He exhaled loudly while raking his hands through his hair, eyes closed for a moment, his mind trying to make sense of all that was transpiring.
“Are you okay, Mr. Currant?”
“Yes… just a little tired, and I didn’t expect this. I am grateful for your concern. I don’t believe anything will change, but I am grateful all the same.”
“I don’t blame you for your lack of faith in law enforcement right now, Mr. Currant. I’m going to be frank. They shitted on you, and this case. Many protocols weren’t followed properly, and they didn’t even file some of the evidence correctly. There were contradictory statements, the crime scene had been contaminated, and one of the officers even left evidence there, which made it basically null and void. Who in the hell takes a picture of bullet shells but doesn’t retrieve all of them?” The guy chuckled—a dismal sound, not one of mirth.
“Wait… they had that in their notes?”
“Well, yes. These are things you wouldn’t have access to. It was stated that because your son was shot with a .223 Remington 5.56×45mm NATO rifle, and these bullets were from a revolver, that it couldn’t have been the weapon used. That doesn’t make sense because they would have no idea what those bullets were from until after they removed them from your son’s body to do a side-by-side comparison. There was no analysis. This is beyond unprofessional and inept. I take it personally because this is in my neck of the woods, and though Chad was a legal adult, he was still quite young—barely legal. He’d just entered adulthood, and to lose his life this way was an absolute travesty. Here are the next steps. I would like you to meet with an agent friend of mine soon, if that’s okay?”
“Yeah, that’s fine.”
“Also, keep everything we discuss between us. There are some things we’re not exactly supposed to do, but we do anyway—it’s kind of like a don’t talk about it, don’t get caught, and everything will be okay policy.”
“That’s not a problem, Mr. Cottage.” He sighed, his mind racing and rage building inside him like stacking Legos.
They talked for a while longer, the man asking him a couple of questions about Chad.
“Kim had also asked me about some cases regarding missing Indigenous women. I am well aware of the growing concern of crimes against Native women, in their community and beyond. I would like to give her an organizations’ information that she and her friend Martha can contact, and hopefully, they can work with them to help bring awareness. I will also be contacting a different police department about some cold cases that I feel should be reopened.”
“Of course… yeah. Thanks again.”
“You’re welcome, Mr. Currant.”
“Jack. Just Jack is fine.”
“Jack it is, and you call me Walt. I’ll be in touch. Mind if I speak to Kim again now?”
“Sure.”
He got up, his head in a fog, and headed the phone back to Kim. Walking into the bedroom with his glass of OJ, he turned on her television and got comfortable—or at least tried. He wanted to believe things would change. That this stunt Kim pulled would somehow make a difference, but the fear of being disappointed yet again weighed too heavily on his shoulders.
Minutes later, Kim entered the bedroom, closing the door behind her.
She looked rather sheepish as she approached the bed, placed her phone on her nightstand, then slid under the sheets next to him. She kept those big eyes of hers trained on him as he stared at the television. Oh yes, he didn’t have to see her to know her attention was fixed on him. He felt her energy loud and strong.
“I’m not mad at you,” he finally said after a moment or two.
“You’re not? You sure look mad.” She wrapped her arms around him and squeezed. “I figured you might think I had overstepped my boundaries or something. I know how funny you are about this sort of thing. I also know how disappointed you’ve been. I was taking a chance of getting yet someone else involved who would only build you up, just to let you down, but it was worth a try.” She shrugged. “He seems sincere, don’t you think?”
“I don’t know. He could be.”
“I think he truly cares about getting to the bottom of this, baby, and helping you find out who hurt your son.”
“Yeah, we’ll see.” He yawned and stretched his legs.
She kissed his cheek. He stroked her shoulder, diverted his attention from the news to her. They stared forever at one another. No words needed. Sliding his hand around the back of her neck, he ushered her close for a kiss. The kiss turned into more… Then, his pajama pants ended up on the floor, and her cream-colored lingerie across the room…
Him, deep inside of her, where it was safe and warm… their fingers intertwined as he delivered deep thrusts and sharp pumps between her thighs. They came at the same time. Kim fell asleep holding him tight. He was fully aware this was the calm before the storm—he could feel it in his bones.