Paul’s twitching body filled my thoughts—the way he had clutched at his chest, the glassy incoherence of someone moments from death—I couldn’t let go of the image. Had Zoe’s death been equally horrific?
It was barely past sunrise, but sleeping in this Sunday morning was not going to happen. Paul and Zoe had haunted me in my dreams, crying out for attention. With eyes still unfocused from the lack of sleep, I turned over to find Walter sitting patiently on my nightstand, as he did every morning, waiting for me to stir. I liked to think of his morning presence as protective, but in reality, it was just his desire for fresh kibble.
I tossed off the duvet, grabbed my robe, and together we padded down the hall toward the kitchen. He moved into a happy sprint the moment we hit the hallway. I smiled to myself but was too groggy after the pathetic night of sleep to pick up my pace.
Walter’s bowl filled and my mug of Earl Grey steaming, I returned to my bedroom and started the shower, my head filled with questions.
Cleaned and dressed, I refilled my tea, then moved to my office. It was originally a maid’s room and I’d expanded the space, combining it with a neighboring powder room I could afford to give up, and I now had a sunny, cheerful office with built-in cabinets, a custom, wall-sized tack board, and narrow windows overlooking the buildings back garden. I’d been remodeling the sprawling vintage apartment room by room, as time, money, and energy permitted. The seventies kitchen had been the first to see a sledgehammer, followed by the master bath and then the office. Only three more bathrooms to go. I shook the thought out of my head.
Sensing an opportunity to make a few bucks, Lane hit me up at least once a month about selling the apartment, thinking a single woman belonged in a bright, shiny, new construction two-bedroom, provided it had a doorman and a great gym. Her argument that it would be a more practical situation made sense, but I’d chosen the co-op based on emotion and I wasn’t giving her up for a bland box, inconvenience and high HOAs be damned.
Post-its and Sharpie in hand, I laid out the facts as I knew them—names, dates, locations—trying to piece together a narrative that might connect these deaths. The treatment center was the obvious starting point, with Dr. Troy Wykell front and center, but there was far more that I didn’t know. I added notes until I’d tacked up anything remotely connected, paused for a moment, then added a card for Quantum Holdings to the “Maybe” column. I couldn’t imagine that the prior owners of Lane’s property had any connection to the deaths, but it was odd that a stash of brochures for the Renacido Center had been in the home, and I didn’t have a logical answer for that other than one that connected back to Zoe, so onto the board it went.
Walter, having decided this was the perfect moment to make his presence known, jumped on my desk, sending pens, business cards, and odd bits of paper flying. He parked himself on the top of my legal pad, flicking his tail in amusement. I sighed and scratched him behind the ears.
“Feeling ignored, were you?”
He looked at me, then promptly stretched his body out full length on the desk.
Who was I to argue with his nap location? I bent down and picked up the pieces of paper off the floor and looked at the wall. It seemed clear that the first gap I needed to fill in my knowledge was a better understanding of the current standard of care in addiction treatment. Walter’s scattered materials still in hand, I reached for my phone, intending to add a note to my schedule about phoning Dr. Lecaros first thing in the morning. Wait. The Nico logo on the pen in my hand stopped me. Paul had worked at a bar called The Rusty Bucket. Maybe Zoe and Paul had another connection? Bars and restaurants were often loose with their hiring standards, and perhaps they’d worked together. Or perhaps Levi and Paul had? I added more Post-its to my “Maybe” column.
My phone rang as I placed the last note.
“Any chance you’re at home and sitting around waiting to see me?” Michael said.
“What else would I be doing?” I laughed. “If you’re asking if it’s okay to stop by, that’s an emphatic yes.”
“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
“What? Are you calling from the corner?”
“Something like that,” he said, laughed. “See you soon.”
“I told you I was close by.” Michael stood in the doorway, takeout coffee in one hand, a small white paper bag in the other. His face lit up when he saw me. Ignoring the potential hazards, he pulled me in to an awkward but much needed embrace and kissed me.
“You’d better put that coffee down before one of us is wearing it,” I said, taking the cup and bag from his hands and placing them on the nearby console table. “Now, let’s try that again.” I wrapped my arms around his neck and drew him in for a long, deep kiss.
“Much better. You can have your caffeine back now.” I smiled and peeked into the paper bag. “Ohhh, croissants. You’ve been to Hendrickx.” I pulled off a corner of the delicious, flaky pastry and popped it into my mouth as Michael followed me to the kitchen.
“Jam?” I asked. He shook his head. I handed him a plate and a napkin and settled in at the small pedestal table.
“How are you? How’s Karl? It feels like a lifetime has transpired in a week. I’ve been so worried about you. This roller coaster of emotions…” My thoughts trailed off. There was so much I wanted to say, but right now I needed to listen. I clasped my hand over his and waited.
“Janek finally stepped away from the job for a few days. Theresa’s a mess and someone needed to stay nearby, so he’s hunkered down with her for the weekend. I don’t know how restful it will be, but they both need the time to grieve. Or to just cry until there is nothing left.” He tipped back his cup. “Me, well, I’m running on fumes.”
I could see his distress in the circles under his eyes.
“We cops project all this macho, tough-guy, bullshit, as if it’s supposed to save us from feeling anything. We’re above all the emotional stuff. But when bad stuff hits, when people we love are hurt, we’re suddenly shocked that we’re not protected from anything. That knife can slice open our hearts just as easily as everyone else’s. So what’s the point of being a hard-nosed dick if the rug just gets pulled out from under you even harder because you thought you could handle anything.”
Tears welled in my eyes. This was the most raw, the most open Michael had ever been with me. There was nothing for me to say. Nothing he needed other than me to listen. I clasped his hand tighter and wiped the tears, honored that he could share his vulnerability with me.
“You’re scaring me,” he said. “I go to two crime scenes in a week, both involving you.”
I opened my mouth, but Michael held up a hand.
“Let me just say this. It doesn’t matter if you were in any real danger or not.” He stared at our hands as though he’d be unable to get the words out while looking at my face. “I know you were going to explain away my concern by reminding me Zoe was already dead. But that’s not what this is about. Seeing Janek and Theresa lose Zoe, I can’t stand the thought of you being anywhere near something that could hurt you. I want to wrap you up and lock you away somewhere where nothing can ever hurt you. Not exactly a fine-tuned security plan, but that’s where my head is, and it scares me. Seeing you at the carriage house yesterday has had me panicked.” Finally he looked at me. “And I don’t know what to do about it.”
Tears now approaching full-blown faucet, I said, “Perhaps you now understand what goes through the mind of everyone who loves a cop, each time one of you walks out the door. Your desire to wrap me up and protect me is no different than my desire to do the same for you. The difference now is how do we proceed, how do we talk so that the fear doesn’t cripple us or our relationship.”
He reached over and wiped my tears. “I’ve been afraid to say this, but I love you. I really love you, and I need you to know that.”
I leaned over and kissed him, gently. “I love you, too.”
“Wow, I hadn’t planned on saying any of that but I’m glad I did.” He exhaled, his whole body relaxing, then shifted gears with a much needed swig of coffee. “So what did I interrupt this morning? I don’t imagine you were just waiting around for me to have an emotional breakdown.”
“I was in the office, playing with a few ideas,” I said, feeling giddy and a little nervous and trying to sound nonchalant.
The dance we played with our overlapping work worlds was never easy and Michael sharing his fears just now wouldn’t simplify anything. Most of the time I was the one chomping at the bit to hit Michael up with a barrage of questions. I often felt like the kid whose dad owned the candy store, only to be refused access to the product. Prior to today, Michael and I had settled into a pattern of me throwing out questions and him honoring the cop vow of silence. His two decades of police stoicism were strong obstacles against my thirteen years as a prosecutor. However, my background had given some fuel to my nonverbal decoder. Would today’s true confessions change anything?
He cocked a brow. “Sweetheart, I know that tone. Come on. You may as well show me.”
“Bring your coffee. You might need it.” I winked and tilted my head toward the hallway.
Michael planted himself in front of the tack board, his eyes scanning the bits of paper I had assembled. I parked myself on the front edge of the desk and watched him process.
“What are you doing? Seriously, Andrea, are you trying to create a story here?”
“You saw how Dr. Wykell behaved,” I said. “You saw the setup in that coach house. Can you really tell me you don’t find the situation odd? Aren’t you wondering if Paul would have survived if Wykell hadn’t obstructed his care?”
“Of course I find Wykell’s behavior strange. He had a patient dying on him and he was more concerned about you trespassing than his patient. But we’re talking addicts here. They don’t all make it. That doesn’t mean it’s some nefarious scheme, just that the doc is a royal dick. And it’s up to the ME to decide if that extra time would’ve made a difference in his survival.”
“Okay, here are a couple things you don’t know. Whatever he is doing at the treatment center, Dr. Wykell believes his treatment protocol is a game changer.” Michael rolled his eyes. “Just listen before making faces. It’s a cash-only facility. No insurance coverage at all, and he’s closedmouthed about the treatment plans. I haven’t confirmed this yet, but there are rumors of psychedelics being used.”
“That’s suspicious. I’ll give you that. Health and Human Services doesn’t exactly approve of off-label ‘shrooms as a treatment plan. But you said yourself, it’s unconfirmed.” He looked back at my tack board and squinted. “You don’t seem to be going after a regulatory problem. So what’s your angle?”
“Did you notice Wykell at Zoe’s funeral?”
Michael raised his brows and shook his head.
“I went to the center last Thursday during an open house. Levi came in during the meeting. Of course, I didn’t know who he was then, but he was enraged. I heard him say to Wykell, “What did you give her?”. Then Friday, after the funeral, he told me he’d never heard of the man. Why would he lie? And who was he concerned about if it wasn’t Zoe? Can you explain any of that?”
Michael paused, continuing to look at my board. I could see his mind run through options. He shook his head. “No, I can’t.”