"I'm not sure. She's unconscious. The nurse said she's in critical condition. They'll know more tomorrow."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

His comment seemed more polite than heartfelt, but then everything about him seemed jaded and weary from his tired eyes to his somewhat wrinkled shirt.

"Do you know of anyone who might have had a motive to shoot your mother?" he asked.

"No. I can't tell you anything about my mother. I thought she died when I was seven, that she lost her life in a hurricane in New Orleans twenty years ago. Then tonight, a nurse called and told me that my mother was alive, that she'd been shot. To say I was stunned would be an understatement. I thought it had to be a case of mistaken identity. The woman's ID says her name is Laura Hawthorne, but my mother's name was Kim Landry." I drew in a breath. "But when I got to the hospital, and I saw her face, I knew it was her. It was my mother. She didn't die twenty years ago, but I guess there's a chance she could die now." I blinked away the angry and frustrated tears gathering in my eyes.

Inspector Greenman sat back in his chair, folding his beefy arms across his chest. He gave me a long, thoughtful look. "That's quite a story."

"It's not a story; it's what happened. Where was my mother shot?"

"On the sidewalk in front of her residence. The doorbell camera across the street showed her walking away from her home at three ten. She was about fifteen yards away when she collapsed."

"And the person who shot her?"

"Not caught on camera—yet. We're canvassing the neighborhood for more security footage. It appears that the shots may have come from in between houses across the street, but we're still investigating."

"The shooter was on foot? Does he live in the neighborhood?"

"I wish I could answer those questions, Ms. Landry."

I frowned as I went over the few facts he'd given me. "There was no one else around? It was the middle of the afternoon."

"Unfortunately, we have not located a witness. A woman walking her dog said she heard shots, but she didn't know where they came from until she walked around the corner and saw your mother's body on the ground."

I winced at the mention of my mother's body. It made her sound like she was already dead. But she wasn't, I reminded myself.

"What about the neighbors? Did you interview them?" I asked.