Split Second

CHAPTER 78

Georgetown

Sunday night

Sherlock was giving a dishcloth a final pass over the kitchen counters when Jerry Lee Lewis sang out “Great Balls of Fire.” “Oh, dear, I hate it when the phone rings this late.”

“Savich.”

“Ben here, Savich.” He paused for a moment, breathed in deeply. “Mrs. Patil is dead.”

“What? Jasmine Patil? Not Mr. Patil?”

“That’s right. She was picking up some papers that needed Mr. Patil’s signature in the office of the Georgetown Shop ’n Go. The clerk, Rishi Ram, a Patil cousin many times removed, heard a gunshot and ran back to the office, saw Mrs. Patil’s head on the desk, her blood everywhere, covering all the papers. He said he called nine-one-one right away, then ran to the back door, which is usually locked, saw it was wide open. He said he ran outside, saw a car driving away.”

“What kind of car?”

“He thought it was a Kia, black, didn’t see the license plate or the driver. Then he burst into tears and said it could have been a Cadillac, for all he knew. His mom owned a Kia, and so he’d just said that. Go figure.”

“Is Mr. Patil still in the hospital?”

“No, he went home yesterday. I was told he’s recovering nicely. And now this. First him and now his wife.” Ben drew in a deep breath. “He doesn’t know yet. The cousin many times removed is still with the police. Will you come with me to tell him?”

“Yes, I’ll come.”

“Meet me there, okay?”

“Twenty minutes,” Savich said, and punched off his cell.

Sherlock was squeezing his hand. “Dillon, Mrs. Patil was shot? She’s dead?”

Savich nodded, but he was silent, staring toward the two pumpkins he and Sherlock had carved for Halloween. He saw a couple of pumpkin seeds on the floor, bent over and picked them up. “I’d hoped, even prayed, we were wrong, but I knew in my gut what had happened. But we didn’t follow through fast enough; there was too much going on. That’s why I asked Ben to assign a cop to Mr. Patil. I didn’t see what was coming. I’m an idiot.”

She lightly touched her fingertips to his cheek. “No, you’re not an idiot. Just think about everything that’s been happening—talk about a lot on your plate.”

“Well, yes, but I should have given it more thought.”

“Now you will, and now you’ll act.”

He nodded, smacked his fist against the kitchen table. The salt shaker did a small dance before settling again. “Sometimes I hate this job.”

She hugged him fiercely. “You can’t control what other people choose to do, Dillon. All you can do is set it right. Come home to us soon.”