Next of Kin by David Hosp Page B

baby. They said they would forward it to my birth mother if she was willing to accept it. I never heard anything back. I never found out anything about my mother’s identity until five minutes
ago, and I had nothing to do with her death.’
    Long was jotting down notes as Finn spoke. ‘That it?’ he said, looking up. ‘Nothing else?’
    ‘Not that I can think of,’ Finn replied. ‘Just a lot of questions about who she was and why she was murdered.’
    ‘You never knew her, and she abandoned you,’ Long said. ‘Why should you care?’
    ‘I don’t know,’ Finn said. ‘Maybe I shouldn’t, but I do. Is there anything else you can tell me?’
    Long shrugged as he closed his notebook. ‘It’s not the best neighborhood. Chances are it was just a simple robbery gone wrong. Crack-head looking for something to sell for his next
high.’
    ‘Sounds like a logical theory.’
    ‘Yeah. Maybe. I still have to follow every lead.’ The detective looked down at the dark stains on the carpet. ‘Shit, I dripped on your rug. Sorry about that.’
    ‘It’s water,’ Finn said. ‘It’ll dry.’ The silence dragged out for several beats, both men looking at each other from across the room. ‘You got a
picture?’
    Long frowned. ‘Nothing you’d want to see.’
    ‘What do you mean?’
    Long looked uncomfortable for the first time in the evening. ‘It was taken at the morgue.’
    ‘I still want to see it.’
    Long reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a Polaroid, glanced at it briefly. ‘You sure?’
    Finn reached out and took the photograph from him. She barely looked human. She was naked to the tops of her breasts, a sheet covering her below. The glare of the surgical light reflected off
white skin that was pulled tight. Her hair was back, and Finn could see the splatters of blood coming forward from her scalp. It gave him little idea of what she might have looked like in life. At
least her eyes were closed.
    ‘I’m keeping it, okay?’ Finn said.
    ‘Why?’
    ‘Because.’
    Long nodded. ‘I got others.’
    ‘Anything else?’ Finn asked.
    ‘No, I guess not,’ Long replied. He slipped the notebook into his jacket. ‘Sorry to drop all this on you like this.’
    ‘Like you said, it’s your job.’
    ‘Yeah. I’ll find my way out.’ Finn watched as Long headed down the hallway.
    ‘Long?’ Finn called after him as he reached the door. The detective turned to look at him. ‘You’ve really got no other leads?’
    Long shook his head. ‘Nothing.’
    ‘How long do you think you’ll work the case?’
    Long frowned. ‘I assure you, Mr Finn, I’ll work this case as hard as I can until there’s nothing left to go on.’
    ‘How long?’ Finn demanded.
    Long started to say something, but checked himself. He took a deep breath. ‘Realistically?’ he asked.
    ‘Yeah,’ Finn said. ‘Realistically.’
    Long shrugged. ‘Unless there’s some sort of break – something that gives me something to chew on – a week. Maybe more, maybe less. You understand how it works.’
Finn stared at him, and Long nodded and opened the door. Then he was gone.
    ‘Yeah,’ Finn said quietly. ‘I understand how it works.’

CHAPTER EIGHT
    Eamonn McDougal had once loved bars. He’d spent most of his life cruising through pubs and taverns, flashing his smile at the women, and his fists at the men. It was
where he’d made his reputation, where he’d built his life. He’d loved bars the way a sailor loves the sea or a pilot loves the sky.
    His son had ruined all that for him.
    Kevin McDougal began sneaking into bars at age fourteen. That fact alone wouldn’t have bothered his father; it probably would have made him proud if the boy could carry forward the
family’s reputation. He couldn’t, though. Where Eamonn was tall and broad in the chest and shoulders, Kevin was short and slight. The son had worked hard over the years at the gym to
hang muscle from his thin bone structure, but for some reason that had