to his neighbors. Video, and the guard at the front door has Sadowski leaving the hospital at six thirty p.m. the night before. Maybe one of the neighbors can tell us if they saw him come home or if whoever killed him nabbed him before that. His vehicle is still missing.”
Reed sighed, rubbing at his eye. He’d slept like shit the night before. He knew very well the loser of the coin toss would be the one visiting the ME and spending more time with the eyeless corpse of Steven Sadowski. And then he’d carry the smell of death on his clothes for the rest of the day. “Tails.”
Ransom sent the nickel flying into the air, caught it, slapped it onto the top of his opposite hand, and pulled it back to reveal Jefferson’s silver profile.
“Sorry, my man.”
“No, you’re not,” Reed grumbled.
“No. I’m not.”
Ransom tossed the nickel onto his paper-strewn desk and sat back, regarding Reed. “Before we leave, are we going to address the elephant in the room?” His chair squeaked as he rocked back in it. “What was going on between you and hot lady doc?”
Reed sighed again. He wasn’t going to insult Ransom’s intelligence by denying what had clearly been obvious to his partner. And furthermore, maybe it would help to get it off his chest. “I met her in a bar two weeks ago. The night of DiCrescenzo’s party. We went back to my place. She stayed the night, skipped out in the morning. The end.”
Ransom blew out a whistle. “So that’s why you’ve been in such a shitty mood for the past two weeks? You banged the hot doc and she didn’t come back for more.”
“I haven’t been in that shitty a mood,” Reed grumbled. Only . . . maybe he had been.
Ransom chuckled. “Pretty boy got dumped on the first date.” He shook his head. “Sad.” He leaned in. “You know, if you need some pointers on satisfying women in the bedroom, I’d be happy to help. There’s this little thing called the cli—"
“Fuck you, Ransom.” Reed stood, but a smile tugged at his mouth. Leave it to Ransom to help him remember not to take himself so damn seriously.
“What does this mean for the case though?” Ransom asked as they put their coats on.
“Nothing. Over before anything started. She’s as good as a stranger to me.” So why didn’t that feel true, other than the obvious—that he’d seen her naked? Which wasn’t what the feeling was about. He decided not to ponder on it—it was already hurting his head. And as far as the murder investigation? She was a witness. And a contact at the hospital if he had a question or two.
Reed frowned. The whole seven-minute stairwell deal was mildly suspicious. And confusing. Although at this point, there was zero evidence it had anything to do with her finding Sadowski’s body. Her reaction to finding him there—horrified shock—had been 100 percent real. Unless she was the best actress on the planet.
Still . . . it needled at him. What was she doing?
“You know what else I want to know?” Ransom asked, as he stuck a few papers in a folder and then picked up a Lakeside Hospital brochure he must have taken while they were there.
“What?”
Ransom held the brochure up next to his face. “Where the fuck is the lake?”
Reed’s gaze moved to the full-color glossy photo of the large white building surrounded by grass and trees on the cover of the brochure, no lake in sight. Before he could answer, Ransom tossed the brochure on the desk. “To call a mental hospital Lakeside when there’s no actual lake?” Ransom shook his head. “Man, that’s gotta mess with some crazy people. Seems like a cruel joke to me.”
Reed chuckled softly.
“Call me if Dr. Westbrook has anything interesting to say,” Ransom said.
“Will do.”
They each turned, headed for their vehicles.
Seriously though, Reed wondered, where the fuck is the lake?
CHAPTER NINE
Reed pushed open the double swinging doors that led to the coroner’s examination room. Dr. Westbrook turned from where he was standing at a back counter, jotting something on what looked like a pile of forms. He placed his pen down.
“Detective Davies,” he said, coming forward. Dr. Westbrook was a grandfatherly looking man with a head of thick gray hair and a kindly demeanor who spoke with a slow rhythm, and in low tones as if doing otherwise might wake the dead surrounding him. Reed found him pleasant and warm, the direct opposite of the