The Devil's Closet by Stacy Dittrich Page B

mature adults. But under the circumstances, a little pride wasn’t going to stand in my way. It wasn’t clear which officers were talking, and only bits and pieces of their conversation came through.
    “Hell, I’d do her if I was training her! Eric’s got it made. I’ll give him a week before he hits that.”
    “A week? Shit. I heard he already has. She follows him around like a puppy, and I’m sure he could do anything he wants. The other night he told me she wanted him to go home with her.”
    My heart raced, and now I was trembling uncontrollably. As their voices faded and their conversation switched to another topic, I slumped down onto the bathroom floor wondering if I should confront my husband. It would be hard not to, but I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. And how much did my own guilt about Michael play into my tolerance? Guys in patrol assume things and spread rumors. Uniformed police officers are the cattiest, most gossipy group of individuals around. They put nosy women to shame. The part that bothered me most was the one officer said Eric told him directly that Jordan asked him to go home with her. If it was all hearsay, like the comment that he had slept with her, I might get over it. Maybe. I knew Eric was upset over Michael, but the way these guys talked, this had been going on for a while.
    Keep driving! Keep driving and don’t look at her. The voice of the other screamed so loud in his head, he felt his foot press down on the accelerator even harder. The other, although consistently fading over the last several months, still managed to break into his reality with its undaunted demands. But she needs me! He fought the other voice, looking at the girl who would become his beautiful new guest. She was skipping along, swinging her backpack, and singing. She needs me! He kept repeating it over and over and over, holding his head with one hand while slamming his foot on the brake. He, decidedly, had enough. No more would he fall prey to the other voice, no more would he allow it to sway him, and no more would he ever listen to it again. Taking a deep breath, he looked at himself in the rearview mirror and smiled. Good-bye to you, my friend—you don’t exist anymore. Do you hear me? You are dead! You are DEAD! Putting his car in reverse before driving back toward his guest, he never felt more alive.



CHAPTER EIGHT
    I rushed into the squad room to find that Eric and Jordan had just left and were probably getting into their patrol car. Outside, they were loading their bags into one of the cruisers. Jordan gave me a quick “hi,” which I didn’t return, and got into the car. She didn’t seem as friendly today, something I tried to write off as my imagination. Eric seemed surprised to see me. Why?
    “Hey…What are you doing out here? Everything all right?”
    “I was looking for you, and no, everything is not all right.” I tried to hide the anger on my face, but Eric couldn’t help noticing it.
    “Did something go wrong with your murder case?” He stood with his hand resting on the hood of the cruiser, and he looked slightly concerned.
    “This isn’t about the case. I just heard some gossip in the hall that was extremely disturbing.”
    By now Jordan had rolled her window down about an inch and was listening to our conversation.
    “Look, CeeCee, I don’t have time for games right now, so do you want to spit it out or not? We have to get going. There’s calls for service pending in our zone.”
    I glanced at Jordan and back at Eric, hoping to give him a nonverbal, but very blatant hint. He got the idea, took his hand off the car, and just stood there.
    “I know where you’re going with this,” he said, “and now is not the time or place. Please wait until I get home.”
    “I need to talk about it now if you don’t mind, minus the audience, of course.” I scowled directly at Jordan, which prompted her to roll up her window mighty fast.
    “I said not now. We’re late. We