Frank gave her a panicked look.

“You didn’t think I’d find out about that?”

“It was a hunting knife.”

“It was a letter opener,” she insisted. “Tommy told me, Frank. It was a gift from his grandfather. It was a letter opener. It looked like a knife, but it wasn’t.”

Frank spit into the sink. Lena’s stomach roiled at the dark brown color of his phlegm. “It doesn’t matter. He stabbed Brad with it. That makes it a weapon.”

“What did he cut you with?” Lena asked. Frank had been writhing on the floor of the garage, clutching his left arm. “You were bleeding. I saw it. That’s what set this whole thing in motion. I told Brad he cut you.”

“He did.”

“Not with a letter opener, and I didn’t find anything else on him except a toy car and some chewing gum.”

Frank glanced at himself in the mirror. Lena stared at his reflection. He looked like he was two steps from falling into the grave.

She peeled off the Band-Aids on the side of her hand. The wound was red and raw. “Your shot went wild. Did you even realize I was hit?”

His throat worked as he swallowed. He probably wanted a drink. By the looks of him, he needed it.

“What happened, Frank? You had your gun out. Tommy came for you. You pulled the trigger and shot me. How did you get cut on the arm? How did a hundred-thirty-pound wimp of a kid get past you with a goddamn letter opener?”

“I told you that he cut me with the knife. He was wrong about the letter opener.”

“You know, for a cop, you’re a shitty liar.”

Frank braced himself on the sink. He could barely stand. “Tommy doesn’t mention a letter opener in his confession.”

Lena’s voice was more like a snarl. “Because I’ve got about two drips of loyalty left for you, old man, and they’ve been circling the drain all damn day. Tell me what happened in that garage.”

“I don’t know. I don’t remember.”

“How did Tommy get past you? Did you black out? Did you fall?”

“It doesn’t matter. He ran. That’s the point. Everything that happened after that is on him.”

“We didn’t identify ourselves in the garage. We were just three people pointing guns at his head.”

He glared at her. “I’m glad to hear you admitting you did something wrong today, princess.”

Lena felt overwhelmed with fury, ready to do any kind of damage she could. “When Brad shouted ‘Police,’ Tommy stopped. He turned around. He had the letter opener in his hand. Brad ran into it. Tommy didn’t mean to stab him. I’ll tell that to anyone who asks me.”

“He killed that girl in cold blood. You telling me you don’t care about that?”

“Of course I care about that,” she snapped. “Jesus, Frank, I’m not saying he didn’t do it. I’m saying the minute Tommy gets a lawyer, you’re screwed.”

“I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Let’s hope the judge agrees with you, otherwise he’ll invalidate the arrest, the confession, everything that came out of finding Tommy in that garage. That kid’s gonna get away with murder because you can’t stand up straight without a bottle of whisky in you.” She put her face inches from his. “Is that how you want to be remembered, Frank? As the cop who let a killer get away because he couldn’t stay off the booze while he was on the job?”

Frank turned on the faucet again. He splashed water on his face, the back of his neck. She saw his hands were shaking again. His knuckles were busted up. There were deep scratch marks on his wrist. How hard had Frank hit Tommy that the boy’s teeth had managed to break through Frank’s leather gloves?

She said, “It’s your fault this went bad. Tommy got past you. I don’t know what you were doing rolling on the floor, how your arm got cut, but I do know if you had done your job and stopped him at the door—”

“Shut up, Lena.”

“Screw you.”

“I’m still your boss.”

“Not anymore, you drunk, worthless bastard.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out her resignation. When he didn’t take it, she threw it in his face. “I’m done with you.”

He didn’t pick up the letter. He didn’t shoot back a stream of obscenities. Instead, he asked, “Which pen did you use?”

“What?”

“Your pen that Jeffrey gave you. Is that the one you used?”

“Are you trying to guilt me into staying? You’re going to tread on Jeffrey’s memory so I’ll stick around to help you clean up this mess?”

“Where’s your pen?” When she didn’t volunteer it, he started searching her coat, patting her pockets. She resisted, and he slapped her around, throwing her against the wall.

“Get away from me!” She shoved him back into the sink. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

He looked her in the eye for the first time since he’d walked into the room. “Tommy killed himself in the cells.”

Lena put her hand to her mouth.

“He cut his wrists open with an ink cartridge. The metal kind that you use in good pens. Good pens like the ones Jeffrey gave us.”

Lena’s hands wouldn’t work for a few seconds. She found the pen where she always kept it—inside the spiral of the notebook in her back pocket. She twisted the barrel. The ballpoint didn’t come out. “Shit,” Lena hissed, unscrewing the cap. “No … no …” The pen was empty. “How did he get …” She felt sick with grief. Her stomach clenched. “What did he …”

Frank asked, “Did you frisk him before you put him in the cells?”

“Of course I—” Had she? Had Lena taken the time to pat him down or just thrown him into a cell as fast as she could so she could get to the hospital?

“It’s a good thing he didn’t attack anybody while he was back there. He already killed one person and stabbed a cop.”

She couldn’t stand anymore. Her knees gave out. She sank to the floor. “He’s really dead? Are you sure?”

“He bled out.”

Lena put her head in her hands. “Why?”

“What did you say to him?”

“I didn’t …” She shook her head, trying to clear out the image of Tommy Braham lying dead. He had been upset when she’d locked him up, but suicidal? She didn’t think so. Even as rushed as she was to get to the hospital, Lena would have said something to the booking officer if she thought Tommy needed to be watched. “Why did he do it?”

“Must’ve been something you said.”

She looked up at Frank. He was paying her back now. She could tell it by the petty look in his eyes.

He added, “At least that’s what Sara Linton thinks.”

“What does Sara have to do with this?”

“I called her because Tommy, your prisoner, wouldn’t calm down. I thought she could give him something to help. She was there when I found him.”

Lena knew she should be worried about her own hide, but all she could think about was Tommy Braham. What had gotten into him? What had pushed that stupid kid over the edge?