Mike rushed out the front door just in time to hear the tail end of Prescott’s remarks.
“… because Lieutenant Morelli’s conduct has been questionable for some time, and this latest incident will only intensify the ongoing investigation. Rest assured, however, that the guilty man is in custody—”
Mike plunged between Prescott and the cameras. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Just answering a few questions for the folks at home,” Prescott said wanly.
Mike faced the reporters. “Turn those cameras off. I said off!”
The cameramen wordlessly obeyed.
Mike whirled on Prescott. “I told you you were off the case!”
“So I’m off. Doesn’t mean I can’t answer a few questions.”
“You idiot. You can’t tell people who’s guilty before there’s been a trial. You’ll get the department sued, not to mention prejudicing the whole investigation.”
“I keep telling you, there’s no investigation. We have the killer in custody.”
“You stupid—Prescott, you’re on probation.”
“What!”
“You heard me. You’re suspended until further notice. Don’t come to the office. And don’t talk to the press!”
Prescott’s eyes narrowed. “I have a lot of friends, Morelli.”
“Well, you’d better, ’cause if you’re still in my face five seconds from now, you’re not going to have a job.”
“We’ll see.” He whipped around and stomped down the driveway.
“Sorry about that disturbance,” Mike told the reporters. “We’ll give an official press conference this afternoon in time for you to make the five o’clock news. Thank you.”
Mike hustled back to his car to call in the forensic teams. Jeez, what a day. At this rate, he’d have his first heart attack before he made captain.
Maybe it was sunspots, after all.
Chapter 10
HARD AS SHE TRIED, Deanna Meanders found she could carry only three of the four bags of groceries at once. She could go inside and ask Martha to help, she supposed. Argue and cajole and finally order her out. Martha would be put out and argumentative (“I’m not your slave!”); she’d say something that would irritate Deanna, Deanna would say something back, and they’d kill a couple of hours being crappy to one another.
Nah, she’d get it herself.
It was already after seven. Deanna had had a hell of a time getting out of the office. Mr. Coughlin dumped yet another one of his emergencies on her at the last possible moment. “We’ve got to have this faxed to San Diego before six!” And as well she knew, when he had an emergency, everyone in the office had an emergency. “We all have to pull together.” Translation: no one goes home till I do. “Emergencies come with the territory.” Translation: I put it off till the last minute.
When she finally escaped, she made an unavoidable run to Bud’s for groceries. And now she was late, damn it. It wasn’t so much that she worried about Martha; she was sixteen—old enough to look after herself. But the later Deanna got home, the less time she had to spend with her. Martha got older and older and busier and busier, and as the time passed they grew more and more distant.
Being a single mother was hell. Sometimes it seemed like all she ever did was work and worry, and neither did her much good. Certainly Martha didn’t appreciate either. “How come you can’t come to school today for the play like the other mothers?” Or, alternately: “Mother, get a life of your own, okay?” Sure, she was just a typical teenager. But it still hurt. Martha thought her mother had all these choices, that she could decide for herself what to do. The truth was, she had no choices. She had to work to keep this family unit afloat. Martha depended on her, whether she knew it or not. Not to mention the fact that, the second Deanna screwed up, that son of a bitch she divorced would be right back in her face trying to get custody again. And she couldn’t let that happen. No matter what.
Deanna walked toward the front door. The windows were open, and she could hear voices inside. Including one that wasn’t supposed to be there. Quietly she crept up to the window.
There he was. Buck, the banished boyfriend. Well, if not exactly banished, certainly keenly disapproved of. He hadn’t shaved, like always, and he was wearing those loose green fatigues, like always. He looked like someone you’d expect to hit you up for a quarter downtown. And this was Martha’s one true love. God, life was cruel sometimes.
Deanna hadn’t known what to do the first day she came home and found Buck in her living room, feet on the sofa, snuggling up to Martha and drinking a beer. A beer, for God’s sake! Did they meet at school? No, turns out Buck isn’t in school. He got expelled a long time ago and he never went back. Not to worry. He had plenty of money. Except that worried Deanna even more—how did a high school dropout with a crummy no-talent job manage to have so much cash all the time?
Deanna had never uncovered Buck’s true age. He claimed to be twenty, but she suspected he was older. What did it matter? Twenty was too old to be seeing a sixteen-year-old. Martha hadn’t really dated before, and now she was going with some guy old enough to … well, to drink beer, among other things.
Deanna considered this pairing totally unacceptable, but at the same time, she knew what would happen if she made a big thing out of it and forbade Buck to come around any more. Tempers would escalate, lines would be drawn, and this budding romance would turn into some Romeo-and-Julietesque grand passion. Deanna knew quite well how headstrong Martha could be. She’d rebel, and soon she’d run off with him, maybe even get married. Or worse, get pregnant. And Martha’s whole future would be ruined.
She couldn’t risk it. So after much deliberation, she had said that Martha could continue to see Buck, but only during certain hours, and only when they were chaperoned. That way, she hoped, the romance would run its natural course. Eventually Martha would become disenchanted with his ignorant insolence; she would realize that his half-grown goatee was really pretty ugly; and she wouldn’t think it was funny anymore when he belched in her face.
So Deanna had hoped, anyway. But the relationship had been raging on for three months now, with no sign of abating. And now he was in their house when he wasn’t supposed to be, when Deanna wasn’t home.
Buck. Jesus Christ, what kind of a name was that for a human being, anyway?
Martha and Buck were sitting at the kitchen table playing a card game, that strange one with the special illustrated cards. Magic: The Gathering, they called it. All Deanna knew was that the game was ungodly complicated and it cost a fortune to collect enough cards to have a good deck.
Martha laid a red card in the center of the table. “I’m going to use my red mana to summon a Fireball and do nine damage to you.”
Buck’s eyebrows knitted together. “Against me? Why me, woman?”
Deanna winced.
“Don’t attack me,” he said. “Go after my Juggernaut.”
“I don’t want your Juggernaut. I want you, handsome.”
“But I’ve only got ten life points left.”
“And now you’ve got one. I’ve already done it.”
His voice acquired an edge. “And I’m telling you not to, woman.”
“C’mon, Buck. Play the game. You have one life point.”
“But I told you—”
“Buck, take your turn!”
“You stupid bitch!”
Deanna felt the air rush out of her lungs.
“Calm down,” Martha said.
“Don’t you tell me what to do, woman. You stupid, stupid bitch!” He threw all the cards in his hand at her. “You screwed up my whole game.”
“I tried to win, if that’s what you mean. Aren’t you supposed to try to win? Isn’t that the point?”