Home Sweet Home Ch. 08

"I do," Diana said. The investigator waited for her to say more, but she didn't. She only answered the question; nothing more, nothing less.

"That's it?"

"That's all you asked," Diana said.

"Did you visit him on the 30^th of April?"

"I did," Diana replied. She again, didn't say anything else. It unnerved the investigator how efficient she was at being interviewed. He tapped his pen on the table seven times before realizing she was done answering.

"According to his secretary, you showed up close to the end of business hours without an appointment. Stayed after hours, before he walked you to the train station. Four days later, a sealed investigation is leaked."

"I can't help but notice that isn't a question," Diana said.

"Ronald Larson is the director of the conviction integrity unit. He'd have ample access to those records."

"Still not a question," Diana said, just to remind him how interviews were supposed to work.

"Did you ask Ronald Larson to release the records?"

"No," Diana said. The investigator took a moment to measure Diana, who didn't blink.

"Why were you at his office?" He was certain she would fumble this response.

"Ronald Larson is my daughter's father. Our daughter is turning sixteen next week. We're planning her birthday," Diana said. The investigator was a deer in the headlights. He wanted to start searching though his file to find how he missed that but didn't want to look surprised to Diana.

"That was the nature of your conversation? Your daughter's birthday?" he asked.

"Yes. Whitney enjoys Japanese anime. We're surprising her with tickets to Anime Central," Diana said.

"Anime Central?"

"It's a convention at the Rosemont. Biggest in the Midwest," Diana said. Whitney had truly asked for that, and Diana was always hesitant on letting her go. Now she didn't have a choice.

"Mr. Larson will confirm this?"

"Every word," Diana said. The confidence she conveyed in that answer assured her that the investigator would never bother talking to Mr. Larson. The man admitted defeat and left her office without another question.

For Diana, lying felt like having heartburn. Like moral indigestion. Only telling the truth made her feel better, and the only person who she could tell the truth to was Riley.

"Unless Odette has something, it's over," Diana said with her head on Riley's chest.

"If it's over, what does that mean for you?" Riley asked.

"I won't work with that man. I already have enough years for a pension. I'll retire," Diana said.

"What does retired Deputy Chief Jackson do?" Riley asked.

Diana didn't know the answer to that question. Her entire life she had spent looking after the welfare of others. Her sisters. Her daughter. Her officers. There was hardly a moment in her life she lived for herself. She didn't know how to live for herself. She never had.

"I don't know," Diana said.

"If you can do anything?" Riley asked.

"I was defending my sisters before I had tits, and a single mother when I was eighteen. Any dream I could have had was sidelined a long time ago. All I know is how to be a mom, and a cop. That's it."

"All I used to know is welding. I had a fourth-grade reading level when I graduated high school last in my class. What do you like, and can that be something?"

"I like cars," Diana said as a matter of fact.

"What about them?" Riley asked.

"Marcus and I..." Diana said, and smiled widely from just saying his name and lost her train of thought "...he owned, a real junker. An old piece of shit. Tried for years to get it running again. Ghetto lawn ornament he called it. Sat on cinderblocks in his driveway. Marcus didn't know the first thing about cars."

"What was he trying to fix up?" Riley asked.

"1976 Cadillac Eldorado. The last American convertible. I told him I'd finish it with him. We couldn't even afford the tires. He couldn't walk for the last year of his life, and I said I'd finish it for him. It's been sitting in a storage unit I've paid every month for the last sixteen years."

"That's something you can do. Finish the car," Riley suggested.

"I wouldn't even know where to begin," Diana said, then gave the suggestion real consideration as she nestled her head into the pocket of his shoulder.

--

Jason Rhee arrived at Luigi's at the time he always did. The restaurant opened at three in the afternoon, but the cooking staff arrived at ten in the morning. They went over the specials. Decided on the wines. Discussed new recipes. The cooks had a daily lunch to hash out the details for the coming workday.

Jason shut his car door and saw some of the other cooks were already present, including Tilly. The staff were instructed to park behind the restaurant, and Jason followed that order like anyone else. A single car already parked toward the side of the building caught his attention. A white compact. The distance made it difficult to determine the make and model. What he could see was that someone was in the car, their arm dangling out the driver side window with a lit cigarette.

Tilly impressed him that day. Her food orders never got backed up. She would move seamlessly between one station and another when one chef was on break. She didn't take her own break. At the end of the day when the chairs were being put on the tables and the dishes were being rinsed, Jason told her to go home. She naturally refused, and they finished the work together, before walking side by side to their cars.

They talked next to their cars for several minutes, before they said their farewells, and Tilly drove away first. When he opened his car door, he heard the engine of another car start. His head whipped to where that car was earlier in the day. Over twelve hours ago. It was the same car. When it departed as well, he failed to get the make and model, but walked over to where it was parked and saw a pile of cigarette butts.

Something stabbed Jason's brain, screaming to him something wasn't right about this. He turned toward the restaurant and saw the parking spot let him observe the front and back doors. The man was waiting for someone. The person he followed was Tilly.

"Shit," Jason said while trying to call Tilly. It rang through to voice mail. Tilly wasn't going to risk so much as a traffic ticket, so wouldn't answer calls or texts while driving. "Shit, shit, shit. Come on, answer."

'You're being followed' Jason texted and hit send, before taking off after them.