Snippet #1192773

Jack nodded, ignoring the older woman's derision of her own comatose daughter. Families worked in strange ways; he doubted the woman would be here if she didn't really care, despite whatever it was she had to say about her daughter's character. He disagreed with her assessment of Alexa Peterson's potential enemies though; having a trust fund didn't exclude one from attracting enemies who didn't.

But that was irrelevant, for the most part. Alexa Peterson, it seemed, had simply been unlucky enough to walk past the wrong alleyway and foolhardy and brave enough to play the hero. The owner of a clothes shop (there was no way he was going to refer to it as a 'fashion boutique' as Mrs Peterson had in her plummy tones) was unlikely to have been involved in organised crime. This was a straightforward case though he doubted that would give any comfort to the people crowded around the bed of the unconscious woman just across the hall.

"Thank you, Mrs Peterson," he said. "That's all I needed to ask you. Here's my card if you think of anything I should know or if you want to contact me about the investigation," he added, handing over a small white rectangle embossed with the crest of the NYPD.

Turning towards the door, opened it, holding it open so Mrs Peterson could pass through the doorway before him.