Russell Andrews - Hades

"Why?"

"Jay, I don't know! I don't know what he did when I went out!"

"Did he know what you did when you went out?"

She opened her mouth, but no words came out. Her hands were clenched tightly, and he realized she was shaking. He couldn't tell if the shaking was due to fear, anger, or sadness. "What is it you're trying to get at?" she said finally.

"Some of this is conjecture on my part, but I've done this before. I know the drill."

"And what is that drill?"

"A lot is going to depend on what time Evan was killed. We'll know that fairly soon. The timing is going to make things complicated."

"Complicated how?"

"You have to understand, I'm talking about appearance now, not reality."

"Just talk."

"I might be your alibi. Depending on the timing. I'm also your lover. And I'm also the fucking chief of police."

"So?"

"If the time line shows that he was killed while we were together, there are going to be several possibilities that have to be covered. One is that I'm lying to protect you. Two is that we're both lying to protect each other."

"It's crazy. They'll think you killed Evan?"

"Maybe. Or that you were using me and you hired someone to kill him while you could get me to vouch for you."

"Nobody could think that."

"Yes, we will."

"We?"

He nodded and cleared his throat uncomfortably. "I don't know how this is going to play out, Abby. But I'm going to be involved in this investigation one way or the other. Either as a suspect or because it's my job."

"Do you think I'm capable of doing that, Jay? Do you think I'm capable of doing what we just did in your bedroom while I knew someone was murdering my husband?"

He couldn't help himself. The tiniest hint of a sad, regretful smile crossed his lips. "I'm a cop, Abby," Justin Westwood said. "I think almost anyone is capable of doing almost anything."

Abby Harmon shifted in her seat again so she faced forward. She didn't say another word as he made a left and drove through the open gates, ornate enough that they looked like they should lead toward a stairway to heaven but only led up the driveway toward her house where her murdered husband's body awaited them.

Justin had been in similar situations often enough to know that for many people death turned the world upside down. The secure became insecure. The satisfied were suddenly morose, and the complacent were lonely. Murder took things to another, surreal level. Truths were often shown to be lies. Strength was revealed as weakness. The mundane could prove crucial. Things that seemed so impregnable suddenly crumbled at the merest touch.

His life had disintegrated when death had hit his family. His lovely little daughter had been murdered and, never being able to cope with the loss, his wife had committed suicide a year afterward. It was only now, so many years later, that he felt as if his life was being stitched back together. And Justin was very cognizant of how quickly that stitching could unravel.

Watching Abby walk up to the home she'd lived in for over four years, Justin understood that she was uncertain now about how to do something as simple as open her own front door. He took her arm as they approached the steps, and she didn't flinch or shake him off. He saw her shoulders sag just slightly in relief, and her muscles relax, grateful for any support. When they got to the door, she stood frozen. She didn't know if she should reach for her keys or knock or just go right in. He'd noticed that, although she hadn't said a word, her eyes had narrowed at the gate to her driveway, in recognition of the fact that it was open and that it was unnecessary to use the various security precautions that normally kept people off the property. Invasion was not normal for her. She was used to controlling her surroundings, dominating her environment. But things were no longer normal. Even walking into her own house had become disorienting. She didn't know who'd be inside. She didn't know the protocol. She didn't have any understanding of the world she'd just entered so unwillingly.

"It'll be open," he told her. And when she didn't move, he took the door handle and pushed. When it swung open and she still didn't move, he said, "I'll be with you every second you want me to be with you. Okay?"

Abby nodded, and Justin acknowledged the briefest of grateful smiles, and then she stepped forward. Death brings things to a grinding halt, he thought. But life starts moving around you again pretty damn quickly.

As they stood in the Harmon foyer, Justin saw that Gary Jenkins was waiting nervously in the living room. His leg was jiggling and his right hand was flapping against his thigh. With him was a man Justin didn't recognize. He looked to be about forty, rail thin; his hair was cropped close, probably to hide the fact that he was losing it. The man's face was angular, almost gaunt, but at the same time there was something soft that shone through. He had a runner's body, and Justin, sizing him up quickly, couldn't help but think that he was running away from some kind of weakness. He glanced over at Abby, saw that she most certainly did recognize the man. And wasn't all that crazy about him.

Gary made his way quickly over to meet them. He turned to Abby, shifted his eyes so he could look everywhere but directly at her, and mumbled that he was sorry for what had happened. She nodded graciously. Justin touched her elbow lightly and guided her forward until they and Gary were back in the living room with the thin man.

"Forrest," Abby said. She did not do a good job of disguising her distaste.

The gaunt man took one step toward her, holding out a hand and saying, "I'm so sorry," but he had to stop because he was tearing up and could no longer speak.

Justin gave him a few moments to compose himself. The man tried to stop his sniffling but wasn't having much luck. Shaking his head, embarrassed by his lack of control, he put out his hand to shake Justin's, and Justin saw just how badly the hand was trembling. "Forrest Bannister," he said. "I-I-"

"He found the body," Gary said. "It's upstairs." He saw Abby's expression and immediately said, "I'm sorry. He's upstairs. Jesus, I'm really sorry. It's just that-"

"Gary," Justin said to the young cop.

"What?"

"Shut up."

"Right. Sorry. Oh, I'm sorry. I shouldn't be saying I'm sorry. I'll-I'll just stop talking."

Justin shook his head and let a small sigh escape from his lips. "Why don't you sit down, Mr. Bannister," he said. And to Abby: "Do you want some water?" She shook her head, but he followed up his question by saying, "I need to go upstairs to see Evan's body. I'd like you to come with me and identify him." When she managed a deep breath and a nod, he followed it up with, "Are you sure you don't want water?"

She was looking wobblier by the second. She didn't nod or shake her head at his second question. She just went to a cabinet beneath an ornate mirror at the far end of the living room. Abby opened the cabinet door to reveal a bar and she reached in to grab a bottle of vodka.

Justin thought about telling her she should stay sober, that she had important decisions to make, and then he decided what the hell difference did it make; she needed a drink and she should have it. He waited for her to pour a long one, then he motioned to Gary to step into the foyer with him. There he asked a few questions about the condition of the body, about any disturbance of the crime scene, about anything he should know that might await him upstairs. Gary gave him a solid, professional briefing, and Justin thanked him. He told Gary what he wanted him to do next-call one of two stations within an hour's drive that could put together a crime scene unit, get another officer from the East End station over here as quickly as possible, get an ambulance to come take the body when the CSU was done. Then Justin stepped over to the archway, looked into the living room, and nodded at Abby. She walked toward him, continued past him, drink tightly clutched in her hand; and he let her lead him upstairs.