?”

“I guess it will look better if Steve Daly’s son is the one who destroys his career. A sure way to restore public confidence in the RCMP.” He smirked as he picked up his glass and drained it. “We’re so honest we’ll take down our own family members.”

“Craig, you don’t really believe that Steve…planted evidence or railroaded a suspect, do you? If you’re suggesting what I think you’re suggesting…Why would he break into his own house?”

“I don’t know Ash, but something isn’t right about this.”

“You have to go to Zidani, insist he take you off this.”

“I can’t do that. This is the last thing, then he’s putting me back on the street.”

“So that’s your price? You’ll sell out your own father to get out from behind a desk?”

“How can you say that? I’m just trying to get to the truth.”

“And you really think handing in a report that says Steve is clean is going to cut it? You’re screwed. If you don’t implicate Steve of wrongdoing they’ll just say it’s because he’s your father.”

“So the only way I come out of this okay is if I hurt Dad.”

“Why did you even agree to this? You should have refused.”

“It’s my fault? How am I supposed to know? Zidani tells me the case is going before a parole board and they just want me to check the files, make sure everything’s solid. It isn’t until later that the reporter tells me there’s a pending civil suit.”

“How did Smythe know about this?”

Craig’s laugh carried a sharp, cynical edge. “He’s representing the guy who was convicted.”

“You have to go to Zidani. Go over his head if he won’t listen. You have to pass this on to someone else, do the right thing.”

“I have to do the right thing? This is a test, Ashlyn. To see if I’m willing to face the truth that my dad is a dirty cop.”

“I don’t believe that. I’ve known Steve for years, longer than I’ve known you. Why are you so convinced he’s dirty? Couldn’t he have just made a mistake? We did everything by the book and two people ended up dead and you were in the hospital. Is it really so hard to believe that if something went wrong with the case that it wasn’t intentional? You’re going to have a real problem with this if you’ve already made up your mind about what happened.”

He put the glass down on the counter. “Then why won’t Dad talk to me?”

“If you went to him with accusations like these I don’t blame him. Cops don’t like other cops sticking their nose in their old case files, digging up dirt.”

“Damn it, Ash, it’s not like I wanted to do this!”

“That’s not the point. You are doing it, and you’re his son. Don’t all fathers want their sons to look up them, to respect them?”

“Maybe someday if I have a son I can answer that, but I don’t see how he can expect me to respect him if he’s lied to me.”