Nick’s eyes watered. He squeezed his hand into a fist. “He won’t know that she was kind. He’ll know that she loved him because I’ll tell him, but he will never feel that love. My son is barely born, and his life is already broken.”
I wished I could say something, but nothing that would come out of my mouth would make his loss easier to bear.
Baby Rory made little noises, oblivious to his father’s grief.
“I’ll never see my wife again.” Nick’s voice faltered. He pulled himself back. “I want you to understand. I want you to know what they took from me. To me, she was everything. I can’t even say her name anymore.”
I reached over and rested my fingers on his clenched fist.
“Raphael said you’re the best. He said you would find them.” Nick’s gaze searched my face. If only I had the right words…
“You’re a carpenter,” I said. “You build beautiful things because that’s what you do. Investigation is what I do. I live it and breathe it, I’m trained for it, and I’m damn good at it. Your wife is not a name on the report, Nick. You and your son, you aren’t some meaningless statistic. Rianna is real, and so are the two of you. I know what you had and I know what it’s like to lose it. I understand.”
I saw the split second when Nick broke down: something in his eyes snapped, the line of his mouth sagged, and he cried. I set Rory back into his car seat and hugged Nick. He shuddered in my arms, not sobbing but spasming, as if the pain inside him was breaking out in short bursts.
“I can’t promise you success,” I told him, patting his back. “But I promise you I won’t stop looking. I’ll never stop looking. I’ll do everything I can to get you and your son your answers and your justice.”
In the corner Ascanio stared at us, his eyes freaked out.
Nick shook, rigid, his voice a low guttural growl with bits and pieces of words coming through. “…Take her from me…”
“I promise you that when I find them, they will suffer,” I told him. “It won’t bring your wife back, but when we’re done with them, they will never rob anyone else of their life again. You must stay strong, Nick. You must be strong for your son. He still has a father, a tough, fierce father who loves him, who will be there for him.”
Gradually the shudders stopped. Nick pulled away from me, suddenly, as if just realizing that he had been crying. He picked up the child carrier. Baby Rory yawned.
“You’ll tell me when you know?” Nick asked.
“I will.”
He went out the door. I slumped in my chair.
Ascanio came over and sat on my desk. “Man, that was heavy.”
“That’s the other half of the job,” I told him. “You are accountable to the victims of the crime you’re investigating. You accept responsibility for it. They place their trust in you and they expect you to bring them justice. You must never forget that it’s about people. It’s about suffering and loss.”
“That sucks.”
“Congratulations—you’re catching on.”
He frowned. “But I thought you were supposed to be detached. So it’s not personal.”
I sighed. “You can’t let it get to you, because you still need to focus. You need some distance to be objective. But it’s personal. It’s always personal. You can’t ever forget that there are people involved. You also can’t let your compassion for the wronged cloud your judgment, because there are more important things at stake than getting Nick his vengeance.”
Ascanio studied me. “What can be more important than that?”
“Making sure that the guilty never do it again. The people who killed Rianna and the other shapeshifters broke the most sacred of laws—they murdered. Since they did it once, they will probably do it again. First and foremost, we have to make sure we keep them from destroying another life.”
Ascanio pondered it. “Nick doesn’t see it this way.”
“Nick doesn’t need to. It’s our job to worry about that, not his.”
“I think he wanted you to tell him you would find the killer and solve the whole thing.”
“Yes he did.”
“So why didn’t you?”
“Because I don’t make promises I can’t keep. Now get off my desk and bring me Doolittle’s report.”
CHAPTER 7
The good doctor’s report confirmed what I’d already known: the four shapeshifters, including Nick’s wife, had died of snake poison. I had noted four different bite sizes on the bodies and Doolittle had found one more, which meant five sets of fangs and probably five assailants, unless our killer was a hydra. Or a gorgon. Not that anyone had ever seen a gorgon, but you never knew what fun atrocities magic would commit next.