resignation and bullshit and abusive all
the way to the locker room.
"See what I'm sayin'? She ain't been
here all that long, but I can tell you this much. Winslow
looks after Billy like he's some sorta stray cat that wandered into
her house. No way does she rip him like that."
I pushed the door open and stepped
inside. It hadn't occurred to me that the yelling hadn't
stopped until I saw her standing by the autopsy table. Maya
keeps a wide step stool handy because her stature makes it
difficult to clearly visualize bodies on a table that is hip high
for me. She was still standing on her stool, precariously
close to the edge while one finger stabbed into Ken Forsythe's
chest. Still, it was the angry words doing the most damage,
battering him past the point of no return.
"Maya!"
Her finger froze mid-stab. "What are
you doing here?" she snarled.
Forsythe, to his credit, didn't back away
when I gave him the golden opportunity. Instead, he took
advantage of the valley in her tirade. "When you can discuss
this like a rational professional, give me a call. Until
then, I've had enough. And if you can't reach that point on
your own, perhaps I'll have to call the county supervisor about
this, Dr. Winslow."
He nodded and muttered, "Morning, Eriksson,"
on his way out the door.
My cowardly compatriots hadn't followed me
into the room. It was a good thing. Maya crumpled
before my eyes. She sank to sit on the stool her feet vacated
and sobbed into her hands.
"Maya, what on earth is going on here?"
Her shoulders shook with the effort she made
not to wail loudly. "Are you alone?"
"Briscoe and Conall are out in the
hall." I walked briskly across the room and squatted in front
of her. "Honey, what's wrong?"
Maya peeked over the tips of her
fingers.
"Did someone screw up the evidence?"
"No."
"Are you frustrated because this case hasn't
progressed at all?"
"No. Yes. But…"
"That's not what's wrong right now?"
"Don't," she rasped.
"Don't what?"
"Psychoanalyze me."
Bravely, I rubbed her arm with one
hand. "I'm not here to analyze anything. I thought we
were friends, Maya. Something obviously happened between the
bubbly woman I know and love leaving my house last night to make
you this upset this morning. If you don't want to talk about
it, that's okay, but I want you to know that I'm here if you need a
friend."
More tears dripped silently from behind her
hands.
"Maya, c'mon. Talk to me. Is it
this case?"
She sniffled and wiped her tears. Maya
did what all women do when faced with the unpleasantries of
life. She stiffened her spine and forced the sickest smile
I'd ever seen. "Of course I care about the case, but it has
nothing to do with my…situation today."
"Do you want to go find Billy and Forsythe
and straighten this out before we talk about the case?"
"They can get over it. Right now, I
need a friend."
"Can we do this conversation standing before
I get stuck down here?"
Maya grinned through the tears. "This
has been the shittiest day of my life, but I'm glad you're here,
even if it didn't sound that way when you walked in here."
I rose and reached for her hand. It
should be said that I've never been what people would call a
hugger. Maybe it's the psychology thing, keeping people at a
distance. Or it probably has more to do with all of Dad's
subtle urging to keep friends and enemies as far away as
possible. But the pain in Maya's eyes touched me in a way I'm
not sure I felt before. Whatever caused this shitty day made
her behave so completely out of character for the woman I'd come to
know, it couldn't be anything blown out of proportion. So I
hugged her.
"What happened?"
She sniffled, trembled a little bit more,
probably dumped some tears onto my shirt. "Remember that
doctor's appointment I had the other day?"
Vaguely. "Yeah."
"My doctor's office called yesterday
afternoon while we were getting ready for your party."
"Why didn't you
the way to the locker room.
"See what I'm sayin'? She ain't been
here all that long, but I can tell you this much. Winslow
looks after Billy like he's some sorta stray cat that wandered into
her house. No way does she rip him like that."
I pushed the door open and stepped
inside. It hadn't occurred to me that the yelling hadn't
stopped until I saw her standing by the autopsy table. Maya
keeps a wide step stool handy because her stature makes it
difficult to clearly visualize bodies on a table that is hip high
for me. She was still standing on her stool, precariously
close to the edge while one finger stabbed into Ken Forsythe's
chest. Still, it was the angry words doing the most damage,
battering him past the point of no return.
"Maya!"
Her finger froze mid-stab. "What are
you doing here?" she snarled.
Forsythe, to his credit, didn't back away
when I gave him the golden opportunity. Instead, he took
advantage of the valley in her tirade. "When you can discuss
this like a rational professional, give me a call. Until
then, I've had enough. And if you can't reach that point on
your own, perhaps I'll have to call the county supervisor about
this, Dr. Winslow."
He nodded and muttered, "Morning, Eriksson,"
on his way out the door.
My cowardly compatriots hadn't followed me
into the room. It was a good thing. Maya crumpled
before my eyes. She sank to sit on the stool her feet vacated
and sobbed into her hands.
"Maya, what on earth is going on here?"
Her shoulders shook with the effort she made
not to wail loudly. "Are you alone?"
"Briscoe and Conall are out in the
hall." I walked briskly across the room and squatted in front
of her. "Honey, what's wrong?"
Maya peeked over the tips of her
fingers.
"Did someone screw up the evidence?"
"No."
"Are you frustrated because this case hasn't
progressed at all?"
"No. Yes. But…"
"That's not what's wrong right now?"
"Don't," she rasped.
"Don't what?"
"Psychoanalyze me."
Bravely, I rubbed her arm with one
hand. "I'm not here to analyze anything. I thought we
were friends, Maya. Something obviously happened between the
bubbly woman I know and love leaving my house last night to make
you this upset this morning. If you don't want to talk about
it, that's okay, but I want you to know that I'm here if you need a
friend."
More tears dripped silently from behind her
hands.
"Maya, c'mon. Talk to me. Is it
this case?"
She sniffled and wiped her tears. Maya
did what all women do when faced with the unpleasantries of
life. She stiffened her spine and forced the sickest smile
I'd ever seen. "Of course I care about the case, but it has
nothing to do with my…situation today."
"Do you want to go find Billy and Forsythe
and straighten this out before we talk about the case?"
"They can get over it. Right now, I
need a friend."
"Can we do this conversation standing before
I get stuck down here?"
Maya grinned through the tears. "This
has been the shittiest day of my life, but I'm glad you're here,
even if it didn't sound that way when you walked in here."
I rose and reached for her hand. It
should be said that I've never been what people would call a
hugger. Maybe it's the psychology thing, keeping people at a
distance. Or it probably has more to do with all of Dad's
subtle urging to keep friends and enemies as far away as
possible. But the pain in Maya's eyes touched me in a way I'm
not sure I felt before. Whatever caused this shitty day made
her behave so completely out of character for the woman I'd come to
know, it couldn't be anything blown out of proportion. So I
hugged her.
"What happened?"
She sniffled, trembled a little bit more,
probably dumped some tears onto my shirt. "Remember that
doctor's appointment I had the other day?"
Vaguely. "Yeah."
"My doctor's office called yesterday
afternoon while we were getting ready for your party."
"Why didn't you
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