Неизвестный - 3. In Pursuit Of Justice

Mitchell regarded her steadily. “What we talk about in here—it’s confidential, right?”

“Usually, yes,” Catherine answered. Mitchell stiffened, and she added quickly, “Officer, you were referred for an official evaluation. I still have to do that. I don’t include information that isn’t relevant to my opinions, and I very rarely include specific details of what we’ve discussed.”

“But you wouldn’t…” She searched for words. “You’re going to be working with the people I work with. There are things…private things…I don’t want anyone to know.”

“They won’t learn them from me,” Catherine said quietly. “First of all, it’s my business to keep confidences. Secondly, I’ll be there for professional purposes, and on a fairly limited basis. There is absolutely no reason anyone should know that you and I have a professional relationship.”

“Fine.”

“Good.” The officer crossed one ankle over her knee, and sat back a little into her chair, a pose Catherine was coming to recognize as relaxed. For Mitchell. “Now, let’s talk about the incident in the alley.”

“I knew her.”

Catherine had many years of therapeutic experience, and she was glad of that now. Because she wanted to blurt out, What? Slowly, carefully, she asked, “The young woman who was being attacked?”

“Yes.”

“When did you realize that you knew her?”

“When he let her go. She fell…I saw her face in the light from the window.”

There was sweat on her forehead that Catherine was certain that she didn’t know was there. Her right hand trembled where it rested on the chair arm.

“What happened when you recognized her?”

She was quiet a long time. Then, her voice hoarse, she replied, “I hesitated. I thought maybe I had imagined it. That’s when he hit me, knocked me down.” She looked at Catherine, stricken. “There was so much blood on her face, I was frozen…I thought she…Jesus, there was so much blood.”

Catherine’s stomach lurched. So much blood. She took a long, slow breath. “How well do you know her?”

“She’s just someone I met…on the job.”

“More than a passing acquaintance?” Catherine probed softly. “A friend?”

Another pause. “Yes.”

“You told me you don’t remember hitting him with your gun.”

“I don’t.” For the first time, the young woman looked scared.

“What do you remember?”

Mitchell ran a hand through her hair. “I remember…I remember her face. I was so fucking angry. The bastard had his hands up her…and then I was on the ground…and she was screaming at him. Screaming not to hurt me…” She stopped and stared at Catherine. “Oh, fuck. I was on the ground, and he kicked me. My head…my side…it hurt. And I could hear her screaming at him…he hit her again, I think. I was afraid he’d kill her.”

“Do you remember striking him with your gun?”

“I don’t,” Mitchell shouted. She covered her face with both hands, shoulders heaving. “I don’t.”

“It’s okay,” Catherine said gently. “It’s okay.”

She finally looked up, her face streaked with tears. “It isn’t really, is it?”

“Oh, yes, it is,” Catherine replied firmly, sitting forward, hands clasped on the desk. “You were alone, in a dangerous situation. There was the threat of deadly injury to yourself or a civilian. Suddenly, unexpectedly, the situation is personalized—this is someone you know, care about. And you were both in peril. You had a gun, Officer Mitchell…and you were facing a bigger, stronger opponent who had already hurt you. You protected yourself, instinctively, but you didn’t shoot him.” Catherine paused, making certain that Mitchell was listening. “You didn’t shoot him. And you could have. You did well, Officer.”

Mitchell grinned weakly, brushing impatiently at the moisture on her cheeks. “Would you mind putting that in your report?”

“I most definitely will,” Catherine replied, smiling. “In my opinion you acted appropriately under the given circumstances.”

“There’s a problem.”

“What?”

“The part about me knowing her? It’s not in my report.”

“Why not?”

“Because that’s nobody’s business. It doesn’t have any bearing on the events. I reported it exactly as it occurred.”

Catherine considered the information. “I can’t see that it affects the legalities involved, but,” she continued as she saw Mitchell give a sigh of relief, “it is germane to the effect this has had on you.”

“I’m okay.”

“Yes, in all probability you are,” Catherine answered wearily, suddenly aware of her own fatigue. “I’ll take care of the report to your precinct, Officer.”

Mitchell was quiet for a long moment. “Would you mind—uh, holding off for a little while. You said it might take five or six visits, right?”

“Do you mind telling me what brought about this sudden change of heart?”

“I don’t want to get pulled off the task force.”

The task force. And here I thought it was my stellar therapy techniques . “I think the situation reasonably warrants another visit or two. But then I’ll have to file the report.”

“Fair enough. Thank you.” Mitchell stood, a smile to match the one she’d had when Sloan included her in the plans that morning. “Thanks a lot.”

As the door shut behind the young officer, Catherine leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes.

Rebecca rolled over and opened her eyes. She lifted her wrist and squinted at the dim dial of her watch. Nine p.m. She’d been asleep for eleven hours. She was wearing loose cotton workout shorts and nothing else. Her body was covered with a thin film of sweat, and when she brushed her palm over her chest and down her abdomen, her hand came away wet.

Nine p.m. Plenty of time to get some work done. She got up from the bed, stiff muscles protesting, and made her way into the bathroom to shower.

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

CATHERINE ANSWERED THE door and stared wordlessly at the woman on her porch. Finally she said, “Hi.”

“Hi.” Rebecca lifted the pizza box with two video tapes resting on its top. “Dinner and a movie?”

“We have a lot to talk about, you know,” Catherine answered, leaning with a shoulder against the partially open door. Behind her the soft strains of jazz played in the dimly lit living room.

“I know. Would you rather I…” she stopped, looked uncertain. “What do you want me to do?”

“Are you working tonight? Is this just a drive-by visit?”

Rebecca winced. “No. I was going to. I intended to, when I got up. But…no.”

“I’m too tired for this, Rebecca. I really am,” Catherine said with a sigh.

The look in her eyes, the sound of her voice. Sadness, disappointment, loss. It was a knife in Rebecca’s heart. She lifted a hand toward her lover’s face, then stopped herself. “Okay. I’ll call you. Can I call you?”

“No,” Catherine said with a shake of her head, and Rebecca’s world tilted, then began to crumble.

“Please. Catheri—”

“I really can’t talk now.” She reached out, took Rebecca’s hand, pulled her gently forward. “Just come inside for tonight. Just…be here.”

“Hey,” a quiet, husky voice said from the shadows.

Sandy jumped at the sound, then peered into the dim overhang of a video store closed for the night. “Jesus, Dell. Will you not do that? Some night I’m going to shoot you.”

Mitchell laughed. “You don’t have a gun.”

“I’ll get one if you keep this up.”

“Can we talk?” She stepped onto the sidewalk beside the young blond, wiping the light rain that had been falling since midnight from her eyes.