Throughout her career, Signy had applied for every promotion she could as quickly as possible so she could eventually have better pay and better hours. She wanted a secure future for herself and her child. Failing to solve this case wouldn’t win her any praise or further her career.

“I’m gonna grab a shower. You take a casserole out of the freezer and stick it in the microwave for dinner, okay?”

He moaned. “Can’t we have pizza?”

Her mouth twitched because this was a common refrain. “I had pizza for lunch.” It had been cold and greasy and her stomach was screeching that was a hundred hours ago. “I’ll grab the casserole and put on the rice. You’ll need to check the microwave and cook it for longer if it’s not warmed through though. Think you can handle that, big guy, or is it too complicated for you?”

There was the smile again, so like his father’s. No wonder she’d fallen for the guy in high school like a rock into a deep lake.

“Soon as I finish my game.”

Signy rolled her eyes as she pivoted and went back into the kitchen, then changed her mind and pulled a chicken curry out of the freezer.

She batch cooked on her days off because she never knew exactly when she’d get home from work and didn’t want them to subsist on junk food. Who in their right mind felt like starting dinner from scratch after a long day?

She worked in a city with one of the highest crime rates per capita in the US. A hundred thousand people and barely a score of police officers to enforce law and order, plus three overworked detectives. She was aware of all eyes on her just waiting for her to mess up.

She loaded the rice cooker and turned it on. Placed the curry in the microwave to defrost. Then she headed upstairs and dragged her ass to the shower hoping to wash off the grime associated with violent death, but also the sense of failure she felt about today.

She tossed her clothes in the hamper, still angry at that FBI agent who’d been poking his nose in her case without telling her why.

And Allan Robertson.

And Elliot Byrne.

Water sprayed over her face. She knew she was being unfair to Allan. She hoped she’d have eventually spotted the inconsistencies with the fingerprint evidence on the knife even though it didn’t totally clear the suspect. Sure, it was weird, but so were the alternatives. It was a lot of work to frame another person for murder. If Darby O’Roarke was to be believed, someone had presumably drugged her at the dance, then somehow gotten her and Martin back to his home, stabbed him but put her prints on the knife? Hardly Occam’s razor.

Signy braced her hands against the wall and let the water sluice away the sense of contamination clinging to her skin. After a few seconds she forced herself to wash, condition, shave and rinse. She didn’t have time to enjoy it. Not only was she starving, but she wanted to spend a little time with Aiden before doing more work later tonight.