Cop or Killer?

Book 6: A Luca Mystery

by Dan Petrosini

Genres: Action & Adventure; Small Town & Rural; Noir; Crime & Mystery; Crime Fiction; female vigilante; revenge; murder

Synopsis

Breaking the law to protect your family seems reasonable...until its not.

Detective Luca's life is shattered when he's accused of a revenge killing.

A corpse turns up and it doesn't look good for Luca. The body belongs to someone who harassed his precious Mary Ann, and the circumstances of death point a grisly finger at Luca. Suspicion spreads quickly that he has morphed into a killer and he's black balled.

But Luca's problems don't end there. While he scrambles to prove his innocence in the murder case, a mortal enemy is on the loose and has him in his cross hairs. Its a vicious serial killer he once put behind bars, a psychopath hell-bent on revenge.

Luca has nowhere to turn for help. With the department closing in one side and an escaped serial killer on the other, Luca is left on his own to clear his name and capture the escapee before he gets to Luca.

Failure means he loses his freedom – or his life.           

Release date: March 13, 2019

Print pages: 258

Sample

Chapter 1

Driving home, I couldn’t force the image of the body out of my mind. I could still taste the bile that sprayed the back of my throat when I saw it. Curled in a fetal position, the decomposed corpse was the nastiest in the fifteen years I’d been hunting killers.

Though it was April Fools’ Day, it was as real as it gets. The poor bastard must have been soaked in acid: though major parts of the body’s skull were visible, facial recognition was a nonstarter. Forensics would have its hands full with this one.

Who did this? It smelled like retribution, and there was no question the killer wanted to conceal the victim’s identity. The question was whether the motivation was either of the time-honored favorites: money or love. Was the dead man a Romeo to another man’s Juliet? Or was he caught stealing from the wrong guy?

We’d get more information once an autopsy cleared up how he’d been murdered. Was it with a gun, a knife, a beating with a blunt instrument? I shuddered at the thought he could have been thrown alive into a vat of acid.

I considered whether it could be a professional mob hit or a smart-ass who had searched the thousands of whacko boards on the Internet for a way to get away with murder. I knew I should wait for more data, but since we didn’t get many stiffs in Collier County, I needed the challenge.

The winter season was still in full swing, and that meant traffic and tourists. Usually, the backups would get to me, but with my mind consumed with the new case, I suddenly found myself pulling into our garage.

As soon as I stepped into the house, I could smell tomatoes roasting.

“Mary Ann, I’m home.”

“In here, Frank.”

I took a deep breath. “Smells amazing.”

“How was your day?”

“I found a body.”

“And you’re smiling over it?”

“Uh, no, no. Just that I found it.”

“Where?”

“Off Collier Boulevard, down by Rookery Bay.”

“Where’s that?”

“All the way down, by Eagle Creek Golf Course, right before you get to Henderson Creek.”

“Who’s the victim?”

“No clue. So badly decomposed you can’t even tell if it’s male or female.”

“Yuk.”

“Whoever did it must have used an accelerator; the head was eaten away and—”

“Okay, Frank. We’re about to eat. Can you shut it down?”

***

There was a cup of coffee on my desk. “Morning, Frank.”

“Morning.” I took a sip. Perfect. Derrick hadn’t brought me an over-milked coffee in months.

“I just got back from the morgue. You never told me how you found that body.”

“Just lucky, I guess. I was driving on Collier, going to check out that attempted break-in at Eagle Creek. It felt like I was getting a flat on the front passenger side. I pulled over but couldn’t see anything wrong with the tire. But I caught a little whiff of something. It smelled like a decaying body.”

“Mr. Bloodhound strikes again.”

“I know. So, I looked around and thought I saw something on the other side of the canal, and sure enough, there it was.”

“And boy, is it tough to look at.”

“It made me gag when I saw it.”

“Me too, so disfigured I didn’t know what I was looking at.”

“Borge said it was a male.”

“I couldn’t tell either way.”

“No doubt whoever did it wants to hide the victim’s identity.”

“Looks like he went a little too far.”

“Between forensics and pathology, we’ll find out who it is. Do we have a time of death yet?”

“At this point, a couple of weeks. Borge said four to eight weeks or so.”

“He’s doing the autopsy today. We’ll know more soon.”

“You think he was from around here?”

“Tough to say. He could’ve been moved.”

“But that’s dangerous for the killer, right, Frank?”

“Usually. But who knows; this could have been something not planned. A fight that spiraled out of control and, bam, a guy is killed. Wherever it happened wasn’t a good place to keep the body. The killer contemplates what to do, where to dump the corpse He starts thinking like a TV show and uses an accelerator to speed up the decomposition before moving the body.”

“He’d leave a trail.”

“If, if it was moved. We’ll see.”

“Did you inform the sheriff?”

“Chester is up to speed. I asked him to hold off alerting the press until the autopsy is complete, and he was fine with it.”

“I’m surprised.”

“He likes to play it by the book, but he knows the risks when it goes public, so he gave in to me.”

“It’d be nice if he had our backs a little better.”

I wanted to say, hell yes, but said, “We need to check into all missing persons. Look back two months, and I’ll check the archives.”

“We don’t have an age range, so all males?”

“Twenty to seventy.”

“Just Collier?”

“No, Lee and Charlotte as well. And let’s see what Dade has. It could be a gang out of Miami that dumped it out here.”

“Good idea. I’m on it.”

Derrick picked up the phone. Pulling up the Southwest Florida missing persons archives, I began to wonder if this guy was missed by anybody. Did he have a wife? Were kids waiting somewhere for their daddy to come home?

What a mess if the victim had children. I’d seen all kinds of tragic situations: a mother out grabbing milk and killed by a drunk driver, a father with four kids under ten years of age murdered over a parking spot, but the worst was the parents shot dead during a home invasion in Newark witnessed by their three children.

Was this some intergalactic message to end the exploration of having a kid with Mary Ann? A warning because I was leaning toward saying yes? Maybe it was because of my skewed reasoning: one third my desire, and two thirds an effort to give her what she wanted.

Realizing I was looking at the screen but not seeing it, I shoved fatherhood aside and went down the line. Not having a narrow age range was like trying to tie a bow tie with one hand.

My eyes settled on the sixth line: Allesandro Roma. Was it the stylish name that grabbed me? I opened the file. Thirty-seven years old and from East Naples. Just a couple of miles from where the body was found. Plus, this guy had a record. I jotted down his wife’s contact info.

 

 

Chapter 2

It felt colder than normal in the autopsy suite. Hoping the sweater in my locker was going to be enough, I said hello to Dr. Borge, who performed the autopsy. I got along as good as anyone with the pathologist, but he still wouldn’t volunteer information.

“What can you tell me about John Doe? We have a cause of death?”

“Strangulation.”

“Can you speculate on what was used?”

Borge peered over his glasses. “I don’t do speculation.”

“What is your professional opinion on what was used?”

“The severed trachea suggests a thin metal wire.”

That was bad news. The killer probably wore gloves to prevent getting cuts on his hands. “What age is the victim?”

“Once the bone analysis is done, we’ll know.”

“I’d really like a range, Doc.”

“Thirty to forty.”

“What was used as an accelerator?”

“Hydrochloric acid.”

It wasn’t the cold that made me shiver. “Was it used uniformly? Like he was in a vat or something?”

“The victim’s feet were spared.”

I thought of a bathtub immediately. It looked like Mary Ann was right; getting more exercise would help my memory. Or could it be the vitamin D pills I was choking down?

“How tall is John Doe?”

“Six foot.”

“I assume the fingerprints are gone?”

Borge nodded.

“Hair color?”

“Black or brown.”

“How about some help with the time of death, Doc?”

“You’ll have to wait for the pathology reports.”

“Give me something to work with. Please.”

“Five to ten weeks.”

***

Derrick was staring at his screen when I got back.

“John Doe was strangled to death, likely with a wire. He has brown or black hair and is somewhere between thirty and forty years of age. Borge thinks it went down anywhere between five to ten weeks ago. Here’s the interesting thing, the victim’s feet were the only things not eaten up. What does that tell you?”

Derrick looked like I’d asked for the meaning of life, but he recovered quickly.

“Uh, he was submerged, headfirst. Maybe in a barrel.”

“Not bad, but I think the killer used a bathtub. Doe was six foot.”

“That’s useful data.”

“Did you get anywhere with missing persons?”

“There’s a couple of interesting guys, but let me slim it down with his height and the new age range.”

I logged into the portal. Allesandro Roma was thirty-seven. Clicking open the report his wife filed, I scrolled to the description. Roma was six feet, one inch with black hair.

“I’ve got a possibility.”

“Who’s that?”

“A guy whose wife reported him missing ten weeks ago. He was thirty-seven and lived close to where the body was found. Black hair and six feet one.”

“Whoa, sounds like a match. We going to pay a visit to his wife?”

“Not yet. Let me see what she has to say.”

Punching in Mrs. Roma’s telephone number, Derrick came over and sat on the corner of my desk. Glaring at him as the call was answered, I spoke with Roma’s wife and hung up.

“Too good to be true.”

“What’d she say?”

“Her husband took off with a waitress. The woman said she was sorry that she’d forgotten to report she knew where he was.”

***

My sunglasses fogged as soon as I walked into the station. In the mood for an iced coffee, I was headed to the cafeteria when Derrick yelled down the corridor.

“Frank, come here.”

I turned on my heels. “What’s up?”

“We have an ID on the body you found.”

“Who is it?”

“Jimmy Garrison. I just started looking into him. He’s from Lee County. Are you okay, Frank?”

“Yeah, just a bad headache.”

“You take something?”

“Not yet. I’m going to grab a coffee, it usually helps. I’ll be right back.”

Jimmy Garrison? What a frigging punk. As I pulled open the freezer door, I wondered if Mary Ann knew the piece of shit was dead. No damn ice. Who were these people who emptied the trays of ice cubes and didn’t bother to refill them? I poured the coffee into the sink and went back to my office.

“Frank, this Garrison has a record. A couple of priors, drug offenses for possession, but he was just arrested for trafficking and distribution.”

“We’re not going to waste time tracking down his killer. Whoever it was, we should send him a Christmas card.”

“What?”

“Just saying, whoever did it did us a favor taking him off the streets.”

“There’s a note in the record about cooperating with the cybersex unit. That’s where Detective Vargas works, right?”

“Really? What’s the name again?”

“Jimmy Garrison.”

“Give me his social. I’ll check with Vargas.”

I sent a text to Mary Ann, grabbed Garrison’s info from Derrick and left.

***

The Cherokee had barely cooled down when Mary Ann opened the passenger door.

“What’s the matter, Frank?”

“The stiff I found was none other than Jimmy Garrison.”

“I heard. What’s the problem?”

“Well, you know I said some things when he called you, remember?”

“How could I forget? But that’s nothing, he was harassing me. What do you think; they’re going to think you killed him?”

I shrugged.

She patted my thigh. “Don’t worry, it’s nothing.”

“There’s something else.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Well, I. I took a ride by his place.”

“You did what?”

“I just wanted to scare the bastard off, that’s all.”

“You’re crazy! You know that? What happened when you went there?”

“Nothing really. I just told him he’d better lay off or there’d be a price to pay.”

“You threatened him?”

“I was just trying to make sure you were safe, that’s all.”

She wagged her head. “I don’t know, Frank; that’s completely against the rules.”

“I’m sorry. Really I am.” I reached for her hand. “It was dumb of me, but I was afraid he’d do something stupid. He was really pissed when you pulled that deal from him.”

She pulled her hand away. “Don’t turn this around and blame me.”

“No, no, I’m not. It’s just that he thought he had a deal to kill the drug charges by snitching on that pervert.”

“He would have if the parents of the victim would have let the kid testify. You know we can’t drop a distribution charge for nothing.”

“I’m not sure about how to play this.”

“Play this?”

“I want to avoid the suspicion, that’s all.”

“Come on. You know you’ve got to be straight up with this.”

Easy for her to say. I was the one whose reputation was going to get trampled on. “Well, just stick to your case with him. Nobody needs to know anything more than that.”

“Frank, I reported that Garrison threatened me.”

“Okay, do me a favor and just keep it at that.”

“You’re making a big mistake, Frank.”

“Just do what I ask, okay? I’ll handle it.”

 

 

Chapter 3

Derrick got up. “I’m going up to talk to Detective Vargas about Garrison and the case she was involved in. She said she had a copy of the case file for me.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“I don’t think that’s allowed, since you guys are, you know, together.”

“It’s okay. You ask all the questions. I’ll just be there in case you miss something.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“Let’s go.”

Vargas handed Derrick a file. He said, “Thanks. I’ll read through it later, but I’d appreciate if you could summarize your connection to Jimmy Garrison.”

I said, “Connection? She was working a case, that’s all.”

Derrick shook his head, and Mary Ann threw up a palm.

“Connelly, in Narcotics, was running surveillance on Garrison. He’s a decent-sized dealer, and they picked him up after filming him receive several shipments. Connelly leaned on him to give up his supplier, but Garrison claimed he’d be killed in retribution.”

I said, “Looks like he was.”

“Please, Frank, let Derrick handle this.”

“Thank you. Go on.”

“Garrison said he had information on a sexual predator, and Connelly asked me to talk with him.”

“What did he have?”

“Garrison said he knew that a Seymour Gilmore was a pedophile.”

“And how did he know this?”

“The pervert regularly bought cocaine from him, and one time he delivered drugs to Gilmore’s house. When he was there, he saw a kid he knew in the house.”

“How did he know that abuse was taking place?”

“The eleven-year-old was in his underwear.”

Mary Ann had related the story when it happened, but hearing it a second time was still jarring. I wanted to find this Gilmore and make him look like Garrison. I made a mental note but kept quiet.

“So, you offered a deal to Garrison in exchange for his information?”

“We’d known about Gilmore but couldn’t put together a strong enough case. I went to the DA, and he was good with accepting a plea, reducing it to possession.”

“What happened with the arrangement?”

“You have to proceed with these cases delicately. We went to see the kid’s parents, but they were adamant about not allowing their son to testify. Without the kid on the stand, we had nothing but Garrison’s witnessing of a child in underpants in another man’s house. Disgusting imagery but not prosecutable.”

“So, you informed Garrison the deal was off?”

“Yes, and he went nuts. He claimed that I’d gone back on my word, which was totally untrue, as I had told him it was conditional. We had to have something solid to put Gilmore behind bars, otherwise criminals would be conspiring with each other.”

“And that was it?”

“No. Garrison harassed me, even threatened me. It’s in the report.”

Derrick said, “What? I had no idea.” Then he swiveled his head, looking at me as if I were an alien, before going back to Mary Ann, “How long did the harassing behavior last?”

“For a couple of weeks. It wasn’t daily, just every couple of days he’d call.”

“When did he stop bothering you?”

“About two months ago.”

***

As soon as we entered the stairwell, Derrick said, “You had to know about this.”

“About what?”

“You know what I’m talking about. Garrison was harassing your girlfriend.”

“It ended.”

“And now he’s dead.”

“Just what are you saying, Derrick? If you have to something to say, spit it out.”

“Why didn’t you say anything once we knew it was Garrison? You made like the name didn’t mean anything.”

“It didn’t register at the time.”

“What a coincidence. Now that she tells me, you remember?”

“It’s not like that.”

He stopped on the landing and looked me in the eye. “You know what bothers me most? The fact you never told me about it when it was happening.”

“It had nothing to do with you.”

“That’s bullshit, and you know it. She’s not only your girlfriend, she was your former partner. We’re supposed to be close. Something like that you should have told me about.”

“I’m not like that. What can I tell you?”

Derrick shook his head. As he took off down the stairs, I said, “I handle my personal affairs myself.”

With the tension high, root canal was preferable to sitting in the office with Derrick. There were two hours to kill before I was due in court, so I continued down the stairs to the shooting range.

***

The TV was blaring a political ad as I entered our house.

“Mary Ann, I’m home.”

No response. Something was off, and it wasn’t my danger sensor talking to me. Mary Ann was sitting at the counter, drinking a glass of wine as she watched the news. A hunk of camembert cheese on the counter was throwing off a horrible smell. How could something that tasted so good smell so bad?

“Oh, having vino without me?”

“I needed it after today.”

“What happened?”

She shook her head and took a sip of wine.

“What’s the matter?”

“Are you really that oblivious?”

“I swear, I don’t know what’s going on.”

“What was all that with Derrick? You never told him about Garrison?”

I shrugged.

“You think it wouldn’t come out? I filed a damn report about it.”

“I don’t know why you and Derrick are making such a big deal about it.”

“You really are oblivious, aren’t you? It’s about trust, Frank. Not to mention protocol.”

“I guess I screwed up.”

“Guess? There was no reason to withhold the information.”

“But I was worried about how it would look if they knew about my visit to Garrison.”

“You know damn well it would come out. If that’s all there is to it, it’ll fade away.”

I shrugged. “I’ll tell Derrick about it tomorrow.”

 

 

Chapter 4

Because it involved my personal life, especially Mary Ann, I resented the thought of explaining myself to a junior detective. If I said I had my reasons, that should be enough.

I was up half the night thinking of how to tell him. A good opening is what I needed, an icebreaker. Maybe something in the case would provide an easy way to inform my partner. Whatever wisdom I had collected told me to march in and tell him straightaway. Problem was, pride had tied my ankles together.

In no hurry to get to the office, I drank a cup of coffee in Dunkin’s parking lot before going in. I poked my head in the door, pleased that Derrick was on the phone. I scanned the top of my desk. No cup of coffee. No doubt Derrick was still pissed. I retreated to the cafeteria for another coffee.

Knowing what to do and doing it—why was the second part of that so difficult? Just do it, Luca. I splashed a bit of milk in my cup and reluctantly headed to talk to Derrick.

“Morning, Derrick.”

“Morning.”

“Look, before this gets any further, I’d like to clear the air between us about this Garrison business.”

Derrick leaned back in his chair. “Okay, go ahead.”

It was the first bout of cockiness I’d seen in him. “I should have told you about Vargas and Garrison. I just felt it was a personal thing. It was too close to home, if you know what I mean.”

“Garrison threatened one of us, Frank. It doesn’t matter what the two of you have going on. She’s one of us.”

“It was a mistake.”

“The balls of this guy, threatening an officer. If he wasn’t lying in the damn morgue, I’d put him there myself.”

“You’re not kidding. Say, instead of chasing whoever killed this cretin, we have anything else to chase down?”

“I don’t understand. It’s the only murder we’ve had in months. We have to find Garrison’s killer.”

“I know, just wishing we didn’t have to waste the county’s resources on such a bag of shit.”

“We’re better off with only one case to deal with. We can focus on it.”

My cell vibrated. It was the sheriff.

I ended the call and banged my desk. “How the hell did that happen?”

“What?”

“Ethan Dwyer escaped from jail.”

“Sounds familiar. Who’s that?”

“A serial killer I put away before you got here. The nut killed five men. Said he was on a mission from God.”

“He broke out of the Immokalee jail?”

“Not the prison. He was getting therapy in the adult stabilization unit at the David Lawrence Center.”

“This guy killed five people! What the hell was he doing at Lawrence?”

“A couple of years ago a study showed that Florida was way down on the list of states caring for people with mental illnesses. It’s a serious problem, and the legislature pressured for a fix.”

“Some fix!”

“No shit. Dwyer’s IQ is off the charts.”

“What happened? How the hell did he get away?”

“Chester said he’s looking into what went wrong, but it looks like he outsmarted the guard watching him.”

“Really?”

“Dwyer is the most unusual killer you’ll ever see. Smart as hell, but there’s also another side to him. A dark side. This guy held grudges for decades before acting. He carried on normally and then, bingo, he starts killing.”

“Did it take a long time to catch him?”

I exhaled. “Longer than I wanted. Chester was throwing conniptions left and right. He brought the FBI in.”

“Is that how you got your contact?”

“Yeah, it was the only thing good to come out of it. Chester didn’t think I was up to it.” I didn’t want to admit to my own doubts at the time. “But we bagged him.”

“Detective Vargas was on it with you, right?”

“Yeah, it was a wild ride. Everyone was convinced it was another person of interest, but I stuck to my guns.” Not exactly the truth. I had believed it was someone else, too, until I changed my mind. “I’ll tell you about it sometime.”

“Sounds unreal.”

We needed to keep Dwyer in Florida. I issued a statewide alert, circulating photos of Dwyer. I asked for them to be on the lookout for cars with a single, white male, thirty to forty years old that matched Dwyer’s description. That might help if he was driving out of the state. The problem was the endless possibilities to flee by water. Florida has thirteen hundred and fifty miles of coastline, the most in the nation.

I grabbed my jacket off a hook. “Come on. We’re going down to David Lawrence.”

“You go. I want to stay on this Garrison case.”

I wanted to tell him to get his ass in the Cherokee, but said, “Make sure you read through the Dwyer case file. I just emailed it to you.”

***

The David Lawrence Center was off Golden Gate Parkway, just east of Interstate 75. It is supposed to be a secure facility, handling its own security, even with convicts. They had failed miserably in this case.

The center had an inpatient program for people in a mental health crisis, but most of their activities seemed to focus on addiction treatment. I knew a patrolman who’d gone there to deal with his drinking and an ex-neighbor who’d gotten hooked on pain meds. I’d seen the demons haunting them and was thankful such a place existed.

The center’s crisis unit operated in a twenty-eight-bed building with a separate wing containing four beds for children. I followed the signs to the stabilization unit. The glass front doors were locked. At least they got that part right. There were two cameras covering the entrance. I hit the call button and was buzzed in.

The place had a spa smell to it. I tried to identify the aromas as I waited for the administrator. Just as I realized the dominant smell was lavender, a woman approached.

“How may I assist you, Officer?”

She was wearing a gray business suit and some kind of Indian necklace. “It’s Detective Luca, and you are?”

“Dr. Beatrice Acorn. I’m the administrator of the crisis unit.”

“I’d like to ask questions regarding the escape of Ethan Dwyer.”

“Certainly. My office will provide privacy.”

I followed her down a bright corridor to an even brighter office overlooking a garden with a fountain. A woman, a patient, I assumed, sat on a bench in the sun, thumbing through a magazine.

Except for a solitary pen, Dr. Acorn’s desk was empty.

“I must caution you, certain patient information is confidential; therefore, I’m limited in what I can reveal. And I am unable to discuss security. The sheriff is communicating with headquarters on that matter.”

“I understand. What was Ethan Dwyer doing here?”

“The David Lawrence Center is the Baker Act receiving facility for Collier County. The act mandates that individuals in danger of harming themselves or others be admitted for care.”

“Dwyer was suicidal?”

“I can’t discuss particulars of his status.”

“But you admitted him based upon what?”

“The prison psychiatrist made a diagnosis which we accepted. We’re not in a position to judge a finding concerning a patient in crisis. These cases must be handled with care. The patients are in a fragile state and at high risk.”

“I understand. After he was admitted, what happened?”

“Every patient undergoes a complete evaluation by our professionals. This is not to contest a finding but to safely identify the issues they face. For example, whether they have suicidal ideations or are a danger to others. Our goal is to stabilize the patient and recommend facilities that have the treatments required to work through a patient’s challenges.”

“How long was Dwyer here?”

“Three days.”

“How long does a patient with similar issues normally stay?”

“Four days, five, maximum.”

“Do you think he was faking his crisis?”

“Detective Luca, our staff is highly trained. The thought that someone would be able to effectively simulate, over a period of days, is simply unfathomable.”

Really? That’s because she’d never met Ethan Dwyer.

“I’m going to need the video from all the cameras on the property.”

“There are privacy issues, Detective. I am not authorized to release recordings of the patients. You must understand, we have a robust outpatient program, and the participants don’t want the privacy surrounding their attendance compromised.”

“You check with whoever you need to, but I’m not leaving without at least the outdoor surveillance.”

“I understand the nature of your request, but the outpatient entrance would pose a problem.”

“I’ll do without that at the moment. Turn over the balance of the footage, and if I can identify Dwyer leaving on the tape, we may not need it.”

“That is fine. I appreciate your respecting our privacy issues. You can understand, if people knew their visits would be public, most wouldn’t seek treatment.”

“I’ll need a schematic of the property. Something that shows all the exits and windows.”

She opened a drawer on her desk. “This is a complete layout of the campus.” She slid a piece of marketing material across the desk. “All the windows in the facility are hinged at the bottom and only open six inches.”

I took the map and asked to see the room Dwyer had stayed in. A search of his room didn’t turn up anything. I was given six DVDs of surveillance and left. It was time to visit the prison.

 

 

Chapter 5

I remembered, it was a couple of months ago; I was gassing up the Cherokee, and at the next pump a father was showing his young boy how the pump worked. The kid was excited, but it was the father’s smile that caught my attention. He looked like he was going on a month-long vacation, igniting the mental tug-of-war I was having about becoming a father.

My concerns were giving me so much anxiety that I needed to talk to someone about it. I couldn’t even decide whether it was easier to talk to a man or to a woman. I thought a woman was a better choice, but then a guy would at least understand where I was coming from.

I recalled how doubt had filled my head as I turned onto Dockside Court. It was stupid, but checking the East Naples location of the office had sealed my decision. Dockside Court was a long cul-de-sac that ended just short of Henderson Creek. No one would know I was there.

A tiny sign on the mailbox was the sole clue there was an office in the house. The driveway was empty, easing my anxiety. I parked in the driveway, behind a stand of coco plum bushes shielding a side entrance.

After a quick knock on the door, I walked in. It was not as I envisioned, but things rarely are. It may have been the white galley kitchen, but it felt like an apartment, not an office. There was a smell of something baking. The only thing that looked used in the kitchen was the coffeemaker. It was either a clever room freshener or came from the main part of the house.

Behind a half-opened door, someone was behind a desk, talking on the phone. To the right, a pair of gray club chairs were separated by a plexiglass cocktail table. There was a black Moleskine on the seat of one chair. Was this where it would take place?

I heard the phone call end, and a woman in a black pants suit emerged.

“Hello, Mr. Luca.”

She didn’t look anything like her picture. She was at least twenty years older. Practiced smile. Medium build. Short, wiry hair. A round, wrinkle-free face with just a hint of a turkey neck. Why didn’t people update their photos?

“Hello, Dr. Bruno.”

“You found it okay?”

“Doing what I do, I get around the county.”

“You don’t patrol, do you?”

“No. But between interviewing and chasing leads . . .”

“Shall we get started?” She swept her hands toward the chairs.

I nodded, sinking into a chair as Dr. Bruno moved the notebook to the table and sat. She crossed her legs.

“You’re a homicide detective, correct?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“No need to be formal. It helps if you think of this as two friends having a chat.”

Yeah, right. “Okay.”

“When you made the appointment, you mentioned your fear of being a father.”

“It’s not that I’m afraid.”

She smiled. “There’s no need to get hung up on the word fear. There are varying degrees of apprehension that we all suffer from. It’s what makes us human. How long have you been seriously thinking of fatherhood?”

“Less than a year.”

“Was this the result of a new relationship?”

“Yes. Mary Ann definitely wants a baby. She’s my girlfriend, but we’d get married if we have a kid.”

“Are you feeling pressure from her about this decision?”

“No, no. She's been pretty good about it. She really wants to be a mother, but she doesn’t pressure me about it.”

“Good. Do you feel a need to please her? To give her what she wants?”

“She’s a good woman, and I know it means a lot to her, but I can’t really say that I’d do it to please her.”

“That is good. Becoming a parent is an important obligation, and it would be a mistake to have one person in a relationship drive the decision. How long have you been in this new relationship?”

“It’s a bit complicated. We used to be partners.”

“Mary Ann is a homicide detective as well?”

“She was. Now she’s assigned to the cybercrimes unit and at times narcotics detail.”

Bruno jotted a note. “How long has the relationship been romantic?”

“We started dating when we still worked together, even moved in together. It’s more than a year.”

“May I ask how old the two of you are?”

“I’m forty-three and she’s thirty-six.”

“Is the biological clock issue important to you?”

“Well, it’s not like it doesn’t matter. If we’re going to do this, we have to get moving.”

“Do you feel pressure to act because of it?”

“No, not really.”

“Good. Could you describe your concerns about becoming a father?”

I’d rehearsed what I was going to say, but it still sounded jumbled. “I don’t want to sound selfish, but I like the way things are now. It’s just me and Mary Ann, and I get to do the job I love. We have freedom. We go and come as we like. It’s nice.”

“You’re afraid a baby will come between you and Mary Ann?”

“I guess so.”

“That’s a natural feeling. The fact is, it will to a degree. Both of your attentions will be directed toward the baby. It’s not like the baby is in competition with you for Mary Ann’s attention. Both of your worlds will likely revolve around your child.”

I hadn’t thought about how impossibly obsessed other fathers were with their children. Might that happen to me?

“That’s a good point. You’re probably right.”

“It’s really nothing to be concerned about. Relationships may change somewhat, but it all balances out.”

“I could see that.”

“You mentioned a concern with your job. Do you believe a baby will prevent you from doing your job?”

“No, not prevent me. Just that it’d take away my focus, you know what I mean?”

“That’d you have responsibilities as a father that would clash with work?”

“I guess, you know, sometimes, when I’m working a case, I can get obsessed. It’s all I think about. I work crazy hours. It wouldn’t be fair, to the baby and Mary Ann.

 “You’re worried you’d feel overwhelmed or possibly pulled in two directions?”

“Something has to give, doesn’t it? Mary Ann is going to need me to help her, especially in the beginning, and if a case comes up, I can’t be in two places at the same time. Right?”

“It’s important to develop a healthy balance in life. We all have many demands on us. It’s critical that we know when to say no to things like work.”

“How can I say no when a murderer is on the loose?”

“You have an unusual job. I realize it is an important one and one that society depends on you to perform. That said, though, you’re not the only one who can do it. None of us operate in a vacuum, and, as good as we believe we are at something, when we’re gone, someone else will fill our shoes.”

If she keeps talking, I’m gonna put a gun to my head. “But there’s only two of us in the department, and I’m the one with experience—”

She put up a hand. “I understand there are circumstances; there always are. What I’m saying is not to make a mistake in ordering your priorities. You don’t want to have any regrets that you didn’t spend enough time with your family. When our lives draw to a close or a relationship fails, that is what will end up consuming you.”

Rolling it around, I tried to process a response when Dr. Bruno tapped her wristwatch.

I can still hear her say, “We’re out of time.”