Chapter 22

Dr. Cindy Ogawa stood on the porch avoiding yet another battering from the unrelenting rain. Of course, she stood as far away from the house as she could while still maintaining her mostly dry attire. The police took their sweet time sending a cruiser out in this weather. She was moderately miffed that they thought it was fine to leave her here with a dead body to battle the elements. She had valuable things she could be devoting this time to!

Sleep for example.

She leaned against the pillar and waited in the downpour, hopeful with each set of headlights that passed on the road. A half hour later two men in uniforms finally showed up. The dark-haired officer with the mustache introduced himself as Daniels, then waved at his Nordic partner, a man who civilly shook hands, proclaiming himself to be Officer Mitchem.

She’d always thought that was a deodorant.

She kept this thought to herself, however, and gestured widely at the house behind her in the rain.

“Phew!” Daniels said when he opened the front door, as if surprised despite the fact that she’d just told him there was a dead body inside. Mitchem looked as though his eyes might water, but he persevered.

“I’m going to wait here, if it’s all the same to you,” she told them, an edge to her voice. The officers seemed to accept this and went into the house briefly. They came out moments later and the blond began taking her statement while his partner radioed for the coroner.

“All right, so the name of the deceased is…?” he asked, pencil poised over her notepad.

“I believe she’s Mrs. Thorne, but I couldn’t say for sure,” Cindy said calmly.

“Why is that?”

“Well, I don’t really know her.”

Mitchem gave her a quizzical look as his partner rejoined them on the steps. “Coroner’s on his way. I hope they don’t send that twitchy new guy; he looks like a puker.”

Cindy bit her cheek to keep from laughing and tried to look serious as Mitchem reiterated, “So you don’t know the deceased?”

“No.”

“How did you come to discover her body?” Mitchem probed.

“I work at St. Vincent’s, in the Emergency Department,” she said slowly, watching him write. “I came here because I believe this woman to be the mother of one of my patients.”

“Seems like a long way to come for a friendly visit,” Daniels noted suspiciously.

“I assure you, it’s out of the ordinary,” Cindy said. “Her son was brought in tonight, severely dehydrated, malnourished, and with a rampant bronchiole infection that I fear is taking its toll on his body. I know his name from the ID on her at the time she was brought in, unconscious. Milo Thorne; the name sounded vaguely familiar, and the birth certificate he was carrying around listed this address. I just decided to follow my hunch. I don’t know for certain if the dead woman inside is Milo Thorne’s mother, but this is an old house, and in these types of neighborhoods, houses rarely change owners.”

She shrugged as the officers exchanged glances. Mitchem spoke next. “Give me your contact information.”

She was reciting this for him when the coroner pulled up.

“Just in time,” Daniels called out. “This one’s not getting’ any fresher!”

To his partner he said in a low voice, “Aw, they sent the twitchy guy!”

“Hi, Twitchy— uh, Tenny,” Mitchem called out, earning a snicker from his partner. Cindy turned to look at the wiry guy with the slicked back hair as he came up the walkway. She agreed with the officers’ earlier assessment—this guy looked like a puker. Behind him came a more seasoned and agreeable-looking woman who efficiently carried her equipment in gloved hands.

“Hey,” she said as she breezed past them.

“Hey, Marilyn,” Mitchem said. He turned his attention back to Cindy and said, “Well, she’s old. We didn’t notice any signs of foul play. You’re free to go, and if you think of anything, please give us a call at this number.”

He handed her a card and she slipped it into her coat pocket. The rain was starting to slow to a steady drip as she shook his hand again and bid him goodnight. She paused on the last step and said, “Will you let me know if it does turn out to be Milo Thorne’s mother? I think someone should tell him if it is.”

“Don’t worry, ma’am,” Daniels assured her, “if that’s her, we’ll handle the notifications in person.”

“Thanks,” she said, descending the final stair. She hurried back to her vehicle and hopped inside. Now to get home, take a nice, hot shower, and forget about her job with a glass of wine and a trashy novel. Milo Thorne was someone else’s problem—at least for the time being—and she planned to enjoy that.