“Sixty seconds.” I walk up the escalator so I’m climbing twice as fast. “Mia at the onsite nursery right now?”
“Yeah, but that shit’s getting old, Arch. That’s not a long-term solution, it’s not secure, and we both know she’s gonna get bored soon.”
“We’re doing the best we can. Let’s hope Gloria’s got what we need.”
As I step off the escalator and onto my floor, I fast-foot it into the pit and search for my partner. “I’m here. Where are you?”
“Outside of Interview Room Three.” He steps out of a hall and into view, so I kill my call and slide the phone back into my pocket.
“Hey.” As soon as I’m close enough, he takes my hand and comes in for a fast hug and pat on the shoulder. “Thanks for getting back so quick.”
“I wouldn’t miss this. Uncle Arch isn’t letting any old bitch take care of his girl. This is something we’ll do together.”
Chuckling, Fletch approaches the door and rests his hand on the handle. “We’re not gonna call her an old bitch, though, right? These things take delicacy.”
“Sure. Plus, we learned from last time.”
I nod toward the door so Fletch opens it wide, then I step in to find a Robin-Williams-in-a-wig lookalike with a heavy purse clutched in her lap and pearls strapped around her throat.
“Mrs. Delgado. I’m Detective Archer Malone, and this is my partner, Detective Charlie Fletcher. How are you doing today?”
MINKA
“Aubree.” As I step off the elevator on the ninth floor of the George Stanley and pass the studious Doctor Aubree Emeri, I tap her desk and break her concentration from whatever it was she was reading.
She shoots up straight with a jerk, sucks in a line of spit like she was maybe nodding off over her work, then she brings her wild eyes to me and locks in. “You’re back.”
“It would seem that way.” I continue walking, through the glass door of my office, and grin as, behind me, I hear the telltale squeak of Aubree’s sneakers on the tile floor. “What happened while I was gone?”
She shoves through the door with one arm overflowing with papers and the other, holding a cup of coffee. “Doctor Kirk came by and left this week’s caseload for your approval. He seems to be thriving, dontcha think?”
Studious? I meant annoying, as Aubree perches her ass on the corner of my desk and plops her overflowing paperwork on top of my already chaotic mess.
“Now that Doctor Kernicke is gone and no longer in Kirk’s ear, he seems to be doing way better.”
“Agreed.” I sit in my office chair and select the tidy pile of files I know came from Kirk. They’re too neat to be by any other member of my staff… too glitter-free to be from Aubree. “His work proves he has a brain of his own. What else?”
“Detective Fox and Officer Grayson from midtown swung by.” She says their names with an air of disdain. “They’re still working on their murder-suicides. Four couples now, and those guys have no freakin’ clue who is killing these people.”
“Detective Fox and Officer Grayson mustn’t be trying very hard,” I answer blandly. “However, they have no reason to be here. Their killer isn’t inside this building, and we’ve presented them with the coroner’s findings for the bodies they sent us. We no longer have business with them.”
Aubree only shrugs. “Pretty sure Fox thinks you’re a little foxy yourself. It’s not a coincidence he came by while Arch was busy in court.”
“Too bad I didn’t get to enjoy that visit.” I roll my eyes. “Did you figure out what happened to Leyana Cruise, or do you need me to take a swing?”
“I got it.”
She shuffles the messy pile she dumped on my desk and selects a single sheet of paper, shaking it straight until it makes a sound like a whip. “Turns out sweet Leyana accidentally overdosed. She’d been prescribed anti-anxiety meds a couple months back, after being laid off at work. During her ‘life won’t get me down’ phase, she joined a gym and started exercising. That ended with her tearing her meniscus and her doctor prescribing pain meds.
“Because of the anxiety and pain from the first two, she struggled to sleep most nights. Now she’s got sleeping pills. Add all three together after a particularly rough day, and Leyana mixed a cocktail that ended her life. I’m calling it accidental. No suspicious circumstances. Boyfriend isn’t a killer.” She plops a glittery page on top and flashes a wide grin. “The end. How’d Archer do in court?”
“He’s a filthy snitch.”
Aubree Emeri, though my closest friend in Copeland City, has no clue the things I do in the privacy of my own time, under the cover of moonlight. She has no idea that I’m the sole reason some men—somekillers—have met their end after the law refused to put them away in a cage.
It’s not like I go around whacking anyone for the sake of a little fun. And I don’t volunteer such information, or leave behind any trace I’ve been there.
In a matter of months, I’ve ended the terror-plagued reign of three men—plus a dirty mayor, but his death doesn’t truly count, considering he was holding a gun to my face and threatening my life in the first place.