Linda Castillo - Pray for Silence

“You did your job. You gave them justice.”

“I got justice for myself, too.”

“You shot a murderer in the line of duty,” he returns evenly.

“I shot him when he was down.”

“He had a weapon. You didn’t have a choice.” Tomasetti’s eyes sharpen on mine. “Guilt can do a number on you if you let it.”

He’s right, of course. The use of lethal force is a heavy burden for a cop to carry around. Even now, I feel the weight of it on my shoulders. But not in the way he thinks.

“I don’t feel bad about killing Barbereaux,” I say after a moment.

“Tell me you don’t see his face when you close your eyes at night.” He frowns. “Tell me that’s not why you’re hitting the booze.”

“The only reason I feel bad is because pulling that trigger felt so damn good. What kind of person does that make me?”

“That makes you a cop that had to make a tough decision. That’s all. No more. No less. End of story.”

I can’t hold his gaze, so I look out over the sea of headstones. “There were too goddamn many parallels, Tomasetti.”

“I know.”

“She was young and troubled and Amish. She was pregnant.” I run my hands over my face, surprised because I’m crying again.

“She was naïve, Kate. You were never that naïve.”

“I guess the moral of the story is you can’t go back.”

The rain is coming down in earnest now. His hair is wet. The shoulders of his coat are wet. I can feel water soaking through my own coat. “There’s not enough good in this world,” I say quietly.

“There’s more good than bad. You just have to look for it. When you find it, you have to hang on tight.”

He opens his arms, and I fall against him. His warmth and strength wrap around me like wings. Closing my eyes, I revel in the sensation of being held. “Have you found your good?” I whisper.

“Yes.” He kisses the top of my head. “I’ve found it.”