Next of Kin by David Hosp

smiling. ‘I don’t have a mother.’
    ‘Everyone’s got a mother,’ Long said, toying with him.
    Finn shook his head. ‘I’m an orphan,’ he said. ‘I never had parents.’
    ‘Yes, you did,’ Long said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the letter he’d found taped to the bottom of Elizabeth Connor’s desk drawer. He held it up so that
Finn could see it. ‘You wrote to her once.’
    Finn’s face went white, and he staggered back slightly, leaning against the door. ‘Where did you get that?’ he asked in a whisper.
    ‘It was in your mother’s apartment,’ Long said. ‘About five feet from her body. She was murdered last weekend.’ The lawyer didn’t respond. ‘You look a
little shaky, Mr Finn. You sure you don’t want to discuss this upstairs?’
    For a moment, Finn heard nothing. Not the patter of the raindrops tapping on the stoop; not the words the detective spoke after announcing the reason for his visit; not the
pounding of his own heart. For a moment he was lost, overwhelmed by emotions he thought he’d put behind him many years before.
    He managed to recover his composure only with significant effort. He had to, he knew. The lawyer in him understood that he had to let it go and refocus so that he could deal with the police
detective at the door. ‘Maybe it would be better if we discussed this upstairs,’ he said at last.
    Long nodded, and Finn thought he could detect the shadow of a smile cross his lips. ‘Yeah, that’s what I was thinking,’ he said.
    Finn led the way up the three flights of stairs to his apartment. He looked back twice to take some measure of the man. He looked to be younger than Finn, though there was wear around the edges
of the eyes that testified to more experience than his age would suggest. He was a couple of inches shorter, maybe just shy of six feet, with a body that was neither thick nor thin. His light brown
hair was rain swept, making him look, at first glance, disheveled and disorganized. The eyes were bloodshot but sharp, and they seemed to notice everything, taking it all in with the efficiency of
a video camera, ready to play it all back later for analysis.
    Finn opened the apartment door at the top of the stairs. The shock was wearing off, and underneath it Finn found a million questions. ‘Come in,’ he said, gesturing. Detective Long
stepped in and Finn followed. He could see the man’s head swivel, the camera still recording.
    ‘You live here alone?’ Long asked.
    ‘No,’ Finn said. They walked through the entryway and into the living room. Sally was sitting on the couch reading. She looked up. ‘This is Sally,’ Finn said. ‘She
lives here, too. Sally, this is Detective Long.’
    Long walked over to her, and reached out his hand. His raincoat dripped dirty spots on the cream-colored carpeting. ‘Nice to meet you, Sally,’ he said.
    She looked up at him, and then over toward Finn. ‘It’s all right,’ Finn said.
    She looked back at Long’s hand, put her own out slowly. ‘Hello,’ she said. Long took hold of it and gave a firm shake, his eyes never leaving hers.
    ‘Detective Long and I need to talk about something in private,’ Finn said. ‘Can you give us a few minutes? Go on back and read in your room?’
    Sally got up and walked out. ‘Nice meeting you,’ Long called out behind her, but she didn’t respond. ‘Cute kid,’ Long said to Finn after she’d left. ‘I
did some digging before I came over. Didn’t know you had a daughter.’
    ‘I don’t,’ Finn responded.
    Long raised an eyebrow. ‘Niece?’ he asked. There was something untoward in his tone – the hint of a euphemism.
    ‘Client’s daughter,’ Finn said. ‘He died. I’m looking after her.’
    ‘Tough break.’
    Again, there was something in the detective’s tone that Finn didn’t like. ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘I mean having your parents die. Must be tough for her. Tough living without parents.’
    ‘Her father’s dead. Her