Page 8 of The Drowned Woman
“Thanks, Cliff. Wait downstairs, please. Detective Krichek will need you to show him all the exits. You know, all the ins and outs of the building that only a manager like you knows.”
“Sure, sure. Happy to.” Cliff turned to leave.
“Do you know if Walt and Trudy have any relatives I could call, let them know where he’s at?” Leah asked him.
Slowly, Cliff answered, his gaze directed at her feet. “Nope. Far as I know, there’s no one. They never had kin come visit and there’s no emergency contact listed on their lease agreement.”
“We’ll need a copy of that as well,” Luka told him.
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll go get it ready for you right now.” He fled toward the stairs, realized his error, and spun around, striding back past them at a fast pace, muttering as he punched the elevator button.
“Strange bird,” Krichek observed as the elevator doors closed behind Cliff. “I’ll have Harper run him, see if he has a record.”
Luka nodded. “What did Maggie say? Any signs it wasn’t accidental?”
“Said it was too early to be certain, but there were no obvious signs of inflicted trauma or a struggle.”
Luka nodded and sighed. He wasn’t his usual self today, Leah noticed. As if something was weighing him down. Or maybe that was her projecting her own feelings. He and Krichek turned to head toward the Orlys’ apartment, leaving Leah uncertain of what she was meant to do next.
“If you find any medical records, can I review them before our interview with Walt?” She made a note to herself to also speak with Walt’s physician once they got him stabilized at Good Sam. As a police consultant, she wasn’t sure if he could speak with her without Walt’s consent. And Walt was in no state of mind to give informed consent. “I’d like to be prepared.”
“I’ll see if I can get a judge to sign off on a court order for them,” Luka replied.
“Maybe the neighbor knows more about his condition,” Krichek suggested.
“Good idea. I’ll go talk to her.” Risa had asked to speak with Leah anyway and it gave Leah something productive to do. She started toward Risa’s apartment when Luka called her back.
“Leah.” He was frowning. “Remember. You’re not here to play detective.”
“I know that.” Why was he being so snippy with her?
“Didn’t seem like it the way you waltzed into that apartment.” He took a breath, obviously trying to calm down. “Krichek, go ahead, I’ll meet you inside.”
Krichek glanced at both of them, then went into Walt’s apartment.
“I knew he wasn’t a danger,” Leah said before Luka could continue. “I’ve dealt with patients like him before and I knew how to reach him. I trusted you guys to have my back.”
“And we did. But you’re not in the ER where you call the shots. Out here, you’re part of a team. My team.”
“I just didn’t want him to get hurt—”
“Neither did I.” He blew his breath out. “I’m not saying you did the wrong thing. I’m just saying, next time, talk to me. We’ll come up with a plan. Together. No more rushing in on your own.”
Leah bristled. “Maybe we need to come up with a plan for this entire partnership. If you don’t want me here, I can head back to Good Sam—”
“No.” His tone softened—slightly. “No. You were very helpful. Thank you. But you’re right, we need to draw up some parameters.”
Leah had to restrain herself from rolling her eyes. The Department of Justice grant had come with six four-inch binders filled with parameters and protocols and procedures. She’d spent hours wading through their administrative jargon and had emerged with no clear idea of what her new job actually entailed other than filling out a myriad of budget reports, staffing reports, and reports on the reports she’d already filled out.
“Yeah,” she told him. “That’s probably a good idea. Because if you and I can’t work together, there’s no way we’ll be getting the rest of the department, much less the SWAT team, on board.”
He glanced at his watch. “Probably not today, but soon, I promise. In the meantime, you seemed to have a rapport with Saliba. Want to start with her, get your medical questions answered, while I finish here? I’ll join you shortly.” He pulled on a pair of nitrile gloves. “Oh, and we don’t call them SWAT. It’s Emergency Response or ERT.”
Then he entered the Orlys’ apartment and closed the door behind him, leaving Leah alone outside.
Her cheeks burned with humiliation. This job was meant to be easier than working in the ER, but she felt lost. Leah sighed, pulled out her phone. Not to call anyone, but simply to look at the photo that filled the screen: Ian and Emily, playing on the lawn of their house—their old house—both caught laughing as they tumbled in the grass.
She felt a hand settle on her shoulder, calming her. It wasn’t real, she knew that, but she couldn’t help but place her own hand there, straining, yearning to feel his.You can do this, Ian’s voice whispered through her mind.For Emily.
