Category:

THREE

The window was cracked open, allowing the roar of expressway traffic into Ethan's living room. He didn't mind. He'd lived in Jefferson Park for so long, it was just white noise. Helped him think.

Not that thinking was bringing him any comfort.

He kept seeing the baby. And the pools of water. And the scratch marks on the ceiling. None of it made sense. Who would kill a baby like that? And why? And how could Amadi Okoro, a small but well-built man, have been drowned in an apartment with no bathtub? A. Bello, whoever he was, might be strong enough, but Okoro would have fought him. There would have been signs of a struggle. Unless, like Raymond said, he'd been drugged. In which case Okoro would not have been awake enough to claw plaster from the roof of the apartment. And how did he get up there in the first place?

Ethan sighed and flipped on the TV. A commercial blared out, informing him there were only ninety-five days in summer so he'd better find a way to buy stuff. An idealized family jumped off a wooden dock and into a lake. He hit the mute button. Silent figures beamed out at him from the TV screen.

Ninety-five days of summer. His last.

His cell phone rang. He closed the window, shutting out the monotone symphony of automobiles. The ringing rectangle had slid between the cushions of his sofa, so it took him a moment to find it. And then, seeing the caller ID, he thought about hitting the decline button.

Which would only delay the inevitable. "Dianne, hi. What can I do for you?"

"Cara called. Says you still haven't RSVP'd for the wedding."

"Yeah well, you know. Busy. Police work and all that good stuff."

The chuckle surfing the Wi-Fi signal lacked anything approaching amusement.

"This is one of the reasons we got divorced. You always used work as an excuse. Always."

"I don't want a fight, Dianne."

"Then RSVP and tell Cara you're coming to the wedding."

"I may not be able to make it. I'm on a case and—"

"For Christ's sake, Ethan! This is your own daughter we're talking about here. Do not tell me—"

Ethan shut off his phone. Opened the window. Listened to the soothing roar of traffic on the expressway.

FOUR

"Lieutenant Krol?"

"That's me."

"Dr. Lee. My team is looking after Jennifer Okoro."

Ethan rose from his chair to greet her. The reception area at Kindred Hospital was very healthcare corporate. Spotless off-white walls, brown, fake leather armchairs facing round, wooden coffee tables, each one with a too-perfect vase of flowers positioned dead center. A wall of floor-to-ceiling windows allowed in enough daylight to take the edge off the fluorescents.

Ethan extended a hand. "How you doing, doc?"

"I'm good, thank you." The doctor, a short, middle-aged Asian lady with her hair pulled back in a no-nonsense ponytail, indicated that he should reclaim his seat. Her calf-length, white coat was open at the front, revealing a stylish skirt and blouse. She sat across from him, crossing a slim pair of legs as she did so. Somewhat to his regret the view was obstructed by the coffee table and vase of flowers. "I thought I'd have a quick word before taking you up to see the patient."

Ethan raised an eyebrow. He didn't particularly like doctors, nice legs or not. They were, for the most part, self-righteous pricks who saw their job as obstructing justice whenever a gangbanger with blood on his hands ended up in the ER. To have one treat him with anything other than exasperated indifference was...unusual.

"Problem, doc?"

"I'm not quite sure, detective. But what I'm about to tell you, you didn't hear it from me, you understand? Not till you get a warrant."

Ethan couldn't help himself. He broke into a surprised—and grateful—smile.