“Propinquity.”
“Hmm?”
“Propinquity. It means an affinity or kinship,” Detective Hsu said, his face glued to his phone.
“Great,” Nick sighed.
He had only been partners with Hsu for a week. They weren’t exactly bosom buddies. On paper, David Hsu was a good a cop. College grad. Detail-oriented. Loved the hell out of paperwork. But his social skills sucked. Like his need to read his “Word of the Day” out-loud every morning, no matter what sort of environment they were in. Under the on-ramp of jammed cars honking to squeeze onto the 101 freeway, Nick could’ve used a break from the vocabulary lesson.
“It can also mean nearness, either physically or psychologically,” Hsu said. He put his phone away and looked both ways down Juanita Avenue. “You think anyone had propinquity with the victim at
