In the morning, I asked the nurse if I could see Adam, and she said I could. I went up to his room, and another nurse was there, checking incisions and IVs. He lay with his head propped up and his eyes closed. He looked even paler than before, his lips blue, the veins in his face protruding. A thin sheen of sweat covered his skin. I sat down next to him and rubbed my lip with the back of my index finger.

“He sedated?” I said.

“Just a little nap. Should be about time to wake up, though.”

I leaned forward and said, “Dad? Can you hear me?”

Nothing. I was about to go sit in the recliner in the corner when his hand opened. I took it, and we sat quietly for a few minutes while the nurse finished checking everything and then told me she’d be back in a little while.

I held his hand until his eyes opened. He took me in a moment, and then they shut again and he tried to speak, but no words came. I didn’t know if he could have water, so I just waited until he said, “Am I dead?”

“Don’t think so.”

A small grin came to his lips. “Get me a drink, will ya?”

“I’ll ask.”

“Whiskey on the rocks.”

“It’ll probably be ice chips, but let me see.”

I went out and checked with the nurse. She said he could have fluids and that they would bring something by. As I was heading back, Jia called me.

“Yeah.”

“Down here at First Ute Bank. Guess what I got?”

“Those nasty lollipops that are always three months too old?”

“Better. Detective Howard’s bank statements.”

“I’m not even going to ask how you got a judge to sign off on a warrant for a decorated detective before ten in the morning.”

“What can I say? Allred loves me. She made me some coffee in her chambers while she signed it for me.”

“I’m sending her a fruit basket when this is over. So what do you got?”

“I’m taking photos and sending them to you now.”

I waited a few minutes in the hall. The nurse came to my father’s room with a tray that held ice, water, and juice. She set it on the nightstand. My phone buzzed and I opened the text messages.

Jia had sent me Howard’s statements from last year up until now. I flipped to September, ten months ago. Normal transactions at first, and then toward the bottom, a deposit in cash of $5,000.

I skimmed the rest. Jia had circled a payment of $30,000 in cash deposited into the account three months ago, around the time of Patty’s murder.

I called her.

“Either he won a lottery or there’re payments from Anderson’s father in here.”