CHAPTER 40

Nicole was buried two days later. On a Tuesday afternoon. She had two sisters. I stood between them at the grave and held their hands. Rodriguez stood behind me, dark glasses shading a face of stone. I didn’t see Annie. I didn’t need to look.

Rachel Swenson offered a reading at the service. Bennett Davis was in the back of the crowd. Tight-lipped, he gave me a nod at the edge of Nicole’s grave, dropped a rose into the hole, and drifted away. Bennett would be okay. I’d check up on him in a day or so.

Nicole’s death was a run-of-the-mill tragedy, nothing more than a one-day story in Chicago. Young black woman, forensic scientist, dedicated her life to catching killers, done in by the same. Nice angle, but ultimately, just another random act of violence. Or so it went. Rodriguez kept my name out of the public record and I appreciated it.

“You haven’t returned my calls.”

I was walking away from the service. Alone. Diane came up from behind. She was dressed in black and looked every bit the part.

“Sorry,” I said. “It’s been tough.”

“I know. She was my friend, too.”

I held her close. Diane cried for more than a moment. I waited and felt the first bit of peace inside. It surprised me.

“You want to come over?” I said.

She pulled away, almost embarrassed, and moved back within herself.

“I can’t. I’ve got to do the six o’clock.”

“How about after? We can get some dinner.”

Now she was far away. Or at least seemed that way.

“Let’s see how it goes. I’ll give you a call.”

I nodded and turned to go. Diane reached out and touched me at the elbow.

“Kelly.”

I paused but didn’t look back.

“You okay?” she said.

“I’m okay.”

Her fingers slipped off the sleeve of my coat.

“Good. I’ll talk to you later.”

I heard her move away and continued walking. Phillip’s grave was at the very back of the cemetery, in a section neither the groundskeeper, nor anyone else, visited very often. I didn’t have any flowers to leave, not even a cigarette to lay on top of my brother’s headstone. He would have liked that.

Instead, I stood there and remembered. Flickering moments of childhood memory, ground into dust by the gears of fate and time. Phillip had been dead too long for me to really miss him. But I could still be angry, still wonder why. My brother and Nicole lived at the heart of what was once my youth. Now they’d be buried together. If nothing else, it was convenient.

After a minute or so had passed, I made the sign of the cross, ran my fingers along his name carved in the rock, and left. As I walked back to my car, I stole a glance through the trees. The backhoe was at work. Pouring dirt on my friend’s coffin, sending her on her way through eternity.