Roadside Crosses

arrested. She was looking after your children.”
    Oh, the woman who’d collected Wes and Maggie from the hospital play area.
    “Charles, she wasn’t ‘looking after’ them. She wastaking them into custody. She didn’t even try to call me.”
    “She claims you uttered racist comments.”
    “Jesus Christ, Charles, I said she was incompetent. That’s all.”
    “She didn’t interpret it that way. Now, since you generally have a good reputation and no history of problems in the past, the AG’s not inclined to open a formal complaint. Still, it’s got to be looked into.”
    He seemed torn about this dilemma.
    But not that torn.
    “He wanted some input from people on the ground about how to proceed.”
    From Overby himself, he meant. And she understood too exactly what was going on here: Dance had embarrassed Overby in front of Royce. Maybe the ombudsman had gotten the impression that the man couldn’t control his employees. A CBI-instigated complaint against Royce would call Overby’s leadership into question.
    “Of course you’re not racist. But the woman’s pretty hot under the collar about it, this Ms. Evans.” He stared at the inverted letter in front of Dance the way one would gaze at autopsy photos.
    How long’ve you had this job? . . . Either not long enough, or way too long.
    Kathryn Dance realized that her boss was negotiating: If she didn’t go any further with the complaint about Royce’s impropriety, Overby would tell the AG that the social worker’s claim had been fully investigated and that there was no merit to it.
    If Dance did pursue the Royce matter, she might lose her job.
    This sat between them for a moment. Dance was surprised that Overby was showing no kinesic evidence that he was feeling stress. She, on the other hand, observed her foot bobbing like a piston.
    I think I have the big picture, Dance thought cynically. She came close to saying it, but didn’t.
    Well, she had a decision to make.
    Debating.
    He tapped the complaint report with his fingers. “A shame when things like this happen. We have our core work, then other stuff intrudes.”
    After the Roadside Cross Case, after the roller-coaster with the J. Doe case in Los Angeles, after the harrowing days worrying about her mother, Dance decided she didn’t have the heart for a fight, not over this.
    “If you think a complaint against Royce would be too distracting, Charles, I’ll respect that, of course.”
    “It’s best probably. Let’s get back to work—that’s what we need to do. And this we’ll just put away too.” He took the complaint and slipped it into the file.
    How blatant can we be, Charles?
    He smiled. “No more distractions.”
    “Back to work,” Dance echoed.
    “Okay, I see it’s late. Have a good weekend. And thanks for wrapping the case, Kathryn.”
    “Good night, Charles.” Dance rose and left the office. She wondered if he felt as unclean as she did.
    She doubted it very, very much.
    Dance returned to the Gals’ Wing and was just at her office door when a voice behind her called, “Kathryn?”
    She turned to see somebody she didn’t recognize at first. Then it struck her—it was David Reinhold, the young deputy from the sheriff’s office. He wasn’t in uniform, but was wearing jeans, a polo shirt and jacket. He smiled and glanced down. “Off duty.” He approached her and stopped a few feet away. “Hey, I heard about the Roadside Cross Case.”
    “Kind of a surprise,” she said.
    His hands were jammed in his pockets. He seemed nervous. “I’ll say. That boy’ll be okay, though?”
    “He’ll be fine.”
    “And Chilton? Did he confess?”
    “I bet he doesn’t need to. We’ve got him on witnesses and PE. Cold.” She nodded toward her office, lifting an eyebrow, inviting him inside.
    “I have some things to take care of. . . . I stopped by earlier and you were out.”
    A curious thing to say. And she noted that he seemed even more nervous now. His body language was giving off high amperage of stress.
    “I just wanted to say, I’ve really enjoyed working with you.”
    “Appreciate your help.”
    “You’re a very special person,” Reinhold stammered.
    Uh-oh. Where was this going?
    Reinhold was avoiding her eyes. He cleared his throat. “I know you don’t really know me very well.”
    He’s at least a decade younger than I am, she thought. He’s a kid. Dance was struggling to keep from smiling or looking too maternal. She wondered where he was going to