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Change of subject, noted.
“I don’t know. Minka’s working it out today. Medical records have absolutely no mention of it, Melissa’s mother didn’t mention it.” Closing the file, I lower it and meet Fletch’s eyes. “Might be worth another visit with Mrs. Boyd.”
“Sounds good to me. Circle back to the mother, swing around to the George Stanley. Oh, and Garz called. He said you never made contact when you said you would.”
“The rat is chasing us up about selling information?” My heart sits in my throat and threatens to choke me to death. Because Anthony Garzman is as his nickname implies: a filthy little sewer rat who drinks away his days and funds his habit by selling information to cops like me and Fletch.
It was a mutually beneficial relationship, until Garz started looking into the vigilante stuff. Now, for the first time in my life, Idon’twant to solve a crime. I don’t want to get a file off my desk. Because to solve it means to expose Minka.
And call me a cynic, but I feel as though those promises she made last night won’t count for shit if the state is looking to lock her up.
“He must be desperate for a cash infusion,” I add, brushing aside the way my chest tightens. “I’ll get to him when we close out Melissa’s case.”
“And you’re not inclined to tell me what you think you know about the vigilante?” Fletch grabs my sleeve before I charge out of the room, tugging me around until our eyes meet. “You’re not telling?”
“I don’t have anything to tell.”
His eyes narrow to slits. Not in threatening suspicion, but because he knows me better than this. He knows I’m keeping the secret.
“You’re not ready?” he asks.
I don’t speak a word out loud. I don’t incriminate myself and make this situation worse by involving another cop. I just shake my head and shrug his hand off so we can go.
* * *
“Mrs. Boyd?” We sit in the woman’s living room while she shakily juggles a cup of tea and a handful of snotty tissues. “Did Melissa take any regular medication that you’re aware of?”
“No.” She swallows her tears and pulls strips from her tissues. “She was healthy in every way.”
“Nothing even pregnancy-related?” Fletch asks. “Nothing that came about because she was having a baby?”
“Nothing,” she presses. “Her blood pressure was perfect. Blood tests are taken at the start and near the end of pregnancy, and both came up clear. Her weight gain was entirely within range. Her activity levels stayed the same. She worked on her feet all day long, but she was fit and healthy, so it never seemed to bother her.” She stops for a moment and studies us. “Are you saying my daughter might’ve taken something she shouldn’t have?”
“We’re not sure, Mrs. Boyd.” Speaking up, I bring her attention back to me. “Medical examiners are working on discovering exactly what was in her blood at the time of her death. Until then, we thought we could ask you.”
“Does Anton take anything regularly?” Fletch asks. “It doesn’t have to be anything explicit,” he explains when her eyes fire up. “We’re talking day-to-day medication that a vast majority of adults take. How was Anton’s blood pressure?”
“He isn’t on anything, that I knew about.” Bringing her tissues up, she sniffles and wipes beneath her nose. “Detectives, I have to say I’m not pleased by your line of questioning about Anton. He’s a good man. He adored my daughter.”
“It’s standard,” I tell her. “I promise, Mrs. Boyd, we’ll leave no rock unturned as we search for who hurt Melissa. Can you think of anyone else who she regularly spent time with? Anything you can think of that might factor into all this?”
“No, I…” She shakes her head. “I don’t.” Searching my eyes for a moment, she drops her gaze again and reaches across the small coffee table to snag a plastic-wrapped candy. Slowly, she unwraps it with shaking fingers. “I need you to make this better, Detective. Fix it, then bring my grandbaby home.”
“We will, Mrs. Boyd.”
Pushing up to stand, Fletch and I let ourselves out to the chorus of a middle-aged woman sobbing and fighting desperately to stifle the sound of her cries.
“She’s wrecked,” I murmur as we head back toward the car. “She doesn’t know how to exist without her daughter in her life.”
“It happens.” Fletch slides into the passenger seat, so I open the driver’s side door and accept the keys when he offers them. “Is she on our list?”
“Everyone starts on the list. Then we work them off and find the one who’s left.” I start the car and glance across. “Where to next?”
“Anton’s, maybe?” He snags a baseball cap from the glove compartment, and pulling it on, he tugs it low to shade his eyes from the sun we’ll be driving toward. “If we don’t get ahead of this today, it might be worth pursuing a warrant to see everyone’s medical records. Line them up with whatever Minka’s shadow is. Maybe that’ll point us where we gotta go.”
“Probably could start the paperwork now.”
In my pocket, my phone trills, so I lean to the side and fish the device free, then sparing a fast glance at the screen, I answer the call and set the phone on the dash. “You’re on speaker, babe, so don’t say anything you don’t want the cops to know.”
