Page 85 of Deadly Deception
“308, 309…310,” Boone beamed and shoved the crumpled paper into his puffy coat pocket. It was probably keeping company with Holland’s recovered charms. The LaPorte County Sheriff’s Office was in the process of confiscating Sara’s ill-gotten and illegal charms. They’d probably need to call in a witch and warlock to oversee the collection of evidence to make certain no one harmed themselves.
Boone peeked his head inside the doorframe. “Knock, knock,” Boone said by way of announcement. “Up for some visitors?”
“Come in.” Henson’s voice sounded more gravelly than full of smooth resolve.
I followed Boone inside. As expected, we hadn’t been Henson’s only visitors. The room was filled with plants and the occasional flower or balloon. The color brightened up the otherwise sterile recovery room. Hospital quarters were a far sight better than they used to be, but for obvious reasons, they had to retain that easy-to-clean, sterile vibe.
Henson lay in bed, his head and back propped up. He had one IV line but at least two different bags hooked up to it. Oxygen tubing wrapped around Henson’s face, two small prongs situated inside his nostrils. I could see bandaging material stretching across his torso beneath the gown, along with thin wires that weaved beneath that same gown. The sound of Henson’s steady heart keeping time on his bedside monitor was music to my ears.
Overall, despite Henson’s obvious pallor and gaunt appearance, seeing him awake, coherent, and alive was a relief. What wasn’t so much of a relief was the dejected man sitting beside him. Shane Tompkins appeared to have aged ten, maybe twenty years. The strong man I remembered was a will-o'-the-wisp compared to his former stature. Forget about a strong wind—the barest hint of a breeze looked like it could lay him flat.
I swallowed hard, and felt Boone’s fingers lace with mine. His gentle squeeze and even lighter tug pulled me forward, deeper into the room. When Tompkins looked like he might stand and offer us his chair, Boone thankfully waved him off and said, “Thank you, but we’re fine. Franklin and I will spend plenty of time sitting on the plane ride back to Mobile.”
“You headed out soon then?” Henson asked, his voice full of that same sound of gravel scraping across his vocal cords.
“We are. Boone and I need to be at O’Hare within a couple of hours to get checked in,” I answered. “How are you feeling?” I aimed the question at Henson, but my gaze inadvertently tracked in Tompkins’s direction.
“Better now than I’ll probably feel in a couple of days.” Henson gave a contented sigh. “They’ve got me on the good stuff right now.”
Boone shifted forward, resting his free hand on the bedrail. “Any permanent damage?” he asked.
“Not that they know of. The shot was clean. Physical rehab will probably be hell, but I’ll get through it if it means getting full range of motion back. I’ll be right as rain in no time, won’t I, Shane?”
Tompkins managed a watery smile. “I’ve never known anything or anybody to be able to keep you down, Alfonse.”
“Damn right. This is nothin’ but a flesh wound.”
I appreciated Henson’s attempt to lighten the mood. It was thoughtful. It was also futile. Shane Tompkins was one of the strongest people I knew, but there were some things that hit harder than others. Some offenses couldn’t be swept under the rug or locked away and forgotten. Sara’s deception had to have cut deep on a multitude of levels. One didn’t slap a bandage on something like that and call it a day.
I gave Boone’s hand a squeeze before releasing it. “Captain Tompkins, you look like you need some coffee. Want to make a café run with me?”
He rose with great effort, arms shaky as they pushed Tompkins out of his chair. Without a word, he followed me out the door and into the hall. Neither one of us spoke as we headed down the hall toward one of the little alcoves with more comfortable seating. A coffee station was set up along with a couple of vending machines. I’d meant to take Tompkins to the café in the lobby, but instead, he veered into the cubby and reached for an empty cup. I didn’t argue and followed suit.
I waited for Tompkins to doctor his coffee and take a generous drink before saying, “It’s not your fault. You know that, right?”
Tompkins barked out an abbreviated laugh. “Do you think that makes this better?”
“No.” I shook my head. “Let’s face it, there’s nothing I can say that will change how you feel. But I’m human and I care about you, so I still feel the need to try.” I wasn’t blowing smoke. My affection for him was almost familial. “I’m the detective I am because of you. I’m the man I am because of you, and I like to think I turned out damn fine.”
This time, Tompkins’s chuckle was more heartfelt. His tired eyes crinkled with his momentary grin—there and gone far too quickly. “And so humble,” Tompkins mused while affectionately slapping my shoulder. Taking another drink, Tompkins became somber again. “I keep going back over everything, every interaction, no matter how small. My mind can’t stop recalling the years since Sara was wounded.” Head bent and staring unseeingly into his nearly empty cup of coffee, Tompkins grimaced. “Maybe there were signs, but I just can’t peg them. There were little things here and there, but…I didn’t know things were that bad between Sara and the department. I knew Marcus Myers was a piece of shit. That’s the main reason I encouraged Alfonse to run for sheriff. The people deserved better than that self-serving asshole. Sara deserved better.”
“From what I understand, you weren’t wrong.”
“No, not about that. Everything else, but not that.”
I laid my hand on Tompkins’s shoulder. “Not everything. You can’t spend the rest of your life second-guessing past or future decisions. That’s no way to live and you know it.”
Tompkins’s sigh sounded soul-deep. “Logically, you’re right. Logic doesn’t always conquer emotion, and in this case, I think I’ll be second-guessing myself for years to come.”
I squeezed Tompkins’s shoulder before releasing my hold. “If you’re ever in a bad place, I’m just a phone call away.”
“I know, and I’m grateful.” Lifting his head, Tompkins rolled his shoulders and popped his neck. “Do you think she’s dead?” Tompkins’s voice was so soft I had to lean forward to hear the words.
I could only assume Tompkins was asking about his niece. I wanted to lie and tell him yes, but I figured Tompkins had been lied to enough lately. “I don’t know.”
Tompkins winced. “I never thought I’d wish Sara was dead, but I do now. That would be better than…” He couldn’t finish the thought, and I didn’t blame him. In this case, the alternative to death was not a pleasant concept. “Even after everything she did, I can’t wish further pain and suffering on Sara. Does that make me weak?”
“It makes you human. Some of the other species might think it’s a weakness, but we are what we are. You’re Sara’s uncle, and the situation isn’t black and white. Did Sara commit heinous crimes? Yes. But that’s not all she was, especially to you. Your memories are tangled up with a younger version of the woman she became. You remember Sara as a child, growing up, playing, laughing. You remember a time when she was filled with hopes and dreams that were illuminated with every color of the rainbow, not the shadowed corners that claimed the end of her life. Life would be far easier if emotions were a switch you could randomly flip on and off. For better or worse, that’s not how it works. You can hate what Sara’s done, but hatingheris another matter. I don’t expect that of you and I’m sure your friend, Sheriff Henson, doesn’t either.”
