“I didn’t do it,” he said in a harsh whisper. He was losing steam.
“Do what?”
He jiggled the handcuffs. “Morphine. I didn’t take it.”
“You didn’t take the morphine? As in ingest it?”
He shut his eyes and slowly turned his head from side to side. “I didn’t steal it.”
“Is that what they’re saying?” Maggie’s eyes grew wide.
Jeremy nodded and closed his eyes.
Maggie leaned in closer. “You get some rest. We will get to the bottom of this. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He nodded and mouthed, “Thank you.”
Maggie left the room and briefly spoke to the nurse. “May I leave my contact information with you? I’m staying at the Suite Inn. I’ll be here for a while. Could you or someone call me if he needs anything?”
The nurse leaned over the counter once again. “Maybe a good lawyer?”
Maggie gave her a long wink. “I’ll see what I can do, but first I have to find out what in the Sam Hill is going on.”
The nurse looked at Maggie. “Can you tell me why people use that expression? I hear it so many times, but I never bothered to find out.”
Maggie was happy to oblige. “Sam Hill was an engineer who had a foul mouth. After a time, people began to use his name in place of expletives.”
“Well, I’ll be darned. Or should I say, ‘I’ll be Sam Hilled!’” She chuckled.
Maggie gave her a thumbs-up and wrote her info on a sheet of paper. She noted the name tag. “Thanks, Clara. See you tomorrow.”
“Not if I see you first!” the nurse joked.
Maggie hightailed it back to her hotel. She didn’t have a lot of information, but this was enough to share. She checked the time. She had several hours before the group video call and decided to visit the local police station to see if she could get a copy of the police report. She made sure she had her press credentials and gave herself a quick look in the mirror. “Respectable,” she muttered to her reflection.
Before she left, she sent a text to Annie to let her know of her brief interaction with Sykes and that she was now heading to the police station.
When she arrived, she identified herself and asked if she could get a copy of the police report. “It’s for a story on the growing number of hit-and-run incidents.”
A young, fresh-faced cadet listened carefully, then scrutinized her press badge. “Just a moment.” He went into another room and returned with an older, more senior member.
“Good afternoon, Miss Spritzer. Detective Knowles. How can I help you?”
“I was explaining to Officer Kinsky that I am working on a piece forThe Washington Postregarding hit-and-run incidents. Did you know they are up over seventy-three percent in the past two years?” Maggie had done her homework.
“No, I had no idea. That is a startling statistic.”
“It is. And many of them are on deserted roads, which would make sense. No witnesses. No security cameras.”
“Good point. So, what is it that you need?”
“If it wouldn’t be any trouble, I’d like to see a copy of the report on the accident that happened two days ago on Highway Fifty-nine. A young man named Jeremy Sykes.”
The officer’s expression changed. “It’s an ongoing investigation.”
“I see. But could you share some of the basic details with me? Time of day? Vehicle impact?”
“I suppose that won’t be a problem. Come with me.” Maggie followed the police sergeant to a small conference room. “Please have a seat. Give me a minute.”
