Minutes to Kill (Scarlet Falls #2)(52)

“Looks like you cut yourself.” Brody started toward him.

Chet lifted his hand and drew his brows together. “I didn’t even feel that.”

Brody didn’t like the confused cast to Chet’s eyes. “You must have crushed the glass in your hand. Maybe you should lay off the steroids.”

But Chet wasn’t listening. He turned his hand over and stared at the palm.

“You’re bleeding all over the floor. How about you put down that glass before you make a bigger mess?” Brody asked.

Chet took the glass in his uninjured hand and poised the sharp tip over his opposite wrist. “Two inches north and I wouldn’t have to worry about any of this shit anymore.” A wistful look passed over his face.

Brody swallowed. His throat went dry as a sandbox. He’d been sweating from his altercation with the bikers, but his skin went clammy at Chet’s suicidal reference. “Don’t talk like that.”

“It’s her this time. You know that, right?” Chet’s lack of inflection was equally alarming. He was losing it.

Brody shook his head. “No. I won’t know anything until Thursday. I know the waiting feels impossible, but I need you to hold it together just a little longer.”

In truth, Chet could never be whole again. He was already as broken as the glass in his hand. His daughter’s disappearance and wife’s death had shattered him until all that was left was a ruined shell. How much longer could he hang on? How much grief could a person handle?

Chet shook the tumbler at Brody. “I saw her hair. Her clothes. It’s her.”

“So you’re basing the identification of a woman on the fact that she’s brunette and is wearing a New York T-shirt in the state of New York?” There were other similarities as well, but Brody wasn’t going to bring any of them up. Logically, the chance that the body was Teresa was small, but if a doctor says the odds a tumor is cancerous are five percent, no one focuses on the ninety-five. “You know the chances are far greater that it isn’t her. She hasn’t been near Scarlet Falls in years. All we have are a couple of coincidences. If you were working this case, you would never make assumptions on this little information.”

“Cops don’t believe in coincidences.” His craggy face cracked. A tear slid into the wrinkles below one eye as grief drowned his temper.

Brody softened his voice. His heart broke for his friend. In the last few years, Chet had lost everything. “How about you put that glass down?”

“OK, Brody. You win. This time.” Chet sighed, and his chest deflated like a tire with a puncture. He set the tumbler on the pool table. He turned his hand over as if seeing it for the first time. “Wow. That’s a nasty cut.”

“It is. Come on. We’ll get that taken care of.”

Chet frowned. He pressed a fist to the center of his chest and burped. “That’s prolly a good idea.”

“OK, you ready then?”

“Yup.” Chet lurched forward. Brody caught him, looping an arm over his shoulders to steady the older man.

But Chet straightened suddenly. “Hey, blondie.”

Leaning on the wall, Hannah rolled the pool cue between her palms. “I’m Hannah Barrett. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Pleasure’s all mine,” Chet slurred. “She with you, Brody?” He waved his loose hand. Blood droplets flew through the air.

“She is,” Brody said.

“Since when?” Chet’s feet tangled, and his body sagged.

Brody hefted him higher. “Since none of your business.”

With a glance at the glass on the green felt, Hannah set the long stick next to it. She grabbed a cloth napkin from a nearby table and wrapped it around Chet’s bleeding hand.

Brody half carried the older cop through the bar. Hannah opened the rear door. She put a hand on the back of his head to keep him from striking the roof of the car. He half fell into the seat and curled on his side. His emotions had run out of steam. Hannah made a futile effort to buckle the seat belt, but Chet couldn’t stay upright. She gave up.

“I’ll have to get my car,” Chet slurred. “Todd has the keys.”

Hannah dangled keys from her fingers. “Already got them. I’ll drive it to your house.”

“Sorry for dragging you out, Brody.” Chet burped.

“Not a problem.” Brody drove away. Hannah followed him. They stopped at an urgent care center. Everyone in the hospital ER knew Chet and Brody and all the other SFPD cops. By morning, everyone in town would know about Chet’s cannonball off the AA wagon. His mandatory retirement likely just fast-tracked. But he still deserved some privacy. His life was in shambles, and Brody would not parade him in public in his current condition.

Chet was cooperative as the doctor closed the wound with a half dozen stitches. Hannah helped Brody get Chet in and out of the car. Ten minutes later, Brody parked in the narrow drive at Chet’s house. The front yard was dark. Chet must have gone to the bar long before the sun set. Most likely he’d skipped dinner, maybe even lunch.

“Would you mind getting the door?” Brody handed Hannah the keys. He helped Chet into the house. After settling him at the table, Brody flipped on the porch light and went back out to turn off the car. “Hungry?”

Chet shook his head. “I just wanna sleep.”