The Narrows - Michael Connelly [87]
“I’ll tell you something then.”
“What?”
I hadn’t planned on bringing this up but it all sort of snowballed and I knew I needed to tell her.
“I’m thinking about going back to my job.”
“What do you mean, the case?”
“No, the cops. The LAPD has a program. Old guys like me can come back in. They’re looking for experience. If I do it now I won’t even have to go back to the academy.”
She took a long drink of water and didn’t respond.
“What do you think about that, Eleanor?”
She shrugged like she didn’t care.
“Whatever you want to do, Harry. But you won’t see your daughter as much. You’ll get involved in cases and . . . you know how that goes.”
I nodded.
“Maybe.”
“And maybe it won’t matter. She hasn’t had you around for most of her life.”
“And whose fault is that?”
“Look, let’s not open that can of worms again.”
“If I had known about her I would have been here. I didn’t know.”
“I know, I know. I’m the one. It’s all my fault.”
“I’m not saying that. I’m —”
“I know what you’re saying. You don’t even have to say it.”
We were both quiet for a moment, letting the anger ebb. I looked down at the floor.
“Maybe she could come over there, too,” I said.
“What are you talking about?”
“What we talked about before. About this place. About her growing up here.”
She shook her head very deliberately.
“And I haven’t changed my mind about that. What do you think, that you’re going to raise her by yourself? You, with middle-of-the-night call outs, long hours, long investigations, guns in the house, crime scene photos spread all over the floor. Is that what you want for her? You think that’s better than Vegas?”
“No. I was thinking maybe you could come over there, too.”
“Forget it, Harry. I’m not talking about this again. I’m staying here and so is Madeline. You make whatever decision is best for you but you don’t make it for me and Maddie.”
Before I could respond Marisol stepped into the kitchen, her eyes creased with sleep. She was wearing a white bathrobe with Bellagio written in script on the pocket.
“Very loud,” she said.
“You’re right, Marisol,” Eleanor said. “I’m sorry.”
Marisol went to the refrigerator and got out the water bottle. She poured herself a glass and then put the bottle away. She left the kitchen without further word.
“I think you should go,” Eleanor said to me. “I’m too tired to talk about this right now.”
“All right. I’m just going to check on her and say good-bye.”
“Don’t wake her up.”
“No kidding.”
I went back into my daughter’s bedroom. We had left the light on. I sat on the side of the bed closest to her and just watched her sleep for a few moments. Then I brushed back her hair and kissed her cheek. I smelled the scent of baby shampoo in her hair. I kissed her again and whispered good night. I turned off the light and then sat there for another couple minutes, watching and waiting. For what, I don’t know. I guess maybe I was hoping Eleanor would come in and sit on the bed, too, that maybe we could watch our sleeping daughter together.
After a while I got up and turned the monitor on again. I left the room to head out. The house was quiet as I walked back through to the front. I didn’t see Eleanor. She had gone off to bed, not needing to see me again. I pulled the front door closed and made sure it was locked as I went out.
The loud snap of steel on steel had a finality to it that ricocheted through me like a tumbling bullet.
30
AT 8 THAT MORNING I was in my Mercedes in front of the lobby entrance of the Embassy Suites on Paradise Road. I had two large Starbucks coffees in the cup holders and a bag of doughnuts. I was freshly showered and shaved. I had changed the clothes I slept in. I had gassed up the car and maxed out my withdrawal limit at the station’s ATM. I was ready for a day in the desert but Rachel Walling did not come out through the glass doors. After waiting five minutes I was about to call her when my phone rang first. It was her.
“Give me five minutes.”
“Where are you?”
“I had to go into the FO for a meeting. I’m driving back