Free The Abbey by Chris Culver

days.”
----
    I figured I was sober enough after my meeting to go into work and check my messages, so I stopped by my office. Someone had put a manila file folder and stack of yellow Post–it notes on my desk. The first note told me to call Susan Mercer, my boss. The second was in the same handwriting and suggested that I wear something fire retardant because she sounded pissed. Of course, Susan was always pissed, so that wasn’t anything new.
    I ignored the notes for a moment and flipped through the contents of the manila folder. It was a report from my niece’s preliminary autopsy. I scanned through it until I found the opinion. The assistant Coroner, Dr. Hector Rodriguez, pegged the time of death at five to six in the evening and said the immediate cause of death was a probable overdose leading to heart failure. That didn’t tell me much new, but the typed note at the end of the report did.
    From a friend. Be careful.
    At least Olivia hadn’t abandoned me completely. I tucked the folder into the top drawer of my desk and locked it. I called Susan’s office next. She answered quickly and requested I meet her in her office to discuss Rachel and Robbie. I could already feel the headache starting to brew in my skull. I swore under my breath and told her I’d be up in a few minutes.
    Rather than get up immediately, I stayed at my desk, considering what would happen if I simply went home. The pros didn’t outweigh the cons, though. I sighed, wadded both notes and threw them in the trash before getting a cup of coffee at our communal coffee maker. It was scorched and stale. That was about how my day had been going.
    I tossed my coffee down a nearby drinking fountain and headed to the elevator for a short ride upstairs. Susan’s office was on the fourteenth floor. Unlike me, she had an actual office with walls and a door. Officially, she was the Assistant Prosecutor, the second most powerful law enforcement official in the city. Unofficially, she ran the office while her elected boss explored the possibility of running for governor. He was a schmuck; she was a hard–ass prosecutor who gave defense attorneys the shakes. We usually got along fairly well.
    Her secretary let me into her office. It was roughly fifteen–by–fifteen and had a large picture window overlooking a pedestrian park. Bookshelves covered the walls, and files were stacked chest–high on her desk. Susan was on the phone, but she motioned me in with her free hand. I plucked a file from the chair in front of her desk and sat down, waiting for her to finish the call. She did about five minutes later and faced me for a moment without saying anything.
    “How are you, Ash?” she asked.
    “Fine,” I said. “Unless you’ve heard otherwise.”
    She opened a folder on her desk. I couldn’t see its contents.
    “I just got a call from Lieutenant Mike Bowers in homicide. He said you were at Nathan and Maria Cutting’s house this afternoon.”
    “Detective Rhodes asked me to come over. Robbie Cutting died. He was the suspect in my niece’s death.”
    Susan nodded.
    “That’s what I’ve heard. How are you handling things?”
    I licked my lips.
    “I’m handling them,” I said. “I appreciate the concern, but I’m fine.”
    “Lieutenant Bowers suggested I give you some time off. I tend to agree with him.”
    Of course Bowers would want me off. He was up to something. I looked out the window. Susan had a nice view; I guess her eighty–hour work week had some perks.
    “You can do what you want, but I’m fine.”
    She nodded again.
    “If I gave you a blood alcohol test right now, what would it tell me?” she asked.
    “I’m fine, Susan,” I said. “You don’t need to worry about me.”
    She waited for another moment as if expecting me to continue. Eventually, she took the hint that I wasn’t.
    “I’m taking you off the rotation for the rest of the week. Paid leave. Take a break. You need it.”
    “You’re ordering me to take a