I didn’t answer. My throat was full and my stomach was churning.
She let out a bitter breath. “I wondered if this day was going to come. Believe it or not, I thought if it did, I could make you understand. I thought you’d give me a chance.” She shook her head and took another breath. “I guess that was dumb.”
I reached for the desk drawer.
“Don’t do that, Jason. Please.”
I opened it up.
She raised her gun.
“Jason, don’t.”
I removed a business card for Detective Frank Danilo, the lead on the Rubinkowski murder. I placed it on the desk, picked up the receiver of my office phone, and dialed the number.
When the police station operator answered, I said, “Detective Frank Danilo, please.”
“Hang up the phone, Jason.” Tori stared at me, the gun trained on me. We watched each other as I waited for Danilo to come on the line-probably just a few seconds but elongated by the tension. A twitch of Tori’s finger and my life was over.
“Please don’t do this,” Tori said. I stared into the barrel of the gun as the voice of Frank Danilo came over the receiver.
“Detective, this is Jason Kolarich,” I said.
Tori’s eyes narrowed. Her gun held steady. I’d be dead before I realized she pulled the trigger.
“Yeah, Jason. What’s up?”
I loved Tori, too. I knew that for certain this afternoon, when I put everything together. I always measured love by pain. What I felt when my wife and daughter died was so consuming that it crushed me and rebuilt me into something vaguely resembling my former self. This was not that kind of pain. This was poison through my blood, something that grabbed and twisted my insides and stole my breath. I loved her, and at this moment I believed that she loved me, too. That was supposed to make it easier. It made it worse.
“Kathy Rubinkowski’s killer is named Victoria Virginia Ramini,” I said. “She’s the niece of Peter Ramini. She now goes by Tori Martin. She’s Gin Rummy, Detective.”
I slowly placed the phone back in its cradle. Closed my eyes. Took a breath.
When I looked up, Tori Martin was gone.