Fatal Reckoning (Fatal #14)(46)
“I think we’re ready,” Faith finally declared.
Sam’s stomach hurt, and a headache had settled over her left eye. Talking about shit she’d much sooner forget never came naturally, but it was a necessary evil in situations like this. Underline the word evil.
“You’re going to be great. The key thing, as you know, is to not let his presence in the courtroom get to you. After you identify him, don’t look at him again.”
“I won’t, don’t worry. He’s the last thing I ever want to look at.” Her plan was to look directly at Nick, who’d vowed to be in the front row when she testified, as much as she wished he wouldn’t come. He’d never let her go through that without him, but it pained her to think of him hearing those details again. That day had been worse for him, in many ways, than it had been for her.
Faith put her legal pads and pens in her tote bag and stood to leave. “I wanted to say that I thought the services for your dad were amazing, and your eulogy was so…” She shook her head, grimacing when tears filled her eyes. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to make it about me, but losing him has been hard for a lot of us. I hope you know that.”
“I do and I appreciate the affection directed his way and mine.”
“We loved him, Sam. Everyone loved him. He was so nice to my sisters and me when we started at the USA’s office. We were young and green and learning the ropes, and he was endlessly patient with us, answering questions and generally helping us in any way he could.”
Sam had never heard that before but certainly wasn’t surprised. “That sounds like him.”
“I remember the last time I saw him before the shooting. I had a meeting with the chief and when I came out your dad was in the lobby talking to Helen. He was making her laugh, and I just remember thinking what a great guy he was. He had that messenger bag he used to carry…”
“We called it the man purse.”
“Yes!” Faith laughed. “Everyone teased him about it, but he wore it like part of his uniform across his chest. He cracked a joke about running late for happy hour at O’Leary’s that made us laugh. The next time I saw him, months later, he was in that chair and…” She released a deep breath. “I loved him. I just wanted you to know that.”
Sam got up, came around the desk and hugged Faith. “Thank you so much for telling me that.”
“I hope you know how much we all wish there was something we could do to make this easier for you.”
“I do know, and it’s very much appreciated. We’ve been amazed and overwhelmed by the outpouring of love and support.”
“He deserves every bit of respect and admiration we can give him.”
“I agree.”
Faith took a deep breath, recovered her composure and offered a small smile. “I’ll see you in court, if not before.”
“I’ll be there.”
Faith left and Sam gave herself a minute to regroup to prepare to join her team in the conference room. Faith’s memories of Skip had touched her deeply. In the years since his injury, it had been difficult at times to remember how he’d been before the shooting. But she could picture the scene Faith had described—Skip making everyone laugh as he took off for an end-of-shift drink with whoever showed up to join him at O’Leary’s. On many a day, Sam had been one of the officers bellied up to the bar with him, constantly reminding him not to call her baby girl in front of their colleagues.
He would laugh and remind her that she’d always be his baby girl and anyone who had a problem with that could kiss his ass. If he hadn’t fully comprehended how difficult it could be for her in a department in which her father was the number two officer, well, he’d had far more positive qualities than negative. His greatest “sin” in her mind had been wanting to make things easier for her, which was one thing they had argued about. She hadn’t wanted any special treatment—ever. But he didn’t know any other way to treat her but specially. It had been their one major bone of contention in a lifetime as soul mates.
Her throat tightened as a swell of emotion blindsided her. Not here. Not in the office. Not now. Remembering him as the tall, strong, robust, muscular man he’d once been made her burn to find the person who’d taken that and so many other things from him and the rest of them. Faith’s mention of the man purse reminded her of days she hadn’t thought about in a very long time. She’d been too busy coping with the new normal that had followed his injury to think of the little things that had made up their routine before the shooting.
Determined to soldier through, to stay focused on the case and the new leads that were continuing to pour in, she gathered up her notes and the personal files she’d kept since the shooting and started for the conference room, stopping short halfway there.
The man purse.
Where was the man purse? Feeling as if her body had been plugged into an electrical outlet, she forced herself to move, to go into the conference room, where the others were reading and talking as Cruz added info to one of the big dry-erase boards they used to detail their cases. Murder boards, they called them. There was now a murder board for her father, complete with photos of Skip before and after the shooting.
They stopped what they were doing when she came in. “Where’s my father’s…”