Page 142

“Did Giovani ever mention having problems with anyone?” Detective Harris asked.

I opened my eyes.

“My son had problems with a lot of people.”

“Anyone specifically?”

I shook my head.

“I don’t know who he was dealing with lately. He wasn’t telling me much.”

“When was the last time you spoke with him?”

“A couple of days ago. He called me from a blocked number.”

“Did he say where he was?”

“No.”

“Did he sound upset?”

I looked down at my hands.

“Yes.”

The detective waited for me to continue.

“He sounded like something was bothering him. I asked if he was okay, and he told me he was. But I knew he wasn’t.”

“Did he mention being threatened?”

“No. He just sounded tired.”

I swallowed.

“And he told me he loved me.”

Detective Harris nodded as he wrote something down.

“Is there anything else you remember about that conversation?”

I shook my head. It made no sense in bringing up the conversation about Tahari. Deep down, I feared that what I had been talking myself out of had come true. The only thing I could think about was how Tahari showed up at my door months ago with a bullet wound in his arm. They both were in some deep shit. Some shit that I knew nothing about.

“No. I just wish I kept him on the phone longer,” I finally answered.

The room grew quiet. I looked toward the woman who had escorted me inside.

“Can I see him now?”

She glanced at the detectives before turning her attention back to me.

“Of course, Ms. Baxter. I’ll take you.”

I stood so quickly that my purse slipped from my lap. The woman bent down to retrieve it, but I barely noticed. All I could think about was getting to my son. Nothing could’ve prepared me for seeing Giovani lying on that table. I had imagined a lot of terrible things during the drive, but none of them came close to what was waiting for me.

The woman had explained that I would be viewing him for identification. She asked whether I wanted a moment before they uncovered his face, and I told her no. I needed to know.

But the second I saw him, I wished I could’ve gone back to the moment before that sheet moved.