Free Acts of Mercy by Mariah Stewart

detective could respond. The front door of the house opened, and a woman in her midforties stood on the top step. As the two men approached, the woman extended her hand first to Coutinho.
    “Chris, it’s good to see you again.”
    To Sam, she said, “Detective DelVecchio. I’m happy to meet you.”
    Sam took her hand and noticed that it trembled. He figured it had to be hard for her to be still dealing with the details of her husband’s death, all the questionsand no answers. He hoped to make this as quick and painless as possible, but looking in her eyes, he realized that painless was a long shot. Quick was probably doable.
    “The kids are all with their grandparents this week,” she explained as she showed them into the living room. “When they’re all here and they’re loud and fighting, you wish for just a little bit of peace. Then they all leave at the same time, and the silence rips you apart.”
    She gestured for them to take seats on the sofa as she sat on a dark blue wing chair that looked as if it had survived several of those fights she’d mentioned.
    “How many children do you have?” Sam asked, even though he knew there were four Walker offspring.
    “Three boys and a girl. The youngest is eight. Ryan.” She turned to the detective and added, “He was the one who answered the door the day you came to …”
    “I remember.”
    “May I offer you anything …” she said. “Coffee?”
    “Nothing, no thank you,” Sam replied. “I just wanted to stop in to meet you while I’m here in Lincoln.”
    “Will you be going to Pilgrim’s Place?”
    “We just came from there,” he told her.
    “Ross and I used to look forward to our Tuesday nights there. Now I can’t even drive into that part of town without getting an anxiety attack.” Lynne Walker shook her head from side to side. “I don’t understand it. I will never understand it. My husbandwas a good man. A great father, a wonderful husband. How someone could hate him enough to do this terrible thing …”
    “I am very sorry for your loss, Mrs. Walker.” Sam felt like a hypocrite uttering those clichéd words. After Carly’s death, he’d heard that same phrase repeated over and over until he thought he’d punch the next person who uttered it, and now here he was, uttering those same words to someone else.
    “Do you know what it’s like to have someone you love murdered?” Lynne Walker’s question took him completely offguard, and for a moment, he wasn’t sure he’d heard her correctly, until she repeated it. That she was looking directly at Sam made it clear she was addressing him.
    “Ahhh, actually, yes. Yes, I do, Mrs. Walker.” He felt his skin flush red, and his throat began to close. He cleared it, then nodded slowly.
    “May I ask …?” She appeared as flustered at his response as he’d felt at the question. It was obvious she’d anticipated a “No.”
    “My wife.” Sam could feel Chris Coutinho’s eyes on him but couldn’t bring himself to turn to look at the detective. Talking about himself had always made Sam feel vulnerable. Talking about Carly made him want to walk away.
    “I’m so sorry.” Lynne Walker reached out to him and squeezed his arm. “Do you have children?”
    “No.”
    “How long has it been?”
    Days. Hours. A lifetime. How do you measure the time between the last time you said good-bye and now?
    “Three years.”
Three years, two months and four days
.
    “Ross has been gone almost half as long,” she murmured. “Did they ever find your wife’s killer?”
    “Yes.” He sat more stiffly than he’d like, but didn’t seem able to relax. In the past, Sam had been spared direct dealings with the grieving families. He had rarely had to deal with the heartache, and was finding he wasn’t very comfortable with this aspect of his new job. He had yet to become comfortable with his own heartache. “He’s in prison appealing his death sentence.”
    “Then you understand completely,” she