Chapter 2 - THE EMPTY INJECTOR
We did not go home that night.
I hated that decision.
I agreed to it.
Those are different things.
Chicago police arrived first.
Then federal agents.
That told me Alexei’s life was even more complicated than the rumors.
The lead detective was Mara Chen, homicide detail temporarily assigned because of the apparent poisoning attempt.
She treated the mansion like a crime scene, not a kingdom.
I liked her immediately.
Dmitri did not.
He answered every question anyway.
Also important.
Detective Chen interviewed me in a sunroom with Sophie beside me coloring a dinosaur.
Not separately.
Not yet.
Sophie was not asked about the event beyond what was necessary for immediate safety.
Good.
Chen asked me to tell the sequence in my own words.
I did.
Tea.
Honey.
Study.
Crash.
Blue lips.
Coat pocket.
Ambulance.
Trainer injector.
“Who knew Mr. Petrov had a severe shellfish allergy?”
“House staff. Kitchen. Security. Probably everyone close to him.”
“Who knew where he kept emergency medication?”
“I knew about the office pouch because I cleaned there.”
“Your daughter?”
“She knew about the coat injector because he showed it to her once.”
Chen looked toward Sophie.
No question.
Good.
“Who prepared the tea?”
“Nina Borodin, cook.”
“Who added honey?”
“I did.”
“Did you open the jar?”
“Yes.”
“Was seal present?”
“It was already open. We use it every day.”
“Anything unusual?”
I closed my eyes.
Think.
The honey had looked normal.
Smelled normal.
Then:
“The spoon.”
Chen looked up.
“What?”
“It was already in the jar.”
“So?”
“We don’t leave spoons in honey.”
“Never?”
“Nina hates it. Says it drips.”
Small.
Maybe meaningless.
Chen wrote.
“What else?”
“The jar was nearly full.”
“Is that unusual?”
“It was half empty yesterday.”
She nodded.
No dramatic reaction.
Good investigator.
Then:
“Tell me about the text.”
I handed over screenshots and consented to device preservation.
Thomas’s photograph.
The threat.
Chen stared at it for several seconds.
“You knew your husband knew Petrov?”
“No.”
“Ever mentioned him?”
“No.”
“What did your husband do?”
“Paramedic. Chicago Fire Department.”
“Any side work?”
“Some event medical shifts. Private security events sometimes.”
My stomach tightened.
Alexei held events.
Maybe.
“Date of his death?”
I gave it.
“Cause?”
“Vehicle collision. Hit-and-run.”
Chen looked up.
“Unsolved?”
“Yes.”
The drunk-driver theory had come from witnesses who saw an erratic car earlier, but the actual striking vehicle was never found.
I had simplified it for Sophie.
Accident.
That word suddenly felt less stable.
Chen said:
“I’ll pull the file.”
My chest tightened.
“Do you think it’s connected?”
“I think someone wants you to think it is.”
Again.
Precision.
Then she asked:
“Did Mr. Petrov hire you directly?”
“No. Agency sent me.”
“Which agency?”
“Northstar Domestic Staffing.”
“Interviewed by?”
“House manager, Nadine Kessler.”
“Petrov present?”
“No.”
“He knew your name?”
“After I started.”
Chen nodded.
“Anyone ever ask unusual questions about your husband?”
I thought.
Alexei once asked how long Thomas had been gone.
That seemed normal after Sophie called him Daddy by mistake.
Dmitri once asked where Thomas worked.
I had thought he was making conversation.
Nadine asked whether I had life insurance during onboarding.
Normal payroll-benefits discussion.
Maybe.
Suspicion makes ordinary memories mutate.
I said:
“I don’t know.”
Good.
No invention.
---
Hospital testing confirmed severe anaphylaxis.
Doctors found evidence of shellfish protein in Alexei’s tea.
Not enough for anyone to explain casually.
The honey jar tested positive too.
Deliberate introduction was suspected.
I did not ask how it was done.
I did not want recipe-level knowledge.
The fact was enough.
Someone had contaminated a food Alexei used every day.
And replaced his desk injector with a trainer.
Two actions.
Planning.
The kitchen camera outage mattered.
Seven minutes.
At 2:14 p.m., normal feed.
2:15, signal lost.
2:22, restored.
I carried the tray at 2:23.
Who entered?
Kitchen access logs showed four badges.
Mine.
Nina the cook.
Nadine the house manager.
Sergei Levin, security.
But badge logs were not person logs.
Anyone could borrow one.
Camera in corridor showed:
Me entering at 2:10.
Nina entering 2:12.
Nadine at 2:13.
Sergei at 2:16.
Then outage meant no interior view.
Nina left 2:19.
Nadine 2:20.
Sergei 2:22.
Me 2:23 with tray.
Every one of us touched something.
Perfect.
Or designed to look perfect.
Then came the office injector.
Only three people had routine access to Alexei’s study when he was absent:
Me for cleaning.
Dmitri.
Nadine.
Security could enter in emergencies.
Alexei himself obviously.
The trainer bore no useful prints beyond mine and Alexei’s.
Mine because I had dusted around it a week earlier?
Maybe.
I did not remember touching the device.
That terrified me.
Detective Chen said:
“Fingerprints do not timestamp themselves.”
Good.
Still.
My prints.
---
At 11:40 p.m., the hospital called.
Alexei was awake.
Dmitri put the call on speaker only after asking me.
“Emily is here.”
Alexei’s voice was rough.
“She should go home.”
I almost laughed.
Dmitri said:
“Threat message.”
Silence.
Then Alexei:
“To Emily?”
“And Sophie.”
The silence changed.
“Read it.”
Dmitri did.
Alexei did not speak for several seconds.
Then:
“Move them.”
I snapped.
“No.”
Dmitri looked at me.
Alexei’s voice came through phone.
“Emily.”
“You do not move me.”
A pause.
“Correct.”
That surprised both of us.
He continued.
“Will you accept a safer location until police assess the threat?”
Better.
I looked at Sophie asleep on sofa beneath a blanket.
“Where?”
“Guest house at St. Catherine Medical campus. Private security plus police access.”
“Your security?”
“Some.”
“No.”
Silence.
Then Alexei said:
“Police only, if they permit.”
Dmitri looked annoyed.
Good.
I said:
“For one night.”
“Fine.”
Then:
“Emily.”
“What?”
“I am sorry.”
My anger sharpened.
“For almost dying?”
“No.”
He knew.
My throat tightened.
“For Thomas?”
Silence.
That was answer.
I stood.
“Did you know my husband?”
“Yes.”
The word came quietly.
Sophie slept five feet away.
Dmitri looked at floor.
He knew too.
Of course.
“How?”
Alexei breathed painfully.
“He saved my life.”
I stared at the phone.
“What?”
“Three years ago. Warehouse fire near Archer Avenue. I was inside.”
Thomas had responded to a warehouse fire six weeks before he died.
I remembered the soot in his hair when he came home at 4:00 a.m.
He told me it was bad.
No names.
Alexei continued.
“He found me unconscious in a loading office after an explosion. Stayed until firefighters reached us.”
My eyes filled.
“Why didn’t he tell me?”
“He did not know who I was at first.”
“And later?”
“He knew.”
“Why keep it secret?”
Silence.
Then:
“Because he saw something he was not supposed to see.”
There.
The sentence I had feared.
“What?”
Alexei’s voice weakened.
“Not tonight.”
I laughed.
Cold.
“You do not get to choose that.”
“Emily—”
“My husband is dead.”
“I know.”
“My daughter just got threatened.”
“I know.”
“You hired me.”
Silence.
Then:
“Yes.”
My chest tightened.
“You knew who I was before I walked into your house.”
“Yes.”
Dmitri closed his eyes.
I felt sick.
“Why?”
Alexei answered:
“Because after Thomas died, I believed the people responsible might watch his family.”
I stopped breathing.
“People responsible?”
“I did not think his death was an accident.”
The room went silent.
My legs went weak.
I sat.
“Who?”
“I did not know.”
“Then why hire me?”
“To put you somewhere I could protect you without telling you why.”
I laughed in disbelief.
“By making me your maid?”
“You needed work. The agency application appeared. I approved it.”
“You manipulated my employment.”
“Yes.”
No defense.
I hated him more for honesty.
“You watched me for nineteen months.”
“Yes.”
“Did you monitor my home?”
“Exterior only.”
My skin crawled.
“You had no right.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
Silence.
Then:
“I called it protection.”
There was something in his voice.
Regret.
Not enough.
I said:
“When you leave that hospital, you are going to tell me everything about Thomas.”
Alexei replied:
“Yes.”
“No half truths.”
“Yes.”
“No deciding what I can handle.”
A pause.
“Yes.”
I hung up.
Dmitri stared at me.
“What?”
“You are the first person I have heard hang up on Alexei.”
“I clean toilets. I’m fearless.”
He almost smiled.
Then stopped.
“Emily.”
“What?”
“I knew Thomas too.”
My stomach dropped again.
“How?”
“He handed me Alexei’s coat while paramedics loaded him.”
That sounded harmless.
Dmitri continued.
“Inside the coat was a memory card.”
My pulse changed.
“Thomas found it in the warehouse.”
“What was on it?”
Dmitri looked toward Sophie.
Then:
“The reason someone may have killed him.”
I stood.
“Where is it?”
“We never found it.”
My mind flashed to Thomas’s old belongings.
Boxes in my closet.
Uniform bag.
Sophie’s toys.
Then Sophie shifted under the blanket.
Her pink stethoscope slid from her hand and hit the floor.
A cheap plastic toy Thomas had bought her before he died.
Dmitri looked at it.
Then at me.
For no reason I could explain, a memory surfaced.
Thomas kneeling in our living room.
Twisting the stethoscope handle with a screwdriver because Sophie had broken the sound button.
Then telling me:
“Fixed.”
He had never been good at fixing toys.
I picked up the stethoscope.
One side of the plastic handle had a tiny seam.
Not factory.
Something glued shut.
My heart started pounding.
Dmitri whispered:
“What?”
I looked at the toy my daughter had carried into Alexei’s study.
The toy that had been in our apartment for three years.
May you like
The toy Thomas had repaired six weeks before he died.
And I realized the missing memory card might have been sitting in Sophie’s medical kit the entire time.
