“The parking garage is well-lit, Mr. Filer.” Officer Yarborough drummed his fingers on the table.
“I mean while trying to see through the ski mask. It didn’t fit right. I ended up with a kids’ size one, and the slits for the eyes were in the wrong place.”
What was it they always said about incompetent crooks?
“Dr. Hotwell, is this the man who attacked you?”
“I can’t say for sure.”
“It is. I’m the one. I’m really sorry.” Mr. Filer put his elbows on the table and rested his head in his hands. “I thought you were someone else.”
His shoulders shook. He was in real distress. He must have turned himself in to confess.
Sheridan whispered in my ear. “This is no hardened criminal.”
“No matter who he was, you shouldn’t go hitting people with heavy metal objects, Mr. Filer.” The officer made a fist and pounded it. “What were you thinking?”
“I was thinking this guy was the doctor who messed up my brother’s thumb. There was a hand surgeon who wouldn’t shut up, kept making pun jokes, and he promised Israel could get back to work right away, but something went wrong, and now Israel’s thumb is useless, and he can’t come to work anymore as a plumber in our family business, and he has to change careers. Plus, our bowling league is falling apart without him! Do you know he bowled three three-hundreds in one tournament last fall? He’ll never do that again. The joy has been sucked out of his life. I was so upset for Izzy, I couldn’t hold back anymore.”
Well, that explained the pipe wrench. And the only hand surgeon in the whole region was Dr. DadJoke, a.k.a. Dr. Drew Daddington, who never shut up.
Bingo.
“Worst of all, he kept telling stupid doctor jokes the whole time, in between breaking the bad news to Israel that he’d never be able to use his hand fully again, and I guess that just pushed me over the edge.”
“I can sympathize.” I’d wanted to whack DadJoke myself a few times. Or at least tape his mouth shut.
“So, you’re not mad?” Hope lit Mr. Filer’s eyes.
The officer pounded the table again. He’d watched TV shows featuring tough cops. “This isn’t about whether your victim is mad or holding a grudge. You assaulted someone with a deadly weapon. There are consequences to crime, Mr. Filer.”
Sheridan reached over and placed a soft hand on Officer Yarborough’s forearm. “That’s true, but the attitude of the victim will matter to the judge, I believe.”
Yarborough sipped a loud breath and looked at Sheridan like he’d been touched by an angel. “True, ma’am.”
Dude got off easy by using ma’am instead of Miss or Ms. Lucky him.
The tension in the room dissipated, and Yarborough turned to Mr. Filer. “You’ve confessed, and Dr. Hotwell has identified you as the attacker. We’ll leave the rest up to the courts.”
“But you’ll go easier on him because he turned himself in, right?” Sheridan pleaded. “He really does feel sorry.”
The woman was all mercy, no justice, when it came to this apparent underdog. What about my head wound? What about my loss of time at work and my missed chance at being named Most Valuable Surgeon? What about the fact that the timing of Filer’s confession interrupted my kiss with her? Didn’t she care about the actual victim of the crime?
“Will you be pressing charges, Dr. Hotwell?”
Under the table, she placed a hand on my knee. Lightning flashed from it, up my thigh and down to my ankle. It jolted me back to my senses, but also out of my senses at the same time. It was like she infused me with her overflow of compassion, every cell filling to the brim.
“I’ll leave it up to the courts,” I said, leaning toward her, wishing these yahoos would leave the room so I could allow my passion for her to explode into a kiss that would turn her into my kissing slave forever. “Can we go now?” I was looking at Sheridan, but Officer Yarborough gave permission.
“Thank you, Dr. Hotwell,” Filer said as we left. “And thank you, Mrs. Hotwell. You’re the kindest person I’ve ever met.”
Mrs. Hotwell. Mm. It sounded really nice. My initial reaction soaked it up, and my secondary reaction rolled it around on my tongue. Tasted good.
I haven’t even kissed her in real life, and I’m already making her my missus. Mrs. Hotwell sounds a heckuva lot better than Miz Chandler.
The police needed me to stay longer for paperwork, and Sheridan had a client coming early the next morning. I sent her home, but I was stuck aching for her. I would kiss her. Soon.
After tonight, when she’d shared so much about her past, I was nearly ready to tell her my own secrets. I’d even planned to tell her about the dream, after I’d well and fully kissed her. That kiss was still coming, and so was the confession.
Would she react well?
I was starting to believe she would.