Blaze didn’t feel guilty often, but he did today. He’d asked to leave early using T/O time off—accrued overtime.
Dolby Sinclair’s murder had taken a huge toll on him. Yesterday, there’d been so much to coordinate and get done once he got on scene.
His tenured officers knew what to do, and they’d kept an eye on the new kids. But when it came to troops from other divisions, he didn’t know their strengths and weaknesses. He’d had to trust that with an officer dead, there wouldn’t be anything other than the highest professionalism and a burning desire to catch the suspects.
But it wasn’t just the logistics of the crime scene that had him leaving early. He took it hard any time a brother or sister in blue was killed in the line of duty. Even if they were a burned-out slug. He knew, at one time, Sinclair had been an outstanding street cop.
He entered the house through the garage. In the laundry room, he dropped his backpack on top of the washer and continued into the kitchen.
“Liz? You home?” He stopped to listen for his wife.
The only sound he heard was the ticking of the clock in the den. “Liz?” I wonder where she is.
As much as he loved his wife, he was relieved he didn’t have to explain to her why he’d left work early. Then he remembered she’d told him she was going to see a movie with her friend.
He walked to the refrigerator and pulled out a beer, popped the top, and took a long pull. Shuffling into the family room, he collapsed into a recliner. He placed his can on the table next to him and fell into a deep sleep.