“And your name?”

“Jim Newell.”

“We’re very sorry for your loss, Mr. Newell.”

“Thank you. It’s been…” Sighing, he sat across from them. “It’s been rough. My wife… She’s not doing well at all.”

“Can you tell us the circumstances of Morgan’s death?”

“We, ah, we found her in her bed. She’d been gone for a while by the time we found her. Been three weeks now, but we’re still as shocked as we were that first day. Doesn’t go away.” He paused, glanced at her, seeming to blink her into focus. “You’re the first lady.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Wow. My daughter… She really admired you. She would’ve loved to have met you.” He turned away when his eyes filled with tears. “She’d had some struggles, Morgan did. But she was doing so much better. So much better. Just landed a nice new job, was getting ready to move into her own place. It was all coming together for her. Finally.”

He brushed at tears as if they infuriated him.

“We’re so sorry for your loss. You mentioned she had some struggles… Would you mind telling us more about that?”

“What’s the point of this?”

“We’re investigating a string of sudden deaths among people in their twenties and thirties that may or may not be related.”

“Related to what?”

“We’ll get to that if you’re able to give us some more info about Morgan.”

He took a deep breath and then sighed. “She was a good kid, you know? Didn’t give us any trouble. None of that typical teenager crap. Then she went to college at Mason, met some kids who ran a little faster than she did and caught the party bug. We thought it was a stage, and for the most part, it was, but they introduced her to Molly and X. From there, she moved on to Oxy.”

There it is, Sam thought. “Was she addicted to Oxy?”

Nodding, he said, “For a couple of years. She went to rehab twice, and she’d been clean for four years.”

“Do you think it’s possible she relapsed?”

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “My wife and I… We’ve been round and round about that, and we just can’t imagine she’d do that after being clean for so many years.”

“Could someone have slipped her something?”

“I mean, sure, but she didn’t hang with that crowd anymore. She had a nice group of friends who were more likely to be found at book club than a dance club.” His face lifted into a small, sad grin. “That was how she described them.”

“Where did she work?”

“She was the assistant manager of a trendy restaurant in Georgetown called Zénitude, which is a French word for calm and serene. She said it was a good word to describe her new life these last few years.”

Sam had a thought. “Did she work with or know someone named Angelo Diaz?”

“There was a waiter named Angelo at the restaurant that she mentioned a few times, but we didn’t know him. I’m not sure what his last name was.”