Page 34

“You’re ready for it?” Frank asked.
“Of course I’m ready for it. What’s that even supposed to mean?”
He took a moment to choose his words, which made Ava know that what he was about to say was going to be hard for him. “You attack every case you get with passion—especially when there’s someone vulnerable or falsely accused attached to it. But at the same time, you also get a bit narrow-minded. You focus on one thing and get obsessed with it. This case…Clarence’s killer. I don’t want to see you wear down. I know you feel fine right now, but this job catches up to you, Ava. And I wonder if maybe after this one is over—after today, no matter how it all comes down—you should maybe take a step back.”
She knew he was right. She had what Clarence had often called an addictive personality. Clarence had seen it with the two passions in her life that had come before detective work. When he’d been training with her dad at the boxing gym, she became obsessive over strategies and footwork. She’d wake up at night with her ankles and feet still twitching, still moving as if she were in the gym. And when she’d been a singer, the talent had come naturally to her, but she’d been a voracious student of music. She’d listen to everything she could get her hands on, swapping records around with other musicians and listening to songs as many times as necessary to learn the words, the vocal inflections, the styles.
On the other hand, there was still some bite whenever Frank mentioned Clarence’s killer in any way that didn’t completely side with her. And while she wanted to mention that she felt she had every right to be obsessive about finding the man who killed her husband, she knew it would be a waste of her time and breath. Besides, she couldn’t focus on that right now. Every ounce of her concentration needed to go toward Carter Epps today.
“I promise you, Frank,” she said, “I’m fine. I’m irritated and a little hurt by what was in the paper this morning, but in terms of the case…yes, I’m good.”
His coffee had come, and he sipped from it thoughtfully. “I think we have to start with the club again. It was the scene of the murder and it’s where every possible suspect we have happened to be when it happened. I say we head back there and try approaching it with fresh eyes.”
“I was thinking the same thing.” She wolfed down the rest of her eggs and took one last gulp of her coffee. “Are you paying?”
“Sure,” he said with a smile, already reaching for his wallet. “Is this how it’s going to be for the remainder of the day?”
“What’s that?”
“You constantly hurrying me along.”
“I don’t know,” she said. And then, with a smile, she couldn’t resists adding: “Now hurry up. I’ve got limited time to work with.”