Mike’s medical records showed nothing out of the ordinary. A few treatments for venereal disease and broken bones from street beatings but that was all. He had no psychological history and nothing stood out. They concluded the killer couldn’t have picked Mike based on his medical or criminal record. They were still looking into any religious cults that Mike might’ve been involved with, but by eleven-thirty in the evening they still hadn’t come up with anything.
Garcia quickly checked his watch as he parked his car in front of his apartment building. ‘Past midnight once again.’ In the past two weeks not once had he managed to get home before the early hours of the morning. He knew there was nothing he could do. That’s what the job demanded and he was certainly prepared to give it. The same couldn’t be said about Anna.
He sat in the darkness of the parking lot for a while. From his car he stared at the window of his first-floor apartment. The lights were still on in his living room. Anna was still awake.
He’d told her not to worry, that the case they’d been working on was a complex one and he had to put a lot of extra hours into it, but he knew she wouldn’t listen. He knew she’d rather he’d been a lawyer or a doctor; anything really but a Homicide detective in Los Angeles.
He slowly made his way past the other cars on the lot, to the building and up to his apartment. Even though he was sure Anna wouldn’t be asleep, he opened his front door as carefully as he could. Anna was lying on the blue fabric sofa that faced the TV set on the east wall. She was wearing a thin, white nightgown and her hair was flattened on one side. Her eyes were closed, but she opened them as Garcia took his first steps into the apartment.
‘Hi there, honey,’ he said in a tired voice.
She sat up, crossing her legs underneath her. Her husband looked different. Every night when he came back home to her he looked a little older, more tired. He’d only been with the RHD less than a month, but in Anna’s eyes it seemed like years.
‘How are you, babe?’ she said softly.
‘I’m OK . . . tired though.’
‘Are you hungry? Did you eat? There’s food in the fridge. You’ve gotta eat something,’ she insisted.
Garcia didn’t feel hungry. In fact his appetite had been nonexistent since he walked into that old wooden house a few weeks ago, but he didn’t want to say no to Anna. ‘Yeah, I could eat a little.’
They both walked into the kitchen. Garcia took a seat at the small breakfast table while Anna retrieved a plate from the fridge and placed it into the microwave.
‘Do you wanna beer?’ she asked, going back to the fridge.
‘Actually, a single malt would do me better.’
‘It won’t go with the food. Have a beer now and if you still want one later . . .’
She passed him an open bottle of Bud and sat across from him. The silence was broken by the microwave bell announcing his late supper was ready.
Anna had cooked one of Garcia’s favorite dishes – rice, Brazilian beans, chicken and vegetables, but Garcia had only managed about three spoonfuls before he started rearranging the food around on the plate without ever bringing it to his mouth again.
‘Is there something wrong with the chicken?’
‘No, babe. You know I love your cooking. I’m just not as hungry as I thought I was.’
Without any warning Anna buried her head in her hands and started crying.
Garcia quickly moved towards her and kneeled in front of her chair. ‘Anna, what’s wrong?’ He tried lifting her head from her hands.
It took her a few more seconds before she finally looked at him with eyes full of tears and sadness. ‘I’m scared.’
‘Scared? Scared of what?’ he asked concerned.
‘Of what this new job of yours is doing to you . . . what it’s doing to us.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Look at you. You haven’t slept properly in weeks. On the rare occasions when you do fall asleep it’s only a matter of minutes before you wake up in a cold sweat almost screaming. You haven’t been eating. You’ve lost so much weight you look ill, and me . . . you don’t even look at me anymore, never mind talk to me.’
‘I’m sorry, babe. You know I can’t talk to you about the cases I work on.’ He tried to hug her, but she pulled away.
‘I don’t want you to tell me the details of your investigation, but you have become a ghost around here. I never see you anymore. We never do anything together anymore. Even little things like having a meal together have become a luxury. You leave before the sun is out and you only come back at this godforsaken time. Every day I watch you come through that door looking like you’ve left a little bit of your life out there. We’re becoming strangers to each other. What will happen six months or a year down the line?’ she asked, wiping the tears from her cheeks.