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Nope.
“They deserve to know,” she grits out when I give her nothing.
Not a word. Not a wave. Not even eye contact.
But she gets all of that and more when she grabs my left arm and pulls hard enough to send bolts of agony firing through my blood. “Chief Mayet!”
Archer growls by my side. His hand shooting forward to shove this bitch off me. But I’m faster. I’m meaner.
And when I’m in pain, I lack any and all remorse.
So I grab one of the spidery fingers wrapped around my bicep and bend it back until she squeaks. “Do not touch me, Ms. London. The next time you do, I’ll have you sitting behind bars.” Releasing her, I turn in search of the one reporter who possesses even a modicum of decency.
Tiffany Hewitt is the new star of Channel Nine. She was Miranda’s replacement when Miranda was attacked on the job and I was the only idiot stupid enough to save her.
Tiffany stands off to the side of the crowd, her long locks a beacon in a stormy sea. Our gazes lock, and though a hundred others continue to shove their arms and cameras in my face, I bypass them all and come to a stop in front of the one who possesses humility.
But I don’t speak yet. I wait for her to shake a little sense into her brain and jump at the opportunity I offer.
“Oh! Chief Mayet.” She circles her finger to draw her cameraman closer, then she extends her microphone toward me. But she doesn’t shove it in my face. She doesn’t violate my personal space for her job, like the countless other media hounds who scramble for their new angle.
“We understand you’re the medical examiner on Anna Switzer’s case. And Detective Malone,” Tiffany peers over my shoulder to acknowledge him. “The primary detective. Do either of you have a statement to make on your case?”
“Yes.” I fix my bag in the crook of my arm and push my lips into a smile that has cameras furiously flashing. “Anna Switzer was a young, vibrant, beautiful, and adored woman who died long before she should have. Her death is a true tragedy, not only for those who knew her, but for those who enjoyed her art and music.”
“C-can you confirm if she was murdered, Doctor Mayet?” Then Tiffany glances to Archer and swallows. “The detective’s involvement implies homicide. Not suicide.”
“All unattended deaths are investigated.” I’m so polite. So helpful. “Bringing these detectives in is strictly standard operating procedure. And as the medical examiner in charge of this case, I assure you, I’ll work closely with the Copeland City Police Department and aid in their investigation in any way I possibly can. Anna’s life and death matter to me. Her premature departure matters to me.” I look to Archer. “Anything not included in my statement is not for me to discuss publicly. Would you like to make a statement, Detective?”
He looks out at the crowd swarming us. Their cameras and bodies and presence a swallowing, enveloping, wall of heat that moves us all like waves in the ocean. His hand rests on the small of my back; hidden from the press, but felt by me so the warmth travels all the way to my toes.
“Detective Malone?” Tiffany tries. “Anything to share on the case?”
“The Copeland City Police Department are working closely with Ms. Switzer’s associates. Her friends,” he adds. “Her colleagues. We’ve been in contact with, or intend to contact, anyone who knew or loved Anna, and with those connections, we endeavor to solve a crime and send her off in peace. It’s a genuine tragedy when someone passes, but it’s worse when they’re so young.”
“Did you say ‘crime’?” About fifty reporters practically shout at once and shove forward. But Tiffany remains steady on her feet. Unimposing in her distance from where we stand.
“So this was murder?” one reporter demands.
“Suicide is not a crime,” another asserts. “What was the crime?”
As practiced as I am at ignoring people, Archer looks only into Tiffany’s eyes in question.
So she asks, “Will you confirm cause of death, Detective? Was this accidental or intentional?”
“Yes.” He sets his free hand on his hip and broadens his chest. Which means it touches my back and brings me calm, even when he doesn’t intend it to. Even when I had no clue I needed it. “Ms. Switzer died from an overdose of prescription medication. These medications were prescribed to her legally and ethically, however, were ingested in lethal doses on the night of her death.”
“So was it an accident?” Tiffany presses. “Or homicide?”
The air changes. Reporters silence and wait. They inhale anticipation, and exhale tension.
“This is not yet something we are willing or able to confirm,” Archer starts, his voice strong and authoritarian.
It’s a tone I long ago grew accustomed to. But watching him now, staring down the barrel of dozens of cameras and unflinching, I remember how formidable he is to the rest of the world.
“Detective Fletcher and I are working closely with the staff at the George Stanley Medical Facility, and promise to find the truth for Anna Switzer. That’s all I can say on the matter today.”
Boom! It’s like an explosion, as bodies rush forward and demand more. So much more.
