Reasonable doubt, p.11
Reasonable Doubt, page 11
part #5 of Hazard and Somerset Series
—family time—
—if only Somers hadn’t said those words. Family time. Fucking family time. Just like Frank Hazard had said it. Family time. And it was just two words, just two fucking words, but they did a hell of a great job of fencing out Emery Hazard.
Why hadn’t he just kissed Somers? That was the real question. Everything would have gone differently if he’d kissed him. If Hazard had kissed him, he could have wrangled a concession from Somers, worked for an hour or two in the station, and they’d have both been happy. Instead, he’d lashed out, and Somers had been hurt. Jesus, the way he’d looked at Hazard at the end, it cut into Hazard. It was still cutting into him. All the rest of it, Somers would have ignored—Somers was pretty good at ignoring Hazard’s grumpiness. But that bit at the end, that had been too much.
And you can’t unhurt someone, Hazard thought. You can’t take it back no matter how much you want to. It’s always there, and it festers, and it gets worse. And then they hate you. And they want to hurt you. So they get a belt. Or they get a guy. Or they get—
The elevator dinged. The doors opened. Hazard could ride it back down to the garage. He could drive to the Bridal Veil Motor Court and book a room. He could—
Without Somers? Jesus, who was he trying to kid?
He caught the elevator doors with his foot and trudged down the hall.
Inside the apartment, the overhead lights were dark, and the only illumination came from a pair of lamps. It softened the room; Hazard had bought most of the furniture, filling up the space that Somers had purposefully left empty with a fawn-colored sofa, with the sharp lines of glass and chrome, with Toulouse-Lautrec posters. And as Hazard had added furniture, Somers had added houseplants. Hazard didn’t know their names, but they took up shelves and end tables and counter space. They grew with reckless abandon towards the windows. Somers was the only one who watered them. Somers talked to them. And he’d put them in the sink and sprinkle them with water and call it giving them a bath. Because they got dust on their leaves, he’d explained, and Hazard had stopped listening at that point. And from the bathroom came splashes and Evie laughing, and suddenly Hazard was crying huge, hot tears, his shoulders shaking. Crying because he’d fucked up. Crying because he’d thought they were just damn plants and crying because he hadn’t known—still didn’t know—how much Somers had been hurting and crying because of the day, the year, this town, his dad, all of it.
Wiping his eyes, Hazard shed coat and tie and placed them with his shoes in the closet. Evie’s laughter changed to outraged shrieks. On stockinged feet, Hazard padded towards the bathroom. The shrieks escalated in intensity and pitch, and over their noise, Somers was trying to calm Evie.
Hazard stopped in the doorway, and his heart stopped, and the world stopped. Somers knelt next to the tub. He had swaddled Evie with a towel, and she, red-faced, was venting her rage to the world. Somers was soothing her. Sleeves rolled up, the front of his shirt transparent with water, Somers looked like he could have stepped out of a commercial trying to lure tourists to Jamaica or the Florida Keys—to a beach anywhere, for that matter. But he wasn’t a commercial. And he wasn’t an actor. He was here, and he was real. This was real. When Hazard’s heart started moving again, it beat with huge, dangerous thumps, the sound of an enormous engine trying to turn over in the dead of winter. He didn’t know what it meant, not entirely, and it scared the shit out of him.
“You’re home,” Somers said, briskly drying Evie with the towel. “There’s Thai in the fridge.”
“I thought you were going to get Chinese.”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t.” Scooping up Evie, he slung her over one shoulder and stood. Her wails took on a fresh layer of indignation as Somers studied Hazard. “What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“Did your dad come back or something? Did he call you?”
“No.”
“Ok.”
Hazard gave way as Somers moved out into the living room.
The blond man lay Evie on the floor and dumped out the diaper bag. “You aren’t going to eat?”
“Why’d you think something happened?”
Somers just shook his head as he rifled the collection of wipes, powders, creams, lotions, and clothes that he had scattered across the floor. “I got those noodles you like. Evie just had some of the chicken.” As though reacting to her name, the toddler rolled onto her side, trying to escape before Somers caught her and pinned her.
“Is she all right?”
“She’s fine. She just didn’t want to get out of the bath, but she needs to get dressed—” Somers slipped into a baby voice, “and she needs her story, and she needs her piggy, and she needs her beddie.”
To judge by Evie’s face—and by her screaming—the only thing she needed was back in the bath.
“You want some help?”
“Why don’t you eat dinner?”
Settling on the sofa, Hazard did what he did best: he started thinking. Possibilities. Percentages. Odds. He tried to slip into the cold logic that had made him a good cop and a great detective. The best bet, he knew, was just to admit that he’d been wrong. But something about that look in Somers’s eyes, the hurt that Hazard had seen at the end, embarrassed Hazard. It made him ashamed that he’d spoken to Somers that way. And the shame was hot and dusty on his cheeks, and it clogged the nooks and crannies of his brain, and every time he thought he had an answer, it slipped away from him. And he realized he was pretty much the stupidest man alive whenever John-Henry Somerset walked into the room. It was easier, anyway, to do this: to talk in chilly little sentences, to pretend that nothing had happened but not pretend too hard.
“Damn it,” Somers said.
“I thought we weren’t supposed to swear—”
“Yeah, I know, all right. It’s just that Cora didn’t pack a diaper.”
“You could potty train her tonight.”
Somers leveled a look of infinite disgust. Then he gathered Evie. Her wails had changed, taking on a hysterical energy, and she was coughing and crying. Color had seeped into Somers’s face, and lines scored his eyes and mouth. Balancing the screaming toddler on his hip, he dug his shoes out of the closet and shoved his feet into them, not bothering to lace them.
“We’ll be back in a little bit.”
“You’re going out?”
“You know what diapers are, right?”
“Yes.”
“Well, there you go.”
“I’ll go buy them.”
Somers laughed.
“I’m serious.”
“Just eat your dinner, all right? You can have whatever’s left of mine too.”
“Somers.”
Evie had really worked herself into a fury now, screaming and kicking. Hazard pushed himself off the sofa and crossed to the door.
“You can’t take her like this.” Hazard touched Somers’s arm, and Somers jerked away. “I’ll go get the diapers.”
“No.”
“Then leave her with me.” Somers’s jaw actually dropped. Not a full out, barn-door kind of drop, but enough of a slip that Hazard actually felt insulted. “She’ll be fine.”
Already shaking his head, Somers was saying, “There’s no way she’ll—”
Hazard ignored him. He took Evie in his hands and held her up, above his head, studying her in the dim light.
“Hey. Stop crying.”
“It doesn’t work like that, Ree. You can’t just—”
Evie went silent. Then she gave a hiccuping sob, and then another. The third one came after a brief silence. And then another, longer silence.
Lowering the girl, tucking her against him, Hazard cocked his head at the door. “You’ve got somewhere to go, right?”
“Ree, I’ll just take her. Or you can go.” Somers hooked his hands under Evie’s arms, and she began to cry again. As soon as he released her, she curled into Hazard and went silent.
“Go.”
“She’s not—this isn’t what I—” Somers bit his lip.
“You know if this is like that old line, if you’re just going out to get a pack of smokes or whatever they say, I can find you.”
“Yeah. I bet you could. Are you sure you don’t want me to—”
Hazard walked into the kitchen and, juggling Evie, dug the Thai food out of the fridge.
“I guess I’ll just go then,” Somers said, tossing his keys from hand to hand.
“That’s the whole idea.”
“I’ll have my phone.”
Hazard scooped noodles into a bowl.
“There’s children’s Tylenol in her bag, and I’ve got—”
“It’s the CVS. It’s two goddamn blocks. You could have walked there by now.”
“Language.”
Hazard flipped him the finger, and Somers—bouncing on his toes for a moment longer—darted out the door. Hazard warmed the food in the microwave, hugging Evie to him. She was still sniffling, and while the noodles heated, Hazard wiped her nose with the towel. Her big eyes—so huge, so dark, Cora’s eyes—were glossy with tears, and he wiped those too. She lay limp against him, her tiny feet still wet and leaving tracks on his trousers. He carried the plate to the coffee table and ate, and by the third bite, Evie was plucking chicken off his fork and grabbing at his hand, trying to direct him.
Children were warm, Hazard thought. And their shampoo smelled nice. And their skin was soft, and their little hands, and the tiny nails on their fingers, and it was like he was realizing for the first time that they were people, or that they would be people. That thump-thump of a cold engine stirring to life hadn’t changed inside him. It was slow and unsettling. It felt good. And it also felt like his heart might beat his ribs to dust. Then Evie forgot about the chicken, and she grabbed his cheek, and her nails were sharper than any human nails had a right to be, and she kissed him sloppily on the nose. And suddenly Hazard was blinking hard. Not crying. Not a chance in hell. Just blinking his eyes cause he had something in them.
A key rattled in the lock, and the door opened, and Somers rushed into the room. “Are you all right? Is Evie ok? What happened?”
“We’re both still alive if that’s what you mean.”
Somers reached the coffee table, dropped a pack of diapers, and studied them. A smile grew on his face.
“What?” Hazard said.
“Was she ok?”
“She sat quietly, ate what I gave her, and didn’t move. Isn’t that what babies are supposed to do?”
“Good God, you’ve lived an easy life.” His smile had grown bigger. It raised the temperature in the room thirty degrees.
“You want to put a diaper on her? That’s what all the fuss was about, right?”
Somers cupped Hazard’s face. He didn’t say anything, but he ran his thumb along Hazard’s cheek. And then, his grin turning into a smirk, he slid his thumb along Hazard’s nose and displayed green gook.
“If you ever tell anyone,” Hazard said.
“Cross my heart.”
Later, when Evie was asleep in her pack-and-play, when Hazard and Somers had changed into sweats and tees and lay tangled on the sofa, enjoying touch and warmth and presence, Somers ran his fingers through Hazard’s hair, the gesture smooth and dreamlike.
It was suddenly easy to say it. “I fucked up.”
“No. But you were kind of an asshole.”
Hazard caught Somers wrist, worked the hand free of his hair, and pressed his lips to Somers’s palm. He kissed again, on the heel of his hand. And then the wrist. And then he lay Somers’s hand over his cheek because he couldn’t bring himself to turn and see the hurt in those tropical eyes.
“How about you say you’re sorry instead of admitting you fucked up?”
Hazard turned into Somers’s hand, his lips brushing skin.
“Don’t get me wrong. I like hearing you admit that you fucked up. It’s a treat. But it means more to me that you’re sorry.”
“I am. I’m really fucking sorry.”
Somers applied pressure, turning Hazard’s face towards him, and then they were eye to eye, and the turquoise eyes crinkled with amusement, and Somers kissed him, just a light kiss, like air, like spring, like a promise.
“Language.”
THEY REACHED THE STATION EARLY THE NEXT DAY, and at their desks in the bullpen, they began picking up the pieces of the investigation. It was easier, in a way, for Somers to start the day in silence. The night before had been . . . new. A lot of new, in fact. All of it good, but even good new things had a way of destabilizing everything around them. After last night, the ground felt a lot less stable. It felt, if Somers were honest, like quicksand.
Most of that had to do with Hazard and Evie.
The thought of what the two of them looked like, the thought of how she had calmed in his arms, the thought of Hazard’s brutish good looks softening as he tucked his chin against her head, hell, even the thought of that damn green sauce on his nose where she’d kissed him, it was quicksand. One wrong step, and Somers was sinking, sinking deep, his heart like a goddamn hummingbird, his mind flashing with a million questions, and the whole time he was drowning. Worry. Sure, he was worried. About where things would go. About what this all meant. About Cora. But damn, worry was the least of his worries. The real quicksand was the future. Because Cora had only wanted one child. And Somers—well, Somers had thought maybe more. And the way Hazard had looked with Evie. The way he had held her. The way his hands, those hands like catcher’s mitts, had rocked her. And then Somers was deep again, real deep, and sinking fast.
Hazard had been saying something to him.
“Huh?”
“Do you want to hear what I dug up on Kolosik or not?”
“Kolosik? Oh. Yeah.”
Hazard didn’t say anything, which was his trademark move, but he snapped the folder in his hands and eyed Somers over its edge. “He grew up here. Went to high school here. And has lived here ever since. He doesn’t own that house, but he’s been renting it for two years. Aside from a DWI that he got a few months ago, he’s basically a Boy Scout.”
“What happened with the DWI?”
“He was drunk. That’s usually what happens.”
“No, after.”
“License suspended for thirty days. Community service. It could have been worse.”
“What about his job?”
“What about it?”
“It’s hard to work a job like satellite installation if you can’t drive.”
Hazard’s scarecrow eyes narrowed. “He started work with Dish after all that. I checked. What’s the big deal?”
“Where’d he work before?”
“I don’t know. You think it matters?”
“It might.”
“It might not.”
“I’m just saying let’s find out.”
“Because I didn’t do enough research.”
“That’s not what I said. It just might be important.”
“I wasn’t doing my best work. I didn’t dig back far enough. I—goddamn it.” Hazard pushed to his feet and stalked across the bullpen.
Somers turned in time to see a very disoriented Lazarus—no, scratch that, Clyde—picking at his armpit as he stumbled out of the interview room. Clyde sniffed the air; his ginger hair stood up in the back, and his eyes were still sleep-glazed. He took a step towards the coffee before Hazard caught up with him.
“What the hell are you doing?” Hazard said.
“Sorry. I just woke up and I thought maybe, you know, some coffee—I wasn’t going to steal it.”
“You weren’t going to steal it,” Hazard said, purple slashing his cheekbones. “Like you’ve got two goddamn nickels to rub together.”
Somers took that as his cue. He sauntered over to the two men.
“You were here all night?” Hazard said.
Clyde, his scrawny arms wrapping around his chest, ducked his head.
“Answer the goddamn question.”
“All right,” Somers said.
“No, it’s not all right. It’s not even close to all right, Somers.”
“Take a breath.”
“You tell me to take a fucking breath again and I’ll shove a straw down your motherfucking throat.”
Somers raised an eyebrow. “Do you want to get Clyde some coffee?”
For a moment, Hazard looked like he might explode. The red slashes on his cheekbones expanded, suffusing his whole face, and he shook his head once, viciously, like a dog. Then he turned on his heel and stalked towards the coffee.
Something buzzed. Hazard’s phone, which he had left on his desk. Somers picked it up, intending to carry it to his partner, and then froze.
Nico’s name was flashing on the screen.
Nico. That whiny little bitch. That infant. That immature, selfish—
He was calling Hazard.
Somers didn’t even think about it. He declined the call, and the phone returned to Hazard’s call log. Up until then, Somers knew, everything he’d done had been a reaction, done without thought, excusable. Now, though—now, he knew he was making a mistake. But he still tapped on Nico’s name, pulling up the most recent calls.
At least a dozen calls from Nico. And four outgoing. Four calls that Hazard had placed. One of them had lasted twelve minutes.
“That’s a nice phone.”
Twelve minutes. Hazard had called Nico and talked for twelve minutes.
Across the bullpen, the fax machine screeched, and Somers jumped. The boy jumped too, his hands going across his chest, his eyes wary.
“Let’s go back to the kitchen,” Somers said, and he nodded towards the break room in the back of the station. He couldn’t feel his tongue. For that matter, he couldn’t feel much of anything below the eyebrows.
Clyde ambled ahead of him, and in the kitchen Somers found a day-old cheese danish and a box of goldfish crackers and a chocolate-flavored protein shake, which he set in front of the boy. Clyde perched on the edge of his seat. He was eyeing the food. Somers could practically hear the boy’s stomach rumbling. He thought they might be able to hear it in Illinois. But the boy didn’t reach for it.
