He holds up his hands, splays them. Two huge catcher's mitts. "I can kill with these hands. I can shoot with them. I can make love to my wife and thread a needle with them. They're strong. Lot of dexterity too. But I can't reach in and take out that cancer. I can't help her. I can't fucking stand it."
The hands go back down into his lap, and those helpless eyes go back to watching them. I look at them too, try to find words for my friend. I feel his fear, and mine. I think of Matt.
"Helplessness is something I understand, Alan."
He looks at me, emotions warring in his eyes. "I know, Smoky. But--
don't take this the wrong way--all things considered, that's not confidence-inspiring." He grimaces. "Ah, shit. Sorry. That sounds all wrong."
I shake my head. "Don't worry about that. This isn't about what happened to me. It's about what's happening with you and Elaina. You can't tell me what you're feeling and walk on eggshells at the same time."
"I guess not." He blows air out through his lips. "Fuck, Smoky. What am I going to do?"
"I . . ." I sit back for a moment, thinking. What is he going to do?
I catch his eyes again. "You're going to love her and do everything you can. You're going to let your friends help you if you need it. And here's the most important thing, Alan. You're going to remember that it just might turn out okay. That the deck isn't stacked against you."
He gives me a crooked grin. "Cup half full kind of thing, huh?"
My response is fierce. "Damn right. This is Elaina. Cup half full is the only acceptable way to look at it."
He looks out the window, down at his hands, and now at me. The gentleness I have always cherished in my friend is back in his eyes.
"Thanks, Smoky. I mean it."
"So far from not a problem it's not even funny."
"Let's keep it between us for now, though, all right?"
"Deal. Are you okay?"
He purses his lips, nods his head. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine." He looks at me, squints. "What about you? You okay? We haven't really talked . . . since." He shrugs.
"It's not like you didn't try. And yeah, for now, I'm doing fine."
"Good."
We gaze at each other for a moment, not speaking, just understanding. I stand up and give his shoulder a last squeeze before I walk away.
First Callie, now Alan. Problems and heartache and mysteries. I feel a twinge of guilt. I've been so caught up in my own agony these last six months, I realize I hadn't even considered that the lives of my friends might be something less than perfect, that they might have their own fears and pain and miseries. It shames me.
"Everything copacetic, honey-love?" Callie asks me as I sit down.
"Everything's fine."
She looks at me for a moment with that patented Callie intensity. I don't think she's really buying it, but she lets it go. "So, honey-love, while we're all running around on our assigned tasks, what are you going to be doing?"
The question brings me back to the purpose of this flight, makes me shiver. "First I'm going to talk to Jenny. I'll take her out to a coffee shop or something." I look at James. "She's good, and she saw the scene fresh. I want to get her firsthand impressions of it." He nods. "And then I'm going to see the best possible lead we have."
No one asks who I mean, and I know all of them are glad to let me do it. Because I'm talking about Bonnie.
10
WE WALK INTO SFPD, ask for Jennifer Chang, and are directed toward her office. She sees us coming. I am gratified as her eyes light up when she spots me. She moves toward us, towing along a male partner I don't recognize.
"Smoky! They didn't tell me you were coming."
"It was kind of a last-minute thing."
Jennifer stops close to me and gives me a once-over, head to toe. Unlike other people, she doesn't bother to cover her interest in my scars. She gives them a frank look.
"Not so bad," she remarks. "Healed up good. How about on the inside?"
"A little raw, but healing too."
"Good. So--is this a takeover, or what?" Jenny is right to business. I have to handle this part well; it is a takeover, but I don't want Jenny or other members of SFPD to get disgruntled about it.
"Yeah. But only because of the message to me. You know the rules, the e-mail constitutes a threat to a federal agent." I shrug. "That makes it a federal matter. But this has nothing to do with anyone here thinking SFPD can't do the job."
She mulls this over for a second. "Yeah, well. You guys have always dealt straight with me."
We follow her into her office, which is a small room with two desks. Nonetheless, I'm surprised. "Your own office, Jenny. Pretty impressive."
"Best solve rate three years in a row. The Captain asked me what I wanted, and I said this. He gave it to me." She grins. "Kicked out two old-timers to do it too. Didn't make me very popular. Like I care." She points to her partner. "Sorry. Should have introduced you earlier. This is Charlie De Biasse, my partner. Charlie, the feds."
He inclines his head. De Biasse is obviously an Italian name, and Charlie looks it, though perhaps not pure-blooded. He has a calm, easygoing face. His eyes don't match. They look sharp. Sharp and watchful.
"Pleased to meet you."
"Likewise."
"So," Jenny says, "what's the game plan?"
Callie gives her a rundown of the various assignments we have laid out. Jenny gives a nod of approval when she's done. "Sounds good. I'll get copies of everything we have so far put together for you. Charlie, can you call CSU and give them a heads-up?"
"Yep."
"Who has the keys to her apartment?" I ask.
Jenny picks up an envelope on the side of her desk and hands it to Leo. "They're in there. Don't worry about contaminating the scene. Evidence collection is done. The address is the one on the front of the envelope. See Sergeant Bixby at the desk. He can get you a ride."
Leo looks at me, eyebrows raised, and I nod, sending him on his way. I catch Jenny's eye. "Can we go somewhere? I'd like to talk to you about your impressions of the scene."
"Sure. You and I can go and get a cup of coffee. Charlie can set everyone up here, right, Charlie?"
"Yep."
"That would be great."
"Is your medical examiner any good?" James asks. Of course, since it's James, it doesn't come out as a harmless question but a challenge. Jenny frowns at him.
"According to Quantico she is. Why--have you heard differently?"
He waves his hand at her, a gesture of dismissal. "Just tell me how I can hook up with her, Detective. Save the sarcasm."
Jenny's eyebrows shoot up, and I see her eyes cloud over. She glances at me, and perhaps it's the look of anger she sees on my face, directed at James, that pacifies her. "Talk to Charlie." Her voice is tight and terse. It has no effect on James. He turns away from her without a glance back. I touch her elbow. "Let's get out of here."
She shoots one last brooding look at James before nodding. We head toward the precinct door.
"Is he always such a dick?" she asks as we're walking down the front steps.
"Oh yeah. The word was invented for him."
We only have to walk a block to reach the coffee shop, something San Francisco seems to have as many of as Seattle. It's a mom-and-pop place, not a franchise, with a relaxed, earthy feel to it. I order a cafe mocha. Jenny gets some hot tea. We settle down at a table next to the window and enjoy not talking for a moment. Sipping at our respective cups. The mocha is exquisite. Exquisite enough, I realize, for me to enjoy it, even with all the death around me. I look outside at the city passing by. San Francisco has always intrigued me. It's the New York of the West Coast. Cosmopolitan, with European influences, it has its own charm and character. I can usually tell if someone is from San Francisco by their clothing. It's one of the few places on the West Coast where you see wool trench coats and hats, berets and leather gloves. Stylish. The day outside is nice; San Francisco can tend to run chilly, but today the sun is out, and the weather hovers in the low seventies. A scorcher by this city's standards. Jenny puts down her tea and runs a finger around the rim of the cup. She seems thoughtful. "I was surprised to see you here. Even more surprised to find out you're not heading up your team."