I stepped inside and pressed the button for the lobby.

The doors began to slide shut.

Just before they closed, a hand reached through and blocked the sensor.

The doors slid back open.

A man in a dark suit stepped into the elevator beside me.

He had a silver badge clipped to his belt.

He looked at me, his eyes scanning my wet hands and my trembling shoulders.

“Jake?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said, my voice barely a whisper.

“I’m Detective Miller,” he said.

“We need to talk about your wife’s medication.”

The elevator doors closed behind him.

The car began its slow descent to the ground floor.

“I have to go,” I said.

“My wife is upstairs,” I lied.

“I was just going to get some coffee.”

“The doctors said she was poisoned,” Detective Miller said, ignoring my excuse.

“They found traces of sodium cyanide in her system.”

“Who has access to your apartment, Jake?”

The elevator stopped on the third floor.

The doors opened, but no one was there.

I stared at the empty hallway.

“Just us,” I said.

“And my mother.”