Hospital security was pretty antsy after the McPhee boy’s death, and finding me and Detective Skees in a room with a crying kid did not exactly look like business as usual, especially not with half my face scratched raw. A police badge helped, but it still took a few calls before they decided not to cuff us and call the cops – other cops. They did patch up my face. I got a quick look in a mirror before the bandages went on, and wished I hadn’t; it looked like hamburger. Which is a cliché, but it was also true. Or maybe it was more like cube steak. Nasty, either way. Finally, though, we were back in Skees’ car, and he was giving me a lift back to my motel room – my rental car was still in the hotel garage, but I was too exhausted to drive. I could pick it up in the morning; if that didn’t work, worst case scenario was that I would turn in the keys and tell the rental company where I left it. Except my phone was still in it; I’d called Mel on Skees’ cell, not my own. Well, I told myself I’d retrieve it later.
