Page 28 of Silent Prayer

"Lights are on," Finn murmured. "So why isn't he answering?"

Sheila was about to knock when she heard it: a muffled coughing sound coming from within the apartment. Her pulse quickened. Was Jason trying to hide from them? Or was something else going on?

"Jason Reeves?" Sheila called. "This is the police. We'd like to speak with you about Rachel Kim."

"Come in!" came a choked voice, followed by more coughing.

Finn tried the door handle, finding it unlocked. They entered cautiously, sweeping the small living room with their eyes. The apartment was cluttered but not dirty, with dog-themed decor scattered about. A half-eaten bowl of soup sat on the coffee table, still steaming.

And there, sprawled on a worn couch, was Jason Reeves. He looked pale and sickly, his face shiny with sweat. The apartment smelled of illness and disinfectant, making Sheila wrinkle her nose.

"Mr. Reeves?" Finn asked. "We'd like to ask you some questions about Rachel Kim."

Jason groaned, sitting up slowly. His movements were weak and uncoordinated. "Rachel?" he croaked, his voice hoarse. "Is she okay? I had to cancel on her this morning. Food poisoning hit me hard last night."

Sheila and Finn looked at one another. If Jason had been here, sick, all day, he couldn't have been involved in Rachel's murder. Assuming he wasn't faking his condition, of course. They still needed to establish an alibi, though—they couldn't just take his word for it.

"How long have you been ill, exactly?" Sheila asked.

Jason reached for a glass of water on the coffee table, his hand shaking slightly. "Since about ten last night," he replied after taking a sip. "Bad takeout, I think. From that new place on fifth. I've been stuck here ever since. Called all my clients first thing this morning to cancel."

"Can you prove that?" Finn asked.

Jason nodded weakly, reaching for his phone. "Yeah, check my call logs. And I've got the takeout receipt somewhere...probably in the kitchen."

"Can anyone verify that you've been here?" Sheila asked as Finn left to find the receipt.

Jason frowned, thinking. "My neighbor, Mrs. Goldstein in 3A, she brought me some ginger tea this morning. And the delivery guy who brought my meds saw me, too. You can check with them."

Sheila nodded, making a mental note. "We'll do that. Mind telling me when the last time you saw Rachel Kim was?"

"Would've been...two days ago? Yeah, Tuesday afternoon. I walked Mochi—that's her dog—while she was at work. I saw her right before she left."

"Did you notice anything unusual? Anyone hanging around her house, maybe?"

Jason shook his head, then winced at the movement. "No, nothing out of the ordinary. Rachel's neighborhood is pretty quiet. Lots of security systems, you know?"

Finn returned with the takeout receipt, confirming Jason's story.

As Sheila's eyes scanned the room, they landed on the half-eaten bowl of soup on the coffee table. Something about it caught her attention. She leaned in closer, careful not to touch anything.

"Mr. Reeves," she asked, "is this the takeout that made you sick?"

Jason nodded weakly. "That's right. Why?"

Sheila peered into the bowl, her brow furrowing. Nothing about the soup looked strange…still, Sheila had a nagging suspicion that something was wrong here.

"Mind if we take this?" she asked.

Jason's eyes narrowed, and he blinked at her, puzzled. "Uh…yeah, sure, I guess."

"Thank you." Sheila snapped the lid back over the styrofoam soup bowl, then picked it up. "We appreciate your time, Mr.Reeves, and we hope you feel better soon. Let us know if you think of anything else."

As they left Jason's apartment, Finn turned to Sheila. "What's with the soup? You think there's something off about it?"

Sheila nodded, her expression grim. "I have a hunch it might be poisoned. Think about it—if Jason was too sick to walk Rachel's dog, she'd have to come home early to take care of Mochi herself."

"Assuming she didn't have anyone else she could call," Finn said. "And that's a big assumption."

---