CATERINA
I force a smile as I step up to the desk in the lobby of the police station. How long has it been since I stood right here <b>in </b>this <b>very </b>spot? Thinking back to thest time I was here, I think I was twelve <b>of </b>thirteen and so excited and thrilled about visiting my dad
at work.
Back then, he was important, a higher–up. Funny, I never would have guessed that everything would change less than ten yearster. Excitement would be embarrassment; a sadness epassing me as soon as I walked through the double doors. Being here now, everything is different. I’m here to help my father not to visit him. He’s no longer the hero I worshiped as a little girl. Not anymore.
I wrinkle my nose upon my first deep breath into my nose. The ce reeks of stale coffee. The tiled floor could use recing, and the fluorescent lights… well, fluorescent lights never do anyone any favors. It makes us all look washed out and gaunt. <b>I </b><b>try </b>to ignore the lingering stares as I stand waiting. A handful of randon people are in molded stic chairs, probably waiting to see an officer.
An officer behind the desk steps forward. He assesses me, then frowns. <b>I </b>can understand why, sort of. I don’t look like any <b>of </b>these people. I’m dressed for work since <b>I </b>came straight from the office. “Can I help you?”
“I was hoping I could see Detective Ken Miller?”
“Sure, and you are?” he asks, so bored it sounds like he’s about to yawn.
Most of the people in these types of jobs are overworked and underpaid, so I force myself to bite back a sarcastic reply at his dismissive tone. “I’m Caterina Cole. He used to be my father’s partner. I was hoping I could say hello.”
<b>“</b>I see.” He nods toward the chairs. “Have a seat. I’ll call him and see if he has a minute to see you.”
I turn around and walk towards the chairs before I sink into one. I chew on my bottom lip anxiously while tapping my ballet ts against the floor. Dad would absolutely murder me if he knew I was here.
Paranoia skates down my spine, and I find myself peering around the room, half–expecting him to pop out of one of the offices any second. It’s bad enough that he’s been blowing up my phone all day, telling me we need to talk ASAP but never exining what we need to talk about. There’s no guessing what it could be that has himing unglued.
As if on cue, my phone buzzes again, glowing brightly in my purse. I don’t even bother to look at it, and instead ignore the call in favor of going back to looking around, nervously wondering if maybe this mistake will blow up in my face.
It’s been two days since the showdown in the kitchen, but it feels like weeks. My father’s been impossible to talk to since then and essentially nonexistent. I never even saw him yesterday–I’m not sure he ever came home after work. I know his tactic is to ignore me, to try and punish me for being an adult and having a life that isn’t centered around him. It’s how he is, how he has been since my mom died, but it can’t be that way forever.
It’s why I’m here now. Ken might have more insight than Dad would ever give me. Plus, the two of them got together less than a week ago<b>, </b>so they might have discussed my mother’s death or Gianni since that’s mainly the person at the front of his mind all the time.
It’s not even two minutes before a familiar manes striding down the hall, his heavy footfalls bounce off the linoleum, and his lips turn up into a smile once he recognizes me.
“Caterina<b>, </b>is that you? How is it even possible? Thest time I saw you… goodness. You were just bing a teenager.” Ken’s dark hair is graying a little, and theugh lines around his eyes are deeper than I remember them ever being. None of that matters though, because he still has the same friendly smile that always made me feel safe when he’d visit the house. Back then, he’d ruffle my hair. Now I’m a bit too old for that.
“Yup, it’s me. Just a little taller.” I chuckle.
“Careful. You’re going to make me feel like an old man.”
“Sorry,” I cringe, “However, it is nice to see you.” Thug him brief before he motions for me to follow him. While we walk, I notice a few curious nces from the officers we pass, though no he says anything; they all go back to their business. Ken walks us down to the row of offices along the back wall. He steps inside, and I walk past him, sitting in the chair in front of his desk<b>. </b>
“Can I get you something? Coffee or soda?”
“No, thanks. I don’t want to take up too much of your time.”
He’s like the former version of my dad: put together nicely, clothes freshly pressed, face newly shaved. I nce over the framed photos on the table behind him. His wife and kids. I remember them a little, catching fireflies on summer nights after one of our dads grilled burgers. Life was different back then. Easy. Peaceful. Sometimes I miss it.
Right away, he sighs. “I bet I can guess what you’re here for, and trust me when I say it’s not how I wanted things to go down. I did my best to speak up for him. I truly did.”
Oh no. I get the feeling more is going on here than even I know. “Okay, so I feel kind of stupid admitting this, but I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
His brow creases with confusion. “I assumed… never mind. Let’s back up and start from the beginning. What’s going on? Why are you here?”
“Well, I know you saw himst week. Or at least, he told me he was supposed to see you.”
“Yeah. I saw him,” he confirms. Nothing about the manner in which he says it gives me an inkling of what happened.
“He told me about his investigation.” I don’t mean to sound condescending or judgmental, I can’t help it. There’s a definite change in my voice when I say it, and I can’t be bothered to cover it up.
His jaw tightens as he leans back in his chair, squeaking beneath his weight. “That damn investigation of his. I’ve never seen a man so consumed with something in my entire life.”
I let out a sigh of relief. “Okay, good. You know about it.”
He snorts, shrugging his broad shoulders. “Yes. In fact, that investigation is why he lost his job.”
The floor falls beneath my feet. Wait. What? I wasn’t expecting that. I’m not even sure I’ve heard what he said correctly until I y it back in my mind. Even then, I have to ask him to repeat it.
“What did you say?” The words are a squeak, the sort of sound a scared little mouse makes.
His gaze widens. “Okay, that’s what you meant when you said you didn’t know what I was talking about. He didn’t tell you?”
“No. He didn’t tell me. I had no idea he was fired.”
“Kiddo, look, I’m sorry.” His eyes dart over my face as he stands and rounds the desk. <b>“</b>It was a few weeks ago.”
Weeks? That means he’s been leaving the house and pretending to go to work for weeks. “I… I. I need…” The room really needs to stop spinning, that’s what.
My lungs burn. I can’t breathe. I can’t even think. I feel like I don’t even know my father, and in a way I guess I don’t. This side of him, at least. This obsessed, crazed side of him was something I never knew existed, and now it’s costing him everything.
“Hold on. Let me get you a bottle of water. Stay put.”
I’m not going anywhere. Not on shaky legs or when I can hardly take a normal breath. Fired. How? He loved his job so much. That only seems to open another door of questions.
Why didn’t he tell me? I can feel myself spiraling down a vast dark hole. He’s been lying to me all this time. I don’t even know what to do with this information. Like how could he go on pretending he was working this whole time? If he’s not going to work, where the hell is he going? What’s he doing?
Ken reappears and presses a cold bottle of water into my hand. “Here you go, and as I said, I’m so sorry. I figured he would’ve
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told you by now.”
I take a sip and try not to spill, thanks to my shaking hands. “I apologize. I’m just… shocked. I can’t make sense of it. How? Why? What happened?”
Rather than return to his chair, he perches on the corner of his desk and sighs. “As you said, he had his investigation.” This damned investigation. “Right. He told me about it, everything he thinks happened.”
“That’s all I ever heard about for a long time,” He strokes his jaw, and I can see the pain in his eyes. It rings through his words just as inly. The two of them were so close, like brothers–I used to call him Uncle Ken when I was too young to understand we weren’t actually rted. “Your mom.. Jessica. He’d always go on and on about finding the proof and revealing who killed her.”
“He never told me how she died? He has all these theories, and I don’t know what to believe.”
“You know what he believes, though, don’t you?”
I nod slowly as the lump in my throat won’t let me speak. “He thinks Gianni Rossetti did it.”
He nods, his expression stern and severe. “And do you know why?
“Because he wanted to put him in jail?”
“Wanted to? He was obsessed with the idea. Still is, if I’m being honest.” he mutters, shaking his head. All the light has drained out of his eyes, and now he just looks like an older man with the weight of the world on his shoulders. “Your dad is a great man, except that once he gets something in his head, it’s impossible to change his mind. He bes ensnared in this vicious ce of needing to solve the crime himself.”
“Yeah, I know.” Do I ever.
“So, he sees this guy, Gianni Rossetti. Everybody knows he’s an arms dealer. Everybody knows he’s dangerous. The sort <b>of </b>stuff he was doing was pretty much what you’d call an open secret. The difference between your dad and the rest of us, was he just couldn’t let it go. We understand you can’t win them all. Besides, there are people out there who are far worse than Gianni. People who make it a lot easier to pin charges, gather evidence, and secure witnesses. Rossetti’s like Teflon. You can’t get anything to stick to him, nothing worth prosecuting, for the most part. Your dad didn’t get that. Didn’t see that what he was doing was causing more harm than good.
“}
It’s wrong, so wrong, how the faint pride warms me inside when I hear that.
That’s not the kind of thing to be proud of, Caterina.