Free Redemption Road: A Novel by John Hart

no standing; and though no one said a word, a lot of people would burn if the kid died or a news crew rolled up unannounced. Elizabeth tried to ignore the attention, but found the stares so unfair and oppressive she snapped, “What?” No one said anything. No one looked away. “What are you looking at?”
    Beckett whispered, “Take it easy, Liz.”
    But they were the same stares she got from the press and her neighbors and people on the street. Headlines or not, it should be different with cops. They understood the dangers of the job, the feel of dark places; but there was no kinship here.
    One patrolman’s stare was particularly intent; it moved from her breasts to her face and then back. As if she were not a cop, as if she were nothing.
    “Do you have some reason to be in here?” she said. The patrolman looked at Beckett. “Don’t look at him, look at me.”
    The patrolman was eight inches taller, ninety pounds heavier. “I’m just doing my job.”
    “Well, do it outside.” He looked at Beckett again, and Elizabeth said, “He’ll tell you it’s fine.”
    “It’s okay.” Beckett gestured to the open door. “Go on outside. Everyone but CJ.”
    People filed out. The big patrolman waited until the end and brushed Elizabeth with a shoulder as he passed. The contact was swift, but she felt it all the way down, a large man using his size. She watched him go.
    Beckett took her elbow. “No one is judging you, Liz.”
    “Don’t touch me.” She was glassy-eyed and slick with sudden sweat. The patrolman had dark hair, shaved at the sides of the neck. His hands were brushed with hair like black wire.
    “It’s just me,” Beckett said.
    “I said don’t touch me. I don’t want anybody touching me.”
    “Nobody’s touching you, Liz.”
    Outside, the patrolman looked her way, then leaned into his friend and whispered something. His neck was thick, his eyes dark and deep and dismissive.
    “Liz.”
    She stared at his hands, at rough skin and square nails.
    Beckett said, “You’re bleeding.” She ignored him, room fading out. “Liz.”
    “What?” She flinched.
    He pointed. “Your mouth is bleeding.”
    She touched a finger to the corner of her mouth, and it came back red. When she looked at the patrolman, he seemed worried and confused. She blinked twice and realized how young he was. Maybe twenty.
    “I’m sorry,” she said. “I thought I saw something.”
    Beckett started to touch her, but stopped. CJ was looking, too, but Elizabeth was in no mood for troubled eyes or the compassion of others. She glanced a final time at the patrolman, then wiped a bloody finger on her pants. “What does Adrian say?”
    “He won’t talk to us.”
    “Maybe he’ll talk to me.”
    “Why would he do that?”
    “Of all the cops who knew Adrian Wall, which one never accused him of killing an innocent woman?”
    She left the bar at a fast walk. Beckett caught her halfway to the car. “Look, I know you had feelings for this guy.…”
    “I don’t have feelings.”
    “I didn’t say you do. I said you did. ”
    “Okay. Fine.” She tried to bluff her way past the slip. “I didn’t have feelings.”
    Beckett frowned because he recognized the lie. No matter what Elizabeth said now, her feelings for Adrian had been obvious to anyone who’d cared to look. She’d been young and eager, and Adrian was a rock-star cop, not just smart but telegenic. He caught the big cases, made the big arrests. Because of that, every reporter in town lined up to make him a hero. The rookies loved that about him. A lot of the older cops resented it. With Elizabeth, though, it went deeper, and Beckett had been there to see it.
    “Listen.” He caught her arm and stopped her. “Let’s call it a friendship, okay? No judgment. No baggage. But, you were closer to Adrian than you were to most. He meant something to you, and that’s okay. The medals, the pretty face, whatever. But he’s been thirteen years inside the hardest prison in the