Then there is the mysterious man with the silver cross cane, who looks like me. Is he a relative? I know it isn’t Liam. She describes the man as older.
And Liam doesn’t use a cane.
So, who is it? Is the obsession he is referring to meant to be my mother? If so, taking care of her no doubt means he sent someone to kill her. But why? And why does the Portland police label it as a robbery gone wrong and not a murder?
There are too many unanswered questions. Too many possible scenarios and not enough evidence. Unfortunately, it is something I will have to really dig into until after the gala.
That doesn’t mean I haven’t started, though.
“North Precinct, how can I direct your call?” The woman’s voice is nasally, bored, and I can hear the faint chomping of gum through the telephone. Wonderful, already off to a great start.
“I’m looking for the detective in charge of a certain case,” I ask her. “How do I go about finding him?”
I can practically feel the woman behind the phone rolling her eyes.
“Well,” she sighs impatiently. “Do you have the case number?”
Damn. I didn’t think of that.
“No, but I have the address of the incident and the victim’s name, date of birth, and social,” I inform her. “Can you make do with that?”
“No guarantees, but I can try,” she huffs. “What’s the victim’s name and date of birth?”
“Katherine Moore, born February 17, 1978,” I tell her.
“Okay, give me one second.” The line goes silent, but I can hear the faint sound of nails clicking in the background.
“Says here the case is closed.” She comes back on the line. "And that detective isn’t in a good way.”
“What do you mean?”
“Died a few years ago,” she sneers in disgust. “Suicide after IA found out he was a dirty cop. Paid off by the Italians. Whyyou so interested anyway, kid? This case if over thirteen years old.”
“She was my mother,” I whisper.
“Ah,” the woman sighs. “Look, here’s what I can do for you. The case is closed, so everything is open record, but that shit can take months to request. If you can verify some information for me, I’ll get the case documents in the mail to you. Also, looks like she has some stuff in storage; old evidence and some shit. I’ll send those along too.”
“I’d appreciate that.” "
“Listen, kid,” the woman warns softly. “Detective Jonny Morelli was not only a shitty cop, but a shitty person. Whatever you’re looking for, be careful, because some very powerful people seemed to have had their hands on this case.”
“Thanks.” I paste a smile in my voice. “I will.”
“Good, now,” she clacks her nails, “where am I sending everything?”
I was not allowed to keep anything from my old life when Elias took me in. Not even a stuffed animal. He made me leave everything behind. I’m not sure what the precinct could have, but it is worth having her send it to me.
“You look amazing.” Mia halts my wandering mind as she enters my room with a vivid smile while holding a small tray with a cup of heavenly coffee sitting on it.
“Thank god.” I stand from the small chair Leanna has me sitting in to meet her aunt. The smell of coffee filters through the room. I inhale the robust, aromatic liquid before taking a long, slow sip, letting the bitterness wash over my tongue.
“I figured you might need some.” Mia laughs lightly, setting the empty tray down on the small nightstand next to the bed.“Leanna has been in here for hours with you, and I doubted that she’d think about your abundant need for caffeine.”
Leanna huffs as she begins stowing away the items she brings with her. “There were more important things to worry about than coffee, Auntie.” Leanna’s English heritage has her pronouncing the word auntie with a long ‘ah’ sound, making the word elegant and posh. She only has a mild accent, but the use of the English long A sound is something that has been drilled into her brain, no doubt.
“I’m amazed you got Ava to sit still so long without it,” Mia comments warmly. “Now, are you almost done? Everyone will be meeting in the foyer soon.”
“I’m done,” Leanna smirks. “Wouldn’t have taken so long if this one,” she jerks her thumb at me, “wasn’t such a big baby.”
