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I force the thought out of my head again. I don’t want to focus on what I can’t control. I want to focus on this mess the Boston PD left behind in my truck.

They impounded it overnight to search it top-to-bottom for evidence, trashing it completely. They left the freezer open, so all of that is melted, along with the meat I had packed in there. The fridge was unplugged, but I can salvage some of that. Cabinets opened, everything pulled out and left either on the floor or on the counter. Mostly the floor.

Thanks a lot, dicks.

I drove it out to my regular spot in the park so I could clean it up, hopefully in time to get some evening business. A few have wandered over to order something, but the closed sign, along with the crime scene tape I left hanging from the windows, has made them all back off slowly.

I have a daughter.

No, you have a mob problem. Yeah, remember Morgan McGregor? Let’s think about her instead. Let’s think about how she’s going to kill you unless you find out who killed her brother. Yeah, that’s good. That’s exciting enough to keep you from focusing on your daughter.

Or even her mother.

Guilt churns my guts as I kneel to clean out the fridge. I never thought twice about that scam after I did it. I figured some wealthy couple from wherever would commute down, get my not-so-Ivy League sperm, and go back home. Not a local cop. Not someone I would run into in my daily life. Having a biological kid I’d never know existed didn’t bother me because I’d never know it existed.

I have a daughter. I don’t even know her name.

A knock taps the window. I jerk up, slamming my head into the freezer door.

“Fuck.” I wince and rub the back of my head. “We’re closed!”

I reach for a dish towel to wipe up some spilled water from the freezer above. Another knock happens, this one on the back door of the truck.

“I said, we’re closed!” I shout, this time louder.

They knock again and I grit my teeth. I get up and spin around, marching toward the back door to throw it open.

“Goddammit, I said we’re⁠—”

Anna stands outside in that black suit and tight ponytail. She lowers her hand and clenches the file she always seems to carry around with her at her side.

“Detective,” I say. “Hey.”

“Hi,” she says. “Can we talk?”

I raise a brow. “Is this official police business?”

“Not exactly.”

She bites her inner cheek and shifts nervously as she looks around the park.

“Everything okay?” I ask.

“Yeah, everything is fine. I just…” She brushes an invisible hair strand back behind her ear. “I came up with a few more questions and I wondered if the offer to answer them was still on the table.”

“Questions… about me?”

“Yeah. You don’t have to if you don’t want. I just figured it wouldn’t hurt to ask, so…”

“No, no.” I nod. “I’d be happy to answer them for you.” I take a step back. “Come on in.”

Anna steps up into the truck and looks around. “Well, they really… They’re thorough,” she says.

I turn up my hands. “It would appear the Boston PD doesn’t hold back when they suspect you of killing one of their own.”

She gives a knowing nod. “Do you blame them?”

“Guess not. Any word on who’s framing me?”