enough to go running off to Melville, I don’t see why I have to keep picking up her slack when it comes to Sophie.”
“Galileo’s killed more people! He’s going to come here!”
“Ask her, Rafe. Ask her which she would choose. Ask her which is more important right now. Taking care of her girl or hunting down this Galileo character. Go ahead.”
Rafe looked from his father to his wife.
“That’s not even a fair choice,” she replied. “He’s killing dozens of people. He needs to be stopped.”
“But where’s your duty? Is it there or is it here?”
Esme opened her mouth to reply…but didn’t. Couldn’t.
Lester wiped clean his hands. “I rest my case.” He sauntered toward the bathroom.
Rafe and Esme were alone in the den.
“I was right,” she whispered. “I can stop him.”
Just as softly, her husband answered her: “You don’t belong in that world anymore.”
They matched stares. The air became charged with memories, and longing.
“They need my help….”
“Sophie needs her mother. I need my wife. I miss her.”
He took a step forward.
“Come back to us,” he said. “Please.”
Her cell phone rang. It was Tom Piper’s ringtone.
Her cell phone rang again.
Her cell phone rang again.
She answered it: “Hi, Tom.”
Rafe took a deep breath.
“Yes, Tom, I saw. It’s horrible.”
He noticed her hands were trembling.
“No, I’m glad they’re reinstating the task force, Tom. They never should have mistrusted you.”
He watched her listen to her mentor’s voice. He’d denied it, perhaps, but he’d known, deep down, that someday it would come to this. He chastised himself for thinking otherwise. How foolish he had been.
“Yes, Tom. I know. And there’s another Kellerman fundraiser scheduled next month right here on Long Island. I’ve been trying to round up support, but…”
His gaze drifted to the floor, and he sat down on the arm of the sofa. How could he hate her? Was it even really a choice? Galileo had murdered dozens of innocent people, and threatened the lives of countless more. They all had families too. How could he and Sophie ever counterbalance that? How could—
“Tom, I need to stop you there.”
Rafe looked back up at his wife.
“No, Tom. I can’t go to Santa Fe. I’m sorry.”
Can’t go to Santa Fe? Rafe’s fingers dug into a sofa cushion…
“I have every confidence you’ll find him, but my place is here now, Tom. I quit, remember?” Esme smiled through tears at her husband. “I made my choice seven years ago. Keep us safe, Tom. Please. Goodbye, Tom.”
Darcy Parr’s vacant position on the task force as forensics overseer fell to Daryl Hewes. On March 19, Daryl was installed in a small office in the Santa Fe crime lab. By March 20, he was reviewing documentation of hair samples, soil samples, blood spatter analyses, and ballistics analyses. His geek-mind was in a state of bliss, but his poet-heart wished Darcy was still here, beside him, so they could be sifting through the facts and graphs and charts together.
Unlike his task force colleagues, Daryl had enjoyed his protective custody. He viewed it as a vacation, and used the time, isolated in a ramshackle walk-up somewhere in the state of Nevada, to disassemble his laptop. He had always wanted to disassemble his laptop, not so much to study its intricate circuitry but to see if he could reassemble it without the aid of a book. With only a spoon and his fingers as tools, the task took him two days, but he did it. He showed off his accomplishment to his handlers. That night, they all celebrated with three large Hawaiian pizzas and a twelve-pack of Red Bull. Daryl enjoyed his protective custody. It felt like college. So when Tom phoned him up to relay the news about Santa Fe and about the task force’s reinstatement, Daryl was a little disappointed. So were his handlers. The drive to the airport was solemn. They exchanged e-mail addresses. They promised to write.
But now the joy was back. Daryl was lost in a forest of data and loving it. He lacked Darcy’s scientific acumen, though, so he had the head of the crime lab, Dr. Steve Wu, aid him in parsing the results. Tom already had Anna and Hector Jackson (no relation) shoring up the defenses in Kansas City, and Norm was coordinating activity at the crime scene, so the lab was 100% Daryl’s domain.
“These are from the light booth,” said Steve, indicating the most recent pile of papers.
Daryl read along with him. The technicians had found footprints in the carpet which were inconsistent with either of the