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the name, then shook his head and swore under his breath. He hit the Ignore button and stuffed the cell back into his pocket.
    Felicia took note. ‘Who was that?’
    Striker gave her a glance like he didn’t want to get into it. When Felicia didn’t look away and just kept staring, waiting for an answer, he relented.
    ‘Larisa Logan,’ he explained. ‘Works for the Victim Services Unit. Third time she’s called me in two days.’
    Felicia shook her head. ‘Well, here’s a novel idea – why don’t you actually answer the phone? Or at least call the woman back?’
    Striker said nothing for a moment. He used the sleeve of his coat to wipe away some of the remaining moisture on the driver’s side window. Then he fiddled with the defrost controls.
    ‘Jacob?’ Felicia persisted.
    He sighed and met her stare. ‘Look, Larisa’s the counsellor who put me through the department-ordered sessions after Amanda’s death, okay? That’s her fifth call this week.’
    ‘Then why don’t you just call her back?’
    ‘Because I know what she wants.’
    ‘Which is?’
    ‘To do her yearly follow-up sessions, I’m sure – the woman is relentless.’
    ‘So then do them.’
    Striker said nothing, he just exhaled. The sessions with Larisa were difficult; they brought back too many painful memories. And there was enough on his plate right now with work and home life. Already, he couldn’t sleep at night. And on top of all this, there was his relationship with Felicia: off again, on again, somewhere in between – he never knew which way they were headed.
    Off again right now, and he wasn’t happy with it. Whenever he asked her what the problem was she said: ‘There’s just too many issues to deal with.’
    It was her standard response.
    Lately, everywhere he turned there were problems. Even the good things felt hard. And he was tired of it. He didn’t need any more stress put on his shoulders. And dredging up the memories of Amanda’s depression and suicide would only make matters worse.
    He was avoiding all that. Purposefully.
    Felicia suddenly made an Ohhh sound and seemed to catch on. ‘My God, Jacob, I’m sorry – I never even realized.’
    He looked at her, confused. ‘Realized what?’
    ‘ This . I mean, here we are at a suicide, and the woman has almost the same name as your wife. Mandy. Kinda like Amanda. I’m sorry, I should have known. I never even thought—’
    ‘You’re reaching here, Feleesh. And for the record, Amanda died a long time ago.’
    ‘What does that matter? My God, if I’d realized—’
    ‘A long time ago, Feleesh.’
    She gave him an uncertain look, like she wasn’t sure which way to take the conversation. In the end, she kept quiet. The passenger window was still fogged up, so she took a moment to power the window down and up. When it remained fogged, she wiped away the condensation with her hand. Afterwards, she turned in her seat and met his stare once more. She spoke softly.
    ‘Maybe you should see Larisa one more time.’
    Striker groaned. ‘Oh Jesus, not you, too. Leave it be, Feleesh.’
    ‘I’m just saying—’
    ‘You’re always just saying something. Serious. Just let it go for once, will ya? Let this one ride.’
    Felicia’s eyes narrowed at the comment, and for a moment she looked ready for a fight. She tucked her long dark hair back over her ear and her mouth opened like she was ready to say more.
    Striker looked away from her. He was in no mood for small talk or bullshit. And in even less of a mood for arguing.
    DNA tests needed to be done.

Eleven
    Before Striker could put the car into gear, the bright glare of headlights caught his eye. When he looked over into the centre of the street, he saw two men with video cameras and one woman with long blonde hair holding a microphone in front of a white media van.
    The evening news.
    ‘Jesus, they’re here already?’ he griped.
    Felicia sighed. ‘They must’ve seen the police lights and the dog track.’
    ‘Just