But that wasn't even the worst of it. The worst part happened outside the chiefs office just after the meeting broke up. Alexa and I were caught waiting for the elevator with the others. The rage on her face told me she was about to let me have it right there in the sixth-floor hallway despite the audience of concerned onlookers standing behind us.

"You're moving out of the house tonight, you son of a bitch."

I'd been expecting this, but her voice was so low and filled with hate, it sent a chill down my spine.

"Before tonight, nobody ever said anything about you having an affair. Of course, with that in the picture this all makes much more sense."

"Let's not go into it here, Alexa," I said softly.

"Go home. Pack up your things and get out. I'll spend tonight in a hotel. I don't want to see you when I get home tomorrow."

"Alexa, please, let's talk about this."

"Talk about what? Throwing your honor and integrity away for a few dollars and a cheap piece of bleached-blond ass?" "That's not-"

"Shut up, Shane. Be out of the house by morning. I'm hiring a divorce attorney."

Then she stepped into the elevator and punched the button. None of the witnesses to this disaster moved to get in there with her. In the face of such rage, they let her ride down alone.

After she was gone, Lieutenant Matthews turned to me. "You still have your gun and badge," he said. It was a statement, not a question.

"Yes."

"Your commander is down on five. He came in specially at the chiefs request to accept your resignation and equipment. We can take the stairs."

So I left them all standing there. The rawboned, ash-blond fed, the city attorney, the Legal Affairs guy and my worthless POA-the whole seemingly ungrateful mess. I followed Lieutenant Matthews down one flight of stairs to Homicide Special.

As I entered the squad I saw the old mismatched cubicles, borrowed from other departments, the bric-a-brac of felony fliers and fugitive want notices pinned on the cork walls.