I force my eyes open, groggy and confused. All I can hear is beep…beep…beep. As my eyes open fully I make sense of the noise—heart monitor. I’m in hospital.
“She’s awake.”
I move my head to the voice. Petrov.
“Agent Petrov.” My voice is raspy and dry. Weak. I suddenly recall that I was shot. “I was shot.”
“Yes.” He moves closer.
“Sorry about that.”
I freeze. It’s the voice. Miki. I instinctively reach under the pillow for my gun, but it’s not there. I’m not at home now. I turn my head to the other side of the room and Marcus from my kung fu class stands next to Agent Joe De Luca. And then I realize—Marcus and Miki are one and the same person.
“He’s the one who shot me.” I shake my head, wondering when I’ll wake up from this nightmare. Or maybe I’m dead.
“Agent Sophie Anderson, meet Special Agent Dan Young from the DEA.”
“Agent? DEA?”
“Hi.” He grins. “Sorry about shooting you. I went for your shoulder. It was the best I could do under the circumstances.”
“DEA?” I repeat, still trying to get around the concept that Marcus from kung fu is really a DEA agent called Dan Young, who is obviously undercover in the Yakuza. Even without whatever pain meds they’ve got me on that’d take some processing.
He nods. “I’ve been undercover here for twelve months as Marcus Miki.”
I look to Petrov for confirmation and he gives me a nod.
“But why didn’t you say something? Why didn’t you tell me?”
Petrov crosses his arms. “We’ve got a leak in the Gang Impact Team.”
“What?” I can’t contain my surprise. “Damn!”
“Tell me about it.” De Luca runs his hand across his skull. “We’ve been trying to pinpoint who for over a year now. And that’s why we got someone external, Dan, to go in. Dan’s from New York and was undercover in the Yakuza over there. We needed a complete outsider and Agent Young here fit the bill, so we got him transferred.”
Young takes a few steps forward. “I started doing some deals with L.A., getting to know a few people on the West Coast, and eventually someone vouched for me. I was in.”
“But…” I let the sentence hang, not sure what I was about to protest. The bombshells just keep coming.
“There are only a few of us who know about it.” Petrov pushes his hands into his pockets. “Me, Joe and Brady. I went to him when Joe and I first had our suspicions. Brady’s in charge of our investigation into the Gang Impact Team.”
No wonder Petrov seemed especially floored by Saito’s death. He wasn’t only thinking about the possibility of retaliation, he was also thinking about how the news would affect the task force and the leak…or whether the hit was somehow related.
“Ramos? Is he…?”
“He’s in intensive care.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. He’s alive.
“And for the record, I didn’t shoot Ramos, only you. Moto’s orders were shoot, but not to kill. But I knew straightaway that the shot to Ramos was life-threatening.” Agent Young clasps his hands together. “And I didn’t want them to mess up with you, too. So I stepped in. I shot you.”
Even with Petrov and De Luca vouching for him, I find it hard to believe Dan/Marcus. The man shot me, for goodness’ sake. I don’t respond. Instead I say, “So the man in the warehouse. That was Moto?” Thinking of his voice sends a cold shiver down my spine.
“Yes. And Takeshi Suzuki was there, too.”
I nod, small fast movements, but then my thoughts immediately go back to Ramos. “Ramos took three bullets.” I bite my lip. Three’s a lot.
“No. One bullet,” Agent Young says. “The other two shots were for Jason Pham of the Asian Boyz and Ichi Noda from the Yakuza. The boss didn’t want any leads from you and Ramos back to us. So he ordered them to be taken out, just in case someone saw them bring you to the warehouse. A Yakuza guy called Ken Tanabe shot them, and then turned his gun on Ramos.”
I nod, relieved it was only one bullet for Ramos and feeling only fleetingly sorry for Pham and Noda.
I notice the faint scab forming across Young’s cheek from my nails.
He follows my gaze and runs his finger along the one-inch wound. “You did pretty good for someone who was blindfolded.”
I manage a small chuckle. “Thanks.”
“Agent Young sent me a text from the car. The paramedics were there five minutes later.”
I nod, still absorbing everything. “But we checked the War Room for undercover operatives. How come you’re not in there?”
I ask the question of Agent Young, but it’s De Luca who replies. “We’ve kept this operation completely off the books, because of the leak.”
Young’s taking risks. If I could have, I would have shot him—exactly the reason why the HIDTA War Room exists in the first place. But I understand they don’t have a lot of options. “Ramos,” I say. “Tell me more about Ramos.”
There’s silence and a few glances.
“Is he going to be okay?”
“The bullet did a lot of damage. He was in surgery for ten hours.”
“And?”
“They say it’s too early to be sure.”
“Oh, God.” I chew on my bottom lip. “His wife? Kids?”
Petrov nods. “They’re here.”
Young crosses his arms. “I can’t work out if Ken made a mess of the shot or if it was his intention to kill you both. And if it was, was he acting alone or under someone’s orders?” Young’s clearly confused. “I need to talk to Moto about it…if I can.”
A doctor enters the room. “Glad to see you awake, Agent Anderson.”
“Anderson, this is Dr. Goldman. Your surgeon.”
“Nice to meet you.” I try to sit up a little and hold out my hand.
“Take it easy, Agent Anderson. You’ve only been out of surgery for sixteen hours.”
“Sixteen hours?” Another realization hits. My parents. How am I going to tell them about this? If they find out they’ll be on the first plane out here. But the Bureau probably would have already notified them. Next of kin, and all. “Do my parents know?”
Petrov nods. “They’re on their way here now. Their plane lands in two hours and I’ve organized someone to pick them up at the airport.”
I throw my head back into the pillow and sigh.
“Did I do the wrong thing?”
“My parents aren’t keen on me being in law enforcement. Think it’s too dangerous.” I grimace.
“I see. So this will be ammunition for them…so to speak.”
“Uh-huh.”
The doctor moves in. “Can I have a minute please, gentlemen?”
De Luca, Young and Petrov all nod and retreat.
“How are you feeling?” Dr. Goldman asks as she shines a torch into my eyes.
For the first time I think about my body…what I’m feeling. I feel groggy and a little numb all over. “Fine. A little spacey, I guess.”
She nods. “It’s the pain meds. We’ve just moved you off morphine and onto codeine, but I’ll be reducing your dose over the next few days.”
“Few days?”
She laughs. “You’re one of those.” She finishes checking the drip and gives me a friendly but stern look. “You’ve been shot. You’ll be in here for about a week.”
“A week?”
“Yes.” She leans over me. “I need to see the stitches, the wound. I’ll just untie your hospital gown.” As she starts undoing the ties, I realize I’m anxious to see the wound myself. It hits me again…I was shot.
At first all I can see is a white dressing that’s covered in brown-colored splotches. I know it’s Betadine, the disinfectant they would have smothered on the wound postsurgery, not dried blood.
She gently works on one side of the dressing and I have my chin to my chest to try to see. Once she’s lifted one side of the tape, she pulls the dressing off, slowly. On my left shoulder is about a three-quarters-of-an-inch slit, with two stitches holding it together. The bullet wound would have been circular when I came in, and Dr. Goldman has sewn the skin together to form a slit. Both the wound and the stitching are small and neat. I’m lucky it wasn’t a round that’s designed to cause maximum damage.
“I tried to make it as neat as possible for you, but if you’re concerned about the scar you can get plastic surgery to minimize it.”
I shrug, not quite able to visualize it fully healed. “I don’t know. Can I think about it?”
“Sure.”
She moves in closer to the wound and examines it carefully, gently pressing around the area with a freshly gloved hand. “How does it feel?”
“Tender,” I admit, my body stiffening with pain.
“I’ll just take a look at the exit wound.” She bends me forward slightly, and repeats the process on the back of my shoulder.
“Ouch!” I say as she presses the wound, but this time not so gently.
“The bullet shattered part of your shoulder blade on its way out. We got rid of all the debris from the surrounding area, but that’s going to be the most painful part for a while.”
“Uh-huh.” My teeth are clenched, ready for another poke or prod, but nothing comes.
She puts a new dressing on both sides of the wound before checking my monitors. “Your heart rate’s still elevated, but that’ll come down soon, too.”
“Will there be any permanent damage? To my lungs or anything?”
“No. The bullet missed your lungs…and all other vital organs. You’re a very lucky young woman.”
I’m silent, knowing that it was more Young’s skill than my luck. Mind you, there’s not really any good place to be shot. With so many vital organs to miss, plus major arteries that could have caused me to bleed out, maybe luck did play a part.
“I’m a bit of a fitness buff. I’ll be able to run again?”
“Yes.” She fingers the stethoscope around her neck. “But not for several weeks.”
I groan, imagining how much fitness I’ll lose in a couple of months. “And when can I go back to work?”
“You’ll be fine for sedentary work in about two weeks, but I’d wait another six weeks before you started thinking about normal activities. You need to give your bone time to heal.”
Six weeks. Man. What about the case? What about Mee Kim? If Agent Young was responsible for making her “disappear,” then surely she’s still alive. That’s if he can be trusted. Twelve months is a long time undercover. People can easily become corrupted in that time. And I don’t know how long he was undercover in New York. When you’re deep within an organization it can be hard to draw the line between what’s absolutely necessary for you to maintain your cover and what’s not. And the line can shift. First you witness crime and can’t do anything about it, then maybe you have to be more active, show everyone around you what a badass you are. Some undercover operatives get lost in the criminal world they’re supposed to be undermining, even though officially an undercover agent is not supposed to engage in any illegal activities.
Once Dr. Goldman’s filled out the chart at the end of my bed, she leaves and tells me she’ll be back to check up on me tomorrow.
Petrov, Young and De Luca must have been waiting nearby, because within a couple of minutes they reappear.
I’m immediately all business. I still have questions. Questions I want answered. They’re barely in the room when I start. “What did you do with Mee?” I ask Young.
“She’s under Yakuza protection.”
“Yakuza protection?”
“Yes. Moto was using disappear like we might for our Witness Protection Program.”
“But why’s he protecting her?”
“We’ve gradually been piecing this together, Anderson.” Petrov nods at Young, giving him the go-ahead to tell the story.
“As best as we can make out, Jun Saito fled Tokyo and the Yakuza fifteen years ago. I don’t know what he has been doing, if anything, since then but according to Moto he hasn’t been involved in organized crime. He’s been clean and lying low in Singapore. But then three weeks ago someone found him and discovered he had a daughter here in L.A., Mee Kim.”
I look at Petrov and De Luca. “You knew all along that Saito was her father!”
“Kind of,” Petrov says. “We didn’t know names at first. Saito was using another name during his contact with the Yakuza and the daughter’s name was never mentioned. Then we discovered your victim was Jun Saito, and Young here ID’d him as Moto’s recent visitor. We were still trying to get a name for the mystery daughter when the computer tech found Mee Kim’s name on Saito’s computer. It was only then that all the pieces fell into place for us.”
I shake my head, remembering the conversations we’ve had wondering if Mee Kim knew Jun Saito or was even his daughter. They pretended they didn’t know anything at all.
Petrov shrugs. “Our hands were tied. We couldn’t reveal that we had an inside source.”
“So why are you telling me about Agent Young now?”
Again, he shrugs. “We figure that given you and Ramos were both shot, neither of you is the mole.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“Actually, we knew it wasn’t either of you because we discovered the leak fourteen months ago. But we hadn’t decided whether to bring you into our confidence or not.”
I turn back to Agent Young. “Go on.”
“So, Saito’s in hiding in Singapore when someone here in L.A. contacts him. They tell him to come to the US or they’ll kill Mee Kim. But Saito and Moto are friends, so Saito confides in Moto, asking for his help to track down who is behind the threats. Moto agreed on one condition—he wanted Saito to help with a deal he’d brokered with the Asian Boyz to move a large quantity of heroin from here to Japan.”
“The Long Beach meth lab,” I say.
Young nods. “Moto had a falling-out with the Tokyo Yakuza over their cut on drug shipments. He was hoping to bypass the usual channels by getting Saito to call in some long-standing favors and use his father’s name to get the deal done. And this shipment is going to be big…real big. Even as a one-off it would be worth it for Moto to get a cut on the usual percentage.”
“And Moto told you all this?” Young must be very high up in the organization if he’s got the confidence of the boss.
“No, the meetings between Moto and Saito were closed-door. But I’ve managed to plant bugs in two of the four offices Moto uses. We got it through the bugs.”
“But Moto still has no idea who lured Saito to L.A. and who killed him?”
“No. He was hoping you and Ramos could enlighten him.”
I nod, more of the conversation with Moto coming back to me. I turn to Petrov. “He asked me and Ramos to tell our bosses to stay out of it. That the Yakuza would deal with it.”
Petrov shrugs. “Like that’s going to happen.”
“I know.” I sigh.
“Moto is old-school,” Young explains. “There is a family debt between him and Saito, and the thought that law enforcement would get their hands on the killer before he did…it’s unacceptable.” He pauses. “He’s protecting Saito’s daughter, Mee.”
“Where is Mee?” I ask.
“I was told to pick her up Thursday morning. I sent two guys, but they came back a little worse for wear.”
I think about the vision I had of her opening the door. She instantly knew that the guy’s missing tip of his pinky finger meant he was Yakuza. Perhaps her mother warned her, knew about Saito’s connections. Or maybe her father contacted her and confided in her before he was killed. Either way, she knew it was time to run, and when the flee option got complicated, she fought.
“Mee’s highly trained in martial arts,” I say, knowing for a fact how things turned out that day.
“Yes. My guys soon discovered that. She realized something was up when they came to her front door, and she ran. They figured she’d make a run for it out the back, so they ran around the house and through her side gate. They intercepted her but she fought. And won.”
I smile. “She doesn’t look like the sort to fight.”
Young gives a chuckle. “Yeah, my boys were surprised, that’s for sure…and embarrassed. But we were bringing her in to protect her. Given what had happened to Saito.”
I notice the use of “my” boys and “my” guys—but he’s talking about his Yakuza associates, not law enforcement. He’s entrenched, all right.
“So when did you find her?”
“She disappeared from our radar and Moto was worried Saito’s killer had her, but we intercepted her yesterday as she was fleeing Mi-na Moon’s house.”
“How’d you know about Moon?” I ask, wondering if someone in the task force passed on the information on the Korean Cultural Center.
“Moto gave me the address. We grabbed her as she was fleeing and took her to a Yakuza hideout.”
“So she’s safe?”
Young nods. “I saw her myself only twelve hours ago. She’s freaked out, but okay.”
“Did she even know who her father was? That he was ex-Yakuza?” I ask.
“Apparently her mother said the word Jun on her deathbed, like a last-minute confession. But Mee had no idea what it meant until you mentioned the name to her.”
“I’d like to talk to her, but I guess that’s not likely.”
Petrov shakes his head. “We can’t blow Dan’s cover. And if Ken Tanabe was given orders to kill you guys and Dan gummed up the works, he may already be in trouble.”
“What will be the repercussions?”
“I don’t know.” Young’s concerned. “And I don’t know whether it’ll be Ken in trouble or me.”
He risked his life to save mine…“What’s Moto like?”
“Moody. Punishment could be anything from a slap on the hand to…” He trails off.
“Can’t we pull him out?” I look at Petrov and De Luca.
“We’ve spoken about this…with Brady,” De Luca says. “We all agree that Dan should stay in, for the time being.”
“I’m moving up in the organization. And we need someone in there, at least until we find the mole.”
I nod, but still feel guilty that his actions have put him in harm’s way.
“Given your wounds were less severe than Ramos’s we told the press that you were able to dial 911 on your cell.”
I nod, taking the detail in and convincing myself of its truth. I may have to repeat it. “So, do you guys think Moto got Mi-na Moon’s address from the leak? Only a few of us knew about that.”
De Luca and Petrov exchange glances. “We’re not sure.”
“Moto did have people looking for Mee. He told me that one of the others found out about the cultural center and her students. That the tip-off came in that way.”
“But he might have been lying.”
The others all nod and Petrov adds, “It’s impossible to know how Moto found out about Moon. When you guys updated me, I made sure the rest of the team was in the loop.”
We’re silent, no one wanting to think of the possibility that Williams or Hana is the mole.
After a few seconds I change the subject. “You know about the hit man? And dim mak?”
“Yes. Joe has kept me up to speed. I know a little bit about dim mak, but I’ll be reading up on it more, too.”
“I’ve spoken to Lee about it quite extensively. It looks legit.”
“Fascinating stuff.” Young stares out the hospital window.
I take another look at Agent Dan Young. Was he really following me? Did I really miss a familiar face on my tail for two or more days?
“Agent Young?”
He turns from the window. “Yes?”
“Moto said you’d been following me. Is that true?”
He smiles. “Moto wanted to find out more about you, but I got most of my information from these guys.” He jerks his head toward Petrov and De Luca. “Plus I already knew you studied kung fu two nights a week. Don’t worry. I only tailed you for a couple of hours.”
“Good to know,” I say, although I’m still not happy about not noticing a tail, even for two hours. Could AmericanPsycho do the same? I push the thought away. “The doctor said it’d be another two weeks before I can go back to work, but there’s no reason I can’t work from here. Dial into the task force meetings, that sort of thing.”
Petrov smiles. “Nice try, Anderson. But it’s two weeks and I don’t think Dr. Goldman would approve of you working from here in the meantime. I don’t think anyone would, me included.”
“Come on.” I hold my hands out. “Can I at least have my BlackBerry?”
Petrov makes his way to the door. “Let’s leave Anderson to rest. She needs it, even if she doesn’t think so.” De Luca and Young follow Petrov’s lead.
“No…guys. Come on.”
They disappear.
“Guys!”
Petrov’s head pokes around the door frame. “I’ll send Melissa in with some magazines for you.”
“FBI bulletins?”
“I don’t think that’ll be her choice.” He disappears. “Rest up…” His voice trails off and he moves down the corridor.
Two hours later Melissa turns up, bouncing into the room as only Melissa can.
“Oh, Sophie. I’m so glad you’re okay. I visited you late last night, but you were still unconscious.” She shakes her head. “I couldn’t believe it when Brady told me.”
“Last night? But it must have been past midnight when I was shot.”
“Yeah. Sorry, I mean early hours of the morning.”
“And you came in?”
“Of course!”
I smile, touched by Melissa’s concern. I guess I still haven’t fully processed the fact that I was shot. That people would have been worried about me. I take a closer look at Melissa and notice the uncharacteristic dark circles under her eyes.
“How long were you here for?”
“A few hours. Just until you’d stabilized after the surgery. Mercedes was here, too.”
“Thanks, Melissa. That’s really sweet of you guys.”
She dismisses it with a wave of her hand. “Don’t be silly. Besides, I know you don’t have family here.”
“My parents are on their way here now.”
“Yeah. Petrov got Agent Sandston to pick them up. He’s fresh out of the academy. I just called him and they’re about fifteen minutes away. Bad traffic.”
I suddenly get butterflies in my stomach at the thought of my parents seeing me like this, their worst—or almost worst—fears realized.
Melissa looks around the room. “You’ve got a few bunches of flowers. They’re beautiful.”
I nod. “I haven’t even got out of bed yet. Don’t know who they’re from.”
“You should have asked the nurses to read the cards out.”
I shrug. “Didn’t want to bother them.”
Melissa starts with the bunch near the window, red tulips. “Okay, so this one says, Get better soon, from everyone at L.A. FBI. That’s us.”
I smile. “Trust you to read out the ones you sent first.”
“I didn’t know what the florist sent.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. You know I like tulips.”
She shrugs. “Guilty as charged.” She moves to a bunch of irises on the other side of the window. “And these are from Darren. Detective Darren Carter, I presume?”
“Yeah. I’d say so.”
“I’ve spoken to him twice today. He heard that you’d been shot on this morning’s news and rang Brady straightaway. I spoke to him, told him you’d be okay. But he wants you to call him as soon as you’re up to it. He’s been talking about flying up, too. He sounds nice. Real nice.”
I smile. There have always been a few sparks.
“I see that smile, Sophie.” Melissa gives me a wink. “And you keep telling me you’re just friends.”
“We are.”
“Want me to read the card then?”
“Sure.”
“It says, I hear we have matching bullet holes. Thinking of you always, love Darren. Still just friends?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve heard that before.” She looks down at the card. “Matching bullet holes? You didn’t tell me he’d been shot.”
“Darren was shot in the chest. Same side, but a bit lower than mine.”
“Oh. That is romantic,” Melissa says sarcastically.
I laugh. “Come on, next one.” I look at the only other bunch in the room, lilies.
Melissa crosses over to the vase and plucks the card out of the centre. “Okay, so this one says, A single…Oh, my gosh.”
“What? What is it?”
Melissa’s face is white. “I’m sorry, Sophie.” She reads out the whole card. “A single red rose just wasn’t right this time. Get better. AP.”
I shake my head. “He won’t leave me alone.”
“Can’t Interpol do anything about this guy?”
“They’re trying, Melissa.”
“I know. Sorry.”
The somber mood is broken when Mum hurries into the room.
“Oh, Sophie.” She runs toward my bed with such emotion and force that I have to say, “Careful, Mum,” for fear she’ll throw herself on my bed and rip a stitch or two in my shoulder. But instead of flinging her full body weight on top of me, she grabs my right hand in hers and uses her other hand to caress my hair as she kisses my cheek. “Thank goodness you’re okay, baby.”
I squeeze her hand. “I’m fine, Mum. Honest.”
Dad comes to the other side of my bed.
“Hi, Dad.”
“Hi, sweetie.” He grabs my left hand and gives it a squeeze. “We were worried.” The king of understatement…like lots of men.
“I bet Mum drove you crazy on the flight over here.” I smile.
“She wasn’t too bad.” He gives her a strange look and she responds with a tight-lipped smile.
“What? What’s up?” I ask.
“Up? Nothing?”
“Dad, you’re trying to fool a behavioral analyst. Give it up.”
“Sophie, I’ll leave you to it.” Melissa gives a little wave from the doorway.
“Sorry, Melissa. Melissa Raine, meet my parents, Jan and Bob Anderson.”
She comes back to the bed and shakes their hands. “It’s real nice to meet you both.”
“You’re the one who called us,” Dad says, recognition in his voice.
“That’s right. I knew you’d want to know straightaway. Before it was on the news.”
I laugh. “On the news in Australia? I don’t think so.”
Both my parents are silent.
“Serious?”
Dad sighs. “An Australian working for the FBI got shot. Of course it made our news. We saw it at the airport.”
I instantly get a flash of my parents watching the news and hearing about my gunshot wound that way. Thank goodness Melissa called. “Thanks, Melissa. I really appreciate it.”
She smiles. “No worries.”
“She’s teaching you the Australian slang, I see,” Dad says. “It took me years to pick it up.”
“You don’t sound very American anymore, sir.”
He laughs. “The Aussies think I sound American and the Americans think I sound Australian.”
Dad’s been living in Australia for thirty-five years and his accent’s morphed into something that sounds a little foreign in both countries.
He looks back at me. “We were so worried, Soph.”
“I know, Dad. I’m sorry.”
“Well, it was nice to meet you.” Melissa tries her departure once more. “I’ve left some magazines there for you, Sophie, and I got your BlackBerry for you, too. It’s been examined by forensics for the phone call you got last night.”
“And?” I say, eager to find out who made the phony tip-off.
“The call was made by Jason Pham. One of the guys killed last night.”
“Oh…okay.” But the information is anything but illuminating. Pham’s a dead end—literally.
“Wish I could bar work calls on it somehow. And e-mails.”
“You know our daughter well, Melissa.” My mother sits down beside my bed. “And don’t let us rush you away.”
“No, no, I’ve got to get going. I’ll pop by tomorrow morning, Sophie.” She smiles. “And don’t forget to call Detective Carter.”
“I will.”
She leaves with a wave.
Mum’s already shaking her head. “I’m sure the detective can wait, Sophie. You’ve been shot, can’t they leave you alone for a couple of days?”
“It’s a personal call, Mum.”
“Really?” The excitement in her voice makes me regret not thinking on my feet. I would have been better copping the flack of making a work call than all the questions she’s going to have for me now.
“I didn’t know you had anyone special over here. Why don’t you tell us these things, darling?”
“He’s just a friend, Mum. We met on a case over a year ago and we’ve stayed in contact. That’s all.”
“A friend.” She doesn’t even try to hide her disappointment.
“Come on, Jan.” Dad takes her hand. “Give it a rest.”
I give Dad a grateful look, but I know this conversation is anything but over. No doubt tomorrow I’ll get the biological-clock talk…again. But for the moment, Mum gives a little nod and starts to tear up.
“Sophie, I just can’t tell you…can’t tell you how it felt when the phone rang and Melissa said something had happened to you. I just…”
“I’m sorry, Mum. I am careful. You know that.” I pause, not sure whether I should say the next bit. I bite down hard on my lip. “I don’t want to put you guys through this. But I love my job. Love helping people…including kids like John.”
Mum looks away, the tears overflowing, but Dad takes my hand. “We know that’s why you do this, Sophie.”
Silence falls. We’re damaged, my family. Just like so many of the victims’ families that I meet in this job. When I was eight years old my brother, John, was taken from his bedroom in the middle of the night. A year later, his body was found, but they never caught his killer. You can’t have something like that happen and move on, unaffected. It chose my career for me. It changed Mum from a relatively relaxed, independent mum to a wrap-me-in-cotton-wool mum. She lost one of her babies, and she can’t stand the thought that she could lose the other one.
“I’m sorry, Mum.” The words aren’t enough, but I still feel the need to repeat them. “I’m sorry.”
But what comes out of my mother’s mouth shocks me. Through her tears, she manages, “We’re proud of you, darling. Proud of what you do and the families you help.”
Tears flow down my cheeks and it feels as if I’ll never stop crying.