“He do that often?” Randy asked from behind the wheel of his sedan.
Ethan stared out the passenger window as they coasted by the high school. The lighted marquee on the school's front lawn announced “Classes Canceled Until Further Notice.” The whole district had languished in a teachers' strike since the beginning of the school year. The fight for contract negotiations had felt like the most important thing in the world yesterday. Now he didn't care if classes ever resumed.
“No. Never.”
Randy answered with a noncommittal hum.
Ethan turned to him. “Graham's a good kid.”
The detective nodded, more like he was chewing on the thought than agreeing.
Above the reach of the streetlamps and the fluorescent glaze cast from twenty-four-hour supermarkets, the sky loomed perfectly dark. An invisible overcast shrouded the city from any star- or moonlight—a gaping void Ethan felt might suck him away at any minute. Only that would be too easy. Nothing would take him away from this horrible night.
And you still have a son who's going to need you more than ever. You have to stay strong for Graham.
“Where do you suppose he's off to? Girlfriend?”
“If you don't mind, I'd rather not discuss it.”
“Aren't you worried?”
“Of course I'm worried. What kind of question is that?”
“Just want to make sure you're all right.”
Ethan had started out liking Randy well enough, but every word, grunt, and shrug scuffed away another bit of that first impression.
“Just get me to my daughter.”
At the hospital, Randy parked under an orange light close to the door. When he cut the engine, he didn't get out right away. He sighed heavily while staring at the center of the steering wheel.
“What if your son comes back?”
The thought of Graham returning home before Ethan got back burrowed a hollow pit in his stomach. But it couldn't be helped. Sadie was there. She would take good care of him. “I called a friend before we left. She's waiting at the house.”
Randy nodded and got out of the car without another word.
Ethan hurried after him. “Couldn't you hold off on the interrogation until after I've seen my daughter?”
Randy stopped and turned. “Mr. Trent, if I'm interrogating you, you'll know it.”
Though Ethan had never stepped into a morgue in his life, he felt like he'd been there before. The way the hairs on his arms stood on end, how the cold air seeped through his skin, the antiseptic lighting reflected in the grid of steel doors along the wall.
Randy remained at the room's entrance while the medical examiner, Dr. August, strode to one of the steel doors with an air of hurried boredom. Though named after a summer month, there was nothing warm about Dr. August. He had yet to look Ethan in the eyes.
The sound the door handle made when pulled reminded Ethan of the old freezer in his grandfather's basement where he had kept leftover slabs of venison from the previous hunting season. The memory brought back the smell of cold deer flesh. Ethan shivered.
Dr. August did not hesitate. Once he had the door open, the medical examiner pulled the metal table out like a drawer, revealing the sheet-covered figure resting on top.
That was Ethan’s daughter under there. Little Alison.
Ethan wanted to tell the doctor to stop, give him a minute to compose himself for Christ's sake, but his throat had turned as cold as the memory of his grandfather's freezer.
Dr. August reached up and folded the sheet down off of her face.
Alison drew Ethan's gaze like a magnet. Wasn't death supposed to leave a person looking peaceful? Yet Alison's expression had frozen into a mask of distress.
He staggered to her and rested a hand on her cold forehead. “My baby. My little girl.”
On one side of her face a massive bruise stretched from temple to jaw. On the same side, toward the back of her skull, Ethan glimpsed an edge of the damage from the blow Randy had mentioned. He imagined if he turned her head he would see much of the back of it caved in.
His face cramped in an effort to keep from sobbing, but it was no use. Finally he cried. The tears blurred his vision. He stepped back and turned before wiping his eyes.
He could feel Randy's presence grow nearer and wanted to move away. He wanted to be alone. He wanted to go home, crawl into bed and sleep until everything went away, the whole damned world.
“Who did this?” he whispered.
He hadn't meant the question for Randy, but the detective said, “We'll find them. I promise.”
“I don't want a promise. I want answers.”
“You'll get them.”
Ethan stared Randy in the eyes, searching for some sign of weakness, some hint of a lack in commitment.
Randy's gaze met Ethan's as if he knew what the exchange meant. “Whatever it takes,” he said, “I'll do it. Whoever did this to your daughter will pay for it. Nothing and no one will stand in my way.”
Again, the overwhelming urge to curl up on the floor and cease to function pushed down on him like gravity. He thought back to the picture of Graham and Alison on the fridge. Drew strength from some deep place maybe only a father had. He nodded. “Where do we start?”
Randy stepped forward, moving close enough for Ethan to smell the detective's sour breath.
“We start with you.”