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He'd been somewhat successful in keeping his despair at bay during his waking hours, but when he sleptwell, that was another story. |
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Then there'd been D.J. with her beautiful, fragile face, her trim athlete's body, her soft, full lips and her soul of ice. He couldn't understand the woman. |
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She'd driven them back to the station in the squad car, leaving Lou to return with one of the other officers who had arrived on the scene with the EMTs. She'd spoken few words to Chris, and her neglect had been fine with him. He hadn't felt much like talking at the time. But he had sensed her withdrawal, as though she'd put a wall between herself, her emotions, and the rest of the world. |
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Maybe cops got used to violence and despair so that no matter how much they saw, they took it in stride. Maybe D.J. Halloran was exactly the same as any of the other officers on the Lakeview force. But somehow Chris doubted that. D.J. was different. |
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Chris set a new disposable camera on the table. He'd dropped off the roll he'd completed earlier at the grocery store film drop on his way home. He tapped the base of the table lamp and the living room sprang to light. |
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The room had been ransacked. Books poured out of the bookcase. The couch had been slit open and the stuffing splayed about the room. The entertainment center resembled kindling, with glass from the busted television sprinkled on top like sugar. |
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Chris turned, heading for the kitchen and the telephone. Blinding pain ricocheted inside his brain, and then the night closed in around him. |
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