Page 29 of The Unraveling

The taller of the men pointed to himself. “I’m Detective Green.” He motioned to the other man. “And this is Detective Owens. We met at the hospital, the night of the accident.”

Oh God. How could I have not placed the faces? These men were with me at the worst moment of my life. “Oh, right. Hello. Thank you for coming by.” I thumbed behind me. “Would you… like to come in? We have plenty of food.”

Detective Green glanced over my shoulder into my packed apartment before waving me off. “No, thank you. We’re sorry to bother you when you have a house full of company, but we have some questions that really need to be answered.” He nodded toward the hall. “Maybe you could come outside and talk to us for a few moments, so we have some privacy? We won’t take too long.”

“Umm… sure.” I stepped into the hall and pulled the door closed behind me. Folding my arms across my chest, I nodded. “What can I help you with?”

Detective Green pulled a small notebook and pen from the inside pocket of his suit jacket. “We have some questions about Connor’s injury. The one he sustained on the ice a few months back.”

“Okay…”

“It happened on February first, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“And how was his recovery going?”

“Slow, but as expected. Connor had started physical therapy about three weeks before…” It felt like I got sucker punched in the gut, and I had to take a moment. “Before the accident.”

“And prior to physical therapy? He was seeing a Dr. Martin at the West Side Pain Management Clinic, is that correct?”

I blinked a few times. Detective Green had said he had questions, but why was he asking them if he already knew the answers? It caught me off guard and gave me an uneasy feeling. “Yes, he went there for about four weeks after his surgery.”

“Was Mr. Fitzgerald drinking the night of the accident? When he was with you, I mean?”

I shook my head. “He hadn’t had anything to drink before he left here.”

“And you had an argument of some sort that evening?”

My brows furrowed. “How did you know that?”

“You mentioned it at the hospital, on the night of the accident.”

“Oh.” I forced a smile. “Sorry. The last few days have pretty much been a blur.”

“That’s understandable.” He nodded. “Can I ask what the argument was about?”

My eyes welled up, remembering the trivial thing that had set off a series of events that would ruin so many lives. “Garbage. I gave him a hard time because when I got home from work, the garbage in the kitchen was overflowing.”

He nodded again. “Getting back to the pain clinic, Dr. Martin prescribed your husband a painkiller, is that right?”

“Yes. Oxycodone.”

“And when did Dr. Martin stop prescribing those?”

“I’m not sure of the exact date. But Connor filled the last bottle the day before he started physical therapy.”

Detective Green pointed at me with his pen. “And that’s when you started writing the prescriptions for your husband? After Dr. Martin stopped writing them?”

My heart skipped a beat. “What? I didn’t write Connor any prescriptions.”

“You didn’t write Mr. Fitzgerald any prescriptions for oxycodone?”

“Of course not.” My throat threatened to seal up around my words. “Never.”

The detectives looked at each other.

“Maybe there’s a mistake in the information we were given,” Detective Owens said. It was the first time he’d spoken.

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