Alone (Detective D.D. Warren, #1)(104)

“Was that difficult?”

He spread his hands. “More like . . . awkward. You know the truth? That one big apocalyptic night? Neither one of us remembers it too well. Seriously. I was too young. Pop was too drunk. And maybe—I'm guessing here—but maybe that's why we can move on and George can't. He still sees what happened. Honest to God, even when we try, Pop and I can't.”

“Has your father tried contacting your mother?”

“He said he did, years ago, as part of his program. He reached her sister in Florida. She said she'd give my mom the message. He never heard anything again.”

“So you have an aunt?”

“I have an aunt,” Bobby said matter-of-factly, “and two living grandparents.”

Dr. Lane blinked. “That's news.”

“Yeah.”

“How does that make you feel?”

“Oh boy,” he rolled his eyes, laughing a little at the trite phrase, but it was a strained laugh. “Yeah,” he admitted finally with a sigh, “yeah, that's a tough one. To know you got family out there and they've never even tried to reach out . . . it hurts. How can it not hurt? I tell myself it's their loss. I tell myself a lot of things. But okay, it sucks.”

“Have you thought of contacting them yourself?”

“Yeah.”

“And?”

“And I don't know. I mean, I'm thirty-six. Seems a little old to be reaching out to Grandma and Grandpa. Maybe if they don't want to reach me, I should take the hint.”

“You don't really believe that, Bobby.”

Another shrug.

“So what's really going on?” Dr. Lane had gotten to know him pretty well.

He sighed, stared at the floor. “I think maybe it's a matter of politics. My mother's in Florida. George is in Florida. We never hear from him, we never hear from her. I think maybe the family split. George abandoned Pop, but gained Mom. I didn't abandon Pop, so . . .”

“You think as long as you're close to your father, your mom won't contact you.”

“That's my guess.”

Dr. Lane nodded thoughtfully. “It's possible. Although I would suggest it would be healthier for you and your mother to have your own relationship, regardless of your father.”

Bobby grinned wryly. “Well, you know, feel free to write her a note.” His smile faded. He shrugged again. “Life is what it is. I'm trying to do as you suggested—focus on controlling the things I can control, and letting go of the things I can't. I can't control my mom, I can't control my grandparents, I can't control George.”

“That's very wise of you, Bobby.”

“Hell, I'm a regular sage these days.”

She smiled at him. “So, moving right along. Work?”

“Start next week.”

“Excited?”

“More like nervous.”

“That's to be expected.”

He considered things. “I was cleared for shooting Jimmy Gagnon and I was cleared for killing Copley, so that's all good. But I broke with the ranks. My involvement with Catherine, the way I handled the investigation . . . I burned a lot of bridges there. Part of being on STOP is being a team player. There are a lot of guys who now doubt my ability to be part of the team.”

“And what do you think?”

“I miss the team,” he answered firmly. “I miss my job. I'm good at it, and if I have to prove myself again—well, I'll prove myself again. I'm not afraid of a challenge.”

“But I'm curious, Bobby. Do you consider yourself a team player?”

“Sure. But being a team player shouldn't be an excuse for acting stupid. If the whole team is leaping off a cliff, should you join them, or, for the sake of the team, should you stand up and say, ‘Hey, guys, stop leaping'? With all respect to D.D. and the other investigators, they didn't understand what was going on with the Gagnons. I did. So I followed my conscience. And I'm fine with that. Frankly, that's what a good cop should do.”

“Why, Bobby, you've come a very long way.”

“I'm trying.”

Her voice grew quieter, so he knew what she was going to ask next. “Do you still dream about him?”

“Sometimes.”

“How often?”

“I don't know.” His own voice had grown soft. He no longer looked at her, but studied her framed diploma on the wall. “Maybe three, four times a week.”

“That's better than it was.”

“Yeah.”

“Are you sleeping?”

“Some. That road . . . it's gonna be a long one.”

“Do you think there will be a time when you won't think of Jimmy Gagnon?”

“I killed the man. That's a heavy burden to bear. Especially knowing there might have been mitigating circumstances. Especially . . . well, you know, that's precisely the problem. Even after two months, I'm still not sure what happened that night.”

“The police aren't pressing charges against Catherine?”

“No evidence.”

“I thought you said they found a gun in the dresser in the bedroom.”

He shrugged. “But what does that prove? She fired two shots in her own home? There's no law against that. The decision to kill Jimmy was mine and mine alone. I'm the one who saw his face. I'm the one who pulled the trigger.”