I put my hand on his shoulder. “You’ll be free of all it by the end of the year, Chief.”
“After tonight, retirement couldn’t come sooner.”
“You’re going to be missed,” I say, hoping he can’t see through my thin veneer of lies. In retrospect, he and I got along like a house on fire. But that isn’t always the case. Barton has a prickly personality and, at times, can be two-faced and untrustworthy. Other rookies would attest.
“Stella will be happy to have you at home more,” I say, talking about his model-thin wife
“She wishes I’d keep working,” Barton says. “She thinks I’ll become a homebody or slob, and sit around the house watching television.”
“Not a bad idea,” I say.
“This way.”
I follow the chief around the glass partition to the living room where the body of a young woman—early twenties—lies in a cross-like position. Her arms are outspread and feet bound together in heavy-duty cord.