“I know. It’s just frustrating. As soon as I found out where the crime scene was, all I could think was that it was Candy. And even when the DB was found in the same room, where I found Candy earlier to interview her, something was wrong with the entire picture.”
“That’s because you were convinced it was Candy,” Rodney said.
“I know, and I get that, but it still feels wrong. And, yes, another young woman is dead, and we need to look after her and find out what the hell happened to Paula, but still, I was really expecting it to be Candy.”
“And now you’re afraid that both of them are dead?” Andy asked her.
“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m afraid of. It was stunning to discover Candy’s room had been stripped. I doubt she packed it all up herself, as she made no mention of that when I was interviewing her. In fact, she wanted to go back to her douchebag boyfriend Brandon, so why would she leave college and her access to him? So, who did pack up Candy’s stuff and put it in Paula’s dorm room?” She looked to her team members. “And now where are Paula’s possessions?”
“Between RCMP and Forensics, their teams will find out what they can and will share it with us. Then we’ll go from there,” Lilliana said.
Kate nodded, and just then Colby came in and called everybody into a meeting that included discussions about vacations and overtime. Taking a vacation was something she couldn’t even begin to contemplate, when she was working all these cases.
When Colby’s meeting with the team was finally over, and everybody was back at their desks, Kate turned to Rodney. “How do you handle leaving for a holiday, when you know so much shit is going on?”
“Easy. Because I accept that it’ll still be here when I get back, along with a whole pile of new stuff too.” He gazed at her. “Remember. We have to be rested, nourished, and ready to fight the good fight, or we’re no good to anybody else. You have to take these breaks when you can. Vacation time is also to remember that you have a family and a larger reason for your existence. More is out there that’s worth fighting for.”
She nodded. “I get that in theory. I guess I’m still struggling with figuring out how to solve all these cases.”
“One at a time and we’ll get there.” Rodney patted her arm. “Actually this case is moving along at a good clip. We might get this sorted and closed in ten days, a week even.” At her snort, he continued, “Faster than the pedophile case, for sure. Even faster than the jumper case. Remember how long it took us to see those were assisted suicides? We’re farther along here in a matter of three days than one week into the jumpers’ cases.” When she remained quiet, Rodney said, “Right?”
“Okay, I’ll give you that, but…”
“No buts. You care, and that’s good, but you must keep it in check. Otherwise you’ll burn out.” She frowned, but he shook his head. “Don’t even look at me like that. We all care. Don’t think we don’t,” he muttered. “But, at the same time, you also have to understand that there’ll always be another case.”
She sagged in place. “I know. I just don’t want there to be.”
He nodded and smiled. “That’s what makes you a good cop. You come from the heart, but remember that everyone here does. And the bad guys will eat you alive if they find out you’ve got that weakness.”
“I’ve been told that a time or two,” she said quietly, “but never at work.”
“That’s because you don’t ever let people get close to you. Here, things are raw, and, when they go bad, they go bad in a big way. We all feel it, and that’s what happened with Chet. We cared. We cared a lot, and we were a strong team. We worked well together, and he was my friend, even the godfather to my son.” Rodney turned his head to look away.
“He also had a huge heart, and he’s missed, and it’s important that he’s missed. It’s important that his existence isn’t ignored and that we find reasons to say his name once in a while and to honor his memory and to believe in the good Chet did while he was here because the reality is that it could be one of us tomorrow. Unfortunately the reality is, it could even be one of us today.”
His words were harsh, but they also rang true. She wasn’t a workaholic. She winced at that. Okay, so she was a workaholic. But only because she was working for the people.
What Rodney spoke of was the need for balance. There had to be a time when you backed off and gave yourself a break, so that you come back the next day and could do this all over again. Something she was coming to understand all on her own. When she came on the job as a detective, she was fired up to solve everything right now. But there was no such thing as solving everything, much less solving anything right now. It took days to find and to interview witnesses, to scout crime scenes, to read reports from assisting units. It took days to get information from forensics; it took days to get an autopsy done. Even longer to get certain information back from the crime lab, like tox screens and DNA runs.
There seemed to be a constant lineup of traffic down at the morgue, so you had to wait on autopsies. She couldn’t even bear to think about all the DBs that went through the system without one. An autopsy was rare, probably less than two percent of the cases that went through the morgue, in fact. And that was just the reality of it.
Still, it was frustrating, because, as much as Kate had more access and more time and more tools available to her, there was also a time lag in areas that she just couldn’t get away from. Even though she tried hard, she found a bottleneck at every turn. That’s because, in a big city like this, there were too many cases, too many murders. She slowly rotated her head, realizing that she’d bolted out of bed too fast this morning, and even now a kink in her neck started to ache. Tired was one thing, but she was still functioning, so, with that in mind, she turned to her computer and dug in again.
*
Even before dawn,Simon had returned to his home from spending the night at Kate’s, then had a nap, which was unusual, so he woke up late to start his day. For a disorienting moment he tried to figure out what was going on, then bolted, racing for the bathroom. He leaned over the toilet, just as contents of his stomach spewed out. It was followed by waves of anger and guilt. Then more anger. Then more guilt.
Since he’d had no food in at least twelve hours, it was mostly bile and acid. He groaned, as he sat on the side of the bathtub and heaved again. With his hand on his stomach, he looked blearily around his huge bathroom, wondering what the hell had just happened.
When everything calmed down to the point that the cramping had stopped, he got himself a drink of water and rinsed out his mouth, then grabbed his toothbrush and scrubbed hard. He couldn’t even remember the last time he had puked but was pretty sure it had to do with alcohol, which wasn’t the case today—or yesterday. He didn’t feel sick either, but the reaction to waking up and darting for the bathroom had been instantaneous, and it had been all he could do to make it there in a timely fashion. He slowly made his way back to bed and sat on the edge, staring out the massive windows at the view of Vancouver.
“What the hell was that?” He ran a hand through his hair.
He could smell the vomit in here. “Oh no. No, no, no,” he cried out. “This is not a good time to have that olfactory sense on overdrive again. I don’t know what the hell is going on, but that is not the odor I want in my nostrils all day long.”
He got up and headed to the bathroom again, hoping he could do something to ease the odor, but it was not cooperating. No matter where he went in his apartment, the smell of vomit followed, even though it had long since been flushed away, and no residue was left on him.
He dressed quickly and raced from the building, lifting a hand in greeting for Harry. Just to make sure the doorman didn’t stop and talk, Simon kept up his pace all the way through the front lobby. As soon as he got outside, he inhaled several times in great gasping breaths, as if he had been poisoned inside the building. But still he fought that familiar and overwhelming smell, with apparently no way to get rid of it. Stumbling toward his favorite little coffee cart, he ordered a coffee and noticed they had fresh buns.