His reality had shifted.
Literally shifted.
There was before, when he acknowledged thepossibilityof something, and after, when heknew.
“On your left,” Riley said as she came up beside him, pulled a draft, and expertly slid it in front of a patron three stools down.
When Patrick looked at her in question, she explained, “That guy’s been trying to get your attention for five minutes.”
“Thanks. I’m a little pre-occupied tonight.”
“No kidding,” Riley said with a smirk. “Does this preoccupation involve an MDI with dark hair and green eyes, by any chance?”
Since Riley already knew the answer, Patrick didn’t bother replying. Instead, he said, “I didn’t know you were tending tonight.”
“I’m not. I came in to talk to you, saw your poor, thirsty customers trying unsuccessfully to get your attention, and covered your ass. No need to thank me, by the way.”
His lips quirked. “Noted. Give me a sec.”
He approached his grandfather, who was sitting behind the bar at the far end, talking with some locals. “Grandpa, I’m going to take five, okay?”
Jack smiled and waved him off.
Patrick followed Riley into the corridor that led to the private family kitchen that was, thankfully, empty.
“Mom and dad are upstairs again,” she said with a slight roll of her eyes. Patrick knew exactly what she was referring to, because his parents were the same way, disappearing whenever the opportunity presented itself. Apparently, that was the way it was withcroies, even after decades.
He reached into the fridge for the juice he knew would be there, and poured two glasses, one for each of them. It was rote at thispoint, the result of years of spending after school time together. Didn’t matter that they were in the latter half of their twenties.
“Okay. What’s up?”
She dropped her voice, even though they were alone. “I've been working the Philadelphia angle—specifically, the case Morgan refused to sign off on.”
His pulse sped up. “And?”
“Morgan wasn’t supposed to be working that case. She wasn’t even in the call rotation that night. A guy named Joe Moretti was. But for whatever reason, the dispatcher screwed up and called Morgan instead.”
Interesting, but he failed to see the significance. “Okay. So?”
“So… I did some checking into Joe Moretti. He’s been with the ME’s office for about forty years and closes more cases than anyone else in the department—often within hours of being called.”
Patrick had been doing research as well, so he knew that MDIs were not called to every death scene—just the ones that fell under the ME’s jurisdiction, like unexpected or unexplained deaths, violent deaths, and deaths that occurred in public places. While some of those might be open and shut, a good portion of them required at least some investigation or the ME’s office wouldn’t have been contacted in the first place.
“You think Moretti’s rubber stamping the reports.”
Riley nodded. “Yes. I think he’s the guy they call when they want something pushed through quickly—which we both know Morgan wouldn’t do. It’s just a theory at this point, but numbers don’t lie.”
“I see where you’re going,” Patrick said slowly. “But where does Varro come in?”
“That, I don’t know yet, but there’s something there, I can feel it. I’m going to keep digging. Maybe one of our online friends will be able to find something on Varro we can use.”
“That would be useful,” he agreed.
She looked at him steadily. “But Patrick—if this is true, it could mean that Morgan was put on leave because she saw or found something that someone didn’t want her to.”
“I know,” he said, having come to the same conclusion. “And I think Morgan does now, too, after finding out about the saxitoxin.”
“The what?”