Ghost in the Wind by E.J. Copperman Page A

is on the street. Not even a traffic ticket. But the other band members said Vanessa had just broken up with Mastrovy. So maybe that’s why she went the soy sauce route.”
    â€œMastrovy was her boyfriend and she’d just dumped him? You didn’t think that was worth checking out?”
    McElone put her hands flat on her desk. “You come in here months after the fact and tell me the dead father of a woman who died of an allergic reaction says she was murdered and you want to tell me how I should have done my job?” She had a point. I knew McElone was a good cop and a thorough one.
    I backed off. “Is there an address for the Mastrovy guy? The other two band members? Vance would like me to find them.”
    McElone’s eyes narrowed. “Really. This is going about as far as I’m willing to go. The dead woman’s dead father wants to find people he thinks might have been involved in his little angel’s death? So he can get his ghosty revenge? And you want me to provide the coordinates? I don’t think so.”
    â€œIt’s not like that,” I said, although I thought it might have been exactly like that.
    â€œI’m not giving you the address,” she said. I didn’t ask again. I know that tone. And I respect McElone enough to accept her decisions on professional issues. I nodded. “Fair enough. Anything you
can
tell me?”
    â€œWell, we talked to the kid from the restaurant but Vanessa didn’t get delivery; she picked it up from Ming Garden, on Surf Boulevard,” the lieutenant said without checking her screen again.
    â€œYou were at the scene,” I reminded her. “You don’t give up that easy most of the time.”
    She put on an innocent look that didn’t suit her. “There was no reason to dig any deeper,” she said. “The doctor did the autopsy, found the cause. The lo mein was still in her living room on the coffee table. Nothing left to ask about.”
    That was awfully pat. “You don’t think it’s fishy that a woman who knew she had the allergy ate exactly the thing that would kill her?” That was what had been bothering me. Vance had a point: Why
hadn’t
McElone looked into Vanessa’s death more closely?
    â€œNot really,” the lieutenant said. “The uniforms came in, saw the scene. They didn’t know what killed her and she was alone, so they called me, I looked, didn’t see any evidence of violence and waited for the ME’s report. That sewed it up.”
    â€œNot too clean? Not like someone wanted them to find her just like that? She put on her dad’s record on auto-repeat and then committed suicide via Asian food? It’s just too staged.”
    McElone shrugged. “I’ve never seen you as a conspiracy theorist before,” she said. “This kind of thing happens. Not all the time, but it happens. The woman was unfortunate and it’s sad. I’m sorry your dead friend lost his daughter, but it doesn’t have to be a murder just because he doesn’t want to face it.”
    I wasn’t listening anymore. “Who are the cops?”
    â€œWhat cops?”
    â€œThe uniforms. The officers who found Vanessa’s body. Who are they? I want to talk to them.”
    She made a “yeah, sure” face. “I don’t think so.”
    â€œIt’s on the police report, right? That’s a matter of public record, isn’t it?” I stuck my hand out. “Let’s have a printout, please. I’m a citizen and I’m exercising my right to know.”
    McElone sighed but she hit print on her screen and pointed toward the door. “You can pick it up on your way out. And I’ll tell you something.”
    I turned back toward her. “What?”
    She did not smile, did not twinkle her eye at me. In fact, she didn’t make eye contact, looking at documents on her desk. “You’re better at this than