On the other hand, the detective in him was nagged by the questions introduced by the information Kyle had given him. Was it just a coincidence that Richard Delaney was promoted after the accident? That Gary Maynard had retired?
Fuck it. He had questions and he wasn’t in the habit of letting questions like these go unanswered.
He got out of the car and crossed the street. Linda Maynard still lived in the same working-class neighborhood she’d lived in with Gary Maynard for thirty years before he’d passed away of stomach cancer. It was a neighborhood of police officers and fire fighters, which accounted for the cleared walkway. Gary Maynard’s widow was probably perfectly capable of shoveling the walk, but as the widow of a long time BPD detective, she would be well taken care of by other BPD families. Nick had no doubt that one of them had come over before dawn — or sent one of their kids — to shovel.
He navigated his way up the walk and onto the porch and knocked on the door. In the silence that followed, he wondered again if he should have called ahead. In the abstract it had seemed like a no-brainer. Why give Linda Maynard a chance to decline his visit?
But now that he was here, standing on her porch, knowing he was about to ask about the last six months of her husband’s time at BPD, it seemed like an intrusion. It had been years since Nick had knocked on doors as a detective, and this was the part of MIS most often handled by Ronan. He wondered how his brother did it without feeling like an asshole.
He was forced into the present moment by the opening of the door. A pair of brown eyes stared out from a two-inch crack. “Yes?”
“Good morning, ma’am. I’m Nick Murphy. I was a detective with BPD.” He’d contemplated lying, saying he was still with the department, but it didn’t feel right.
“Is everything all right?” she asked.
“Everything’s fine, ma’am. I just had a few questions about a case your husband worked on about twelve years ago.”
“Was a detective?” She opened the door wider and he saw that she had short brown hair spiked with gray. Her brown eyes were curious and appraising. He was glad he’d opted for honesty. “You’re not with the force anymore?”
He shook his head. “No, ma’am.”
“Then why are you asking about one of Gary’s old cases?” she asked.
He prepared to launch into the explanation he’d planned, the one where he said he’d been hired by the victim’s family to ensure there were no stones left unturned, then sighed.
“To be honest, I’m curious. I kind of… stumbled on the case, and it’s been nagging at me ever since,” he said.
She looked into his eyes, the silence stretching between them. “Gary always said a detective was only as good as his or her instincts.” She opened the door. “You should probably come in.”
He stepped into the house, wiped his feet on the mat, and took off his coat. He hung it on one of the pegs by the door, noting the man’s jacket hanging there, then followed her into a cozy living room. A fire burned in the grate, and the air was scented with something like cinnamon and vanilla.
“Can I offer you some coffee?” she asked. “It’s fresh.”
“Coffee would be great.”
She disappeared into the kitchen and he looked around, taking in the comfortable furnishings. He spotted the source of the scent in the air in a tiny machine spitting mist from one of the end tables. A book sat on the coffee table, its cover face down so he couldn’t see what she was reading.
“Cream or sugar?” she called from the kitchen.
“Black is fine,” he said.
She emerged carrying two cups and handed him one of them. “You’re saving me from myself. I’m trying to cut back but if it’s in the pot, I’ll drink it. Probably why I make too much.”
He smiled. “It’s an acceptable vice as vices go.”
She sat on one of the overstuffed chairs and gestured to the sofa. “Please sit.”
He cleared his throat. “The case I’m inquiring about it — ”
“The hit-and-run,” she interrupted. “The two girls.”
“Maybe you should get a job with the department.” He knew from his background on the Maynards that Linda was a surgical nurse.
“I always knew someone would ask about it eventually,” she said.
“What makes you say that?” Nick asked.
She chewed the inside of her cheek. “It was a big case, a lot of media.” She shook her head. “Those poor girls. So young.”