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My response left them visibly uncomfortable, but it was my duty to cooperate since my husband had died.
Detective Callahan excused himself from the room. I stood, lifted my shirt, and let Detective Shaw take a closer look at my stomach. After a few long moments, I dropped my shirt back down.
“Well, Detective Shaw, any more questions? Or am I free to go?”
She looked somewhat apologetic. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Langston, but I need to clear it with my supervisor before you can leave. Could you wait here a moment?”
I nodded, watching her leave, and felt my strength drain away as I collapsed back onto the bench.
She returned after half an hour, saying I could go for now, but that I had to keep my phone on and respond if contacted. I agreed, but before leaving, I requested a death certificate for my husband, which they provided.
Since the house and car were in his name, the death certificate meant I could now start the transfer process to claim them. I wasn’t in a rush, though; his case wasn’t closed yet.
Back at The Crescent Hotel, I received a call from Ivan Carter, my husband’s coworker. We’d known each other a long time, having once had dinner together shortly after my husband and I married.
Ivan told me the police had visited Riverdale Medical Center and had taken some of my husband’s belongings from his office.
I asked him what they’d taken, and he replied, “Oh, just some work notes, nothing important.”
Relieved, I was about to end the call when he mentioned that my husband had kept a USB drive in his desk, and he’d hidden it for me. “It’s got a lot of secrets,” he said, “You should come get it.”
I asked if I could pick it up from the hospital, but he told me he was on leave and gave me his home address instead.
I hesitated but finally decided to take a cab to Ivan’s apartment.
He lived in a run–down building from the ‘80s or ‘90s in the city center. The narrow, dimly lit halls and the stale, musty smell made me uneasy. Pregnant and physically drained from everything going on, I was exhausted by the time I reached the fifth floor.
When I knocked, Ivan opened the door with a wide smile.
Looking past him, I took in the mess of his apartment and the unpleasant smell wafting out. “I’ll just wait here. Could you give me Steven’s USB?”
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But instead of handing it over, Ivan gave a sly grin. “Come in,” he insisted, “I’ve got something important to tell you about your husband.”
Wary but curious, I stepped inside. It felt wrong to be there, but his insistence that he had information about Steven was reason enough to hear him out,
