The call came at half past six in the morning, while I was still standing in the kitchen of The Belle with a tall mug of ice coffee condensing between my hands.
Call me weird, but I like my coffee cold, even in the morning.
Dexter's name lit up my phone. It was past two in the afternoon in Manila, and my cousin never called in the middle of his workday unless something had gone terribly wrong.
"Juls," he said. His voice was flat and careful. "Raymond's dead."
I set the mug down. I had not realized my hand was shaking until the coffee slopped over the rim and onto my fingers.
"How?"
"They found him on his bed at the facility this morning. There was a small folded paper under his pillow, nothing written on it. The lab results won't be back for days." He paused. "The guard said a man visited him the afternoon before. Cream suit. Signed the visitors' book with a name nobody could read. Nobody thought to ask him anything."
