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Mike rotated his coffee mug. “Alright. I guess that's it then.”
We were at a tiny grill and coffee shop on Orange, hunched over a small table at the front window. Christmas lights hung in the window frame, and tiny snowflake decals decorated the glass. I'd given him the rundown on what I'd learned talking to the guys in the band and to Erin. He'd listened, nodded occasionally, and seemed to be accepting the idea that Patrick had taken his own life.
“I'm sorry,” I said. “I wish...well, I wish he was still alive.”
He drummed his knuckles against the tabletop. “Me, too, Joe. Me, too. But I appreciate you checking on it.”
“Wish I had better news.”
He shrugged. “Just a different kind of bad.”
“Still.”
He let out a long sigh. “My sister's a mess, though. Which means I've got some work cut out for me. Funeral, all that kind of stuff.”
“Not fun.”
“No, it won't be,” he said. “But it is what it is.”
I watched an older man walk by with a tiny dog attached to a silver leash. “You ever see him play? With his band?”
Mike shook his head. “Nope. I heard him play guitar when he was a kid, when he was just screwing around. But by the time he got serious, I was already creating some distance.” He drummed the table again. “I regret it now.”
I nodded. I was sure that he did. Hindsight had a way of making one feel very stupid. When Elizabeth was taken, one of the things that kept me up at night was all of the times I'd been too tired to play with her. She'd ask if I'd come up to her room and I'd put her off, telling her I was too tired. She'd bring things downstairs and instead of engaging, I'd stay on the couch, half paying attention. Those moments became much sharper and clearer after she'd been abducted and they haunted me.
He started to say something, but his phone vibrated against the table. He glanced at the screen and picked it up. “Excuse me for a second.” He tapped the screen. “Lorenzo.”
I stood and walked to the counter. I flagged down the girl working the register and paid the check for our coffee. When I went back to the table, Mike had a funny look on his face.
“Can you send that to me?” he said, his eyes focused on something I couldn't see. “Scan it and email it to me?” He nodded. “Yeah, yeah, that'd be great, Holly. I really appreciate it. Thanks for the call.” He punched off the phone, but kept his eyes on it, like he wasn't sure what he was looking at.
“You alright?” I asked.
He looked up at me, almost startled to see me standing there. “Um. Yeah. I need some air.” He stood and I followed him out to the street. He stood on the sidewalk for a moment, his hands on his hips, his suit jacked flared out over his hands.
“Mike?”
He turned around. “Sorry.”
“What's up?”
“That was the tox results,” he said. “On Patrick. I have a friend in the coroner's office and asked her to call me as soon as it was complete. Actually, I asked for a rush and for her to call me when it was done.”
I stepped closer to him to let a kid on a skateboard get by. “Okay.”
“Here it is,” he said, tapping his phone. “Hang on.”
I waited, watching the cars move back and forth on Orange, a steady crawl to and from the beach.
“Shit, she's right,” he said, after a minute. “I thought she had it wrong, but she didn't.”
“Mike, what's going on?” I asked.
He scratched at his head for a second. “Okay. So on the screen, he had a bunch of shit in his system. Benzodiazapenes and alcohol. Definitely enough to kill himself. But guess what wasn't on there?”
I shook my head, still not following.
“Heroin,” he said, squinting at me. “He had a fucking needle in his arm, but there's none of that shit in his system? How's that?”
“It showed nothing?” I asked, surprised.
“Just a trace,” he said. “Barely registered. So he had a needle in his arm, but nothing in his system.”
“That's odd,” I said.
“You think?” he said, scratching at his head again. “So, what? He took a bunch of pills and booze, then got ready to shoot up and just passed out?”
“It's possible,” I said, though I wasn't sure it was.
“Yeah. Except I asked about the needle,” he said. “It was empty when they tested it. So I assumed he'd already shot it into his arm.”
“But that would've showed in his system. On the tox screen.”
“Uh huh,” he said, nodding. “Makes no sense.”
It really didn't.
We stood there for a few minutes, neither of us talking, both of us thinking.
“I'm gonna go see Holly,” he said, then held up his phone. “My friend that just called. I'm gonna ask her to look at a couple other things. Then I'm gonna check with the guys who wrote the report again.” He shook his head. “Has to be a mistake. Somebody goofed somewhere.”
“Maybe,” I said. “Except they don't usually screw those things up.”
“Except for that,” he said. “Hey, uh, Joe. You wanna—?”
“I'm already on it,” I said, backing down the sidewalk toward my car. “I'll go talk to some people.”