“A necessary evil of the job,” Cruz said as he downed a six-pack of powdered doughnuts and chased them with a Coke—after eating two in the conference room. Life wasn’t fair for many reasons, but his ridiculous metabolism was at the top of her life-is-unfair list.

“When I show up, it causes a circus in addition to the grief.”

“You know how to handle that.”

“What’s up with you today?” Sam asked, suddenly realizing her partner was lacking his usual sparkle and unfettered joy for powdered doughnuts.

“Nothing.”

“Don’t say nothing when it’s clearly something.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Too bad. Start talking.”

“For God’s sake, Sam. I said I don’t want to talk about it.”

Sam saw Vernon glance in the rearview mirror, as if he, too, was concerned about young Freddie. “Talk to me. You know you want to.”

“I don’t want to.”

She was alarmed to see the starting of tears in his eyes. “Freddie… Now you’re scaring me.”

“Elin had a miscarriage, okay? Are you happy now?”

“Not at all. I’m so sorry.”

“We said we weren’t going to tell anyone.”

“I’m not just anyone. I’m your best friend, and you needed to tell someone.”

“Now Vernon and Jimmy know, too.”

“We won’t breathe a word of it,” Vernon said, “and I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Yeah, man,” Jimmy said. “Very sorry.”

“Thank you. Can we drop it now?”

“Yeah, we can.” Sam dropped it, but she rode the rest of the way to the Newell’s house with her hand on top of Freddie’s. A new ache took up residency in her heart for a loss she understood far too well.

When they reached the address, Vernon pulled up to the curb. “Jimmy, stay with the car.”

“Yes, sir.”

Sam and Freddie went up the walk to a black front door bearing a wreath left from Christmas. Something about that wreath added to her sadness, as the occupants’ lives had changed dramatically since someone hung the festive wreath. She rang the doorbell and stepped to the side to wait.

She was about to ring the bell again when the door opened.

A middle-aged man stuck his head out the storm door. “Help you?”

Sam showed her badge as Freddie did the same. “Lieutenant Holland and Detective Cruz, MPD, looking for the family of Morgan Newell.”

His expression changed at the mention of Morgan’s name. “What about her?”

“We’re investigating a recent string of suspicious deaths and wondered if we might have a word with you about Morgan.”

“Right now?”

“Right now.”

“Um, sure. I guess.”

“We’re very sorry to disturb you and to intrude at such a difficult time. We wouldn’t ask if we didn’t feel it was urgent.”

He stepped aside to admit them to a tidy, well-kept house. “What could be urgent about Morgan? She’s dead.” His voice quivered on the word dead.

Sam and Freddie sat together on a sofa.

“Are you her father?” Sam asked.

Nodding, he said, “Stepfather technically, but I raised her.”