LUKE PLACED a bouquet of flowers at the base of the Triple Seven memorial plaque. It was a beautiful June day, perfect for kite flying with Maddie, but she wasn’t with him, and his thoughts were on everything that had happened over the past couple weeks.
He’d decided to take Orson up on his offer. He’d talked it over with his family, and they told him they’d be behind him, whatever he decided. While he loved being a private investigator, he knew intimately and painfully how important it was to know the whys and the hows associated with crimes, especially crimes that devastated a life. Maybe by helping other people get closure, I’ll eventually feel the same for myself.
That day in the governor’s house replayed in his mind. What happened would never be crystal clear, but he’d pieced it together as best he could after reading the reports filed by the officers who responded and talking to everyone he could. When Cox elbowed Asa, the security man fired, hitting Asa in the right hip. Asa fell right and pulled the trigger on his gun, which he’d rigged to be fully automatic. That led to a spray of bullets around the room that shattered all the glass. One bullet actually struck Woody, leaving a crease across his head that bled a lot and eventually took stitches. Luke discovered several small cuts across his own back from glass when he finally got home that night. It was a miracle no one else was killed.
He’d wanted to charge after Abby but couldn’t until he made certain Woody was all right. After that, there was Asa. The security man’s bullet had traversed Asa’s upper thigh and cut the femoral artery. He and Woody tried, but there was nothing they could do.
When he did bolt out of the house after Abby and came upon the scene with Kent, it took his breath away. He feared Abby had shot the man. She talked little about exactly what had happened. Luke had never seen her look so lost, so dazed, and he understood. There would be no neat end to the Triple Seven, only a partially built puzzle with key pieces missing. They’d only spoken briefly since that day, and since she was still on vacation, even Bill had not seen her. He wanted to call her but knew that Ethan was home and it wasn’t his place.
He turned at the sound of a car parking, and his eyes widened in surprise. And then a flash of attraction and anticipation flared that he worked to douse.
It was Abby.
She climbed out of the car, turning to the right as Bandit trotted across the driver’s seat and jumped out. She walked with the little dog on a leash to where he stood.
“I didn’t expect to see you here,” Luke said.
“First time for everything,” she said. “Besides, I know the date.” She turned away from him to read the plaque.
He understood. Today was the twenty-seventh anniversary.
She read the inscription out loud and faltered as if something was wrong. “‘No farewell words were spoken; there was no time to say good-bye. You were gone before we knew it, and only God knows why. We take comfort in this: “Nothing in all creation is hidden from God’s sight. Everything is uncovered and laid bare before the eyes of him to whom we must give account.” Hebrews 4:13.’”
She turned toward Luke, face flushed. “Who picked the saying?”
“My mom. Why? What’s wrong?” He watched as she fought for composure.
“It’s just, uh . . . Well, that verse, it’s my verse . . . my verse for homicide. I guess it surprises me to find it here.” She leaned down and picked up Bandit, holding him close.
“It’s a great verse, definitely wisdom for people like us.”
“People like us?” She faced him, eyes liquid.
“People who may never know what really happened in an incident that has defined us.”
“Are you defined by the Triple Seven?”
“I am. All my life I’ve been chasing my uncle, trying to live up to the memory of my first hero. I haven’t always believed that, or understood it, but now I think I do.”
She rested her cheek on the dog’s head, and Luke saw a tear fall.
Luke felt an overwhelming urge to wipe it away, but he kept his distance.
Abby sniffed, raised her head, and swiped at the tear. “Does that mean you can put it behind you, move on, and trust without doubt that the guilty will get what they deserve?”
“Abby, I move on one day at a time, and I trust moment by moment, believing that one day it won’t be a struggle.” He sighed and held her gaze. “I can’t let it consume me. I believe the verse with all my heart. And I move forward knowing it applies to the guilty in the Triple Seven, all of them, and that God’s justice is more perfect than mine or the LBPD’s.”
She turned away and didn’t say anything for a few minutes, just stared out at the park, resting her head on the dog. He was about to say something else when she put the dog down and faced him. Her eyes were clear and she looked steady, he thought.
“It was finally coming to that conclusion myself that brought me here today.”
“God’s justice?”
“Yeah. I can’t ignore that truth and have any peace. I can’t chase shadows anymore. Woody is afraid I’ll become as consumed by it as Asa was that day and do something crazy.”
“I could never see you doing anything that crazy.” He smiled, and his heart leaped in his chest when she returned it in kind.
“I hope you’re right. Maybe I can’t put everything behind me at once, but I do believe in God’s justice. Maybe I’ll never have all the answers —maybe I will —but I can’t be stuck in neutral for the rest of my life.”
“I’m glad. You have a wedding to plan.” Saying the words was like plunging knives through his heart.
“Ethan and I have postponed that. It’s complicated.” She looked away from him and at her watch. “I have to meet him for a counseling appointment.”
She stepped close, and Luke held his breath. When she put a hand on his arm, it took all his strength not to reach out to her.
“Thanks. For everything. I hope at some point, when all the smoke has cleared, we can sit down and talk about what happened. I think you’re the only person who truly understands how I feel about things.”
She rose to her tiptoes and lightly kissed his cheek, then turned and left him standing there. Luke watched her car for a long time, until it was long out of sight.